After Alicia left, Nikki had managed to scooch across the floor to look at the timer clicking away. At that time, it had said thirty minutes. The strain of getting all the way across the room had left her drained and breathless. She’d had to use precious minutes to catch her breath and think. While resting there she noticed something bright yellow under the jacket she’d had on earlier. Then she remembered the two-way radio Joe had given her. She’d forgotten to give it back to him when she saw him.
Telling herself not to forget it when she was free, she returned to her original focus. Her lack of time. She knew better than to waste time checking how long she had. The image of a pig roasting over a spit popped into her mind.
Alicia had definitely made getting free difficult. “And, if I don’t get my butt in gear I’m going to end up cooked like one,” she said out loud. Rochelle was still unconscious, but talking aloud helped Nikki think better. She looked around the room again, mainly the floor, for something sharp to cut the rope connecting her hands and feet.
The vanity caught her attention. If she could break one of the bottles of perfume, she could use a piece of the glass to cut the rope. Despite her screaming joints, Nikki managed to inch her way over and knock a bottle off. It shattered on the floor. The resulting odor of the large quantity of perfume was overwhelming. Nikki looked for the largest piece of glass and after memorizing its location; she twisted and wriggled around until her bound hands grasped it. She released a deep sigh of relief.
Closing her eyes, she maneuvered the piece so she could saw on the rope with the sharp edge. With her movement restricted as it was by the bindings, she was only able to make short slices. The fact that the shard she held cut into her fingers as she worked, making her fingers slick with blood, didn’t help either. It seemed to take forever, but finally the rope broke and her legs swung away from her hands. Now she turned her attention to the rope around her wrists. It was even more difficult.
The constant ticking of the timer had panic rising inside her with each tiny stroke she made. She prayed her bindings would break apart so she could get Rochelle to safety. Glancing at her friend, she knew Rochelle was still unconscious. How long had it been since Alicia hit her with the gun? Fear that she wouldn’t free herself in time to help Rochelle had tears streaming down her face.
“No, I will not let her win,” she said through clenched teeth. “I am not weak. I can do this. I have to do this.”
A moment later, the frayed rope split apart. Blood rushed into her hands causing the usual pins and needles sensation. She dropped the piece of glass. As she pulled her feet in front of her, they knocked the vanity stool over. A piece of leather dropped off, unfolding itself as it landed on the floor. For several seconds, Nikki was shocked at the various items she saw held in place by small loops of leather. They reminded her of the kind of things she’d seen in horror films where some maniac would torture victims. Finding them in the bedroom of someone she used to call friend was beyond thought.
Knowing her tingling and bleeding fingers couldn’t keep hold of the glass much longer, she pulled what looked like a thin knife out of it’s loop. As she sawed against the rope with it, she realized what it was and almost dropped it. This had to be the stiletto Joe and Stiles said Alicia used to kill Darin. She forced herself to concentrate on the fact it worked better than the glass on the ropes at her feet. A moment later, the rope gave way.
She glanced at the timer. “Shit.”
With pain tingling through her arms, hands, legs and feet, she held onto the blade and crawled over to Rochelle. In moment’s, she cut through Rochelle’s bindings and tried to wake her up.
“Rochelle,” she called. “Come on, wake up.” Though she didn’t want to cause Rochelle more pain, Nikki slapped her cheek. She breathed a quick sigh of relief when she heard a low moan come from her friend’s mouth.
“Come on, Rochelle. We have to get out of here. Wake up, that’s it.” She helped her friend sit up. The left side of Rochelle’s face looked awful and her eyes looked like some of the stoned students she’d seen at school.
“Rochelle, are you with me?” Nikki asked rubbing her hands to help the circulation.
“Hmm, Nikki?”
“Yes, yes, it’s me. Do you think you can walk? You can lean on me, come on.” Nikki sat next to her and lifted one of Rochelle’s arms around her shoulders. It was awkward with the stiletto still in her hand, but she knew she couldn’t leave it behind. It could be the only real evidence to prove Alicia’s guilt. Nikki put it in the pocket of her sweater.
“Aughhh, hurts. Feels like firerants biting me,” Rochelle said, her slurred speech concerning Nikki that she had a concussion, but they couldn’t wait.
