The Piper (39 page)

Now she was in trouble, and she did not know where to turn. There was no help for her in organized religion, no history of trust. Ackerman, maybe reliable, maybe not, had disappeared into the labyrinth of nightmare tunnels beneath Waverly Hills, and Olivia held herself to blame, but had no clue what to do about it.

If Ack was right, and help was there for the taking, who was she supposed to ask?

So Olivia decided to hedge her bets. She called on Mother God, and Father God, and spiritual guides, angels, Buddha, her mother, her father and Chris.

And afterward, she did not sleep well, but she did sleep, finding herself moving into a numbed sort of detachment that made her wonder if she was breaking apart completely or gaining strength. The only thing she felt sure of was that there were bad things to come, and she needed all the help she could get.

O
livia slept little and woke early, restless now, in the hotel room bed, thinking that she had promised herself to stay until Teddy came home, and wondering if this would be her last night, if Teddy was coming home, one way or another. She drank coffee at the buffet downstairs, and had a glass of juice, then went to the river because she had nowhere else to go.

She sat on the bench near the spot in the river where Emily and Hunter's bodies had been found.

Olivia put her head in her hands. It was true, what Decan Ludde had said, it had wanted her all along. All these years since Emily had disappeared, she had thought in terms of bad things watching the people she loved. But the bad things had been watching her. She had an image of herself, just five years old, hair damp from a bubble bath, tucked into fresh pajamas, sound asleep on the couch. Completely unaware of the predator watching from the darkness, edging into the sanctuary of her house.

It had taken her sister, killed Emily, killed the dog, both dying to protect her, both dying to keep her safe. And then the piper had come back for her, as she slept unaware.

She had been lucky. Her parents had come home in time. A difference in traffic, a flat tire, a stalled car . . . a last minute errand on the way home and the piper would have had her for his own.

Was it true what Decan Ludde had said? Had she been marked from birth? The unfairness of it made her grind her teeth. What was she supposed to do? How could any normal person fight a thing like this?

Olivia put her head in her hands and closed her eyes. She was tired. So very tired. So ready just to give up and let go.

‘Help.' She said it out loud. ‘Please.'

She sat for a long time on the bench, listening to the sound of cars going up and down the road, distracted by the footsteps of a jogger going by, when noises in the water made her look out over the river. A boat had gone, leaving a wake, the water slapping gently on the rocks and bits of driftwood right at the water's edge. There was a breeze here, right by the water, the wind humming in her ears and blowing back her hair.

Something in the water caught her eye. Something dark, bobbing in the current. She looked at her watch. Two forty-five. It couldn't be. Too early. It couldn't be.

But she was up on her feet, and going to the edge, watching to reassure herself it was driftwood. Maybe a blue heron fishing for lunch. There were a lot of herons here.

A red cardinal fluttered close, and landed on the arm of the bench. The whir of cicadas rose and fell.

The thing in the water was not driftwood and it was not a heron. Whatever it was, it was moving. It was swimming. It was coming to shore, right where she was, and she watched, trembling all over, till it got close enough to recognize. A dog. A dog, swimming in the river, coming straight for her, snorting and huffing like dogs did when they swam.

‘Winston,' Olivia whispered.

But as the dog got closer, she could see that it was not a golden retriever. This one was a German shepherd. It came up on the rocks and shook itself and Olivia held out a hand.

‘Hunter?' she said.

Tan and silver brindle, even wet, she knew her own dog.

‘Hunter?' she said again, holding out a hand.

The dog shook itself again, then climbed nimbly up the rocks and ran past her into the grass. Olivia watched, then decided to follow. She needed to touch the dog and see if it was real, but it kept moving, hesitating every few steps, until the obvious dawned on her, and she realized she was being led.

The dog limped. Left hind leg. Olivia noticed that. She noticed everything. That it was warm out, and sunny, and that because it was the middle of the day there was no one else in the park. The dog kept going, across the wide grassy area, heading for the line of houses. He was going quickly now, and Olivia had to run. She looked at her watch. It was three minutes after three.

