He didn’t bother calling the dog. If it was there, it would find its way outside. Returning the way he’d come, he almost shut the gate before realizing that would be almost as confining as leaving the animal in the house, so he propped it open and moved on to the next place.
Over and over he repeated this procedure. He found some doors unlocked, but most of the places required a window to be broken. Limiting his range to only three houses on either side proved to be impossible, however. His conscience wouldn’t let him stop until he reached the end of the block.
He finished up and headed back toward his apartment, not really sure how much good he’d done. Not once had he seen a pet wanting to get out. Still, he was glad he’d made the effort.
He had just turned onto his driveway when he heard something in the distance that sounded like a voice. He twisted around and looked down the street. No one there.
He was probably hearing things. A few times back in San Mateo, as he cared for his dying sister, he’d thought he’d heard voices, too, but every time he’d investigated, he’d found nothing.
Wishful thinking then, and wishful thinking now.
He turned back toward his Jeep and started walking again.
“Help!”
That was no wishful thinking.
He turned in a circle, trying to figure out where the voice had come from.
“Please! Help!”
To the right. A woman’s voice.
Ben raced up the driveway to his Jeep, jumped in, and backed it out to the street. At the first intersection, he turned right in the general direction toward the voice. Then he threw the engine into neutral and popped up on his seat.
Cupping a hand around his mouth, he yelled, “Where are you?”
“Oh, my God! Can you hear me? Please, get me out of here!”
The voice was closer than he expected, again to his right somewhere.
“I don’t know where you are!” he shouted. “Keep yelling!”
“I’m over here! Please help me! Get me out of here!”
Ben drove slowly forward, zeroing in on her voice.
“Are you there? Hello? Don’t leave me here!”
As he came abreast of a tired-looking Cape Cod place, he rolled to a stop.
“Am I close?” he yelled.
“Here! I’m right here!”
Her voice was coming from between the Cape Cod and a ranch-style house on the other side of it. He killed the engine and jumped out of the Jeep. As he ran across the front yard, he yelled, “I’m coming!”
“Oh, thank God! Thank God!”
He nearly slipped on the grass as he skidded around the corner. About fifteen feet back, a tall wooden fence stretched between the two houses.
“Which house?” he asked.
“What do you mean, which house? This one! Please help me!”
Her voice was coming from behind the Cape Cod. The gate was locked, so he pulled himself over the top, and dropped onto a concrete patio on the other side. She wasn’t in the side yard, so he moved around the corner and came to an abrupt halt. She wasn’t in the backyard, either. What the hell?
“Where did you go?”
“I didn’t go anywhere. I’m right here.”
The voice seemed to have come from almost directly behind him. He whirled around.
Low on the back of the house was a basement window, broken and barred on the outside. Looking out of it was the woman. She had a dirt-stained face and a head of tangled brown hair, and looked to be in her mid-twenties.
“Oh, thank God, thank God, thank God,” she said, spotting him. “Please, help me.”
“Are you trapped down there?”
“Yes! Yes! I can’t open the door.”
Ben looked around for an outside entrance to the basement, but didn’t see any. He would have to go into the house. “Hold on. I’ll be right down.”
He needed to smash a window to unlock the back door, but he didn’t think the woman would mind. The smell of death hit him the moment he stepped inside. He clapped a hand over his mouth and nose, and had to blink a few times as his eyes watered up. After his vision cleared, he scanned the interior.
To the right was a kitchen, and to the left, a space that would’ve probably been considered a family room. The only furniture, though, was an old couch and a wooden coffee table. Both the furniture and the rooms looked dated but well maintained.
No basement door, though.
He moved into a hallway. The smell was stronger here, and seemed to be coming from the left, so he went right. He didn’t have to go far before finding himself in a living room where the spartan décor continued — in this case, two chairs, another coffee table, and a magazine basket, the latter filled but neat. Again, no entrance to the basement.
Tightening his grip on his face, he returned to the hallway and began opening doors. The first two led to a bathroom and an understocked linen closet. When he opened the third door, he found a room that, unlike the rest of house so far, was fully furnished — a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a desk, and a full bookcase. The walls were covered with pictures and posters, most of which featured an early-twenties Justin Timberlake. It was obvious this had been a teenage girl’s room.
He moved on. Only one door was left, the one hiding whoever had died. Ben pulled it open, already sure it wouldn’t be the door to the basement, but he had to check. Sure enough, it led into a second bedroom.
This one, apparently, had been the master. A simple dresser sat against one wall, and a queen-sized bed against the other. The body of a middle-aged man was on the bed, half covered by a blanket. In a rare break from the cleanliness Ben had seen throughout the house, used tissues were scattered on the carpet.
Ben blinked to keep his eyes clear as they watered up again, and scanned the room, looking for a basement door he knew wouldn’t be there. The only things he saw were three pictures hanging on the wall, family portraits of a man, a woman, and a girl. In the oldest one, the girl was maybe twelve or thirteen, and in the most recent, probably almost out of high school. The man was definitely the guy in the bed.
“Hey! What’s going on?” The floor muted the woman’s voice, making her hard to understand.
Ben hurried out of the bedroom and yelled, “I can’t find the basement door!”
“It’s just off the kitchen!”
“I didn’t see it.”
“Come on! Get me out of here!”
The only thing just off the kitchen was a laundry room consisting of a washer, a dryer, and a closet half filled with neatly arranged cleaning supplies.
He started to close the closet.
“Did you find it?” the woman yelled.
Instead of being muted by the floorboards this time, her voice seemed to be coming through the closet. He ran his hand across the back and found a latch. As he pulled it up, the whole back wall moved out of the way. Someone had gone to great lengths to hide the door.
“Found it!” he shouted as he headed down the steps.
At the bottom, he was confronted with another door, this one metal. He tried the knob, but it was locked.
“Open it,” the woman said from the other side.
“It’s locked from this side. You can’t open it from there?”
“Do you think I’d still be down here if I could?”
“Well, I can’t kick it down. It’s too strong.” He turned for the stairs. “Maybe I can find a crowbar or something. I’ll be right back.”
“No, don’t leave me!”
“I’ll just be a minute.” As he headed up, he wondered how long she’d been there. A couple hours? A day? Two?
Reentering the laundry room, he knew there was an easier solution than hunting for something he could break down the door with. There had to be keys somewhere. The problem was, the most likely place they’d be was with the dead man.