Fear the Darkness: A Thriller (37 page)

But I wasn’t dead yet. For now I was wedged more comfortably than a tall woman would be inside the spacious trunk of Carlo’s Volvo. The atmosphere was close, but not enough to suffocate. Mallory would have thought through that in advance and known that if she was going to drop my body in the wild, heatstroke would be a more plausible cause of death than suffocation. Trunks have some ventilation, and if I could figure out where this one’s was coming from, I might find a way out. I wondered how she would account for the wound that had started throbbing in my leg.

The wound reminded me that Mallory had seemed concerned about it. Why? Because if I got blood in the trunk my death wouldn’t look like simple hyperthermia? Before figuring out what could save my life, I needed to be sure I saved Gemma-Kate’s. I took off the blouse that had been tied snugly around my thigh and, though it hurt like hell, I dug at the wound with my fingers until I could feel the slick blood. If I died, and Mallory dragged my body out of the trunk, she would see it on the pad and clean it off. I slipped my fingers underneath the pad and left a blood mark there instead. Then I dug into my leg for more, trying not to grunt so loudly Mallory might hear, and marked the inside of the trunk lid, where you couldn’t see it immediately upon opening. I wiped my fingers on the blouse as thoroughly as I could in the dark, hoping Mallory wouldn’t spot the blood under my fingernails. I retied the blouse around my leg.

Now there was evidence, for anyone who was clever enough to find it, that I had been in this trunk, been driven somewhere, and hadn’t died from poisoning or heatstroke on a hike. Even if the investigators missed the blood, Gemma-Kate wouldn’t. Plus Mallory would still have to do something about that hole in my leg.

That taken care of, I took a moment to let the pain subside, and started assessing what was at hand.

There’s an urban myth about getting imprisoned in a trunk where the victim kicks out the rear light from its frame, sticks his hand out of the hole, and waves down the car following it. That doesn’t work, at least not in the particularly well engineered Volvo.

Signs and symptoms of hyperthermia vary.
We can see in this woman the remains of dry skin, and swollen lips. Some traces of vomitus around the mouth indicate nausea prior to death.

Too bad I had thrown up the activated-charcoal solution. I could have used those fluids about now. I wished I knew how long I had to live.

This was followed by organ failure as the blood pressure dropped and the heart was unable to sustain adequate circulation. Besides insufficient water consumption and exposure to high temperatures, the heatstroke may or may not have been exertional as in the case of strenuous hiking. Non-exertional heatstroke is more prominent in the elderly.

That’s right, George. Death likely occurred from non-exertional heatstroke, caused by being locked in the goddamn trunk of a car with internal temperatures exceeding two hundred degrees.

Take high doses of antidepressants, get locked in the trunk of a car, and it doesn’t matter how much activated charcoal you’ve had or how young you are; you’re fucked.

At first I tried to figure out where we were going, but the car turned so many times I gave up and concentrated on what might be in the trunk that would help me get out. Like Black Ops Baxter had said, use whatever you’ve got. Except that, unlike my trunk that often served as a second office, with lots of clutter that might prove useful, Carlo kept his pristine. There wasn’t any tool I could use to pry myself out in any direction. Then I thought about the spare tire. I pushed against the backseat with my back by curling up in a fetal position and pushing on the outer part of the trunk with my feet. The seats wouldn’t give. I curled around in another direction, this time to make it easier to reach under the covering over the tire well. In the blackness I could only feel around, identifying the spare tire, jumper cables, the jack. A short bungee cord that Carlo used to tie the trunk down when he transported things that wouldn’t fit with the trunk closed.

Like our last Christmas tree, for instance. I nearly sobbed with self-pity, then stopped being a pussy and returned to the tools at hand. Any of these things would make a good weapon if I could only get out and use them. I pulled out the jumper cables, the bungee cord, and the jack, and rolled the covering back over the tire well. Then I hid the materials behind my back and settled in to survive.

