Cesspool (23 page)

Brittany positioned the mat over the open hatch and closed it as she climbed down the ladder, hopefully with the mat still in position over the hatch.

The monitoring box was going crazy. “Alert zone two. Alert zone two. Alert zone two. Alert zone two …”

“Shit!” James said, limping toward the ladder.

“What?” Brittany asked.

“The gun’s in the kitchen.”

Brittany turned and sprinted for the ladder.

“No!” James said as she blew past him.

She scaled the ladder and pushed open the hatch. He heard pounding on the front door and a constant invader alert from the monitoring device. A hard bang on the door shook the cabin. The door held. Brittany scurried down the ladder, shutting the hatch over her head, the Glock in hand. She handed it to James. He put the handgun in his jacket pocket and zipped it up. The house shook again, the doorjamb armor giving them extra time.

A two-by-two piece of plywood hung from hinges at the top of the back cellar wall. It opened outward. Brittany lugged a forty-pound bucket of rice and positioned it on the floor under the hinged plywood. James opened the tiny door. Brittany stepped on the bucket and climbed into a twenty-four-inch-diameter tunnel made of black corrugated pipe.

The house shook again, this time followed by a crunching sound, deep voices, and a dog barking.
They’re in
. James stood on the bucket with his good leg and squeezed into the pipe headfirst, letting the plywood door shut behind him. He was prone, his elbows jammed against the pipe walls. He felt like he was in a coffin. He looked ahead, with his eyes wide open, but there was only darkness. Brittany was gone, her tiny body fitting with ease.

James struggled; he felt claustrophobic. The voices grew louder.
They found the cellar hatch
. James closed his eyes and thought of the woods. He thought of the places they’d hiked. He pulled himself forward, with no reference to the distance he was traveling. The voices grew quieter. He was making progress. He heard her groaning ahead.

“It’s stuck,” she said, groaning again. “I can’t get it open.”

He was close now. He touched her foot, but he couldn’t see anything but black.

“There’s a few inches of soil on top,” he said. “Squat underneath it and push up, using your legs for power.”

“I’m tryin’. I’m not tall enough.”

“Can you turn around?”

“I think so.”

“Climb over me, and I’ll try.”

She wiggled her body over his, barely squeezing past. James inched forward, reaching the end of the pipe. He pushed himself up on his knees, the drain pipe elbow allowing vertical space. He stood, hunched, on one foot, his knees bent toward the open pipe. James put his hands on the hatch above him. He heaved, grunting. The hatch pushed open, and light filled the tunnel. He stood, his head peeking out of the ground. He was behind a brush pile. James couldn’t see the cabin through the pile, but he knew he was only eighty feet from the back door.

“They went through here,” a man said, his voice reverberating through the tunnel.

James climbed out and helped Brittany from the pipe.

“We need to hurry,” he said.

James leaned on Brittany as he hobbled along the trail. Rocks and tree roots made the hike especially difficult and painful. The police dog barked in the distance. James’s ankle was getting worse. His boot was tight from the swelling. Any weight on his bad foot sent shards of pain through his body. They soldiered on. The dog barked again; Brittany flinched. It was closer, much closer. James grabbed his keys from his pocket.

“Meet me at the car,” he said.

“We’re almost there,” she said.

He slammed the keys in her hand. “Wait ten minutes. If you don’t see me, go.”

“No, I’m not leavin’ you.”

James pushed her, a lump in his throat. “Go, you stupid fucking bitch.”

She looked at him with glassy eyes for a moment, the keys in her hand. She ran, disappearing down the trail in the blink of an eye.

The barking grew closer. He took off his jacket and turned around.
Here it comes
.

Chapter 19: Melty Chocolate Chips

Chapter 19

Melty Chocolate Chips

Brittany sprinted through the woods like an experienced trail runner. She reached the fork at the end of the trail. She followed the trail downhill to the small empty gravel parking area. Brittany looked left and right and ran across the street to Gil’s Storage. She ran through the open gate to the Hyundai. She unlocked the door and sat in the driver’s seat. Brittany put the key in the ignition and started the car. She looked at the clock on the radio—
3:36 p.m.
She climbed over the hand brake and automatic shifter to the passenger seat.
He’ll be here
.