And it hit her. The exact words of the warning. Not three fifteen. But three fifteen, three fifteen, repeated twice. Three fifteen on March fifteenth. That was the deadline. It was happening today. Teddy had twelve minutes to go.

The dog was loping now, and Olivia ran, and ran hard. Out of breath, but running, she would run till she died if she had to. How far, she wondered. Twelve minutes left, how far?

The dog veered left, to a house that was under renovation. A huge place, two levels, with a wide tiered terrace that looked out over the river. The dog scrambled up the gray slate steps, and Olivia followed. No workmen today, just a concrete mixer, and a dump truck. Plastic drink bottles, most of them empty, lying on their side, but a half full liter bottle of Mountain Dew forgotten on a brick wall, remains of a workman's lunch. Nobody on the job today.

The back door was gone, heavy plastic nailed in place to keep the weather out. But the plastic had been there a while, and there was already a hole, the plastic shredded on one side, and the dog disappeared into the house, with Olivia following. She stopped inside. Wood floors copiously tracked with sawdust, and the stairs leading up to the second floor, where all the rooms were intact.

Olivia heard noise over her head. The dog had gone upstairs.

Wet dog prints on the carpet led to the master bedroom suite. There had been a fire, that's why the house was being redone. No furniture but a bed frame, and a couple of sagging dusty boxes, and the smell of smoke and some kind of chemical that had turned the wheat colored carpet brown.

The room was nicely proportioned, not as big as the masters in newer houses, but there was genuine smoke stained molding around the trey ceiling, a blackened fireplace in a sitting room area, which was clearly where the fire started, and a bathroom off to one side. His and her sinks and a Jacuzzi. An impression of marble with pinkish swirls.

Olivia went through the bedroom, calling Teddy's name. She looked at her cell phone. Three twelve. Teddy had three minutes left. Olivia pulled at her hair, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do.

And then she saw it. A tiny little painting of a bed and breakfast in Savannah, Georgia, oddly placed on the dressing room wall. There had been other pictures, Olivia could see the marks where they had been hung on the wall. But the homeowners had wisely taken them away. Not left them to be found by anyone wandering through the plastic door to their house. All the pictures but one. There had to be a reason for that.

Olivia took the picture off the wall, and there it was. The control. One of those horrible little keypads with numbers and symbols and a red dot of pulsing light that signaled an intruder. It had probably come with a six page booklet of instructions, but it was the entry to a safe room. Lots of people had them in California. Evidently the rich people in Knoxville had them too.

And as she picked up her cell phone to call the police, Olivia checked the time. Three fourteen. Three fourteen on three fifteen. If her theory was right, Teddy had one minute left.

Nine days. Nine days locked away in a safe room without food, without water. Olivia would call the police, who would call the owner, and they would all of them be too late. It might take hours to track down the code.

And then she remembered, almost like a voice in her mind, what Patsy Ackerman had told her. That there was help when you needed it, if you looked, if you tuned in. And she remembered Hugh, in the restaurant, swearing he would buy Teddy eighty-seven thousand, three hundred forty-seven books.

Eighty-seven thousand, three hundred forty-seven. Books. Or a five digit code?

Olivia punched the numbers into the pad, there was a loud click, and the door swung open. Just like magic, just like that.

The first thing she noticed was the smell.

Winston was on his side, and Teddy lay on the floor beside him, the two of them making her think of those two skeletons in the blanket, lying side by side. Winston whimpered but could not seem to lift his head. Teddy's eyes were open to little slits. But they were moving, just under the lids, as if she were in a dream.

No water, no food, no bathroom. Both of them lying on a concrete floor. Nine days without water, water that comprised two-thirds of the human body weight. Water needed for every basic human function – blood circulation, respiration, and without it, the blood slowly thickening, the heart working harder. Teddy and Winston looked like little old men, as if they had aged together in that barren concrete room, eyes sunken, flesh contracting and wrinkling as the skin lost elasticity and the body literally shriveled in on itself.

Olivia ran down the stairs, remembering the bottle of Mountain Dew. Sugar water, fast, and then help.