Mallory was probably hoping I would die while en route so she wouldn’t have to wait around wherever she was going to stage my heatstroke death. She was also probably hoping that whatever I had ingested over the past week or two would speed the process. Except for the fact that high levels of antidepressants would be found in my system, it would look like a most natural death.

The spring weather had been leaning toward summer during the days. High eighties outside meant two hundred in the trunk, with the midday sun heating the metal of the car. Running the engine helped raise the temperature, too. Hot enough to cook a turkey.

Mallory pulled to a stop. Maybe a parking lot, or maybe a light. Half in desperation and half in sheer rage, I yelled and banged against the side and roof of the trunk with my feet and fists. But no one came to help before the car started into motion again. Just as well; the exertion only raised my respiration and heart rate, and I noticed it failed to come down quickly the way it usually did when I exercised. If I had any hope of surviving, it was important to be aware of these changes in my condition.

My condition: Let’s say you’ve accidentally spent too much time in a dry sauna. Aware of your heart beating, and more than a little woozy, you get up and go to the door. The door is locked. How do
you
feel?

We must have been on a good road; the drive felt smooth, except for small plunges into those dips where the road crossed a small wash or arroyo. I lost track of time then, or may have slipped into unconsciousness momentarily, but came back when the car started to bump. A dirt road, probably approaching what would be the dump site for my body. If Mallory was smart, and I wasn’t quite dead yet, she should leave me somewhere off the road but drive the car a good distance away so I’d have no chance of getting back to it. That’s what I would do.

The car finally slowed and then stopped. My mind was beginning to go along with my body. The best I could figure was that it was still daytime. Once the sun started on its downslope at this time of year the temperatures cooled very quickly, and the trunk would follow. But I could tell it was still hot. If I had the will to reach my hand up to feel the surface of the lid, I thought, it would be very hot. I thought about the horrible experiment where the frog was put into a pot of water and the temperature slowly, slowly raised to see how long the frog would survive. I thought about the toad. I thought about the Pug. I thought about Carlo.

The Volvo’s backseat folds down in two parts to allow a larger space for transporting things. Rather than being equal size, one side is narrower than the other. This side folded out a bit, now, letting some light into the trunk. I had been curled with my back to it, but I managed to turn enough so I could face the opening, and at the same time moved my tools to the other side of my body so Mallory couldn’t see them.

I discovered how blurred my vision was. I saw Mallory’s face, two of them. She had crawled into the backseat. That would mean we were in a place far enough away from traffic and hikers where she didn’t have to worry, at least for a time, about being interrupted. I thought she might be holding the gun on me. I had a hard time caring about such a thing.

“Brigid, dammit,” she said, sounding exasperated. “This is awful. You should have been dead by now.”

I opened my mouth, feeling my lips pull apart. My mouth was too dry to speak, and my tongue felt swollen. I tried to swallow, but that wasn’t working so good either, so I just lay there looking at her with eyes that wouldn’t open all the way. I wondered if she could see the jack and other stuff, or if my body was hiding them from her.

“I didn’t need you dead before, I just needed you distracted. You don’t distract easily, do you?”

Just to test my strength I tried to grip the jack. I didn’t think I had enough swinging room to hit her with it, even if she obligingly stayed still long enough. If she came around the back of the car and opened the trunk she would see it. I remembered times when all I had to worry about was a bad back. In some little part of my brain that was still functional and watching what was happening to the rest of me, I chuckled. I was caring less and less what happened.

“Well, I’ll keep you company for a while,” Mallory said. She pushed the seat back just far enough to leave a crack without letting much of the air-conditioning get back to me. I heard her get one of the bottles of water that Carlo kept on the floor of the backseat, open it, and make herself comfortable lying across the backseat with her back against the door so she was only twenty inches away from me, though we were divided by life and death.

“Sorry I have to do it this way, but it needs to look natural. I even figured out what to do about that hole in your leg.” She sounded so normal; it was as if Mallory had spent so much of her life cultivating the picture of perfection, the picture was all she had left. “You must feel terrible,” she said, not without sympathy. I had the sense that even in the course of murdering me she would want me to like her.