“I know, but we don’t have time to wait. On three. One, two, three.” Nikki pushed upward.
They managed to stand. Rochelle swayed dangerously. “I’m going to be schick,” she said.
“No, you’re not. We don’t have time to be sick right now, Chel. We have to get out of here before Alicia gets back.” Nikki used the hated nickname hoping to ignite some clarity producing anger.
“Licia,” Rochelle moaned as they began a drunken walk across the room.
“Yes, remember? She ripped tape off your mouth then hit you? We don’t want that to happen again, so we have to move.”
“Witch,” Rochelle mumbled.
They made it to the bedroom door. Nikki propped Rochelle against the wall and listened. When she didn’t hear anyone in the hallway, she turned the knob slowly and peeked through the crack. It looked clear from what she could see through the haze of late afternoon sun coming through the windows.
“Okay, Rochelle,” she said opening the door wider and reaching for her friend then remembered the radio Joe had given her. She patted the pocket she remembered putting it in when they went to the police station. It was empty. Looking around she saw it tossed on a pile of cell phones near the timer. She grabbed it and stuffed it in her pocket. After they got outside, she would call Joe.
“We don’t have much time, Rochelle. We have to get out of this house. Alicia has some kind of explosion planned and I don’t want to be inside when it happens.”
They stepped into the hallway. Nikki held one of Rochelle’s arms around her shoulder as they started toward the main staircase.
Rochelle stopped. “Other way.”
Nikki pulled on her trying to get her moving again. Come on, Rochelle. We don’t have time to mess around.”
Rochelle pulled her arm from Nikki’s shoulder. “Shorter,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction. “Servants steps.”
“You’re right. I forgot about those,” Nikki said grasping her friend’s arm as they made their way to the far end of the hall. The door, camouflaged with wallpaper that matched the hall walls, made it almost impossible to find unless you knew it was there.
“You’re a genius,” she told Rochelle, as they half walked, half stumbled down the two flights of stairs. Nikki’s hand reached for the door at the landing just as a loud boom sounded above them. They both ducked as a second explosion brought the ceiling fixture crashing down on them.
# # #
Joe sped across town as fast as he could. Unfortunately, traffic made it slower going than he liked, even with his siren. Some people just refused to give police or emergency vehicles the right of way. Once he got on the main road to Alicia’s old house, he floored it.
He brought the car to a grinding halt at the front entrance to the mansion and jumped out. He didn’t make it up two steps before a blast blew out the windows on the second floor, raining glass down on him. A second blast quickly followed, and knocked him down as the front door exploded and went flying through the air.
Dragging himself back to his feet, he heard sirens in the distance before a continuous burst like gunfire erupted. He looked up and from what used to be the roof of the house; Joe saw fireworks leaping toward the sky. Rage poured from every pore of his body.
“Damn you, Alicia,” he yelled. He heard the sirens stop and turned to see Stiles running toward him. Joe didn’t give Stiles a chance to stop him; he knew what he had to do. He turned and ran through the charred entranceway of the house.
Thick waves of smoke rolled over him and flames licked at his arms and legs. Pulling off his jacket, he held it over his head as he covered his nose and mouth with his handkerchief. The jacket helped displace some of the smoke before getting to his eyes and he made his way to what appeared to be a staircase. As he placed his weight on the first step, he thought he heard a clicking sound coming from his jacket.
Thinking the explosion had messed up his hearing, he ignored it. He continued up the steps, pressing against the wall in case the stairs were unsafe. Halfway up, he encountered another problem. As he lifted his foot to another stair, it fell through the air. He was barely able to catch his balance to keep him from toppling off into space. The stairs were gone. Squinting through the smoke, he could see a gaping hole in the middle of the staircase. No way could he make it over. He headed back the way he’d come. When he reached the first floor, a firefighter grabbed his arm and pulled him back out the front door coughing, hacking, and fighting all the way.
“Got to find--’’ coughing stopped his words. His throat was on fire and when he tried to talk, it felt as if a thousand tiny needles were stabbing him all at once. His eyes burned, though he didn’t think he could blame that on the fire.
“Take it easy, Joe,” Stiles said.
