Into the Storm (36 page)

As long as he thought she was a nurse, and that she could save his…girlfriend or whoever the freak-show was that he’d chained to his bed, she would stay alive.

“Which of these will help her?” he repeated much more loudly.

“I’ll need to examine her first,” Tracy said, trying to sound as nurse-ish as possible. Stern. Disapproving. Just like the nurse in the ER had been that time she’d gotten drunk out on the beach and cut her foot on a broken bottle. They’d given her something after stitching her up, something to prevent infection. An antibiotic. But what had it been called? Zithro-something. No, that’s what she’d had for that sinus infection last year.

“I’ll need clean sheets, clean towels, clean clothes for her to wear,” she told him, taking off her sodden jackets, and rolling up her sleeves. “Clean, warm water. Lots of it.”

Was that blood encrusted on the buttons on the ill woman’s shirt? She was gaunt, clearly starving, the bones on her face standing out in sharp relief. Tracy forced herself to touch her. A nurse would not be squeamish.

Her skin was hot—she was burning up. “Something for her to drink, too,” Tracy added, since he hadn’t killed her yet for being overly strident. “She’s clearly dehydrated. Ginger ale.” She turned toward him, as impatiently as she could manage, considering he had a gun and wasn’t afraid to use it. “What are you waiting for? If you want me to help her, you’ve got to help me.”

For a moment, he just stood there, looking at her, and she was instantly terrified that she’d pushed too hard, that he was going to decide she was too demanding and shoot her right where she stood.

But then he turned and left the room.

He didn’t go far—just down the hall to a bathroom. He left the door open, so sneaking past in search of the front door was not an option. Tracy did make it around the bed, though, and over to that window. Please dear God, let her peek out from behind that grimy shade to find other houses nearby—somewhere to run to for help.

But all she could see was darkness.

Over on the bed, the woman groaned, waking up, and Tracy went toward her. There were so many questions to ask, she wasn’t sure where to start. “Where are we—”

The woman’s uncuffed hand grabbed the front of Tracy’s shirt, pulling her close with surprising strength for someone so thin and so ill.

“Finish me,” the woman whispered through lips that were cracked and dry. “Kill me. Please. Don’t let him take me upstairs while I’m still alive!”

Dear God…

“Promise me,” the woman begged. Her eyes were an almost golden shade of brown. Once upon a time, she’d been truly beautiful.

“Who are you?” Tracy asked. “Why are you handcuffed? And who is this guy who—”

But her eyes closed, her head lolled back, and her grip on Tracy’s shirt went limp.

“Her name is Five.”

Tracy turned to see that her kidnapper had come back into the room, carrying a pile of dingy-looking towels.

“Your name is Twenty-One,” he continued. “And me? I’m your lord and master. If I catch you talking to her again, I’ll kill you. Slowly. I’ll start by slicing off your eyelids—”

“I get it,” Tracy said. Dear God, dear God…“No talking, just saving her life. I still need water to do it. And something for her to drink.”

He left the room again, and she started shaking—so hard that she had to sit down.

Jenk had just backed out of the parking spot in the rental lot when someone banged on the roof of the car.

Izzy’s face appeared out of the darkness. He tried the passenger-side door, but it was locked. “Open up, Eminem. Let me in.”

Jenk popped the lock. “Zanella, what the fuck?”

“Oh, sweet,” Izzy said with a heavy layer of indignation as he swung his bag into the back seat and climbed in. “You think I’m going UA. Thanks for the vote of confidence, bro.”

“So what are you saying,” Jenk said. “That you cleared this with the senior chief, that you have it in writing?”

“Think of this as a variation of don’t ask, don’t tell. Don’t ask, don’t know, don’t get into trouble,” Izzy said. “Do, however, drive.”

“Iz. Think about what you’re doing.”

“You think I fucking haven’t?” Zanella finally stopped trying to bullshit him. “I can’t just sit here anymore, doing nothing.” He met Jenk’s gaze with a mix of anger and misery. “And yeah, I’ve been lying to you about me and Tracy hooking up. Mostly because she made me swear not to tell anyone. But partly because I know you’ve liked her since forever, and it makes me feel like double the dickhead.”

Jenk put the car into gear a tad too forcefully and drove. “This happened…last night?” he asked. Had it really only been last night that Tracy had come back to the motel, drunk? It felt more like last year.

