Chapter Thirty-five
I hop out of my rideshare before reaching Devin’s house, because I’m not looking to announce my arrival.
The car pulls away, and I’m left on Devin’s street in the cloying heat of the afternoon with only the screech of cicadas and the sound of my own breathing.
Huge old oak trees overshadow a street with more pot holes than Swiss cheese.
I take cover behind a nearby tree to scope out Devin’s house.
Three stories, tall and narrow to fit the narrow lot, with a pitched roof and weary gray stucco.
It looks like this house got into a fight and lost. There’s no sign of life in the front, or at the windows, most of which are covered with sheets.
To get in unobserved, my best chance is to reroute through the alley that runs parallel to the street and find a way in via a back door.
It doesn’t take me long to get there. There’s no garage in the back; just a weedy patch of grass and a few beat-up Adirondack chairs around a fire pit.
I can see from here that I have two back doors to choose from.
One leads to the main floor. The other leads down a short set of concrete steps to the basement entrance.
Basement it is.
There’s no hiding my approach, if anyone’s watching from the windows. Now or never, I tell my racing heart. I sprint through the yard, down the half a dozen steps, into the dark stoop under the deck.
No time to breathe. I twist the doorknob, but of course, it’s locked.
Thankfully, next to the door is an old, single-pane window with a weathered wooden frame.
I tentatively try to push it up. It rises the teensiest bit, then seems to get stuck.
I pull out my flip knife and wedge it under the frame.
I can feel the blade bend as I lever it, praying it doesn’t snap.
‘Come on,’ I whisper.
The window pops free so suddenly I nearly yelp.
Almost in. I push it up from the bottom, wincing as the glass pane shudders, then make an awkward jump to get my torso inside.
As soon as my head is through, I scan the basement.
I’m facing a long, dark room with storage shelves on either side, and a bulky shadow I can’t quite make out in the back right.
Most importantly, no one appears to be down here.
With my torso levered over the ledge, I shimmy through snake-style, my belly scraping uncomfortably against the frame.
The gap is small enough that every move sends my back knocking into the pane, rattling the glass even louder.
Shit. Awkwardly, I let my torso slide down the interior wall to allow my legs to come through the narrow gap – but before I can figure out how to do it gracefully, my body plummets forward in a nose dive.
I flail out my hands and hit the concrete floor, pain shooting up my wrists, landing me in a bizarre handstand before my feet come through with a jolt, sending me off-balance again, my legs toppling as my head hits the floor, my body rolling into a painful half-somersault. For a second, I see stars.
Also, fuck, could I have been any louder??
For a second, I remain totally still in my cramped, semi-fetal position on the cool cement, my head pounding, trying to breathe silently and listen for any sign of another human. I count to five, my heart knocking against my ribs, pain radiating from my head and wrists. Nothing happens.
I rise slowly, steady myself against the wall and look into the yawning darkness, letting my eyes adjust.
It’s just one big, open space, lined with crowded storage shelves.
The bulky shadow reveals itself to be a carpenter’s worktable.
I walk toward it. Tools hang on the wall behind it, including an axe, sharp-looking and disturbingly discolored.
The floor is gritty with wood shavings. I nudge some with my feet, revealing a brownish spot on the floor.
I crouch, brushing away more shavings, revealing a rust-red stain.
Blood? I pull out my UV light and click it on.
The spot lights up like a UFO in the night sky.
I sweep it up to the axe, which lights up too. Yep. That is most definitely blood.
OK, now I’m officially shaking. I return the UV light to my purse and pull out my phone. I text Barnett’s number. At Devin’s house. Bloodstains in the basement. Please come asap. Then I make sure I have a grip on the stun gun, because it’s time to go up.
The stairway up leads to a closed door. I’ll have no choice but to go in blind. I creep up, each tread creaking in spite of how carefully I’m trying to step. Finally, I’m at the top. I put my ear to the door and listen for any sound – steps, a voice, a toilet flushing, water running. Nothing.
Slowly, carefully, I turn the door handle and crack the door just enough to peek through.
I can now see a sliver of kitchen – golden-brown linoleum tile, white fridge, the edge of a table.
I open a little wider, then all the way.
A current of air sweeps my cheeks, teasing my hair as I step into the kitchen and look around.
The windows are covered with tacked-up white sheets, lending the light a strange, ethereal quality. It smells like … I inhale deeply.
Garbage. Incense. And one more thing. Linseed.
I step into the next room – what must have originally been an old dining room, based on the built-in buffet that’s no longer covered in dishes or decorative items, but a collection of bobbleheads, half of them bobbing, the cumulative effect like ripples on sentient water – and that’s when I hear it.
A very human groan. And it’s coming from somewhere above me. Liam.
I bound from the dining room into the living room, barely taking it in before springing up the front stairway. I explode on to the landing, surveying the four closed doors. I lunge for the first. Luck is on my side.
‘Liam!’ I fall to my knees. He’s curled on the floor of a storage room full of stacked boxes and bins, his lip split, his eye blackened, his hands bound behind him with a zip tie, clearly unconscious.
I drop my stun gun back into my purse and fumble for my knife instead.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, fighting for control of my emotions. ‘I’m here, I’m going to cut you free, and then we’re getting out of here—’ Damn, it’s hard to open the knife when my hands are shaking so hard. Before I can even get it open, there’s a scream from somewhere else in the house. A female scream.
Zoe?
I shoot back up, looking for a brief moment between Liam and the open door.
‘I’ll be back,’ I gasp, and dash out. I burst into the next room.
There, lying on a mat on the floor hands and feet bound, is Brooke Walsh, face wet, eyes wide and red, her blond hair greasy. She looks like shit. But she’s alive.
‘Brooke!’ I run to her. Tears are streaming down her face. ‘Don’t worry! I’m here to save you.’ Brooke makes a terrified whimpering. I make shushing sounds to calm her while I try to open my knife.
Then I feel it. A presence behind me. I go still.
For a second, I just breathe, waiting. Prepare myself to face Devin. Then, an oh-so-familiar voice that I never thought I’d hear again speaks.
‘Babe.’