Chapter Three

 

 

 

“Time’s up, bitch.”

Ellie leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. There weren’t enough holes to count in the panels to stop her hands from shaking.

“Shit.” She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled slowly. “Now what do I do?” She sat up and reached for the phone. Surely, the chief would help her now. Her fingers trembled as she punched in the number.

“Hello, this is Chief Harold Robson of the Rio Seco Police Department. I’m afraid I can’t answer the phone right now. Please leave your name, number and a brief message and I’ll phone you back as soon as possible.”

“Liar.” Ellie slammed the receiver down and grabbed her car keys. “I know damn well where you are.” She swept out of the office and out of the depot, deftly sidestepping a reversing forklift, before heading out into the baking early afternoon sun. Duncan had been gone for three days and she still reveled in his promise to return. She wished he was there now. She didn’t think she could brush this message off as she had the others.

Ellie winced when she curled her hands around the steering wheel, the heat from it biting into her palms. She turned south on the main road and headed for the police station.

The old station had burned down in an arson attack five years before. The ‘new’ station was an old modular standing in the middle of the parking lot of the old one. The chief’s car was parked in its usual place, beneath a stand of mesquite. His secretary’s car was parked right next to it and the two squad cars were gone.

“Horny bastard.” Ellie knew exactly where to find him. She didn’t care what she interrupted when she walked into the small lobby. The warped floorboards creaked beneath the worn, water-stained carpet. She rang the bell but no one answered. The unmistakable howls of a woman in the throes of orgasm drifted along the shadowy corridor.

Ellie followed the hall to the chief’s office. She tried the door handle and smiled to herself. “Gotcha.” As Lisa’s howls of pleasure faded to whimpers, Ellie pushed the door open.

It was not a pleasant sight. Lisa, the chief’s secretary, sprawled across the conference table while her partner sprang to his feet and fumbled for the trousers that had puddled around his ankles.

“Screwing on the tax-payers’ time, very nice.” Ellie wondered how any woman could get off on the shriveled appendage that dangled between the chief’s legs. She’d seen bigger Vienna sausages.

“You could’ve knocked.”

“You could’ve answered your damn phone.”

“Ellie, what’s the emergency? What the hell made you bust in like that? Haven’t you got any damn manners?”

“Not when I get threats, nah, I kinda forget about manners.”

“What kind of threats?” He wrestled with his belt buckle. Lisa shot Ellie a venomous glance and hurried back into her clothes before scuttling away. Her angry footsteps receded down the corridor and were cut short by a slamming door.

“Time’s up, bitch.”

“That’s all? You busted into my office, invaded my privacy and ruined a good fuck, to tell me that? It’s hardly explicit, is it?”

“Seems pretty clear-cut to me.” Ellie folded her arms across her chest to stop her hands from trembling.

The chief sank into his chair and rubbed his hand down his face. “Ellie, honey, I’m sorry. I know you’re scared but I told you there’s nothing I can do. My guys are run ragged as it is. I can’t spare anyone.”

“I figured you’d say that.” She sighed and bit back sudden tears. “What the hell am I supposed to do, Chief?”

“Did you get a gun like I told you to?”

Ellie shook her head. “I don’t like guns.”

“Well, you’d better start liking them.” He pulled a drawer open and placed a small handgun on the table. “This belonged to Marcy. I don’t know why I still keep it. She left years ago. Take it. Get over your dislike real quick and take the damn gun.” He pushed it toward her. “Do you know how to use one?”

She opened the chamber and checked it. “Yes, Mike taught me. He had a gun in the house. When he died, I gave it away.”

“Well, that’s something.” He handed her a box of bullets. “Keep it with you all the time. Take it into the shower if you have to.” His eyes were sad. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I wish I could do more, I really do.”

Ellie put the gun and bullets in her purse. “I know.” She felt like she was carrying a bomb in her handbag. He’d broken the law by giving the gun to her and that meant more than any empty promise or apology. She managed a smile. “Thanks. I promise I’ll keep it with me.”

