The Monolith Murders (21 page)

The next morning she woke up with a start. She hadn’t wanted to fall asleep but she had been totally drained from her long drive, amplified by the petrifying fear of Donna that had crept into and lodged in her weary bones. During the night her dreams had been replete with thoughts of dark creatures breaking into her hotel room.
 

Maureen had noctiphobia, an abnormal persistent fear of the night. Maureen had that phobia for as long as she could remember, but its severity grew much worse during an outing she had with her uncle when she was a child. On that day he had taken her to an amusement park in western New York. The park contained several rides, one of which was a tunnel of love. She viewed from a distance the well-lighted happy fiberglass cartoon figures in the front of the tunnel welcoming them in. Maureen’s constant pleadings finally persuaded a reluctant uncle to take her on the ride. She sat on one side of the bright yellow fiberglass boat, her uncle on the other. She laughed at the fully animated life-size cartoon figures as the boat slowly proceeded down the still waters guided by a controlling submerged rail system invisible to the ride’s occupants. Everything was positive for Maureen until the boat turned the corner and she entered into complete darkness.
 

Suddenly in her undeveloped child’s mind, her uncle had transformed into an ogre whose features were now hidden by the total darkness. Terrified, Maureen dived out of the boat, frantically wading through the colored sea blue water back to the entrance of the ride. Maureen’s new dress was soaked from the encounter.
 

When her father heard about the incident, he angrily slapped Maureen twice. What she construed as her father’s cruelty seemed to reinforce her already deep fear of the dark. The fear continued unabated throughout her adolescence into adulthood.
 

She had studied psychology to try to understand her phobia and how to counteract it. Even sensitivity training failed, where she was exposed to total darkness for short periods and then rewarded if she successfully made her way through it. But any success that she had was transitional; soon after her treatment, she invariably reverted back to her acute fear state.
 

This morning she quickly surveyed the motel’s parking lot; as far as she could, tell Donna wasn’t out there stalking her shadow. Maureen didn’t take time to get breakfast even though an inviting MacDonald’s was just across the street and she could smell bacon and sausages cooking. She returned to I-5, continuing due north heading toward Seattle.

Chapter 34

After Fred left the condo, he “borrowed” some of Atwell’s clothes, much to the disapproval of the investigating condo cops who considered them as possible evidence.
 

Fred was clearly a fashion victim as he traveled to the San Diego Airport in pants at least two inches too short for him and a shirt whose buttons had already started popping. A large bandage covered his broken nose, completing his unfathomable image.
 

 
From the condo’s doorman he had verified the approximate time that Donna had left the condo the day before. When he arrived at the airport, he checked the daily schedule of all flights to Sarasota. He figured that she needed at least an hour to go from the condo to the airport to catch the earliest flight available to her. He thought she had a significant window of time to select from an array of evening and night flights returning to Sarasota; but fortunately, only two airlines left for Sarasota during that day and time period. Each airline had two flights leaving during the evening and night hours. The next flight after that which was available to Donna did not leave until seven the next morning. Fred made an educated guess that Donna would not wait until morning to return to Sarasota.
 

He went to each airline’s ticket desk, showed his badge and asked for the names and phone numbers of the flight attendants serving each of the evening and night flights. Fortunately, all of them had a permanent address in San Diego and they all had continued the previous day on their flights, directly from Sarasota.
 

The question was how would Fred describe Donna? He knew she would have used a phony name and most likely a false driver’s license; he was also certain that she had changed her appearance. When he reached the first attendant, he described Donna’s voice and her mannerisms as best as he could recall. He didn’t want to describe her appearance in detail since he had no idea what she looked like except that she was short and petite, two features he had hoped had not been changed even if she had on a disguise. He added to his description of her that she would have most likely been traveling alone.
 

Although all of the initial airline contacts that he reached were cooperative, they each said they dealt with so many passengers that the vague description he provided was no help.
 

Finally, on his eighth call he hit pay dirt. The attendant said, “She might have been the person. There was a lady who was getting off the plane, and she whispered in my ear saying that she had to tell me something important. I didn’t know what that was all about, but in this day and age of terrorism we’re taught not to take any chances. In the passenger’s words, she said the lady next to her was a mind reader, because she responded to something she never said out loud but only thought of. At the time, I figured this lady was some kind of a nut, but I clearly recall what the woman seated next to her looked like; she was heavily made up. She had a gray wig on. I can tell cheap imitations from the real thing; but I also thought I saw strands of blonde hair coming out at the back of her wig. I wondered why at the time someone would try to make herself look older than she was. God knows I try to do just the opposite. There’s not enough wrinkle cream on the market to satisfy me.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about the woman?” Fred asked.
 

“Sure, I now remember her name, it was Janet Stevens. She was quiet during the entire flight; she asked for a couple of Manhattans, but that was about it. She was sitting in the first class section. I guess that’s why I recall her; I didn’t have to cater to that many passengers.”
 

Great, Fred thought, I now know her alias but I’m not sure where that will get me. He did learn that she was wearing a gray wig. We’ll change our all-points to reflect the changes in her appearance that the attendant told me about, Fred thought, but that most likely won’t help much unless we get a big break and she retains that identity for a period of time. The bad news from the attendant’s message was that Donna was able to read minds again. Fred realized the worst had happened; her powers had been restored. And Fred had run out of time.

Chapter 35

Whenever both Donna and Polish went out, Anderson was securely bound to an embedded cast iron vent pipe about four inches in diameter. The pipe extended from the cement floor in the laundry addition, to just above the highest point in the trailer’s roof. It was well rooted in cement; he couldn’t budge it.
 

