The Depth of Darkness (Mitch Tanner #1) (18 page)

The temperature readout on the dash said it
had dropped below eighty degrees outside. Some fresh air would be
nice. I rolled down all four windows and turned the radio up. The
baseball game was on. I didn’t pay attention. I let it act as
background noise to drown out my thoughts.

By the time I reached my neighborhood, the
sun was deep in the west, behind the trees. The sky faded from deep
red, to a light pink, to dark blue to the east. I pulled up to the
curb and stopped a few houses down from mine. I waited there for
fifteen minutes while watching the shadows.

What a day, I thought as I opened the door
and stood. I crossed the street to the sidewalk, cut across my
front yard and then opened the door to the screened porch. A nice
breeze blew through. Mosquitoes hummed from the other side of the
protective netting. Best investment I ever made, screening in this
porch. Before sticking my key into the doorknob, I made sure it was
still locked. It was. I righted that situation and stepped inside.
After a quick search, I heated up some leftover pizza and finished
off the five stray beers that had once been part of a twelve
pack.

Dinner was good. The beer dessert had been
better. During my meal, Sam called to let me know he’d picked up
Ella and my mother and had them safely at his house. Confident they
were okay for the night, I settled in on the couch for a little TV
time.

I’m not sure what time I fell asleep. I
hadn’t made it to Letterman. Hadn’t even seen the late news.
Probably better. That stuff can be depressing. I knew it was two in
the morning when the doorbell rang, though. The cable box said
so.

It felt like hours had passed since Debby had
last heard the banging. In the time since, she’d dozed off a few
times. How long? She had no way of knowing. Of all the things that
were in Beans’s backpack, there was no watch. They found some
snacks, which were welcomed to say the least. A bottle of water,
which they split equally, as best they could tell. His books were
in there, and two small flashlights. Debby took one, Beans the
other. Neither had been brave enough to use them, not even to make
sure they worked.

As she lie there wondering what had hit her
in the face, she fought against the temptation of pulling the
flashlight from her pocket and turning it on. What if the men were
out there? They’d see the light and come in and take it from her.
At the very least, that was all they’d do. They might beat her for
it. The ceiling creaked. Footsteps followed, a pattern of three
steps, then a pause. The steps resumed as the walker went from one
side of the room to the other.

Debby reached over and shook Beans’s leg. He
kicked back in response. She needed for him to wake up, so she
shook him again. Not too hard, though. She didn’t want to make his
arm move and cause him any more pain.

“Get up,” she whispered.

“What?” he asked, sounding groggy.

“Quiet down.” After a pause, she added, “Did
you hear that?’

“Hear what?” he whispered.

“Those footsteps.”

She felt a slight breeze as he shifted
forward, followed by the smell of his lotion. A few moments passed.
His hand wrapped around hers when the footsteps started again.

“I thought whoever was up there had left,” he
said.

She nodded, and then realized that he
couldn’t see her. “Me, too.”

The sound of the steps went around the
perimeter of the room once, then twice. After that, they crossed to
the middle and stopped right above them. Debby dug her nails into
Beans’s left hand.

“I’ve already got one broken arm,” he said.
“You squeeze any tighter, I’ll have two.”

She let go and said, “Sorry.”

He laughed softly. She wondered how he could
do that through the pain of a broken forearm. She’d broken her leg
in the past and could still remember how bad it hurt, and they’d
given her pain medication. She didn’t get to take all of the pills,
of course, thanks to her mother.

The sound of a door opening and then shutting
echoed through the small room. A second set of shoes walked on the
floor above. The door opened again. A third person entered the
room. The steps became a hodgepodge of
clicks
and
clacks
that reverberated inside Debby’s head like an
unmatched drum set.

“Who do you think it is?” she asked.

“Has to be them,” he said. The fear had left
his voice. It was as if locking Beans in this room with Debby and
having a broken arm had made a man out of him. He had to protect
her. She was impressed by his resolve. Maybe she’d never have to
protect him from the other kids again. Beans the Recess Yard
Conqueror would make them pay for years of previous torment.

