Well, it certainly was an interesting garden focal point. Shivering, she ran up the steps to the back entrance, hoping without much optimism that it was open. There was no knob on the door. Instead, a green light off to one side glowed balefully over a number code pad. It was one of those new computerized security locks.
Facing this technological dragon’s eye, she paused, deliberating, cueing her own eyes to green as she did so. So there was a code—a riddle from the dragon. Very well. She licked her lips.
For a moment she floundered in the face of thousands of possible mathematical combinations. But, regaining her equilibrium, she forced herself to try to remember the larger picture. What sort of code might Mr. Freet use for his lair?
She was hesitant to try random numbers, in case it set off some sort of alarm. “Bother,” she said at last. Without divine inspiration, how could she possibly figure this riddle out?
Her eyes strayed around the garden, over the various strange ornaments, and inevitably she found herself trading stares with that horrible beast in the center of the garden. It looked vaguely familiar, like some sort of mythic animal she had once read about …
Wait a minute! Taking a deep breath, she struck out on a sudden idea. Her finger pushed the keypad three times—six, six, six. There was a brief click and the door swung open. Rose stared in astonishment, momentarily forgetting her crusade. The number of the beast…She certainly hoped Mr. Freet had chosen that number as a joke, but if not…what was she getting herself into?
Chapter 17
INSIDE THE HOUSE, Rose caught a glimpse of dark, shadowed splendor. She cracked the door a bit wider. A large alabaster dog stood a few feet away, gazing at her. The room beyond was a carpeted, curtained parlor crammed with all sorts of ornamental statues and bric-a-brac. Yes, Mr. Freet was a hoarder, all right.
She paused on the threshold, trying to re-gather her store of caution. Ironically, she felt the same as she had in the doorway of Rob’s parents’ bedroom. This could be a trap. A trap, conscience warned.
But the situation at hand was completely different. She wasn’t acting out of vanity, or refusal to think. She was entering what might be her river of blood—deliberately.
Her courage rallied, and without further question she stepped inside.
The sullen silence in the car continued. Tom, whom Blanche recognized as one of the boys who had attacked Bear on prom night, drove on moodily. She wondered if she had inadvertently gotten drawn into the drug ring at the school.
They were still in the Bronx, somewhere near the Expressway. No one spoke as they turned onto a side street and headed for the industrial park cluster nearby. Blanche could hear Lisa swearing repeatedly under her breath. Eileen stared straight ahead with a fixed expression on her face.
Blanche still found it almost impossible to breathe freely. Where were they taking her? What were they going to do to her? She tried to rein in her terrified imagination, and felt that somehow things would be easier if she could simply acknowledge the fact that something horrible might happen to her instead of repeatedly insisting that she was still safe. She pulled the pink calico skirt of her jumper more tightly over her knees, glad for what she was wearing. She would have felt far more vulnerable if this had happened when she was wearing her prom dress.
The car pulled into the deserted parking lot of a warehouse complex near the highway ramps. Realizing that her jaw had been clenched for the past ten minutes, she attempted vainly to relax.
They were in a narrow stretch between several huge storage buildings, blocked in on three sides. Directly ahead of the car, three closed doors looked out onto a raised loading platform, which stood prominently in the middle of the courtyard, like an executioner’s scaffold. Blanche quickly glanced back at the open side and saw an empty field. Beyond it was the highway.
Tom stopped the car. “Should we get out?” he asked.
“Yeah, whatever,” Rob said abruptly. “Bring her, too.” The guys got out. Lisa opened her door, and pulled Blanche out, with Eileen, still keeping a grip on Blanche’s other arm, following. Rob walked towards the platform and sat down on the edge, his back to the wall and legs hanging down. Tom and Carl lounged by the car, lighting cigarettes.
Rob smiled at Blanche as the girls brought her towards him, apparently having decided to keep up the facade of charm.
“Have a seat,” he said to her. Lisa and Eileen sat, forcing Blanche to sit between them. Rob lit up a cigarette and glanced at Blanche, sideways.
