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Grady heard thumping and clunking from upstairs. Maybe the garage door opening and closing. He strained to pick up voices, but those sounds didn’t carry the way people walking on the floors did.
Footfalls on the stairs. Grady stood, waiting for his door to open. The footsteps moved farther away. Another door opened and closed. Was there another cell down here? Another prisoner? Would he be able to talk to whoever it was? He cursed for not having paid attention to the layout.
The door in question opened and closed again, followed by his own door being unlocked. He flopped onto the mattress, trying to convey a casual, I’m waiting for instructions air. This time, his visitor wasn’t Mr. Tall and Silent. Or Enrique. It was Xiang, and Grady’s stomach clenched at the gleam off the devil’s blade. And the gleam in the devil’s eye. Should he shout? Let whoever was in the other room know he wasn’t alone down here?
No. His chance of escape, as he saw it, was to cooperate. The other room might not be a cell like this one. It could be a regular bedroom, or meeting room, or someplace where Enrique or Xiang, or one of their minions stayed. Like an overflow room if the mansion got full. He’d better keep his tone normal.
“Hey, Xiang. What’s up? You ready to let me out of here?”
“You ask too many questions, little one. No, you are not getting out yet. Enrique has convinced me your idea will work, but even though you are a skinny one, your look is still too healthy. Your cuts must heal. You will remain here while we decide how to proceed.”
Without waiting for a reply—which was a good thing, because regardless of the volume he’d deliver them in, Grady had a few choice words for Xiang which the man wouldn’t appreciate—Xiang departed. Grady listened, but no, the devil hadn’t forgotten to lock the door.
He followed the sounds of Xiang’s footfalls until he felt comfortable the man had gone upstairs. After waiting a few moments longer, he scratched gently on the wall he figured was closest to wherever the action had been earlier. If there was a meeting going on, or anything other than another captive, maybe they’d think it was a mouse in the walls. He waited for a count of twenty, then scratched again. He pressed his ear to the wall. No response.
On the positive side, that meant nobody was coming to see where the noise was coming from. He counted another twenty beats, then tried again. This time, he scratched a pattern—Dum de de Dum dum—shave and a haircut. Waited out twenty more counts and repeated it. No mouse would scratch that pattern at equal intervals.
Would someone—and that was assuming there was someone in the room, and their walls adjoined—hear scratches? Should he be bolder and tap? Knock? Pound?
He’d give it a few more tries. If whoever was in the room was a prisoner, he might be tied up. Or too scared to hear. Grady knew that feeling all too well—when blood pounding in your ears was the only sound that registered.
He scratched another rhythm of shave and a haircut, and set his ear to the wall again. He’d counted to ten when there were some scuffling sounds, then two thumps on the wall. Two bits.
His own heart thumping now, Grady rapped out the pattern louder. He got the same thumps.
Someone was there. Now what?
No guts, no glory.
He cupped his hands against the wall and spoke—keeping his voice down in case anyone else might be listening. Hell, for all he knew, there was a sentry in the hallway. “Can you hear me?”
Silence. Maybe the other guy didn’t speak English.
Then a thud.
“Can you talk?” Grady asked. That was a stupid question. If the guy could talk, why hadn’t he already said something? He resorted to the television and book standby. “Tap once for yes, twice for no.”
Two taps.
“Are you tied up?”
One tap.
Probably had duct tape across his mouth, too, which explained the not talking. Also confirmed the guy was a prisoner.
Now what? It wasn’t like they were going to pass the time carrying out a conversation. Someone would hear the thumping—assuming Xiang or anyone else with him was still here—and come down to investigate.
Somehow, knowing there was someone else in the same boat as Grady made things easier to bear.
“Were you part of Enrique and Xiang’s minions before today?” He stopped himself before elaborating. One question at a time, and they had to have yes or no answers.
Two thumps.
So, this was a new person. Was he going to be allowed to join the group after some sort of probationary period here? All Grady had to go on was his own experience, but because something had worked one way in his case didn’t mean it was the same for everyone.
Or, he thought, maybe this was where they brought people before they disappeared. As in forever.
Footfalls on the stairs pulled Grady away from the wall. Had Xiang and Enrique come to some kind of agreement about what his next assignment would be? He hoped so, because he was starving, and Xiang’s comment about how Grady looked too healthy had him worried that they were going to withhold food and water to remedy that situation.
His door didn’t open. Instead, it was the one next door. Enrique’s voice boomed.
“What is all this pounding? You cannot go anywhere, and it serves no purpose other than to annoy me and my partners. You will have a taste of what happens when we are annoyed.”
Grady’s heart squeezed for whoever was going to find out. He’d been on that side of things, and Enrique’s idea of a taste was a five course meal.
He curled up into a ball on his mattress, covering his ears.