She glanced at the clock—
3:42 p.m. Come on, come on, come on
. She tapped her foot on the floor mat and watched the cracked asphalt lane in front of her.
Any second he’ll be here. Come on, James
. She glanced down at the clock—
3:44 p.m. Eight minutes. Come on, James. Don’t do this to me
. She watched the asphalt lane, biting her lower lip. Her eyes flicked to the clock—
3:46 p.m. Ten minutes. Come on, James. Hurry up. I’m not leaving you
. She jumped at the gunshot in the distance. The clock read
3:49 p.m.
Tears welled in her eyes as she climbed into the driver’s seat. She sped out of the storage lot.

Brittany drove south on US 15 for half an hour. She peeked at the gas gauge—three-quarters of a tank. She heard his voice in her head.
This is enough gas to get down there. We’ll stay in the right lane and drive slow but not too slow
. She saw signs for a Subway. She pulled off the exit and followed the signs for the restaurant. A Sheetz gas station was across the street. The Subway was next to a grocery store. She parked away from the restaurant, in an empty part of the lot. She pulled the two envelopes from her jacket pocket. Brittany put the one for Yolanda back in her pocket and opened the letter for her. It contained two pages; one was a double-sided printout from Google Maps. The other was handwritten in James’s neat cursive.

Brittany,

If you’re reading this, something went wrong. But something also went very right, because you
are
reading this. First, know that if we’re separated, I will do everything in my power to find you, but, if it is too dangerous for either of us, I will stay away. Under no circumstances do I want you to seek me out. You need to distance yourself from me and absolutely do not go back to that town. Further, do not contact Jessica or Denise. I know they’re your friends, but it is best that they do not know where you are. It is possible that the police will question them.

You’re the strongest person I know and the most important person in the world to me. I know you’re probably scared right now. That’s a perfectly normal reaction. If you follow my directions listed below, everything will be fine. Just follow the directions, like a recipe for freedom and happiness. It’ll work out. I promise.

1. Take a deep breath. You did it!

2. Follow the Google Maps directions I printed for you. They will take you to Yolanda’s house. There’s likely to be lots of traffic. Don’t freak out. The driving rules are the same. Just be extra careful when changing lanes.

3. When you get to Yolanda’s house, park in a spot clearly marked Visitor. People in northern Virginia can be really snooty about their parking spaces.

4. Ring the doorbell. If it’s after five, she’ll be home. She knows who you are and that you might show up on her doorstep. After you introduce yourself, ask her if you could talk to her in private. It’s best if as few people know as possible. In private, give her the letter addressed to her.

5. Let Yolanda help you. She’s my second-favorite person in the world.

6. Destroy this letter. Yolanda has a shredder.

Love—Your Best Friend,

James

Brittany burst into tears, her chest convulsing in sobs. She leaned her head on the steering wheel and cried. It all poured out—the stress; the trauma; her mother; her mother’s boyfriend; Harold and the chief touching her, taking her, choking her; wanting to curl up in a ball and die; the knife in Dale’s back; James.
The man who gave me everything without asking for anything in return
.

She sniffled and pulled a tissue from the glove box. She wiped her face and went into the Subway. She ordered a turkey sub, recreating the one he had ordered for her, the one that was better than what she would have picked for herself. She bought two chocolate chip cookies. She smiled to herself, thinking of what he had said.
I don’t know how they get the chips to stay melty
. She ate by the window, keeping an eye on the car, not that would-be-burglars would think a three-thousand-dollar Hyundai would be carrying close to a million dollars in cash. After a long overdue meal, she was back in the car. She went through the Google Maps directions, making sure she understood them.

She took a deep breath and headed for the highway. Brittany drove south, the traffic getting a little bit heavier with each passing mile. There was gridlock near Dulles. She tried to relax and listen to the radio. Brittany enjoyed the variety of music. She eventually arrived at Crescent Cove in Woodbridge, Virginia. She searched for a few minutes, finding an empty spot marked Visitor, The town house community was jam-packed with cars. The parking lot was well-lit.