“See that you do. If you see anything suspicious, call me. Don’t bother with the nine-one-one number, call me on my cell.”

“I will.”

“Now get the hell outta here before I change my mind and decide not to forgive you.”

“I never said I was sorry.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Thanks.” Ellie walked toward the door and felt slightly less scared.

 

* * * *

 

Back in her office, she loaded the gun and made sure the safety was on before she returned it to her handbag. There was a pile of paperwork to be got through and she wanted it gone before Duncan returned because she’d decided to take some leave for the first time in years. The thought that he would be back in four days was almost enough to make the threat recede to a slightly unpleasant memory. Ellie turned on the radio, reached for her pen and began to write.

Ellie made sure that she left the depot at closing time, walking with Maria into the empty parking lot. The heat had returned and the weatherman said that the monsoon was taking a break. She looked toward the Pinal Mountains, where thunderheads glowed in the early evening sunlight. She knew they’d break up into nothing by the time they reached the drier air of the valley so it was pointless longing for a storm.

“See you tomorrow.” Maria grinned. “Not long now.”

“No and I can’t wait.”

“I don’t blame you. He’s not bad looking at all. If I wasn’t already spoken for I’d arm wrestle you for him.”

“You wouldn’t have a chance.” Ellie climbed into her car. “And I’m not sharing, so don’t even bother asking.”

The house was cool and dark. Ellie took the gun and set it on the kitchen table while she sorted through the fridge, trying to find something to eat. She craved a steak, but the supermarket charged absurd prices for a small, fatty slab of beef masquerading as sirloin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten steak. Instead, she decided on a cheese omelet, cooking it quickly so she could settle down and depress herself with the six o’clock news. She locked the doors and bolted the windows then sank onto the couch. Lupe’s eldest cycled past, his sister in pursuit on her scooter. Their cries echoed in the street outside as the heat slowly began to fade from the day, with the light dimming to a soft pink. Ellie leaned back and closed her eyes. The anchorman’s voice faded to a mosquito’s drone. The air conditioning kicked in, cool air escaping from the vent and chilling the room. It was a comforting, familiar sound, assuring Ellie that all was all right in her world. The fridge whirred and the lingering scent of melted cheese drifted from the kitchen. She was suddenly very tired.

* * * *

 

An explosion of shattering glass made her sit up with a start. Ellie’s heart hammered against her ribs. At first, she thought she’d fallen asleep on the remote and turned the volume up on the television. She sat up and tried to make sense of the sudden clatter of feet on the floorboards—they didn’t sync with the antacid commercial on the television. The sudden appearance of three men in her living room didn’t make much sense either. One of them seized Ellie’s arm before she even had a chance to jump to her feet.

“Get off me!” She lashed out with her foot and got lucky. She heard a satisfying crack as her heel hit her assailant’s knee.

He hissed like an angry viper and let her go. “Bitch.” He hopped away, clutching his knee but, before she could move, one of the others grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. “That was a stupid thing to do.”

Ellie screamed as the cold nozzle of a gun bit into her throat. He grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back.

“Let go of me.” She tried to pull away, but his hand coiled tighter. Her scalp was on fire.

“You’re coming with us, bitch.”

The pain from her scalp burned through her. He dragged Ellie through the kitchen, one hand still in her hair, one clamped over her mouth. She tried to bite him, but couldn’t find purchase on his cupped palm as he hauled her through the door onto the porch. His companion limped ahead while the other followed them.

“Hurry up and get her in the van,” he barked.

They dragged her across her back yard. What they did to her garden as she kicked and struggled hurt far more than her scalp and, suddenly, the pain didn’t matter as much. Ellie kicked out, narrowly missing the man who followed.

“Very stupid.” He growled and raised his hand.

His fist caught her cheekbone. Ellie didn’t realize, until that moment, that people really did see stars before their lights went out.

