CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Friday, 7:51 P.M.
Hannah heard the noise again—a distant scraping sound, like someone in another room had bumped into a chair and the legs had dragged against the floor. It seemed to come from the basement.
She sat with Rachel and Maddie in the breakfast nook, watching The Big Bang Theory on Hildie’s TV and eating the pizza that had been delivered twenty minutes ago. Rachel had insisted they change into their pajamas before they ate. So while the pizza had gotten cold, Hannah had changed into her blue gingham pj’s. At least Rachel had managed to pack the right pajamas. Rachel had on a sophisticated lacy gown with a matching robe, and Maddie wore flannel lounge pants and an old Hello Kitty T-shirt.
Hannah thought eating in their nightwear was a stupid idea—especially in this huge, drafty mansion. But the notion wasn’t nearly as moronic as Rachel’s quirky moratorium on phones for the evening. Hannah kept wondering when she’d be able to get hers back.
She also wondered when Alden would show up with his friends. She’d thought Rachel would have ordered a pizza for them, too. But, no, she’d gotten only one large mushroom pie—her choice. She hadn’t even asked Hannah and Maddie what they’d wanted on the pizza. Why had Rachel become so selfish and snotty all of a sudden?
So far tonight, Hannah was having a miserable time, and it wasn’t just because she didn’t have her phone or because Rachel was acting so awful. Hannah kept thinking of Eden, alone and terrified, locked up in a shed or a closet someplace, at the mercy of some killer. Before, it had merely been a theory between her and Ellie. But now, the TV newspeople were reporting it as a very real possibility. She was hardly in a “pajama party” mood.
Hannah also thought about those two girls murdered fifty years ago tonight—two of the three students in bungalow eighteen that night.
She just wanted Alden to show up. Then she’d feel safe. Then the two of them could sneak away from the others and talk or maybe cuddle—corny as that sounded.
There was yet another noise from the basement. Hannah put down her slice of pizza. “Okay, I just heard something again . . .”
“I heard it, too,” Maddie whispered.
“Turn down the TV.” Hannah nudged Rachel, who, of course, had charge of the remote.
Rolling her eyes, she turned down the volume. “I told you. It’s just the furnace. It does that sometimes . . .”
The three of them remained completely still at the kitchen table, waiting and listening. Hannah stared across the room at a vent by the floor.
Rachel let out a sigh and then reached for her Diet Coke and took a sip.
Hannah heard a man quietly snickering. The sound sent chills up her back. It seemed to come from the vent.
Maddie let out a little shriek and covered her mouth.
“That’s Alden!” Rachel laughed. She sprung up from the table. “He must have snuck in while we were upstairs. He’s screwing with us! C’mon . . .”
But Hannah didn’t want to move. She could see Maddie was just as frightened as she was. “This isn’t funny,” Maddie said.
“I’m telling you, it’s Alden,” Rachel said through a giggle. “He has a key. He knows all the security codes. He’s down by the vent in the basement. Who else could it be? C’mon, don’t be such scaredy cats . . .”
Hesitant, Hannah finally got to her feet.
Maddie stood up as well, but she was trembling. “I don’t like this,” she murmured.
“Join the club,” Hannah replied under her breath.
Still, she followed Rachel out of the kitchen to the basement door in the front hall. When Hannah reached the doorway, the basement light was on and Rachel was already halfway down the stairs.
She felt sick to her stomach. “Rachel!” she called down to her. “Rachel, I want my fucking phone back!”
But Rachel ignored her and continued down the steps.
“Damn it, I’m not having a fun time!” Hannah yelled. “Neither is Maddie. For God’s sake . . .”
With Maddie hovering behind her, Hannah reluctantly started down the stairs. From one of the middle steps, she saw the light go on in the game room.
“Alden?” she heard Rachel call. “We know it’s you! Nice try, buddy! Where are you?”
“Alden?” Hannah called in a shaky voice. “Alden, we’re majorly creeped out here. The joke isn’t funny anymore. If I wanted to be scared, I’d have stayed at the bungalow tonight. Now, c’mon, enough is enough—”
“I don’t think this is a joke,” Maddie whispered, her voice quavering.
With a hand on the banister, Hannah continued down the stairs. She glanced around the huge game room. Rachel had already moved into the back corridor—toward the mini-gym, sauna, bathroom, and the extra bedroom. The hallway light went on, and Rachel’s shadow moved across the wall. “Alden, you asshole, where are you?”
Exasperated, Hannah shook her head and reluctantly started toward the back corridor.
Rachel let out a brief shriek. It was as if she was cut off mid-scream. Then suddenly, silence.
Hannah stopped dead. From the end of the hallway, she saw the light was on in the guest room. “Rachel?” she called nervously. “Rachel, what’s going on?”
There was no response. From the room down at the end of the corridor, all she heard was a whimper.
Maddie clung to her arm as they headed down the hallway together. Hannah felt her heart thumping against her chest. She crept up to the doorway and saw Rachel standing in the middle of the bedroom.
With tears in her eyes, Rachel stared at something off in the corner, out of Hannah’s line of vision. She seemed in shock. She kept shaking her head over and over.
The room wasn’t the same as when Hannah had seen it last week. The twin beds had been shoved against opposite walls. All around the room were pots and vases with cut chrysanthemums—just like the ones in the garden where bungalow eighteen used to be.
Reaching a hand out to Rachel, Hannah stepped into the room. That was when she saw the man standing in the corner, by the closet door. He wore strange, outdated clothes. He had shaggy dark blond hair, a thick mustache, and glasses. It all looked like part of a disguise.
