Chapter 10: Capture
1589 Words
We often giver enemies the means for our own destruction. - Aesop
Vlad leads me off the road and into the thicket of the park grounds. After traveling about ten more minutes, a small structure comes into view.
He checks the door and windows.
"They're locked?" A frown tugs at my lips, treating to cause a tremble.
"Yes, it would seem as such."
"Somehow, this doesn't look like a hidden chamber to me." The structure, built into the side of a hill, peeks out from under turfs of tall grass.
Cupping my eyes, I shelter them from the beginning touches of light from the rising sun.
Facing the door, he kicks it several times until it gives way.
'We will not make it to the designated chamber before sunrise at this pace.' He enters the opening. 'This will do for now.'
The room is empty except for a small metal desk, a few chairs, and a table with a coffeepot.
Vlad slides a chair to the door, wedging it under the knob. Surveying the room, he finds a handle embedded in the floor.
"What is it?" The stale air in the room chills my skin.
Goose bumps cover my goose pimpled arms. My eyes fall upon his bare chest. Sliding the shirt off my shoulders, I approach him.
"Here, take your shirt."
He draws me to his frame. His body emits a heat that reminds me of a campfire or heating pad.
My hands fan out over his muscular chest, then come to rest on two, rock hard pecs.
God, he smells good, like oak and sandalwood with a hint of rosewood. The woody, nutty aroma invades my senses.
The steady warmth permeating through my clothing, makes me wonder what his naked body, pressed against my bare flesh, would feel like.
He tilts my head and gazes at me.
Crap. Why did I have to think?
'I have already warned you.' His eyes take on a smoldering flicker. 'And I would be more than happy to indulge any thoughts you may have about naked flesh. However, this is neither the time nor the place.' He shakes his head. 'Put the shirt back on.' He drapes the garment over my shoulders. His fingers lightly caress my neck. 'I know you are cold.'
"I uhm . . ."
Vlad places two fingers over my mouth, silencing my words. He points to the barricaded entrance.
Fast approaching footsteps pound outside the door.
He motions for me to enter the square opening in the floor.
Steele rounded grips line the interior of the small space. My foot lands on something solid - a metal bar.
Great, I have to climb another ladder.
'I need you to proceed a little faster.'
Moving quickly, I shimmy down to the ground below. Vlad grips the rails and slides down. He hits the ground running, dragging me behind him.
"Do you know where this goes?"
'No. I do not.'
We run down a dimly lit walkway lined with pipes and cables.
"Where do you two think you're going?" The man from the dock's voice echoes in the narrow space.
My heart races in my chest, and my knees wobble with each step. Each strike of my shoes on the concrete makes a dull thud that rings through my ears.
I can't shake the feeling Vlad and I are running face first into a trap.
Rounding a corner, I come to an opening on my left. It's an office.
"This way." He pulls me into the room.
Slouching against the wall, I take in the room, looking for a place to hide, but the ten-by-ten box offers nothing in the way of cover from prying eyes.
It's funny. I've never been afraid of the dark. But now, I'm terrified of who and what the darkness conceals.
The clang of metal bouncing off the concrete floor echoes in the room, making me jump.
"Sarah," the man from the dock shouts. "I'd close my eyes if I were you in 3, 2, 1 - now."
A loud boom resonates. It's deafening.
Bright sparks of light fill the room.
Searing pain rips through my head, and I fall to my knees, cupping my eyes.
A fine mist fills the air, choking me. My body, racked with bronchial spasms, shakes.
"I told you to close your eyes. You should've listened."
"Run, Sarah." Vlad yells between coughs. "You must flee this place."
"But I can't see." Reaching out for the wall, I follow it until I come to a door.
Twisting the deadbolt, I unlock it. A room full of barrels stacked on each other lies ahead.
Overhead, I spy a small vent. Making my way up the barrels, I pry the faceplate off and pull my body into the opening. On my hands and knees, I crawl, inching my way through the dark passage. At the end of the tunnel, I run into another vent.
Well, that's just great. What now?
Lying on my back, I kick the rectangular metal surface with my feet. And it finally gives way. Wiggling my body through the opening, I snake my way through some tall grass.
The sun will soon rise overhead, so I must find shelter, but where?
The fence circling the pond isn't very high, which I'm thankful for. Grabbing hold of the wooden post, I climb to the other side.
On nightly excursions in the past with Morph and Gwyn, I had seen a small cabin. The outside light glows, blinking in the dim pre-dawn hours.
Maybe someone's home. If so, maybe I can use phone to call my father. He'll know what to do.
Rapping on the door, I wait.
Footsteps drumming on the floor announces the cabin's occupant. The door opens, but only as far as the safety chain allows.
A heaviness weighs my legs and feet. "Please. Help me." And a numbness washes over me from head to toe, making my head swim.
"Are you alone?" An elderly lady with puffy blue hair stares out, taking in the front porch and surrounding area.
"Yes, ma'am, but they're people looking for me." My lower lip quivers. "Please. I want to call my father." Tears stream across my cheeks.
The chain rattles, and the door swings open with a creak.
"Come in. Come in." Stepping aside, the woman waves, motioning for me to enter. "Hurry, now, or you'll let the heat out."
In the living room, she hands me a phone. I sit on the edge of the couch and call my father.
A recorded message plays. The number is out of service or no longer in use.
How can that be? I don't understand. Keying in the house number on the phone pad, my fingers shake.
"You've reached a disconnected number." A recording booms in my ear. "If you feel you've reached this recording in error, hang up and try your number again."
"Did you get through, dear?"
"No, I'll call my stepmother's cell."
The same recorded message plays. Hanging up, I dial 911. When the emergency operator comes on the line, I give her my name and explain what happened at Chase Pond.
On the couch, I wait for the police to arrive. Sinking into the soft folds of the cushions, I close my eyes.
The woman taps my shoulder. "Here you go, child." She hands me a glass of water and a washcloth to wipe my face.
A knock at the door makes me jump.
What if it's the man from the dock - the one who shot Morph - what if it's Vlad? Every muscle in my body tenses.
A man wearing a dark blue uniform enters the house. His presence offers a sense of relief. Tension rolls down my shoulders, releasing the tense muscles.
I stand on wobbly legs. "I'm glad you're here." My lids contain a heaviness I can't shake, making it hard to focus.
A cracking whip booms in the room. The woman groans, then falls to the floor holding her chest.
"Room cleared." The uniformed man holsters his gun.
Fear glues my feet to the floor, and my mind struggles with unscrambling the scene now unfolding.
Inspecting the man's shirt, something's missing - a badge, so, who is he?
The man from the dock enters the house. "You should've come quietly. If you had, she wouldn't be dead."
"No." Pivoting around, I run through an archway, across the kitchen, struggle with the deadbolt, and then flee out into the harsh rays of the sun.
A small shed takes up the left side of the yard. Opening the door, I step inside.
I've got to hide, but where? Oh God, they killed her. I crawl under a workbench and draw my knees to my chest.
"Sarah." His familiar voice croons in the surrounding air. "I will find you."
It's not long before the man from the dock enters the shed. He strolls to where I'm crouched in the darkness, then kneels in front of me.
"Ahh, do you know how special you are?"
"Who are you?" The thick and slurred words tumble from my lips.
"Spencer. John Spencer."
He reaches for me, and I swing at him.
My balled up fist contacts the side of his face. The impact sends a jarring pain through my hand and up my arm.
Dragging me out from under the workbench, kicking and screaming, he pins me against the floor.
"That wasn't very nice, now, was it?" His hands wrap around my wrists, and he cinches them together.
- Writer