It sounded like two distinct sets of feet
passed overhead. A snare and a bass. They traveled in the direction
of the door. At least where Debby figured the door was located. A
couple minutes passed. Debby hoped that the ruckus was nothing more
than a changing of the guard. The overnight shift taking over for
the late shift. Please, let it be that, she thought.

The scraping sound against the door that held
them inside the room told her otherwise.

She attributed the sound to a piece of wood
or metal that they used to secure the door. A lock could be picked.
Maybe not by kids, but why take chances, right? But barricading the
door would prevent any chance of Debby and Beans escaping the dirty
dungeon.

The scraping stopped. A thump and a click
followed. Maybe another lock, she guessed. For a second she felt
hopeful that they were being rescued.

“Get behind me, Debby,” Beans said.

She didn’t. Beans would not take the fall.
She stayed right beside him, clutching his hand in hers.

The door opened, grating across the floor.
The doorway remained dark for a moment, then it erupted into light.
The bright artificial sun had returned. Pain shot through Debby’s
eyes all the way to the back of her brain. The hope that she held
for a rescue attempt disappeared with the darkness.

“Opposite sides,” the guy said.

Debby held onto Beans’s hand, and he hers.
Neither of them moved. She covered her eyes with her free hand,
using it to block out the bright bulb. She made out the shape of
the man who’d taken Beans from the recess yard. Behind him was
another man. Maybe the guy who drove the van.

Who remained upstairs?

The guy duck-walked his way through the
doorway. He looked at her, then Beans. “Opposite sides!” he
shouted.

Beans clutched her hand tight, refusing to
let her go.

“You little bastards,” the guy said. “You
want another broken arm?” He pointed at Beans.

“Go ahead, break it,” Beans snapped back.
Beans the Brave. His story would be told from the highest slide at
every playground across the country.

The guy smiled. “Oh I will. And then I’ll
break hers.”

Beans let go of Debby’s hand and then scooted
along the floor to the other side.

“Beans,” she said.

“Just do what he says, Debby,” Beans
said.

“Yeah, Debby,” the guy said. “Do what I say.”
The smile on his face broadened. He’d cut his hair down to his
scalp since she’d last seen him. She thought he looked like some
kind of sick dog, hunched over and ready to pounce. She bet that if
she looked closer, there would be drool hanging from his mouth.
“Move!”

Debby jerked to the side. She crawled to the
wall and leaned back against it. Inspiration filled her at that
moment. “What do you want with us?”

The guy stared at her and said nothing. She
looked past him and noticed that the other man had left. Where had
he gone? Why had he been there if he was only going to leave
again?

Her questions were answered a moment
later.

The guy reappeared. He ducked down and stuck
his head into the room. Once again, he looked familiar to her, but
she couldn’t quite place him.

“Get the girl,” the man outside the room told
the other guy. “And leave the boy for now. He’s the important one.
She’s just…trash.”

Debby had been called many things during her
short life. Nerd, geek, loser, dork, pain in the ass, dumb little
kid, and a few others that she’d blocked from her memory because
they’d come from her mother. But she’d never been called trash. She
never wanted to be called that, because there were only two things
you did with trash.

Throw it away, or burn it.

“Come on girl,” the buzzed head guy said.

She balled up and began to cry. The man
wrapped his hands around her upper arms and dragged her along the
floor.

“Let her go,” Beans said.

“Don’t you move,” the other man said. It
sounded like a gun was cocked immediately afterward. Debby didn’t
open her eyes to check.

“Debby,” Beans said.

She wanted to call out to him. So many things
to say, so few feet left to say them in.
I love you, Beans. Be
careful, Beans. Cooperate, Beans. Tell my mom I love her.
She
wasn’t sure if the last one was true or not, but at least it would
make her mom feel better. Not a single word escaped her mouth,
though. She felt herself hoisted into the air and heard the door
slammed shut. She opened her eyes and saw a thick board being
placed across the door. Then her world went black. They’d slipped a
hood over her head. The footsteps returned moments after. Close,
this time. Underneath her.
Thump, thump, thump.
Up the
stairs they went.