“Smoke, Blanche?”
She shook her head.
He smiled and blew smoke in the air. “Might have guessed. You don’t do very much, do you?”
I guess not, Blanche answered him in her mind. Not by your standards.
“What do you do? Sit at home all day, sewing?” Lisa asked derisively. “Give me the pack, Rob. I need a smoke. My nerves are shot.”
“Relax, Leez. There’s nothing to be uptight about.”
“I thought you said we’re meeting someone here.”
“We are. Just relax.” Rob looked at Blanche calculatingly with his cobalt eyes and took another drag. “Do I scare you, Blanche?”
“Oh, she’s scared, Robbie. You can trust the Immaculate Complexion to be scared. She just doesn’t know anything,” Lisa complained, blowing out smoke and coughing.
“Well, I think she does.” Rob continued to stare a bit mockingly at Blanche.
Lisa was irritated. “This whole setup is so stupid. This guy’ll give her the third degree for nothing, and then he’ll have something to hang over our heads because we brought her here. Ever think of that?”
“Shut up, Lisa,” Eileen said abruptly. She had been keeping quiet, but she seemed to be as nervous as Lisa was.
“Leez, don’t even try to think. It’s bad for a brain like yours.” Rob pulled his sunglasses back over his face and tossed the empty cigarette pack on the ground. “Besides, Blanche’s sister owes me something. This will be a lesson for her, too.”
Sister. Blanche felt a new pang of apprehension. I wonder where she is, she thought. And, glancing at her captors, she prayed, I hope she’s safely at home.
What Rose needed was to find the door to the basement. She surveyed the two doors leading out of the parlor. Feeling as though she was having to choose between the lady and the tiger, she finally tiptoed through the right-hand one into a carpeted hallway. She passed a library room stocked with books. Next to it was a staircase. A life-sized stone boy, naked, with angel’s wings, stood in the stairwell. His hand held out an ashtray, and his empty eyes gazed at her sardonically. She inched past him, a bit unnerved.
The passageway ended in a narrow dining room. Stepping inside, she gaped at the high ceiling, which was covered with a canopy of what looked like a golden fishnet. Its ends came down one side of the wall in a graceful swag with silver weights dangling on the ends of ropes. There was a gleaming table with marble candlesticks set against one wall, and elaborate walnut chairs stood pontificating in each of the four corners. Through an archway, she could see the front room.
In that room stood a grand piano next to the entrance. Three golden candelabra stretched towards the ceiling on either side. A stone fireplace dominated the other end of the room, its mantelpiece crowded with golden statues, carved idols, and tall candlesticks. But there was no sign of a basement door.
She retraced her steps back to the parlor quickly, hoping that she could find the door before Mr. Freet returned. Time to try the second parlor door.
It led her into a small, dark kitchen, plain and drab by comparison, with walnut cabinets and a huge refrigerator. Stealing across the room, at last she located the basement door, almost hidden behind the huge painted face of a tribal mask. The only reason it caught her eye was because there were two heavy draw-bolts on it. Almost not breathing, she pulled them aside and opened the door. The dim light in the kitchen showed a few wooden steps going down into darkness.
There was no light switch.
Bo
ld as she was, Rose hated walking into a dark place without any light. Mentally stretching a hand to God for guidance, she took a deep breath and stepped down into the musty blackness, holding onto the handrail for support.
After about thirteen cautious steps down, she reached a concrete floor. Once again she felt for a switch, and this time she found one. When she flipped it on, a small paneled room was illumined, with two doors. Both were locked. But before she could decide what to do next, she noticed another passageway, which opened underneath the steps. Its door was open, and Rose felt instinctively that this was where her search would end.
Into yet another black place. Shivering, she felt again for a switch, and her fingers brushed a small one.
Gold. The warm honey glow from a hundred shining surfaces greeted her in that one click. Up and down the sides of the small chamber were rows of felt-covered black shelves, holding dozens and dozens of shimmering yellow vessels: chalices, ciboria, patens, censers, cruets, goblets, and cups. Spots of cool emerald, fiery ruby, and icy sapphire glinted here and there, everywhere.