“Yes,” Izzy admitted. “Barely twenty-four hours ago. It was stupid, and if I could do it again…Well, shoot me, I’m human, I’d definitely do it again, but…I’d do it differently.”

“You are such an asshole.”

“I don’t mean, like, in a different position, like the
Cosmo Girl’s Guide to Sex,
page twelve. I mean, I’d do it so that she wouldn’t end up mad at me afterward.” Izzy sighed, leaning back against the headrest. “I’m responsible for her leaving. You know, boogying out of the cabin like that? She didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Like I said. You are such an asshole.”

“She came to me, all like,
I’m going to marry Lyle, but I want him to pay.
What was I supposed to say, no?”

“I did,” Jenk pointed out.

“Yeah, well, I’m neither Jesus nor in love with Lindsey,” Izzy said.

And that was a statement that was meant to distract. Izzy expected Jenk to deny it.
I’m not in love with Lindsey.

An argument would ensue.
I’ve seen the way you look at her, bro. Even now, after she dumped you.

Seriously, we’re just friends.

Yeah, that’s what
she
wants, right? Dude, she can’t make you not feel it if it’s there. And I think it’s there. I mean, I just told you I’ve done the deed with Tracy, and you didn’t even flinch. I think we both know that if I’d given you the same newsflash about me and Lindsey, my broken and bloody body would already be stashed in the trunk.

Izzy would be right about that. About all of it. Jenk drove in silence for a long time. “Are you…you know. With Tracy? In love?” he finally asked.

Izzy laughed. “Uh, no.”

Jenk glanced at him. “Are you lying?”

“No, man, seriously,” Izzy told him. “Would I do her again? Oh, yeah. But…I’m not even sure I like her. I mean, I thought I did, and then she went all weird on me. I mean, come on. It was a revenge fuck. She was very clear about that. And yeah, the sex was unbelievable, but then she’s suddenly discussing future plans? That’s crazy.”

Was it? It sounded a little too familiar. “Maybe it’s not,” Jenk suggested. “Maybe she really fell for you.” Izzy started to make protesting noises, but he spoke over him. “It’s not completely impossible. Maybe she just didn’t know how else to tell you that she wants to get to know you better.”

“Me?” Izzy asked. “Or the tragic hero I was pretending to be? See, we were doing this role-playing thing and—”

Jenk stopped him. “I really don’t want to know.”

“Most of the time Tracy looks at me like I’m from another planet,” Izzy said. “She doesn’t get my jokes and…Dude, this isn’t anything like you and Lindsey. I know you’re thinking that it is, but it’s not. You guys click out of bed, too. I’m not asking for details, but I’ve got to assume that when you get it on it’s—”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Jenk said.

“I’m not either,” Izzy said, “but I can imagine—”

“Don’t.”

“What I’m trying to say is, if you really want Lindsey, go and get her. Stick around long enough, sooner or later she’ll cave. She likes you, M. She does. And I know you’re totally in love with her, so stop pretending you’re not. But me and Tracy?” Izzy laughed. “She doesn’t like
me,
she likes—”

“I get it,” Jenk said.

“Plus, she made it very clear she was going back to Lyle. I’d be stupid to believe her, or want to start something with her that wasn’t…I mean, Christ, I don’t exactly earn six hundred dollars an hour, do I? Besides, there’s something seriously wrong with a girl who’ll marry a guy who treats her like shit.”

“So you’re risking your career for someone you allegedly don’t even like.”

Izzy nodded. “Yeah, pretty fucked, huh? But if something happens to her while I’m sitting around on my ass…I’d rather spend the rest of my life living with the consequences of an unauthorized absence. Shit, I’d rather be arrested than spend the rest of my life thinking,
maybe I could’ve been the one who found her before she froze to death.
”

He turned away, looking out into the darkness of the night. His concern for Tracy was palpable. Jenk could practically smell it on him. And yet he didn’t even like her? Didn’t
want
to like her was more like it.

They drove in silence for quite a few miles before Izzy spoke again.

“Can I just say that she was unbelievably hot? Like, smoking.”

Typical Izzy—acting like an asshole to hide any hint of vulnerability.

“Not unless you want to walk from here,” Jenk said.

