In the House On Lakeside Drive (27 page)

“Are you okay, son?” a new voice asked. It was deep, but full of concern.

“I'm…I'm okay,” Sam said, trying to put on a brave front. He hissed a little as a thick hand laid on top of his bad shoulder. “Ow.”

“You look like hell.”

Sam sighed. “I'm a little banged up. What…what fell on me? A house?”

“We'll get to that later. What hurts?”

The cold raced up Sam's back, and he shivered. “My shoulders,” he said. “My eye's swollen. My head. I hit…I hit it earlier.” His stomach began to turn, and he felt sick. “I…I think I'm going to throw up.”

“We've got an ambulance coming. Let's get you somewhere warm.” The thick hands took hold of Sam's wrists, short fingers inspecting the bindings around them. “You're bleeding.”

“I am?” It was then he realized the cloth on his arm was turning hard, like when he fell into mud. “Oh.”

The man spoke into a radio, his voice a blur as the adrenaline rushed out of Sam's system. “Come on,” he said. “My car's this way. We'll sit there.”

“O-okay.” Sam thought a moment as he walked. “Where's Remy? And…and Josh?” He swallowed thickly, a faint line of pain where the blade pressed into the skin. “Is Evan…is he okay?”

“Here,” the man said, opening a car door. “Sit down.” The thick hands gently pressed Sam downward, allowing him to move his still-bound hands to find the seat offered. Something soft was placed around his shoulders, and Sam shrugged into its warmth.

“Could you…” Sam cleared his throat. “Could you cut me loose?”

“I really think it's a good idea to wait for the ambulance,” the man said, his tone apologetic. “Your wounds look superficial, but I don't want to take chances.”

Something niggled at Sam, and suddenly he wasn't sure he could trust this man. “I want to talk to Evan,” he said. “Where is he?” The nausea was beginning to build in Sam's stomach, and his head continued to pound.

“He's nearby. Sam, I need you to tell me what happened here.”

“Nearby? I…I don't understand. Where is he? Where's Remy? Where's Josh?”

“Sam, it's just to keep our records straight. Can you tell me what happened in your own words?”

The blind man made to stand, but the thick hands blocked his efforts. “Let me up,” Sam said, the words a quiet demand.

“Sam. What happened?” The man's voice was quiet, but firm.

“How…how do you know my name?”

Something pressed into Sam's hands. The young man traced the grooves in the metal plate, taking in the shape of the rounded ends of the six-pointed star framed against soft leather. Sam knew the basic shapes of some of the printed alphabet, and he could make out the “s,” the “h,” and the “f” in the word engraved on it. “Your friend Evan had a tracker on him. He didn't know. Apparently he has a friend on the force in Otter Lake, someone named Baker?”

Sam nodded. “I know him. But why wouldn't Evan know?”

The man sighed. “Apparently he didn't want anyone following him. This guy Baker didn't like that idea, so he set this up. Good thing too—I don't know what we would have found if we hadn't shown up when we did.”

“So…we're, we're not in Otter Lake?” Sam was having trouble wrapping his head around that detail.

“Far from it. You're near a town called Otis, just outside of Bellaire, near the Grand Traverse Bay area.”

That information settled heavily on Sam. “That's…that's at least two hours from home.”

“Long way, that's for sure.” Another door opened, and the seat Sam sat in shifted as weight dropped into the seat to his left. “We know about the kidnapping. What we want to know, Sam, is what happened while you were here.”

“Where's Evan? Where are my friends?”

“They're giving their statements. Do you know how that works?”

“Mm-hmm. I've heard enough television to get the basics. You need us to tell what happened by ourselves, so you can compare stories. If they…if they match, chances are that's what really happened.”

The man made a noise that Sam assumed meant assent. “Close enough.” The seat shifted again. “Sam, what happened?”

“We…we were brought here. They shoved us in the basement. There was a lock on the door, something across it so we couldn't open it.”

“What else?”

“Nothing, for a while. They tied us up before we left our house. If…if we tried anything, someone else got hurt. Remy, he tried to run once we got here. Me too. I got belted in the shoulder, the right one.”

There was another noise that Sam assumed meant the man was following along. “They left us there, maybe a day, before that guy with the southern accent came down. We…we found a container of water, but it was locked. That guy, he had the key. We each got a drink. Then they left us alone down there some more.”

“So at first they left you alone.”

“Yeah. Then it got loud upstairs, and then they dragged me upstairs. They wanted me to talk to Evan, on-on a phone. I did. Before I could say much, they took it away and started picking on me.”

“In what way?”

Sam frowned. “Making…making me show off. Like, how could I get around if I can't see, that sort of thing. I tried to get to a door, but they stopped me and shoved me downstairs.” Shame flushed into the young man's cheeks. “I shot my mouth off, and Remy took the blame. This one guy, the real evil-sounding one…Jack, I think someone finally called him, he beat him. Then Remy went quiet, and the guy left. Josh and I, we couldn't snap him out of it.”

“I don't understand. Snap him out of what?”

“Remy's on the spectrum. When he…sometimes, when he gets scared or something like that, he falls into what he calls a ‘silent spell.' He…he doesn't talk, he won't look at people, he just kind of…shuts down. And only he can bring himself out of it.”

“Okay, so your friend goes quiet. What then?”

“Then the two black men, they put a knife to my throat—I think they did to Josh too—and told us they were taking us somewhere. They told us to be really quiet. We got upstairs, and I heard Remy creeping up the stairs. He…kind of freaked out, and eventually I figured out why. His uncle was there.”

The car shifted again. “Wait. Your friend's uncle was there? You're sure?”