It didn’t matter to her that I wasn’t responsive, and I thought it was probably better for her this way, not having to worry about paying attention to another person. She kept on, talking as she had in countless friendly conversations over a glass of wine. Only now she was taking gulps of water I would have killed her for. And she was talking about the future in ways she never had before. “Santa Fe seems like a nice place. Everybody from someplace else, like Tucson. Lots of arts and crafts. Money. I’m planning to sell the house once Owen dies. Boy, what a mess I made of that. It’s true, all the rest of this is your fault, but I take the blame for botching Owen.” A sigh, and another gulp of water. Some silence, maybe thought. She said, “Maybe Carlo would like Santa Fe. Did you really mean what you said about not wanting me to look after Carlo if you died? I even sort of like Gemma-Kate. She’s a girl after my own heart.”

I stayed silent because I was too far gone to protest that Gemma-Kate wasn’t anything like her. Or at least not much. But Mallory mentioning Carlo sparked my mind and my muscles into whatever life was still left in me. Carlo would not be the next.

As she felt me weakening, she grew less tense. “It’s too bad you can’t talk right now. I’d like to know more about how exactly the drugs affected you. In case I want to try it again sometime. I was experimenting with you, but you’re tougher than you look. I’m not sure of the optimum dose.”

Mallory pushed the seat back into place. More time went by, but the car didn’t start up again. She must have still been in the backseat, because I was able to hear her cell go off.

Some enchanted evening.
She waited a few beats without answering it, to make it appear relaxed and normal.

“Hi, Carlo!” she said brightly, and even I would have sworn she didn’t have someone dying in her trunk. “Oh, Gemma-Kate.” I tried to yell loudly enough to be heard through the backseat upholstery, but the most I could summon in my state was something like the sound of a newborn seal. Mallory couldn’t have possibly heard me, but I could hear her. “Uh-huh, she came over a while ago … I think she said she was going hiking. I was busy with my husband Owen and not paying too much attention … Maybe up the Linda Vista trail?… I’m sorry … You know, now that I’m thinking about it, she wasn’t looking so good…”

I gathered all my remaining strength and battered against the back of the seat with my fists.

Mallory said, still brightly, “Oh, you know, I think I hear the UPS guy at the door. When Brigid gets home, would you have her call me so I know she’s all right? Thanks. Bye.” Swallowing that last word with the seductively breathy swallow she always used for her good-byes. Picture perfect.

I heard the back door of the car open and shut again, and shortly the car started up, started to move. I listened for the sound of other cars, but heard nothing. Wherever we were it was on a road well away from any traffic so Mallory wouldn’t have to worry about being seen. Maybe we weren’t even on a road at all.

I may have lost consciousness. As it is I can’t say how much time elapsed before I was brought back by a pounding on the lid of the trunk, maybe with the butt of the gun.

“Are you still with us?’ Mallory asked through the lid.

The lid of the trunk opened, letting in much more light than cracking the backseat had. I still couldn’t be sure how much time had gone by; the sun was in my eyes, and I struggled to remember whether it was afternoon or morning so I could tell where in the sky the sun was, what direction I was facing. Mallory floated in front of me, or maybe it was the two Mallorys. They were both blurry.

I tried to grip the jack, but she took it out of my hand easily. “Do you think you have enough strength to get out of the car or do I have to pull you?”

I think I might have moved my mouth, but no sound came out. Mallory made a little perturbed sound. “I don’t want you to think I’m enjoying this, Brigid. You’ve been a good friend. It just seems like one thing follows another and options get limited. I hope on some level you understand. I’d hate to think of you thinking badly of me. Here, this cord should help.”

Mallory balanced her gun on the fender and then, first cautiously feeling the side of my neck to make sure my pulse was as weak as it ought to be, jerked the bungee cord out from where I was half lying on it. She checked my pulse again, seemed satisfied. Wound the cord around my shoulders, bracing her hip against the back of the car, and tugged. “Come on, help me out just a little. I need to get back to the house. You’ll feel better outside the car. Better than both of us sitting around here forever waiting for you to go.”