“Can’t say that I do,” Izzy said with a sigh. “I can’t say that I do.”

What would Lindsey do?

Tracy fought the panic that kept creeping in and overwhelming her by imagining Lindsey caught in this terrible situation.

She’d approve of the whole pretending-to-be-a-nurse thing, that much was for certain.

Stall,
she’d tell Tracy if she were here.
It’s not like we won’t notice that you’re missing. You left that message on my answering machine—of course it
was
my home number. But hey, I’m a professional. Surely I call home on a regular basis to pick up messages. Right?

Tracy had no idea.

But God, what she wouldn’t give for Lindsey and the rest of the Troubleshooters Incorporated team to come crashing through that little window, weapons blazing. She’d even welcome Izzy Zanella with open arms.

She’d looked at the window again. It wasn’t just painted shut, it was locked, with shiny new hardware that required a key. There also appeared to be some kind of security system. An alarm would go off if the window were opened.

If Mr. Slice-off-your-eyelids got pissed at Tracy talking to the bed-woman, imagine how less than thrilled he’d be at her setting off his alarm.

She’d gotten the woman—she refused to use his name for her, Five—cleaned up. Aside from a seriously infected cut on her arm, Tracy found no other injuries. Bruises and scrapes, sure, but nothing life-threatening.

Of course her illness could have been a case of the good old flu, on top of that nasty wound. But something contagious, something that would take her kidnapper to the floor, was too much to hope for. Tracy’s luck just wasn’t that good. Still, that wasn’t going to keep her from watching him for any little sign of weakness.

She’d also keep trying to get him to leave the house, so she could attempt an escape.

“She needs nourishment,” she told him one of the times he came into the room. “The medication I’m going to try first needs to be taken with food. But it’s not going to be easy for her to keep anything down, so it’s got to be something simple. Chicken broth. If you don’t have any, I can make some. If, you know, you have chicken.”

He didn’t say anything, and she couldn’t stop herself from babbling.

“Of course, you’ll have to let me use your kitchen.”

That made him smile, for some reason. “You want to go into my kitchen?”

“No.” The woman from the bed spoke, her voice weak, but the word still forceful.

Tracy nearly crapped her pants. Even Eyelid-man was startled. But then he laughed.

Still laughing, he left the room. He laughed his way down the hall and clattered in what was probably his kitchen.

“I’m Tracy,” she quietly told the woman, her heart in her throat, because she was particularly attached to her eyelids. “How long have you been here, locked up like this?”

“I’m Beth,” the woman whispered. “And I don’t know.” She shook her head sharply then, holding a finger to her lips and warning Tracy with eyes bright with fever.

Yes, Tracy heard his footsteps growing louder. He was coming back.

“Did you think I was kidding?” he asked. He threw three slices of white bread, of the Wonder variety, onto Beth’s bed before turning to Tracy. He had a Ziploc bag, one of those larger, pink-colored ones, and he shook it, emptying it out onto the floor.

At first she thought it was pieces of dried fruit, dried apricots maybe, as a whole pile of them spilled out, but then she realized…

Some of the smaller ones had a fringe of…lashes?

Eyelashes.

Tracy lunged for the bucket she’d placed beside the bed in case Beth got sick again, but the sound of her own violent retching didn’t drown out his voice.

“After a while, the lashes fall out,” he said. “There’s no way to prevent it, which is a shame.”

Almighty God.

“Pick them up,” he ordered her. “And don’t speak to Number Five again.”

D
ARLINGTON
, N
EW
H
AMPSHIRE
M
ONDAY
, D
ECEMBER
12, 2005

As the very first streaks of dawn lit the winter sky, Lindsey stood outside the cabin where Tracy had last been seen, hoping…what? That she’d find some vital clue that they’d all previously missed?

Like maybe burn marks from the landing craft that the aliens had used when they’d abducted her?

But why not? In the past hours since Tracy had disappeared, Tom had sent teams to check the bus stations and local airports. They’d visited hospitals and even police station drunk tanks. But no one had seen their missing receptionist. She was gone without a trace.

Headlights swept across the black-and-gray skeletons of the bare trees. Lindsey went to see who else had come back here because they, too, were out of ideas.

“Hey.”

It was Mark Jenkins—the last person she’d expected to see today. Izzy also climbed out of the car and into the glow from her flashlight.