I crept to the kitchen, wearing the hospital slippers I kept stowed in my room. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, I removed the skeleton key from the hook, made my way into the basement, and disappeared into the tunnels.
Ed had kidnapped Elizabeth McCain.
Then he’d killed Maureen, and then Brenda.
I was sure of it.
Almost sure of it.
But I still had to check one more thing.
BETH
Beth gripped the spike. It was solid. Heavy. Cool. The best mother-loving thing she’d ever held in her hand. If it got her out of here, she was going to name her car after it. Her first pet. Hell, she’d name her kids after it.
Spike. Spike Jr. Spike the Third.
She had given up on waiting to ambush him. She was instead getting out of here.
Her dad had taught her basic carpentry—building a set of shelves, mounting a fireplace mantel, hanging a door. That’s how she knew that while she couldn’t pick the lock on her prison door, she could remove the hinges, using the spike to leverage their pins up and out.
And then pop, off would come the door.
When she’d finally settled on this plan, the top hinge had slid out like butter.
It wasn’t unexpected. The top hinge carried the least amount of weight.
The middle one shaped up to be much more difficult. It had taken hours, but she’d finally been able to remove it, too. She’d rested both pins back in the hinges and was now going at the third and final one, the hinge nearest the ground. She’d been so relieved none of them had been overly rusted in this wet environment. The work was small and exhausting, though, which was why she was flexing her ankles and then shaking them, squatting and then standing, squatting and then standing. Forcing blood to her extremities. Preparing to fight.
If he returned before she’d removed the door, he would not catch her sleeping again.
In fact, this next time would be the last time she’d ever have to see his living face again, because if he got between her and freedom, she was going to drive that railroad spike deep into his skull. He’d never see it coming. She’d hug the wall to the right of the door and leap on him, plunging those five inches of steel into his stupid, evil brain.
She was sweating away at that final hinge when she heard movement overhead.
It was only a matter of time until he appeared.
Let’s do this, Spike.
CHAPTER 50
I slipped out of our basement and closed the door quietly behind me. Then I flicked on my flashlight and ran straight to the haunted end of the tunnels, through the cool liquid black. I unlocked Sheriff Nillson’s basement door and charged in.
“Junie!” I cried.
It was Ed she’d gone to, I felt in my belly it was Ed, but I had to be sure.
If Jerome Nillson was home, and I didn’t think he was, Junie’d still have had time to yell out for me before he could stop her. But there was no answer. Nillson’s basement was clean. Not just tidy. Cleared of evidence. I ran to the utility closet and yanked open the door. Only the furnace, the water heater, and the box of Christmas decorations remained. I tore up his stairs and whipped open every door on the main floor, then I ran to the top floor and did the same.
The house was empty. Junie was not here.
I hurried back to the main floor so fast that my body got ahead of my legs. I tumbled down the last few steps, landing hard on my right shoulder, the pills rattling in their bottle when my purse hit the floor. I jumped to my feet, rubbing at the sore spot. I ran through the front door without closing it behind me and kept running until I reached my house, the air hot and raw in my lungs.
I was grateful I’d left my bike perched by the back door. I didn’t have to step onto the porch, in Agent Gulliver Ryan’s sight line, to take it. I leaped onto my banana seat and raced to the quarries.
I would find Junie at the cabin. I would save her.
I had to.
BETH
The single set of footsteps—his, she knew that much for sure—was joined by others. Beth counted at least four different treads, one of them belonging to a female with a voice so high that she must have been a kid.
Beth was tired of waiting. Crouching, gripping the spike, wiping her hand on her filthy skirt when it grew sweaty, stretching her legs, crouching again. It was time to join the party, but first she had to free the last hinge. It was giving her more trouble than she’d expected.
The kerosene lantern flickered at her feet. She’d been conserving the fuel. Only minutes of light remained. She could remove that last hinge pin in the dark, but it’d be clumsy work. She needed a more efficient plan.
She glanced up at the two hinge pins she’d removed and then rested back in their slots in case he returned before she freed the third.