Even though Rose had preternaturally expected to find a treasure hoard in Mr. Freet’s basement, its actual existence and stunning majesty dumbfounded her. Feeling a bit small and paltry in the face of such splendor, she timidly stepped forward to get a closer look at the vessels on the shelves.
Many of them were precious, but some of them apparently not. The less valuable ones, discolored or dented, were crowded on the lower shelves. She even saw some gold-flowered brandy glasses among them. But most of the vessels were in fine condition: tall high chalices decorated with silver overlay, vases inlaid with gems. There was a small table in the middle of the room where a matching ciborium and a chalice stood, more elaborate than all the rest, the king and queen of the collection.
A faint moan made her whirl around, and a shudder ran through her as she remembered her purpose in coming here.
The sound came from the far side of the room, still shrouded in darkness, where she could make out a pillar and a dark bulk at its base.
Rose forced herself to move forward one more time into the blackness, and stretched out her hands. After she had gone two steps, her hand touched a human cheek, and she stifled an involuntary scream.
The cheek was warm, and stubbled, and as her fingertips traveled down it, she felt a twisted piece of cloth where the mouth should be. Another barely audible sound came from the figure.
Now she knelt down and felt the form of the person with both hands. Her fingers brushed over damp flannel cloth and tight hemp ropes. Quickly she worked her way back up to the head and felt around the back of the head for the knot that tied the gag. It was difficult to undo the knot in the dark, but somehow she managed, leaning over with her face close to the dark figure, feeling his harsh, strained breath.
Once the gag was off, he coughed and gasped a few times before anything else became coherent. “Who are you?” Rose kept asking.
At last he managed to speak. “I should ask you that,” he rasped. Then, “The light’s behind me on the pillar. Turn it on.”
She groped, found a round button light, and pushed it. The light clicked on. Two large brown masculine eyes looked into hers. Their owner was young, longhaired, and his thin face was bruised, bloody, and very pale. Thick ropes tied him to the pillar as he slouched on a small stool. He looked exhausted.
“Hello again, violinist,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Fancy meeting you here.”
The group of teenagers continued to sit at the back of the warehouse, smoking, while the sun drifted across the sky towards the west.
“Is this guy showing up at all?” Eileen said at last. “This is getting to be a drag.”
“How the heck should I know?” Rob sounded annoyed as he lit another cigarette. Blanche was beginning to be afraid of what would happen when they ran out of cigarettes.
“Let’s just take off,” Lisa said.
“Look, I’m not leaving and I don’t want to be stuck here with Blanchey girl,” Rob said, aggravated.
“What, can’t handle her? Then why don’t we just tie her up and leave her here?” Lisa asked irritably. “This deal stinks.”
Carl scratched the back of his head. “Not a bad idea. You could just say it was a joke if anyone else showed up.”
Rob seemed ticked off. “Look, all we’ve got to do is wait for the guy to get here.”
“The guy is not here,” Eileen said in a high voice.
“He will be.”
“Hey, Lester, you got any rope?” Lisa asked.
“There’s some in the car.” Carl lifted his shades and fixed a pair of cruel eyes on Blanche.
“Cut it out!” Rob said. “No one’s getting out of this!”
Blanche licked her dry lips. A thought occurred to her—if she dared to make a run for it, she might be able to get out of the courtyard and into the open field beyond, which was visible to the highway. Anyone could see her there, and she might be able to flag down a car.
I’d better do something soon, she realized. She couldn’t tell if they were joking about tying her up, but if they decided to (and they very well might) that would end her chances of escape.
Hoping for just a scrap of courage, she began to pray.
“Fish?” Rose said, bewildered, finally recognizing the prisoner as the young derelict she had met in the park.
“Yeah, it’s me. What the devil are you doing here, Rose?”