 

* * * *

 

When Ellie woke, she wondered whether she’d been hit by a truck. She lay still in a dark, close place. Her face hurt—a blunt, throbbing pain that nagged at her cheek and coiled around her eye socket. She wasn’t even sure she still had an eye in place. Unfortunately, the fact that her hands were bound behind her back made it impossible to explore. Ellie took a deep breath, wincing as new hurts materialized—her head, her neck, her foot. The metallic surface she rested on didn’t help. It found every joint, every soft spot and ground against her hip. The hum of a motor and the vibrations that echoed through her bones told her that her assailants had, indeed, managed to get her into a van. As her head cleared a little, Ellie heard the distant mumble of conversation.

“Do you think this is going to work?”

“Using the fed as bait? I dunno. The Prophet seems to think so.”

“Come on, Zack, she’s pretty low down the pecking order. It isn’t like we’ve just bagged ourselves an FBI agent or anything. She’s just a pencil pusher.”

“She’s the best we could do. The Prophet knows what he’s doing, believe me. Believe in him.”

Somebody coughed and for a while there was silence, apart from the engine. Ellie wondered if this was an awful dream. Cheese did that to her. Only the pain persuaded her otherwise. The threat had been carried out, she hadn’t had a chance to use her gun and she’d never got to phone the chief. No one would realize she was missing until she didn’t turn up for work in the morning. By then, she could be miles away or dead. No one would come after her. Tears burned her eyes. She would’ve given anything to be back home, in her silent house, listening to the comfortable whirr of the ceiling fans. She wanted to be back in her office, pushing paper, anything. Duncan would turn up and she wouldn’t be there. That was the worst of it. For the first time in years, she’d met a man who liked her and she wasn’t even going to see him again.

“Bastards,” she whispered, while she wept silently. “Fucking assholes.” That hurt more than anything. Six years of relentless misery, of solitary meals in front of the television, had led to this.

Bait.

 

* * * *

 

“The caller you are trying to reach is unavailable at the moment.”

Duncan snapped his phone shut and stared at the ocean. The beach was deserted in the evening silence and the sun was a brilliant sliver of scarlet on the far horizon. He wanted to talk to Ellie, to tell her that he was sitting on a rock, staring at the Pacific and thinking of her. Three more days and he’d see her again. He was surprised how much he was looking forward to parking the car in her drive and walking to the front door.

He put the phone back in his pocket and remembered kissing her and the way her fingers had strayed to her lips as if she’d been stunned by his actions. He’d watched her waving as he’d driven away, small against the backdrop of the dead department store, the breeze shifting through her hair. Something in her had tugged at him, like gravity. He’d wanted to turn around, open the door, pull her in and drive away with her.

“How’d you bloody do that, Ellie?” he murmured. The waves whispered against the shingle and gulls hovered over the water, squabbling. “How’d you get under my skin like that?” Duncan hated that he couldn’t hear her voice. He hated how everything was now knocked off kilter. He slid down from the boulder and kicked his way along the beach. He wanted her here. He wanted to see her smile, free from the worry of scraping a living in that dying little town. He was certain that, beneath her silence, there was a wellspring of laughter—the photographs on her living room wall had promised that much.

 

* * * *

 

“Who the hell did that? It stinks in here.”

“Did what?”

“Let one off. I gotta open the window.”

Ellie felt a cool rush of air. It touched her face. She smelled rain and pines.

“Oh, grow up. We’re nearly there. You can breathe all the fresh air you like.”

“What happens to her?”

“The Prophet says he’s putting her to work the soil…after she’s sent the message.”

“The garden?”

“Come on, Jeremiah, they’re hardly going to marry her off, are they? She’s twenty years too old for a start, and not a virgin.”

“So they’re going to keep her alive?”

“She’s no good to anyone dead.”

Ellie allowed herself a small sigh of relief. If she was allowed to live, she would find a way out. No matter what they did to her, she would make it. She closed her eyes while her captors squabbled about the sins of eating bean burritos and the inevitable after-effects. She would’ve laughed if she didn’t hurt so much. She christened them the three stooges—it made her feel better to think of them as stupid buffoons whose intellectual depth extended only as far as discussing farts and Mexican food. She hoped they had bought the offending food from the little taco stand on the main road. They’d be doing more than passing gas before the night was through. The thought gave her some comfort while the van bounced over a bumpy road. Ellie heard the crunch of gravel when the van took a sharp turn. It slowed and the three stooges fell silent.