Joe felt a strong squeeze on his shoulder but he couldn’t bring himself to look up. He knew what Stiles would say. The same thing he’d said to victims for the past ten years. They were empty, meaningless words that didn’t do any good. Now he knew how those victims had felt as tears burned his eyes and ran down his face. He just wanted to crawl in a hole somewhere and die.
Until there’s a body, there’s hope.
Joe wiped at his eyes with a soot-covered arm and looked around. He could have sworn Melissa had been talking to him. However, the only person close to him was Stiles. He shook his head. Grief or the explosion must have knocked his brain around.
Then he realized the words weren’t Melissa’s, they were his. The same words he’d told Nikki when they’d found the box at her house. Okay, hope, he told himself. Hope and a prayer wouldn’t hurt he figured. Before he could start, though, his coat made the clicking sound again. He began frantically searching his pockets when it dawned on him that it wasn’t clicking, it was static. He’d forgotten about the radio he’d given Nikki earlier.
He found the pocket and pulled out the radio. “Nikki! Nikki are you there?”
“Joe, what are you--” Stiles started to speak.
Joe held up a hand to cut Stiles off as he pressed the radio to his ear. He heard something, but couldn’t make it out.
“Joe?” Stiles said again.
Looking at Stiles, he saw the concern on the man’s face. “It’s the radio. Someone’s using the radio I gave Nikki before she went to the hotel last night,” he said. Pushing the button down, he spoke into it again. “Nikki? I can’t understand you. Try again.”
A lot of static came through when he released the button. He forced himself to wait, to hope they would talk again.
“ack. ervant entr--” more static. The words were so broken up he couldn’t understand them, but it was a voice.
“You heard it, Stiles. That was a person.” He was relieved when Stiles nodded.
“Yeah, but I’m not sure what they said.”
Joe pushed the button again. “I hear you. Say again. I repeat, say again.” He clicked off and they waited. Both men leaned toward the radio’s small speaker.
“Back. The ...ervant ent..ance.”
“Another entrance!” Joe shouted. “Another entrance in back.”
He and Stiles both ran for the side of the house. It seemed like they ran forever before rounding the back corner of the house. When they did, the sight wasn’t pretty. Half of the back of the house was gone.
“At least it isn’t burning,” Joe said trying to think positively. Even without flames, thick clouds of smoke and dust were billowing everywhere.
He put the radio to his mouth again. “We’re here, in back. Where are you?”
“Servant’s door,” the voice said, sounding a little stronger until coughing cut it off.
Joe and Rich ran along the back of the structure but didn’t see a door; and that could mean only one thing, the door wasn’t there anymore. They both seemed to reach the conclusion at the same time and ran for what used to be the center of the back wall.
They started throwing everything they could pick-up out of the way. Bricks and boards disappeared as they tossed them into the smoky air. After an eternity, the voice came back.
“Yes, yes,” it said then coughed a bit. “I hear you. We’re down here.”
Joe and Stiles redoubled their efforts, tears pouring down both their faces from the sting of smoke. Hacking coughs tried to rob their breath. They kept digging. Then Stiles yelled.
“I see ‘em. There’s a hand,” he rasped.
Joe looked over and saw the hand, too. They reached down, lifted a heavy, old, wood door, and pushed it aside. What they saw underneath took away what breath the smoke hadn’t. Two women one huddled over the other.
Time moved in slow motion then. Joe reached for the one on top and half lifted, half dragged her away, while Stiles reached for the other. They had only made it a few feet from the structure when more of the second floor crashed down on top of where they had been standing.
Moments later, some firefighters came over with oxygen masks. They pushed one at Joe, but he pushed it away. “Her, give it to her,” he said gasping for air.
“I’ll take care of her, you take this,” the man said not giving an inch, he slid the band for the mask over Joe’s head.
Joe didn’t think he could breathe even with the mask on. His whole attention was on the woman who lay unmoving on the grass beside him.
One of the firefighters radioed for paramedics to come to the back. Joe swore his heart stopped. Then the two men started CPR and mouth-to-mouth on her.
“Nikki!” the other woman cried out as one of the firefighters sat back on his heels.
~~~~