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“Kris? Kris, are you here?” I spoke in a hushed voice, confident now that we could be heard from below.
“We’re over here.”
It was a surprise that we were all being kept in the same place. I’d somewhat assumed Joe would split us up, so we wouldn’t get any ideas about creating an escape plan. For some reason, he wasn’t worried about us trying to run. I tried not to imagine what that reason might be, how he was so confident we’d stay without resistance. Kris and Newbie were safe, that’s all that mattered.
I flinched when Kris rested her hand on my leg. I wasn’t prepared to be touched without Joe nearby.
I crawled farther into the small space, shucking her hand off me as I moved. I discovered Newbie lying, asleep, by the light coming up through the floor. Trapped in a tight place left little to do but sleep. He didn’t stir even as I sat beside him with my calves bent under my thighs.
Kris sat, cross-legged, beside me, her knee touching my foot. I scooted back on my knees. Readjusting my legs, I held them tight to my body to get away from her closeness. She spoke in a whisper and asked how I was.
How was I?
Where did I begin? I was sore, everywhere, exhausted and afraid if I dwelled on any of it for too long, I’d fall apart or worse—become catatonic like Doris.
“I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth.
Getting angry while trapped in that hole in a wall wasn’t worth it. There’d be a day when I could confront Joe for what he’d done to me, to us. I’d keep my emotions at bay until that day came.
“Are you guys, okay?” I asked in a low voice.
Kris shrugged her shoulder. The man lying in front of us didn’t speak or budge from his spot. I considered waking him but resisted ripping him away from a better place.
“He must have been in shock,” she kept her voice low, so he could continue sleeping, “because as soon as we left the bedroom, he passed out. I had to help that woman bring him up here, and he has yet to wake up. His breathing is steady and regular, though, so don’t worry too much about him. I’m jealous actually. Somehow, he managed to find a way out of here, even if it is temporary. I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I’m back on your front porch. I try to run, but I always wind up back where I began. I’m sorry for complaining.”
Light from the floor reflected on her bright blue eyes. The tears building beneath the canopy of her long lashes made them appear as if they were made of ocean water. “I know we’ve had it easy. I know what you did for us, and there are no words that I can say to you but thank you.” She couldn’t hold the tears at bay any longer. I patted her knee one time before drawing it back.
“I really haven’t done anything.” I waved off her compliment. “We’re still here, aren’t we? I honestly don’t know what to do now.” Everything I’d done had been in vain. We were no closer to escaping than we had been before I allowed Joe to annihilate my body.
“I don’t think he or I,” she pointed at the sleeping stranger, “would be alive if it hadn’t been for you.”
“I tried. I failed.” I pressed my balled fists into my kneecaps, savoring the pain I deserved.
“We’re going to survive this,” she reassured me.
I scoffed at her optimism. “I guess we’ll see.” I no longer believed in miracles nor being saved.
“You have to believe it will happen.”
“How about I believe it when I see it?”
“You’re a very cynical person.”
“I didn’t use to be.” I lowered my rising voice. “Before them, I was a happy person who loved her life. Since they’ve kidnapped me in my own home, I’ve wished for death more times than I can count. I worry that if I survive, I won’t like who I’ve become.”
“I guess we’ll just have to see about that. When we get out of here, I doubt things will seem so dark and hopeless anymore.”
“Until then.”
“Right, until then,” she said, appreciating that I was done with our conversation. “So, anyway, is there anything you’ve learned about them that we can use?”
“Well, I know his name is Joe, and he’s a religious nut who quotes the Bible whenever possible. Her name is Doris, and I think she’s as afraid of him as we are. She won’t speak when he’s around, but she’s said a few things to me when we’ve been alone.”
“Oh? What did she say?” Kris shifted, so she was sitting on her legs. She anchored her attention on me.
“Don’t get your hopes up.” She sucked in a deep, disappointed breath. “I just mean the things she’s said to me make no sense.” I forced a smile. Kris needed hope, not resignation. “I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere with her.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders fell forward.
Silence buzzed around us like a swarm of bees. The longer I listened, the more convinced I became that I had to kill them before they infested my mind.
“I need a paper,” I blurted out.
She readjusted her body, sitting with her legs crossed. Without questioning my reason, she handed me a paper from the top of the box from which I’d last been reading.
I snatched it from her hand. “Thank you.”
October 30, 1980
“Today commemorates the second anniversary of the first known victim in a string of serial murders. Local, State, and Federal Police have been working together for the majority of these two years in trying to solve this case, identify the victims, and put the killer(s) behind bars.