He pointed a gun at them.
Hannah stopped. All at once, she couldn’t breathe.
Behind her, Maddie let out a little cry.
Past the bizarre disguise, the man grinned. “I want you holy sluts to get down on your knees,” he whispered.
* * *
The 911 operator repeated the address.
“That’s right,” Ellie whispered into her phone. “It’s a mile north of Waukegan, a farmhouse—on a dead-end road. The missing O’Rourke girl is in a tool shed in the backyard. She—she’s alive. Someone’s trying to get into the house right now, and he’s got a gun . . .”
Ellie stood beside the window, clutching the crowbar in her other hand. She could hear Perry downstairs, struggling to raise the window higher. The opening must have been too small for his stocky frame.
Ellie realized if he had to climb through the window, he didn’t have a key to the house. He and Sloane’s men weren’t using it as a hideout. Maybe he had no idea that Eden was locked in the backyard shed.
“All right, Ellie,” the 911 operator said. “Stay calm, and remain on the line . . .”
Earlier, Ellie had given the woman her name, and since then, the operator had called her by name in every sentence she spoke. It was probably supposed to calm her, but it just unnerved Ellie even more.
“I can’t hold on,” she whispered. The crowbar almost slipped out of her hand as she hung up. She couldn’t keep her hands steady. Tucking the weapon under her arm, she pressed Perry’s number. She had to do something to stall him until the police arrived.
He must have had his phone on vibrate because she didn’t hear it ringing.
“Shit,” he grumbled. She heard that much through the open window downstairs.
There was a click. “Yeah, what’s going on?” he whispered, out of breath.
“Well, I—I got inside the house,” she explained in a hushed, shaky voice. “I’m in a back bedroom, and there are some TV monitors here. From one of them, it looks like somebody planted a nanny-cam or a spy-cam in Hannah’s bedroom. They’ve been watching her . . .”
“You’re kidding me,” he murmured. He sounded genuinely surprised.
Ellie wondered if, when he’d sent her here, Perry had been telling the truth about never having set foot in the place. Maybe it was just like he’d said—he’d merely dropped and picked up Rachel there on a few occasions.
“Rachel didn’t tell you about all the closed-circuit TV monitors here?” she asked.
“It’s news to me . . .”
“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s Hannah’s bedroom on the TV monitor,” Ellie said. “You’re there by the bungalow, aren’t you?” She waited for him to lie.
He hesitated. “Yeah . . .”
“Well, could you go to that window in back and check for me? You know, behind the house, where we were? I didn’t get a good look at the bedroom earlier tonight. But I think it’s Hannah’s. On the monitor here, there’s a ballet poster on the wall . . .”
There was no response.
“Perry?”
Ellie heard a beep on the line. The 911 operator was trying to get back to her. Ellie hoped the police were on their way. But it would still be at least five more minutes—maybe ten—before they arrived.
“Perry, are you still there?”
Ellie could hear the echo of her own voice—murmuring over his phone. It came from downstairs.
She heard his footsteps directly below. She swiveled toward the bedroom door as a light went on somewhere downstairs, most likely the front hallway.
Ellie quickly pressed the phone screen for the other call. “He’s in the house!” she said under her breath.
“Ellie, can you find a place to hide?” the 911 operator asked. “The police are on their way . . .”
She looked across the room at the closet. She tiptoed toward it, but the floorboards creaked.
All at once, a loud shot rang out and a bullet pierced the wood floor—just inches in front of her feet.
Ellie froze. Another shot followed, and she recoiled. She saw faint beams of light and dust pour through both holes in the floor. She raced back into the hallway. She could hear him running, too. She saw his shadow below, looming larger as he approached the stairs.
Terrified, she ducked into another dark, empty bedroom—across the hall.
With her back to the wall by the bedroom door, she winced at the sound of him charging up the stairs. The footsteps got louder and louder, then—nothing, just him breathing heavily. It sounded like he was just outside the bedroom.
Ellie hung up the phone and carefully tucked it in the pocket of her sweater. She prayed the 911 operator didn’t call back and give her away. She tried not to make a sound. She held the crowbar with both hands, but couldn’t stop shaking.
“I guess, by now, you’ve figured I’m not at the bungalow, Ellie,” he called out with a chuckle. “The truth is you’re going to get me out of some trouble. Tonight of all nights, I can’t believe I let that little bitch, Rachel, give me the slip. I know she’ll be okay, wherever the hell she is. She always comes out on top, that girl. I’ll be doing nicely, too, thanks to you . . .” His voice kept fading in and out as he moved from room to room while he talked. “All will be forgiven, because I got you. See, they’re looking for you, Ellie. Didn’t you know it can be very unhealthy to associate with guys who are supposed to be dead? Didn’t you know that, bitch?” His voice got louder. And the room became darker as he stepped into the doorway and blocked out the light. “Was Nate Bergquist going to be the subject of your next big news story? I don’t think so. They’ll be printing your obituary first. Where the fuck are you?”
A floorboard nearby squeaked.
Ellie waited until he came through the doorway. Then she swung the crowbar.
There was a loud crack as she hit him in the face.
The gun went off and flew out of his hand.
Howling in pain, Perry dropped to his knees in front of her. A red line across his forehead began seeping blood. As he leaned over, it dripped onto the dusty wood floor.
Raising the crowbar again, Ellie struck him on the back of the head.
He let out a feeble groan and finally collapsed with a thud.
Suddenly, the house was so quiet again.
But then Ellie heard a muffled sound from outside.
It was someone crying for help.