Just a Memory (32 page)

He barked a laugh. "Oh, you're right about that. Mac didn't send me. Ya see, Mac's got a little problem. And you're gonna help him. 'Cause ya see, Mac having a problem makes a big problem for me, too."

"What problem? What's wrong? Tell me what you're talking about." Suddenly she was alarmed for Mac more than for herself, but she didn't understand all this double talk.

"Never mind. You don't need to know yet."

"Then I won't go. If Mac wants to see me, he'll come or call me on the phone. He wouldn't want me to go with you."

"That's for damn sure, baby, but you're going with me just the same." He stepped closer and parted the front of her coat with the barrel of his gun and pressed it against one breast, drawing a circle around the tip.

Carolyn stepped back against the door instantly and crossed her arms over her breasts, pulling her coat lapels in each hand to cover them. The throbbing of her burned hand hardly fazed her now. "Where is Mac? Where are you taking me?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out."

This had to be a child's mind in a man's body. But he wasn't looking at her now as a child would. A new kind of fear broke out in shivers. She inhaled deeply and slowly. She had to retain control if she was to be of any help to Mac.

Without another word from her and before she could get a hat or gloves, he said they were going to walk to the car. He put the gun out of sight in his coat pocket but he raised it again to point it at her. "Go," he ordered.

She opened the front door.
God, help me.
In one last desperate attempt at freedom, she reached for the knob on the glass storm door. Tensed and ready to run, she stepped down to the stoop and pushed the door shut behind herself as hard as she could, slamming it back on the man. She heard the glass shattering behind her.

She broke into a run down the walk. Her feet slid sideways in the snow on the unshoveled walk. She reached out to grab the end of the garage as she rounded it to run across the driveway. She heard his curses close behind her.

Just a few more steps…

That was her last thought before the pain from a blow pierced the backside of her head, and she lurched forward onto the snow-covered driveway in front of his car.

"Get up, you bitch!" her captor shouted.

Carolyn choked as he lifted her to her feet by the neck of her coat. She felt the end of his gun pressing on her neck under her ear and swallowed hard. Her head throbbed. All her efforts toward freedom had only gotten her more pain and not an inch closer to helping Mac or herself.

"You're gonna get in the car nice, or I'll shoot you right here and now. Then I'll just let your boyfriend die. Is that the way you want it?"

"No.
No.
Please."

Coughing and breathing deeply in the cold air stabilized her rolling stomach enough so she could climb into the car as directed. She wiped her face on the arm of her coat and then put her cold wet hands on the back of her head to soothe the ache. They came away red with her own blood.

The man climbed in the driver's seat and saw her looking at her bloody hands. He laughed.

Carolyn wiped her hands on her coat to clean off the blood, not even caring about the damage she was doing to the fabric. She knew she would never wear it again as long as she lived. If she lived. She placed the cold fingers of her unburned hand back across the swelling knob where he had hit her with the butt of his gun.

As they pulled out of the driveway, she looked back and caught a glimpse of her front door before the bushes hid the view. The inside door was standing open and the metal-framed storm door was smashed and bent so it didn't close. Glass shards were scattered around the entry. They glistened like icicles in the falling fresh snow.

Few people would be out on a day like this. She wondered how long it would take for anyone to notice. Would Judy call and then come over when she got no answer?

Carolyn turned to her kidnapper. "Where is Mac? Where are you taking me?"

"You'll find out soon enough," he told her without looking in her direction.

"Why me? What can I do about your problem?"

The windshield wipers had a difficult time staying ahead of the heavy falling snow. The man was forced to drive slowly to avoid skidding.

"I said you'll find out soon enough, and you'd better be able to help him, sister. If you let him die, I'm going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble. I got orders to hold him 'til the boss gets here. So if he dies, you die. Now just shut up so I can concentrate on driving in this damn snow."

Carolyn watched the houses of Lakehaven move past her window through the heavy snow. In the slow moving oncoming traffic, she saw the Martins, her neighbors. They had to be driving home. Maybe they would see her open door and think something was amiss, but if they were paying as much attention to the road as her driver was, they would never look up at her house.

Tears stung her eyes as she watched the rows of Christmas trees at the cut-it-yourself stand go by. She saw a family happily tying a tree on top of their car. The kids were playing in the snow. For an instant she fantasized jumping out of the car as it slowed to turn, but it wouldn't work. The children! She could never endanger the children. Tears welled in her eyes when she wondered if she would she ever see her own child again.

"Not far now," the driver offered.

Carolyn's heart sped up. They passed the distinctive entrance to the long driveway into the VanVleet's farm. She'd helped that dear old couple by repairing a 1930 wedding dress so they could donate it to the local historical society.

The car kept moving. She saw no other tire tracks on the country road ahead of them. Other people knew better than to travel out in the middle of nowhere in the snow.

A couple of miles farther on, the driver slowed and pulled into what had been a motel in about the 1950's. The rundown little cabins looked totally abandoned except for the largest one at the back end of the row where a dim light shined through the slit between the drawn drapes. He parked the car in front of that cabin.