Further investigation is necessary, but, for now, the authorities seem confident that these killings are localized to this area. There has been no linkage to any other crimes of similar nature.
A candlelight vigil in honor of those who have died will be held tonight at the town square at 6:00 p.m.”
Two years and they still didn’t know who was behind those crimes?
Kris handed me another article.
November 15, 1988
“Over ten years have passed since the first known serial killing took place. A total of fifteen bodies have been discovered during those ten years. Identification was near impossible in the beginning—due to the victims’ conditions at the time of discovery—but now with improved DNA technology, all have been identified.
With the consent of the victims’ families and the authorities involved, the names of these victims have been released. The local mental health facility is providing professional help to anyone who needs counseling.
John McDonald-45
Gerald Donohue-61
Mathew Curan-39
Susan Miller-52
Dillon Edmenson-49
George Adams-58
Amanda Walters-28
Jillian Curtis-25
Donald O’Connor-43
Adam Stacey-54
Erica Bradley-36
Kimber Gareson-32
Eli Mathews-26
Donovan Holmes-41
Parker Keeley-28”
Fifteen murders spanning a decade without a single valid lead for the police to follow? The bodies were all dumped in the same area in the same town. The police could have installed security cameras in some trees, caught the guy in the act. What kind of police force were they running that dead bodies continued stacking up in their town?
Kris asked if she could lay her head on my lap. The exhaustion in her voice helped me to ignore my discomfort. Her touch wouldn’t be the same as Joe’s. I was safe with her.
“Sure.” In a space not meant for three full-sized adults, I contorted myself into a position that allowed her room to lie without intruding on Newbie’s space.
“Thank you,” she mumbled sleepily into my lap. “I’m so tired. I couldn’t sleep when you weren’t here, but it seems calmer whenever you’re around me. I’m going to close my eyes for a minute. Maybe now that you’re back, I can sleep.”
I brushed her long, wavy strawberry blonde hair off her face and out of her eyes. “I’m happy I can bring you peace. Sleep now.”
Soft murmurs and shallow breathing came seconds later. Kris had fallen asleep. I hoped for her sake that her dream was different, that she decided not to come to my house or knock on my front door. I wished her a better outcome than what she’d been given.
With a handful of clippings from the top of my reading pile, I stacked them beside me, afraid I’d wake Kris with the slightest movement.
May 15, 1995
“Lucky number seven. That’s how many years we went without having to report any news involving the infamous serial killer. People lowered their guards, a revival of the old ways spread throughout the town, and an overall sigh of possible relief was exhaled. The belief had been that the killer(s) had somehow met his/her/their demise.
Breaking news has developed, though. Unlike past articles, which have reported the death of a victim, there’s a twist in the most recent crime. This victim was found alive.
In the early evening on May 13, a man was found lying in the middle of a local side street bleeding profusely from an indiscernible location. A local resident (who wishes to remain anonymous) discovered the man and immediately dialed 911. Local EMTs arrived within minutes of the call to find the man’s left foot amputated, and cuts to his left hand were visible. The man was severely beaten and disorientated.
On his way to the local emergency room, he identified himself as Arthur Daly. His next of kin, wife Betty Daly, was notified and arrived along with son William and daughter Susan at the hospital just as the ambulance pulled up to the entrance of the emergency room. The family jumped into the back of the ambulance as soon as the doors swung open.
Reportedly, Mrs. Daly held the non-bandaged right hand of her husband. Both children crowded around their father, saying, “I love you” while Mr. Daly glanced between them and his wife, smiling. After taking in a final breath, he passed away and was pronounced dead at 5:09 p.m.
Mrs. Daly later gave a statement:
To all of you that helped search for my husband for the two months he’d been missing, and for all of the thoughts and prayers I, along with my children, received, I thank you. While this is not the outcome we’d hoped for, we were blessed to have time with him in his last moments.
I don’t know what happened to him while he was away from home, but I hope and pray it was not unbearable just as I wish for all of the other victims.
As a family member of one of the victims, I can say a little piece of yourself dies along with your loved one. I’m sorry for my husband, for my children, for everyone who has been touched by this odious man.
Hope is what kept me going all of those days and nights I spent without my husband, searching for him, praying for his safe return. And hope in the capture of this evil being who kidnapped and killed him is what will get me through the rest of my days.
Hope is a funny thing—you want to believe in it, you want to know that it will be there when you need it the most, but an intangible object cannot be obtained. And that is where the true value of the word is measured. Trying to obtain the seemingly unobtainable is what keeps hope alive. We can only lose it when we stop trying to reach for it. So, to all of you who have lost hope, keep trying to grasp it, dream about it, imagine it enveloping you and all of your fears. If you do, I have no doubts it will find you. Never lose hope.”