Back up the stairs as fast as she could go, calling 911 on her cell as she ran. She could rub the liquid on Teddy's lips, maybe coax a little down, but Teddy needed glucose and IVs and all the help she could get.

She ran into the bedroom thinking she could do this, it was going to work out, she could pull it off, Teddy was going to be safe.

Teddy was here, Teddy was alive. Olivia rubbed liquid on her daughter's dry cracked lips, cradled her in her arms, holding up her head. She dipped her fingers in liquid, over and over, rubbing it on Teddy's gums, prying the teeth open, wanting to pour liquid in, but knowing Teddy could choke. She had to be on time. She had to be on time.

Beside her, she felt Winston twitch, heard the low weak growl from the back of his throat just as she felt a hand on her ankle. Olivia screamed and jerked away.

‘
Olivia.
'

A whisper, though when she turned, there was no one there.

‘Olivia. One more chance.' She did not know where the voice was coming from. Maybe she was crazy. Maybe it was in her head.

‘They won't make it, you know, if you don't come to me. I heard you when you said you'd changed your mind, Olivia. I heard you invite me back. I've wanted you such a long time.'

‘No,' she started to say.

But the words would not come, because the piper, whatever he was, had grabbed her by the throat.

Olivia clawed at her neck, unable to breathe, held in the grip of a strength and rage that gave her a new awareness of how small she was, how feeble, how weak, how helpless. She shut her eyes but would not give in. She felt like she was falling, was aware of voices and words she could not make out.

And the sirens came, loud and close, and voices, human voices, men in a hurry and footsteps and the clatter and commotion that humans always make.

The grip was off her throat. She lay on the floor beside Teddy, hands touching the swelling muscles of her neck, aware of the concrete beneath her back, the human smells of the room. She could not talk when the EMTs began firing questions. But she could breathe. She could breathe, and she was grateful for that.

The paramedics worked their magic with the grim look of professionals who would do their best, but held out very little hope. Once the IVs were in, Teddy was whisked away on a stretcher. Olivia looked at Winston. He was too weak to move, but he watched her, aware, and Olivia imagined the deep brown eyes sending her gratitude and love no matter how it turned out. She saw a tech bend over the dog, shrug his shoulders and tell someone she could not see that he wasn't a vet, but he'd do what he could.

Someone helped Olivia to her feet. Guided her down the stairs. There was no sign of Decan Ludde, or Hunter, her beloved protector and dog. She checked the time. Four forty-five. The deadline had come and gone.

Olivia followed the EMTs down the stairs, feeling a pit of cold in her stomach at the way they took care to keep her close to Teddy, insisting she be right there in the back of the ambulance. She puzzled over their terse medical codes involving respiration, hypotonia and hypervolemic shock. They were having trouble with Teddy's IV, tiny shriveled veins collapsing. A burly man with an iron gray crew cut encouraged her to talk softly to Teddy, and hold the delicate hand, and Olivia could not help feeling that he was thinking of final moments in a life, and giving her a chance to tell Teddy she loved her, to tell Teddy goodbye.

Teddy's hand was unresponsive, small and precious, and Olivia held it tight, thinking how Emily and Teddy were home at last.

The ambulance turned a corner to the hospital and pulled to the emergency entrance out front. Olivia had an odd and sudden sensation, as if she had passed through cobwebs, followed by that familiar voice in her ear.

‘
See you in your dreams, Olivia.
'

F
or the first time, in a very long time, Olivia was able to celebrate her birthday at Naples Italian Restaurant. Even as a little girl, her birthdays made her secretly sad. Tonight she looked out at all the smiling faces, like she did every year, and realized that it was fear that made her anxious, fear that made her sad. Fear of change, of the comings and goings of the ones you love, of the way she so often felt left behind. Wisdom was acceptance, and freedom from fear, but for Olivia, wisdom felt a long way away.

The mysterious bruising on her chest and throat had faded slowly and finally healed, her flesh supple, lightly freckled, pale. But her voice was not the same. A husky note could not be shaken off, and there were twinges of pain, like a memory, whenever she talked too loud. She felt like she had been marked, branded for the rest of her life.
We knew you before you were born
, Decan Ludde had said.