“What are we supposed to do with her?”

“Take her to Obidiah’s house. He’s got a place in the basement for her.”

“She’s lucky.”

“The Prophet doesn’t want her hurt.”

“You’d better come up with a good reason why you cracked her on the cheek, then.”

The van slowed to a halt and the clang of gates echoed in the cool night air. The van edged forward and the gates rattled behind them. Ellie remained still, hating that she couldn’t see anything. Gravel crackled under the tires and a damp breeze crept into the back of the van. Ellie smelled rain. Eventually, even the crackling ceased. Her three captors slid out of the front and, moments later, the rear doors swung open, admitting a welcome chill. Ellie made herself limp, determined to make the stooges work to sort her out. One of them climbed in beside her and pulled her into a sitting position. The rope tickled her wrists when he untied her. He eased the tape from her mouth while one of the others unbound her ankles.

“Which one of you bastards hit me?” She flexed her wrists.

None of them answered.

Ellie scooted forward until her legs swung over the edge of the van. “No, I didn’t think any of you would have the balls to ’fess up to hitting a woman. I hope I have a really big, purple bruise.” She stood up and glared at them, their bland faces pale in the fickle moonlight. They all looked the same to her—long beards, short hair. Like rednecks gone a little crazy. “Assholes.” She smiled as they stepped away from her. Knowing that they wouldn’t kill her helped.

“What’s going on out there?” a man’s voice echoed into the night.

Ellie realized that they were no longer in darkness, that a brilliant light illuminated the scene. Three witless stooges scarcely out of their teens, trying to look like hard men in black clothes. She glanced over her shoulder at the house the van was parked in front of. It was massive, one of half a dozen equally large houses spread out along a broad gravel road. A large man stood on the porch. The light turned his long, white hair to a madwoman’s wedding veil. A long beard gave lie to the illusion.

“Is this our guest?”

One of the stooges nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Well, don’t leave her standing out here. It’s cold.”

Ellie shivered. She was so used to the humid warm nights of the desert monsoon that this place felt like the frozen north. She ignored her captors and walked toward the wide, brightly lit porch and the man with the long, white hair. “Who are you?” She didn’t feel inclined to wait for formal introductions, especially as the stooges seemed mute in the man’s presence.

To her surprise, he bowed and smiled. “Obidiah Worthington. You’re to be a guest in my home.”

“Um…thanks. I’d rather be in my own home, I’m sure you understand.”

He took her arm, his grip firm. “I do, Mrs. Freeman. Don’t worry, I think you’ll find things here quite comfortable, considering the circumstances.”

Ellie thought she was seeing things. He seemed genuinely apologetic but his eyes were sharp. “What happened here?” His hand moved toward her cheek.

She stepped back. “Don’t touch.” She looked over her shoulder at the stooges who stood beside the van.

Beneath the froth of beard, Worthington’s mouth was set in a hard, thin line. “Did one of them hit you?” His voice was low, the bonhomie of welcome gone.

“Yes.”

“She wouldn’t cooperate.” The voice that answered had lost its bravado. Ellie wondered if the bean burritos were beginning to take effect.

“They wrecked my back door, my garden and they dragged me out of my house. I was hardly going to go without a fight.”

“The Prophet won’t be happy, you know that, don’t you? I won’t trouble him with it tonight but I suggest you use the night wisely and come up with a good reason why he shouldn’t lock you all up.” Worthington took Ellie’s arm once more.

The stooges clambered into the van, started the engine and turned away from the long, broad road, disappearing into the darkness beyond the pool of light.

“Come in, Mrs. Freeman. Don’t worry, you won’t be harmed. You have my word on that. Come and meet my wives, they’re anxious to meet you.”

