Chapter 20

 

A sound brought Victoria around to consciousness again. Beyond her range of sight came the grating sound of a key in a disused lock, an old doorknob turning. The concrete room seemed tinged in pink. Late afternoon. What day was this? She had no idea. Grunts and groans, male voices, sent adrenaline shooting through her body. A picture came to her of the two men in her house. They’d demanded something, some tape recording they thought she had. What if they’d tracked her here? Worse—what if they’d brought her here and were coming back to torture her for the information. Oh god.

She suppressed a whimper and squeezed herself tightly into her corner, pulling the musty tarp over her head. Dust and flakes of paint filtered over her face and she pinched her nose to avoid sneezing. If these were the men who’d broken into her house her life depended on remaining out of sight.

Heavy boots stomped down the concrete steps. Two men, from the sounds of it, shuffling along, carrying something heavy.

“Whew, what a day!” said a deep, gravelly voice.

The other one, higher pitched, younger, grunted agreement. “Damn generator’s a pain in the ass. When are they getting power to the building, anyway?”

“Boss says not ’til after the holidays.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. At least we’ll have the place enclosed by next week. Windows installed, locks on the door, we can start leaving all this junk inside instead of hauling it around.”

Metal grated against concrete as they shoved the generator across the floor. Victoria held her breath, unsure if they would be friend or foe. By their conversation, they seemed more interested in getting out and grabbing a beer.

She debated calling out to them for help. She opened her mouth but her voice came out as a croak, scratchy with disuse. A moment later the heavy boots clomped up the steps and there was the sound of a metal door closing, lock clicking in place. They were gone.

Victoria pushed the tarp aside. Her left arm still throbbed but the adrenaline surge left her feeling energized. She had to get out of here. Find a phone, call Ron. She gripped her left arm with her right hand, holding it tightly to her body as she got her legs beneath her and stood. Her vision dimmed perilously. She paused, allowed it to clear, tried a tentative step. As long as she held her breath against the pain she could manage two or three steps without stopping. She made it to the stairs, noting the light had gone from pink to gray. The short winter dusk was coming on fast.

Gripping a flimsy wooden handrail she took the stairs one at a time, with a long pause after each exertion. At the top of the flight she reached a small, square landing. The metal door looked solid with a hefty knob and deadbolt. She twisted the locking mechanism on the doorknob, fumbling it with her frozen fingers. The thumb turn on the deadbolt was easier to manage; although crusted with decades of dirt and grime it creaked the ninety degrees necessary to release it. She edged the door open, peering out carefully. A blast of icy wind fluttered her bathrobe and she realized she was barefoot. A whiff of car exhaust remained as the only trace of the men who’d been here a few minutes ago.

The door opened into an alley. She stood at the threshold, debating which was worse, leaving or staying. Indoors provided shelter from the weather, although no warmth other than her own body heat. Outside, even that was borne away on the breeze. But the men could come back. She had to get help, no matter what it took. She stepped to the alley, her numb feet hardly feeling the rough surface and layer of dried mud on the multiple tire tracks that ran its length. She pulled the metal door shut behind her, not locking the knob. Listened.

In the distance, traffic. Engines revving, the toot of a horn. She looked toward each end of the alley. To her left, it ended at some kind of loading dock behind a big building. The high doors were closed, not a vehicle in sight there. To the right was a street. No cars had driven by. She began walking, taking stumbling steps on frozen feet. At the street she held back, watching for activity. There was none.

The narrow thoroughfare was lined with two- and three-story buildings of the office and warehouse variety, many of them appearing to be empty. She didn’t recognize the area. Yellow-brick fronts with large windows, some of the glass broken and missing, others soaped or papered over. Graffiti on all. To her left she could see the next intersection, some sort of convenience store or package liquor place with a neon sign fizzling out a weak signal. She couldn’t imagine walking in there.

But nothing else on the street appeared open. A phone. All she wanted was to reach a phone. Ron would come get her. She could have a bath and tend to her injured arm. Thinking of warmth and family carried her to the corner. Outside the store’s lighted windows she spotted a pay phone. A laugh bubbled up—haven’t seen one of these in years, and now it shows up when I need it.

She picked up the receiver. It had an oily feel in her hand and the parts that would touch her face smelled of grease, liquor and unwashed hands. Her stomach lurched but she forced herself to hold it. Then she remembered she would need coins and she had none. Maybe in the store, she could borrow some. But a glance at the clerk with long, slimy hair selling a miniature bottle of booze to a guy in an oversized ripped parka told her it would not be smart to walk in there. She gathered her robe more tightly and stood with her back against the wall, pressing 0 on the keypad.

“Operator.”

“I need to make a call,” Victoria said, suddenly at a loss for the number. Ron’s apartment phone had been taken out. He might be at her house. She gave her home number.

“Please deposit fifty cents or insert a credit card,” came the voice.

“I don’t have any money. Please—I need to reach my fiancé.”

“Please deposit fifty cents or insert a credit card.”

She began to wonder if she was speaking to a person or if this was an automated system. She had no clue. Her head pounded and she couldn’t think.

The stringy guy in the parka came out of the store and glanced her direction. His eyes were glazed and his grin revealed missing and rotten teeth.

“Hey sweetie,” he called in a drunken slur, “I’ll help you. Come home with me.”

“Please!” Victoria said to the operator. “Please …”

The man started toward her and she realized how it must look, a barefoot woman in a robe out on a cold night. She dropped the receiver and ran.