“I followed Mr. Freet home from school and—”
“Ah. Dangerous of you. He’s coming back any minute. You’d better get out.”
“But can’t I—”
“You can try to untie me if you want. But I’m afraid Freet did a thorough job.”
“It looks like it,” Rose admitted. Fish’s wrists were each tied separately around the pillar by ropes tied to the opposite elbows. His ankles were tied to the stool he was sitting on, and more ropes across his chest tied him to the pillar.
“Look, if you want to help me, untie my shoes.”
“Why?”
“Just do it. Quickly!”
Rose hurriedly knelt and fumbled for the boy’s shoes. He wore heavy sneakers, whose laces were tied in double knots. She undid them as quickly as possible.
“There!” she said. “What was that for?”
“It doesn’t matter. Now just get out of here!”
She would have questioned him further, but just then, there was the sound of a door opening upstairs.
“Quick, hide! There’s a place beneath the stairs. Wait, the lights!”
Mr. Freet seemed to be busy with something upstairs, so Rose punched the pillar switch and dashed across the room to flick off the other. Then she dove into the area beneath the stairs and huddled behind some boxes, her heart thumping wildly.
It was no use, she realized. Mr. Freet would see the open bolts on the cellar door and know he had been invaded. All she could do now was pray.
She heard his footsteps pause at the top of the steps for what seemed an eternity. Slowly, Mr. Freet began to come down the steps. Rose thought he would never reach the ground. Then she heard him beginning to walk towards their room.
Suddenly, the lights on the rows of shelves came on, and Rose could see Mr. Freet’s sharp profile against the glow as he stood there, his eyes gleaming like tiny gems. He held a gun in one hand with a silencer screwed on the muzzle. She did not dare to move, or breathe.
“Well, Benedict, I see you had a visitor,” he said impassively.
There was a faint mumble from Fish.
“Someone talked to you,” Mr. Freet said, and for a moment Rose thought he had noticed the shoelaces. “They must have cared enough about you to risk hearing what you might have to say.”
Fish laughed sarcastically, “Maybe I got the gag out myself.”
Mr. Freet aimed his gun at Fish. “Don’t lie to me, boy. Isn’t that supposed to be a sin?”
“Please, be careful where you point that thing,” said Fish. “I’d h
ate to see it go off.”
“You just might if you don’t tell me who’s been here.” Still holding the gun, Mr. Freet walked towards him, scrutinizing the room around them.
“Whoever it was left, so you don’t need to worry,” Fish said.
“Ah. And who might it have been?”
“Could have been one of your drug flunkies. I wish he’d have untied me, but the guy just laughed at me and left. He didn’t seem too surprised to see me though,” Fish went on, incredibly natural. “Do you do this sort of thing often?”
“As if I’d be such a fool,” Mr. Freet said contemptuously. “I’ve already regretted half a dozen times since I nabbed you that I didn’t strangle you right off. Kidnapping is far more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Far more trouble than robbery and murder, I suppose you mean,” Fish said pleasantly. “Although you intend to end this episode with murder, I don’t doubt.”
Fish gave a sharp gasp and Rose guessed that Mr. Freet had grabbed a handful of his hair.
“Sooner than you think, altar boy, if you don’t tell me the truth about what just happened.”
“Fine. Don’t believe me. I knew you’d only start torturing me again, whatever I said,” Fish gave a strangled sigh. “You’re a terribly suspicious man, Freet.”
“We’re too much alike, Benedict. That’s why we’ve always hated each other.”
“Yes,” Fish coughed, and Rose hoped that Mr. Freet had let him go. Fish continued, “It was a shame I didn’t have a more natural liking for you. I might have suspected you earlier.”
“You never suspected the degenerate atheist of murder?” Mr. Freet scoffed. “You’re far too trusting.”
“Well, I had no idea your differences with Fr. Raymond went beyond theological arguments.” Rose had a feeling he was trying to distract Mr. Freet, to give her the chance to get away. Fish went on, “If I’d had known how deeply you disliked him, we might have added you to the suspect list earlier.”