The paper fell from my hand. Never, in my worst nightmares, could I have imagined that Betty went through that, survived it. My body began shaking uncontrollably. I woke Kris with a jerk.
“Erin. Erin, what’s going on? What happened?” Kris asked, her voice groggy from having been startled awake. “Is it him? Has he come for us?”
“Shh, shh.” I stroked her hair absently. “Everything’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
In reassuring her, I’d hoped to reassure myself as well. Betty’s husband was murdered. Someone from my house was killed. Had his death somehow lingered in the floors and walls? Was that why I’d been kidnapped and tortured in a home in which I’d only ever had positive memories?
Kris sat up, turned my shoulders toward her, and stared into my wide and scared eyes. “What happened? Did you hear something from downstairs?”
“No. I—”
“You, what?” she asked, her worried voice rising.
“Betty’s husband was...murdered.”
“Who was murdered? And who’s Betty?”
I blinked away my startled thoughts and budding tears. Even for Betty’s tragedy, I would not cry. I wasn’t going to break the promise I’d made to myself—not until I was free would I shed a tear.
“The woman who willed me this house. Her husband was killed.”
“Here?”
“In this town but, no, not this house.”
“You didn’t know?”
“She talked about him but never how he died. I always assumed it was too hard for her to think about his loss. I never, in a thousand lifetimes, would have imagined she didn’t speak of him because she didn’t want to revisit the worst experience in her life. That article said he went missing two months before he was found.”
“Dead?”
“No, he was alive.”
“What?” she asked. “He lived through that?”
“Only long enough to say goodbye to his wife, Betty, and their two kids. Kris, it was terrible, his foot had been...amputated.”
She bit on her fist to hold back a terrified gasp. “Did he say who did it?” She’d lowered her hand to ask the loaded question. “If the same person who’d kidnapped him also cut off his foot? Did they catch him?”
“According to the article, no. I suppose the police might have known something but didn’t want the press informed of the information. I just can’t believe it. My heart is breaking for Betty.”
“I’m so sorry.” She pulled me in for a tight hug. Part of me wanted to resist, but a more significant portion of me begged to be comforted. “It isn’t right, but a part of me resents her for not sharing this with me. All the years we’d known each other, all the hours we spent talking to one another, she never felt like she could trust me with this?”
“I doubt that was her reasoning. It was probably just too hard for her. Can you imagine reliving that memory with everyone you spoke to?”
“I wasn’t everyone,” I said, sounding petulant to my own ears.
“I know.” She ran her fingers through my ponytail as if consoling a small child. “But that changes nothing. She lost her husband under a despicable, heinous circumstance by a despicable, heinous monster. Would you want to repeat that, even to someone you were close to? When we get out of here, will you share the details of your experiences with your best friend, mom, whoever is your person?”
She was right. There’d be no one I’d want to recount this nightmare too.
With a defeated huff, I freed myself from her embrace. “You’re right. I don’t think I could tell a soul what I’ve been through. It still hurts knowing she kept this secret from me, even knowing I’d do the same to anyone who asked me what happened here. I’m a hypocrite.”
“You’re human. You can’t let that consume you. We all keep secrets, sometimes because the truth is too terrible, too painful to relive. It sounds like that’s what she did. She protected herself by not exposing that part of her past. She did what was best for her, as I’m sure you’ll do the same when your time comes.”
“Thank you. You’re a good person.”
Heavy footsteps up the staircase stalled Kris’s breath, and the words she was about to utter. The sound of a click scared us both, the silence in the crawl space thick and humid.
Joe was outside our door, inches from us. Something terrible was going to happen; something terrible always happened when he was around. We clasped hands with one another, hoping together we’d find the strength to face him.
The door opened. “Erin? Erin, please come out,” Joe’s voice instructed me.
I did as he said.
Once outside that space, I stood in front of its door. He shook his head as if he was disappointed in me. I expected him to slap me, berate or belittle me. Instead, he gently moved me aside. He reached his hand inside, telling Kris to come out, too. I’d tried to protect her but failed. With her hand in his, he positioned her so she was standing in front of him, side by side with me.
There were things I’d begun to expect from him, ways I’d know he’d treat me. With Kris as a third wheel, I was left standing on a fault line.
As little good as it had done me, I found myself praying. I prayed to God for Kris to get away, to somehow save her, protect her. I prayed for God to stop ignoring me for Kris’s sake.