"Some vacation spot, huh? It wasn't hard to find the circuit box to turn on some electricity. Won't the owners be surprised when they get the bill?" He laughed, but his face sobered quickly when he aimed the gun at her. "Now get out nice and slow and walk to the door. No funny stuff, got that? There ain't nobody around to help ya. No place for ya to go except straight into the cabin, real nice like."

She looked around. He was right. Houses and farms were few and far between on this road. Even back toward town, where they were closer together, the curves and hills made it impossible to see from one to another. She couldn't even see the road from this cabin. Carolyn fought her rising panic.

"Move it!" he ordered.

She felt the barrel of the gun against her shoulder blade and trudged through the deep wet snow. Any footprints he'd left coming out of the cabin earlier had been filled in with new snow. She clutched her coat closed against the cold while she waited for him to unlock the door. She stepped into the dimly lit room and automatically stomped the snow off her wet sneakers.

Her senses were assaulted by the faded and peeling wallpaper, the worn furniture, the decades-old flowery linoleum, and the mildew, cigar, and stale urine smells. Her gaze moved to the lit kitchenette off the main room where the table showed evidence of take-out meals having been eaten there.

In the larger room she saw two double beds against the wall and a door leading to a bathroom. A small TV sat on the bedside table pushed next to the foot of the first bed.

In the dark end of the room on the second bed…

Carolyn saw Mac and gasped. He was lying at a strange angle across it. One ankle was tied to the footboard and one wrist was tied to the headboard so tightly that he couldn't move in either direction. His hand looked blue beyond the bindings. He was unconscious. Or else he was…

Carolyn's fear turned to anger. "Untie him at once. How could you do this to him?"

She ran across the room and kneeled on the bed at Mac's side and began pulling at the knots holding his wrist. Then she noticed the blood. In the dim light, it wasn't obvious at first on the red plaid shirt he wore. She succeeded in freeing his hand and rubbed it to restart the circulation and laid it at his side. She untied Mac's foot and lowered it to the bed.

She placed her fingers on Mac's neck and felt the weak but steady pulse. She felt relieved, but Mac hadn't moved or made a sound since she'd gotten there. Gathering her courage she began to assess Mac's injuries.

"What have you done to him? What's the blood from?" she asked while she pushed his hair back and laid her hand across his forehead. "He's burning up with fever. We've got to get him to a doctor," she said, turning back to their captor.

The man had taken off his coat and was fiddling with a space heater when he finally answered. "You want to know what the blood is from?" He snorted a laugh. "I shot him. Then he tried to shoot me, so I shot him a couple more times. Now you fix him up. He's gotta wake up just long enough to talk to the boss. That's all. He'll die then anyway."

His cruel words hit her as hard as his gun had on the back of her head. She couldn't catch her breath. Her lungs had collapsed and wouldn't accept any air. She sank down on the bed next to Mac, the old rusty springs squeaking under her. Mac's hand in hers, she doubled over and lowered her head to rest with her forehead in his palm until the light-headedness she felt passed.

She had no idea what to do to help Mac wake up, but she had to do something. They had to get out of here, away from the man with the gun. To do that Mac had to be awake. She stood and took off her coat and draped it over the footboard of the bed. Her own injuries forgotten, she started around the bed to get soap and water.

"Where do you think you're goin'?" The gun was aimed directly at her.

"I need to clean up and then I need something to wash him with. Are there clean towels?"

"Yeah. I stole some. In the bathroom through that door."

Carolyn headed for the towels first, but the sight of her face in the mirror over the little sink brought her up short. Her cheek was bruised and her hair wet with blood and melted snow. She found a bar of soap that she first used on herself. She cleaned her hands, at once relieved that the hot potato burns were just red and not blistering.

The bloody smears on her face went next and then she rinsed the bloody taste from her mouth. She toweled out some bloody water from her hair and was relieved to discover that, although her head pounded ferociously, the cut wasn't still bleeding.

She didn't waste any more time on herself. With the soap and the other clean towels, she headed for the kitchen for a pan of water. She wished it was sterile or boiled or something, but she had no choice. She returned to the second bed and began to undo Mac's shirt buttons. The fabric was stiff with dried blood. The shirt wasn't tucked into his jeans so when she had the buttons undone she opened it back easily to reveal his chest.

She cried out and her hand went to her mouth as a wave of nausea rose in her. The dark hairs on his chest were caked in dried blood from two ragged holes high on one shoulder near his scar. Thankfully, the wounds didn't seem to be bleeding much now.

After a few deep breaths to regain control of herself, she began to wash away the blood, working in gentle circles from near the wounds. She rinsed the cloth in the pan each time and started again.

She looked over to see their captor watching television as if nothing had happened. Why was he doing this? "Hello? Ah, what's your name? What do I call you?" she asked hesitantly.

"What's it to ya?"

"Nothing. I just wondered what name to use when I address you."

He looked back at the television. "Harry," he grunted.

"Good. I'm going to need your help, Harry. I have to get this shirt off Mac and I can't lift him and remove it alone. There's blood on his arm and on the bed under his shoulder. I want help lifting him so I can see his back. I'd like to know if the bullet went all the way through his shoulder."