Inside? Outside? It was all the same to
Debby, who remained in the dark.

I rolled over on the couch and felt around
the floor for my pistol. Cold steel brushed against my fingertips.
The gun had somehow ended up underneath the ottoman. I grabbed it,
rose and walked to the door. Unlike Lana’s front door, mine had a
peephole. I peered through to the dark porch. The light was off. I
expected to find Vinson and Braden on my porch. The figure I saw
standing there belonged to a female. I couldn’t tell who, though.
Definitely not Lana.

“Open up, Mitch,” the woman said.

I took a moment to place the voice. The
distinct southern accent was not one you heard around these parts
that often. It belonged to Bridget Dinapoli.

“Come on, I know you’re there.” She tapped
against the door lightly. “You blocked the light in the
peephole.”

“Shit,” I muttered. “All right, give me a
moment.” I looked to my right. A full-length mirror hung on the
wall. I stood there in my boxers and nothing else. What would the
neighbors say? Who cares, I thought. I unlocked the door and pulled
it open.

Bridget stood on the porch, about two feet
from the open doorway. She had on blue jeans and a white t-shirt
with a logo I couldn’t make out in the dark. Her hair splashed
across her forehead and cheeks, and hung over her shoulders. It
framed her face. Made it seem softer. She smiled at me and stuck
her thumbs in her front pockets.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it’s late. I
couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking I should apologize.”

“For sending your guys after me?”

“What?” she leaned back. “Sam told me about
that. I had nothing to do with that, Mitch. I still don’t know who
did, but I’m trying to find out.”

I studied her for a minute. She looked
sincere, but that’s what made the best liars successful. Came with
the territory. “Well, what are you apologizing for then?”

“I feel like this mess you’re in is my
fault.”

“You didn’t make me hit another man.”

“But I might have contributed to extra stress
that in the end sent you over the edge.”

I laughed at this. “A murdered woman
contributed to this. A murdered principal, gunned down in front of
his school, contributed to this. A girlfriend with a broken leg and
concussion, two kids taken, that’s what contributed to this.
Believe me, Bridget, you had nothing to do with this. I’m used to
dealing with adversity on the job. I leave it at work. Besides, you
already eased up. This morning is water under the bridge.” I paused
and shook my head. “Then that asshole goes and makes a comment
about Lana. It set me off.”

She nodded. “I’m sure that’s a touchy
subject.” She reached out, placed her hand high on the door frame
and leaned forward. “I’m sorry about that, too.”

“About what?”

“I…” She straightened and hiked her thumb
over her shoulder while looking to the side. Her hair whipped
around. I caught a whiff of the scented shampoo or conditioner she
used. Lavender, I thought. “I should probably leave. I think I’ve
overstepped my boundaries and said too much.”

I took a step back to unblock the doorway.
“Come on inside.”

“I shouldn’t.” She retreated a couple steps
back.

“You came all this way. I think I’ve got a
few beers in the fridge in the garage. Might as well come in for
one. We’re both up.”

Bridget chewed on her bottom lip while
looking toward my feet. After a moment, she agreed to come in. I
waited for her to pass, then shut and locked the door.

“What’s this about?” I asked.

“Beer first,” she said without looking back.
She stopped at the end of the hall and waited for me to lead her to
the garage. I opened the door and flipped on the light. “Nice
Mustang.” She walked over to the Boss and traced her fingers along
the hood. “This a seventy?”

“Sixty-nine. All original.”

“How long have you had it?”

I opened the fridge, pulled out two beers and
opened them with the bottle opener mounted to the freezer handle.
“A little while.”

“Gift to yourself when you became
single?”

I shrugged and looked away. “Let’s get back
to Lana. What’s there to be sorry about?”

“Fairchild said he sent you the transcripts
of his interview with Ben McCree.”

I recalled seeing the message right before
Vinson and Braden knocked on Lana’s door. I’d forgotten about it
until that moment.