He could often hear the voices of young kids playing somewhere outside in the distance. But since he was gagged, no matter how hard he tried he could only release low inaudible sounds which didn’t travel beyond his trailer.
 

His hands were handcuffed in the back to a thick metal chain that encircled the vent pipe. His ankles were bound with what he assumed was a piece of the same heavy duty chain. A sturdy padlock secured the two ends, ensuring that he could not get free or even separate his legs. Another chain, also linked together by a padlock, stemmed from his handcuffs to the chain holding his ankles.
 

He had told his captives that he needed to be able to go to the bathroom when they left him for long periods. Donna said, “Go ahead; piss in your pants, this is not the Ritz, you know.” Since Anderson could only relieve himself in his clothes when the two were gone, he was forced to wait in agony until they returned.
 

Restricted by his awkward position and lack of movement, he could apply only limited leverage against the constraining pipe. However, as he continued to struggle, he seemed to feel some minimal movement. He wasn’t sure if it was an actual movement or a product of his burgeoning imagination triggered by sheer exhaustion. At that same moment he heard the sound of Donna or Polish closing the front door.

As was her normal practice, she immediately went to check on Anderson. Seeing that he was still well secured, she released his hands from the vent. The connecting chain was also unlocked so he could now hop uncomfortably around the trailer. She opened the door to the bathroom, pushed him in, pulled down his shorts and underwear and said, “Go to it.”

“This is embarrassing,” he said.

“You’re a medical doctor—get over it; call me when you’re finished and don’t take forever.”

After he was done she re-dressed him, returning him to the living room sofa, where he was required to stay until he was again securely bound in the laundry room where he would spend the night.
 

That night he heard distant voices from the TV in the living room of the trailer. Then he distinctly recognized the sound of the front door closing. A few seconds later he could barely discern the sound of their car’s motor starting in the driveway.

Both seemed to be TV fanatics and when either was out of the trailer, the first thing the remaining one would do was turn on the TV. This time he recognized only silence in the adjoining room. After ten minutes passed, he was certain that the trailer was unoccupied. With as much force and leverage as he could muster, he feverishly attempted once again to move the vent pipe back and forth. He was hoping that even with minimal movement metal fatigue would finally set in. Then he heard it. The most pleasurable sound in his life, that of the rusty cast iron pipe cracking.
 

His wrists were bound by a padlocked chain and tied securely around the vent pipe. Once the vent pipe fractured, he could partially free himself. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to remove any other parts of the chain. Using the adjacent rusty clothes washer for leverage, he was able to get his balance and laboriously rise to his feet.
 

Now, he thought, what have I done? If they come back right away and find out that I’ve gotten free, that will be the end for me. I have to get out of the trailer immediately. He made his way to the laundry room door turning around so that he could grasp and turn the doorknob behind his back with his tied hands. He opened it, immediately losing his balance falling hard on the pressure treated wooden steps of the trailer. The fall momentarily drove the wind out of him. At least I’m free, he thought.
 

He had no idea of the time, but he estimated it had to be after seven, because the countryside was immersed in darkness. A few low wattage park lights made a lame attempt to illuminate the dark trailer park streets. Still out of breath, he visually canvassed the park. No lights were on in any of the nearby trailers. He looked in the direction of where he thought he had heard kids playing earlier in the week. Nothing. He could attempt to hop to one trailer after another seeking help; but he was fearful that Donna would return in the interim and catch him. There would be no way he could get away under those conditions.

He decided his fastest escape would be by literally rolling out of the park. He started rolling, at first very slowly because it was a means of propulsion that he had never attempted before, and his muscles weren’t conditioned adequately to propel him at more than at a snail’s pace.
 

Aching and exhausted, he rolled to the park entrance. It was there he saw the sign—Trailer Park for Sale. That makes sense, he thought; the owner of the park was allowing tenants to remain in the park only until their lease was up. Donna must have rented the trailer only because she agreed to stay for just a short period; and it would provide the owner with more income until the sale went through. For her purposes she would also be free from a lot of curious neighbors.

He saw no cars parked in any of the driveways of the other trailers. Anderson reasoned that the trailer that had housed the kids that he had heard playing a couple days ago was likely now also unoccupied. I’m glad I didn’t try to go from trailer to trailer doors, or it would have just been a matter of time until Donna discovered me, Anderson thought.

He continued his painful laborious rolling until he reached route 72—the lightly traveled conduit between Sarasota and Arcadia. He knew this deserted highway well; it entered the unpopulated belly of Florida. It was rarely traveled at night, and there were very few houses residing in any part of its 40 mile stretch. So he assumed that he was close to one of the two towns, but which one in which direction? He gingerly hopped across the highway falling exhausted into the shoulder when he reached the other side.

In the distance he saw the lights of a car rapidly approaching from the west. He thought if he could only get up and move into the beam of their headlights the driver would have to see me. Then he painfully realized that it might be Donna and Polish returning from Sarasota. He rolled out of the soggy shoulder into the adjoining open field lying prone and out of sight from passing traffic. The car passed the entrance to the trailer park. Hell, Anderson thought, it wasn’t Donna and her lover—I could have been rescued.
 

He stayed in the same spot for another ten minutes, gradually getting his breath and energy back. In the interim, no car passed from either direction. He realized that if his captors returned to the park and found him missing, they would most likely search for him near the park since they were all too familiar his with the limiting bondage he was secured in. Anderson noticed a large clump of oak trees nearby. He decided the trees would provide him a modicum of security since he would then be out of sight from the highway, and he also would have progressed a tad further from the trailer park. Although the tree line was no more than three football fields away, he found that he could proceed at only the slightest pace as he rolled and hopped toward his destination.