Ellie, feeling exhausted, nodded and let him lead her into the house. The huge foyer was a sweep of polished floorboards and gold light. A broad staircase led to the shadowed recesses of the second floor, but Ellie was too busy trying to count the number of women clustered around the foot of the stairs. By her reckoning, there were at least ten, all dressed like extras from an old western in long, dark-colored skirts and white blouses. She hoped that she wasn’t expected to join the costume party. All of them offered her kind smiles, not quite hiding the curiosity in their eyes.

It had been a long day. Ellie tried to remember their names as, one by one, they stepped forward and introduced themselves. There was a Deborah, Sarah, Rebeccah, Naomi, Susannah, Mary, Mercy, Temperance, Hope and Faith. She nodded and smiled back. There was something about their presence that calmed her. Their shy welcomes seemed genuine.

“As you can imagine, Mrs. Freeman has had a rough evening. Deborah, perhaps you could show our guest to her room. Rebeccah, could you find something for her to eat? Naomi, Mrs. Freeman looks to be about your size, perhaps you could find her a nightgown?” He offered Ellie a smile. “Welcome to our home, Mrs. Freeman. I can promise you that you will come to no harm under my roof.”

Ellie stared hard at him, trying to read his eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was tiredness that dulled her senses, but she thought he was telling the truth. “Thank you.” She managed a weary smile.

She followed one of the wives along the hall to a big kitchen which was brilliantly clean and well ordered, not a pot out of place. A large laundry room led to a flight of stairs, which headed down to a basement. Ellie was surprised at the brightness there. It was a broad, carpeted sweep of space, scattered with children’s toys, little tables and chairs and a whiteboard on the wall. “This is the children’s classroom. We home school them. It’s also where they play. Here’s your room.” The woman opened a door and held it for Ellie. “We made it nice for you.”

Ellie edged in. There was a bed tucked into a corner, an overstuffed chair, a small table and a closet. Another door opened to a small bathroom with a shower. Someone had taken the trouble to disguise the fact that it was a cell. Flowered curtains covered a tiny window just beneath the ceiling, a patchwork quilt covered the bed and a vase full of dried flowers rested on the table. Ellie was less impressed with the lurid oil painting of a fair-haired man in early-nineteenth-century clothes, hanging on the wall. “Who’s that?” she asked.

The woman, who Ellie thought might’ve been Susannah, looked at her wide-eyed. “That’s Joseph Smith, of course.”

Ellie studied the portrait again. Joseph Smith had matinee idol looks and a luminous glow about him. She refrained from making that observation. “Ah, yes, so it is. I’m tired. I guess I’m not at my best.”

“Of course, you must be exhausted.”

Ellie sank onto a corner of the bed. A few minutes later, another wife, younger than her guide, carrying a voluminous white nightgown, hurried into the room. “Here you are. It gets cold down here at night, you’ll need this.”

“Thanks.” Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in anything other than a T-shirt and underwear, apart from… She remembered Duncan with a twinge of sad frustration. She regarded the swath of cotton and managed another smile. It seemed churlish to be anything other than nice in the face of their kindness.

“I’ll find you some day clothes by morning. You can’t go around here in those.” The younger woman gawped at Ellie’s jeans and T-shirt with ill-disguised horror.

“I can’t?”

“It’s not nice for women to show their legs.”

“Oh.” Ellie had noticed that their dark skirts and tidy blouses didn’t show much of anything. She just wanted to be left alone for a while. The bed was comfortable and the room cool.

“Did you want something to eat?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you. I’m just very tired.”

They left her alone. She was surprised that they didn’t lock the door behind them. Everything had been left for her in the bathroom—soap, towels, toothbrush and toothpaste. Those small things made Ellie realize that she had nothing but the clothes she wore. Her wallet was in her purse, with her cell phone, sitting on the kitchen table back at home. The only thing in the pocket of her jeans was a Kleenex. She undressed and slipped into the nightdress. It was absurd, with a frilled collar that brushed her chin, and long, puffed sleeves. She rolled the sleeves up and climbed beneath the cool cotton sheets and quilt. After a few minutes, everything but sleep ceased to matter.