“Yes. His uncle's a drunk, and abusive. It's why Remy lives at Evan and Miss Rachel's. There's…there's no one else left. His family's dead.”

The faint sound of pen scratching paper filled the small space. A cold breeze wafted past the open doors, and Sam's teeth chattered faintly. “So your friend reacts to the relative…”

“I yelled at him to run. I think he and Josh got away, at first. I tried to run too, but they caught me. I got knocked around a little.” The nausea was beginning to subside. Though his head was still sore, the fresh air was helping. “Next thing I knew my legs were tied up and Remy and Josh were with me. Then that Southerner came back, and Evan was there. He made Evan tell us things, things about where he came from and his past.”

“You know why?”

“No. They…they weren't good things. I guess he wanted Evan to be ashamed, or upset. Then Remy's uncle says he's taking us, and then those other people, the big people with the mean voices, they said no,
they
were taking us. One thing led to another, and then I was knocked over onto the floor. Evan yelled for me, and for Josh. After that, there was something heavy laying on my back, something soft.” Sam paused. “What was it?”

“Evan yelled, and then what?”

“Shouts. More screaming. The gun went off again, but…I don't know if it hit anything.” Another pause. “I…I think the black men are dead, in…in the basement.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I heard something loud come through the floorboards. It sounded like a softer version of the gunshots I heard a little bit ago. I…I didn't hear their voices after they were dragged down there.”

“How did you know they were black?”

Sam explained the differences in tone. “Anyway, after that the Southerner grabbed me and started pulling me through a smaller room and out a sliding glass door. We were headed somewhere outside when you all showed up.”

The pen scratched a little more, and then a small sigh rose from the man. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you, Sam.”

“Now can I see Evan?”

“In a minute, young man,” another voice replied, this one a woman's. “I'm here to check you out, okay?”

“The ambulance is here?” Sam frowned. “I didn't hear you drive in.”

“Your mind was on other things,” the man said. “Plus, we're behind the house, and they parked in front.”

“Think you can walk?” the woman asked.

“Mm-hmm.” Sam rose carefully. He raised his hands. “Could you cut me loose?”

Deft fingers pressed around his wounds, and he heard a small
snip
followed by the pressure of the plastic tie vanishing from his limbs. “Thanks,” he said gratefully, working the stiffness out of his barely used joints.

“No problem. But let's get you to the bus, okay? I want to look you over before you go into the hospital.”

The three were silent as they made their way toward the sounds of footsteps and the noise of voices and things moving about. “Sam!” Evan cried upon seeing him, and Sam heard fast footfalls race toward him. “Oh, God, Sam…”

“I'm…I'm okay, Evan,” he said. “How's Remy? And Josh?”

“Remy's okay. Little banged up, lots of other problems we can't put bandages on, but he's okay.”

“What about Josh?”

The space around them grew suspiciously silent, then Sam heard the woman's voice again. “Let's get you looked at, okay? You can see about the others once we get to the hospital.”

Fear nested in Sam's gut. “Is something wrong with Josh?”

“He's on his way to the hospital now, Sam. We…we'll see him later, okay?”

“Okay.” Sam allowed himself to be inspected, but he knew there was something he wasn't being told, and it frightened him.

Chapter 40

“Mr. Dyer, you have been through hell,” the doctor was saying as she wrapped bandages around Evan's cut wrists. “You're lucky to be here at all.”

“Lucky isn't the word I'd use,” the young man said morosely. “His parents are on their way here. How do I tell them…?” He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “H-how do I tell them…?” The doctor felt small splashes against the backs of her hands, and she looked up to see wet tracks carving paths down the man's angular face. Pale eyes were bloodshot, and full of misery. “This is all my fault,” he whispered through his tears. “It's all my fault.”

A mass of tight brown curls bobbed as the woman stood. For the first time in her career, she was at a loss. “I'm sorry.”

Her patient looked at her handiwork, red-tinged gauze and bloodied fingernails. He shivered a little, though the exam room at St. Ignatius Hospital near Bellaire was warm. “I have to tell Sam,” he said. “He…he's been asking…”

“Well, both of those young men are waiting for you,” the doctor said. “It was all we could do to get the one in the ponytail to even move. Normally, I'd say he was in severe shock, but this is something else.”

“Shit, that's Remy,” Evan said. “Oh, God. After what he's been through, what's happened…”

“He couldn't tell us what happened to him. Totally nonresponsive. His friend tried to fill in some blanks, but…”

“Remy is on the autism spectrum. When he has a meltdown, he gets that way. I can only imagine what happened while he was being held against his will. Was…was Sam helpful?”

“As much as he could be. Some things, like the large bruises on his friend's arms, he couldn't explain.”

“Sam couldn't see Remy's bastard uncle trying to drag him bodily out of that place. Or those men literally fighting over the poor kid.” The angular face grew thoughtful. “What did he mean by ‘his inheritance'?”

The doctor shrugged. “I have no idea. I…” The swirl of red hair caught her eye, and she turned to see a young woman running down the hall, not bothering to stop at the nurse's station. “Evan!” the newcomer cried, halting only when she saw the doctor move to one side. “Oh, my God, Evan!”

Evan's head sunk. He wouldn't look at his visitor. “It's…it's…” His words melted into a barrage of sobs, and the woman pulled him into a giant hug. “It's Josh,” he managed to eke out. “Rachel, I…”

Rachel stepped back, her face stricken. “No,” she breathed. “No!”

“Babe, it's all my fault.”

“NO!” Red hair whirled as a porcelain face exploded into tears. “Oh, God, no!”

A soft knock permeated the sounds of grief. “Evan?” the tall young man asked, his clouded eyes reflecting the bright light badly. “Miss Rachel?”