She fixed her hair in the rearview mirror, brushing it with her fingers and tucking it behind her ears. She frowned at her reflection. Her eyes were red and puffy with dark circles. She stepped from the Hyundai, locked the door, and marched up to house number 8817. It was a vinyl-sided middle unit townhome with a red door and a mat that read
Bienvenido
.

She rang the doorbell.

A boy yelled, “Door! … Mom, door!”

A female said, “Are your legs broke?
Ay dios mio
.”

The door opened. A brown-skinned preteen boy with big dark eyes answered with a bright smile.

“Hi,” he said with a wave.

“I was lookin’ for Yolanda.”

The boy turned and yelled down the hall. “Mom, it’s for you!”

He was replaced at the door by a heavyset Latino woman in scrubs. She had dark curly hair, round cheeks, and a wide nose. She looked down at Brittany; her eyes narrowed. “Hello,” she said. “May I help you?”

“I’m a friend of James. He told me to come here and talk to you.”

She smiled. “You wouldn’t happen to be Brittany, would you?”

Brittany nodded. “I am.”

“Why don’t you come inside?” Yolanda said, stepping back from the door.

“Can we talk in private?”

Yolanda led Brittany into a tiny cluttered office, with a desktop computer and an enormous monitor.

Yolanda shut the door and offered Brittany a seat. She sat in the wooden chair, Yolanda in the computer chair. Brittany pulled the letter for Yolanda from her jacket pocket and handed it to the woman.

Yolanda furrowed her brow and opened the letter. She pulled out three handwritten double-sided pages in James’s neat cursive.

“This might take me a while to read this,” Yolanda said.

“That’s okay,” Brittany replied.

Brittany took off her coat and hung it on her chair. She watched the woman read James’s letter, alternately angry and sad, shaking her head, her jaw tight, gasping, and dabbing the corners of her eyes with the side of her fist. Then her eyes were as big as quarters. At the end she stood and stepped to Brittany. She bent forward and gathered her in her arms. Brittany laid her head on her chest.

Yolanda let go and said, “Everything’ll be fine, honey. Don’t you worry.”

“What now?”

“First things first. James brought you down here after your shift on Monday. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“And you are not to talk to anyone without me and a lawyer present. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Let’s get you moved in then,” Yolanda said. “You can have Marco’s room for the time being. He can sleep on the couch in the basement. He usually ends up there anyway. My husband can help you with your things. Make sure you bring that bag inside.”

Brittany furrowed her brow.

Yolanda winked. “You know the one I’m talking about. Just put it in Marco’s room for tonight. I’m taking off tomorrow so we can take a trip to Ashburn. In James’s letter, it said that you should store the money at the Commonwealth Vault & Safe Deposit Company.”

“Is that a bank?”

“I’m not sure, honey, but, knowing James, I bet it’s not.” Yolanda opened the door and called out to the living room where the television flickered. “Cesar, I need your help.”

A middle-aged Latino man with a weathered face and thick forearms stomped down the hall in construction boots.

Yolanda frowned at the man. “What did I tell you about your boots in the house?”

He smiled, exposing two gold teeth. “I was inside today.”

“This is Brittany.” Yolanda motioned to the tiny white girl in their office. “She’s the friend of James’s who needs a place to stay for a while.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Cesar said to Brittany with a thick hand held out.

Brittany held out her tiny hand. Cesar shook it gently with a smile. Brittany smiled in return.

“Let’s get your things,” Cesar said.

Cesar and Brittany carried her stuff in from the Hyundai. She held tight to the duffel bag. Marco had already taken the clothes he needed for the next few days. Cesar left her alone in Marco’s room with her belongings. She shut the door and shoved the duffel bag under the bed. The bunk beds reminded her of the cabin. Marco had a small desk and posters of soccer players. Her boxes of envelopes were stacked in the corner, stamped and addressed, awaiting the letters. She opened James’s suitcase, stared at his neatly folded clothes, and cried. She heard a soft knock at the door. She sniffled, wiped her tears on her sleeve, and opened the door. Yolanda stood with a folded towel, a washcloth, soap, and a travel-size shampoo bottle.