A dim light exposes the space. Down a flight of steps. Another chain, another light. Through the tunnel. Open the second door with a second key. The hiding. Home, sweet home.
The thought of sharing his home with another person for a little while suddenly doesn’t seem so bad. In fact, it holds its own excitement. Everything he needs is here. Food, water, a bathroom, a bed, clothing, the electronics—of course, she won’t be sharing any of those amenities.
The woman is stirring again.
He crosses to the room he’s prepared. The walk-in closet once stored materials he’s used in his games, but he’s cleared it for her. Can’t take the chance that she knows how to set off dynamite now, can he? The room is seven by seven and solid concrete all around except the ceiling, which is heavily insulated wood. The door is steel.
He places her onto the cement floor and steps back. She groans and rolls to one side. Good enough.
He closes the door, locks it with a deadbolt, and stuffs a rolled-up rug into the crack at the bottom. Lights out.
21
Monday
Morning
KEVIN HEARD THE RINGING long before he awoke. It sounded like a high-pitched laugh. Or an intermittent scream. Then there was the pounding, a thumping that could be his heart. But it sounded more like banging on the door.
“Sir?” Someone was yelling, calling him sir.
Kevin’s eyes somehow managed to open. Light shone through the window. Where was he? Home. His mind started to drift. He would have to get up eventually and go to class, but at the moment he felt as though he’d met the wrong end of a rhino charge. He closed his eyes.
The muffled voice came again. “Kevin? The phone . . .”
His eyes snapped open. Slater. His life had been turned upside down by a man called Slater who called on the phone. The phone was ringing.
He spilled out of bed. The clock said 7:13. Slater had given them until 6 A.M. He ran to the bedroom door, twisted the lock, and yanked it open. One of the agents watching his house stood there, the cordless phone from the kitchen in hand.
“I’m sorry to wake you, but your phone’s been ringing on and off for fifteen minutes. It’s a pay phone. Jennifer told us to wake you.”
Kevin stood in his pinstriped boxer shorts. “Has . . . has anything happened?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
Kevin took the phone absently. “Okay. I’ll answer it this time.”
The agent hesitated, expressionless, and then walked down the stairs for the door. Kevin didn’t even know his name. He wore a dark navy jacket and tan slacks; black hair. Walked stiffly, like maybe his underwear were too tight. But the man had a name and maybe a wife and some kids. A life. What if Slater had gone after this man instead of Kevin? Or gone after someone in China, unknown to the West? For that matter, how many men or women were facing their own Slaters throughout the world? It was an awkward thought, standing there at the top of his stairs, watching the agent leave through the front door.
Kevin walked back into his bedroom. He had to call Jennifer. Six o’clock had come and gone—something had to have happened.
The phone suddenly rang. He picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Kevin?” It was Eugene. Kevin felt himself shutting down immediately. The sound of that voice. They didn’t have a phone in the house. He was calling from a pay phone.
“Yes.”
“Thank God! Thank God, boy. I don’t know what to do! I just don’t know what I should do . . .”
You could start by drowning yourself. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just that Princess isn’t home. I woke up and she was gone. She never leaves without telling me. I thought maybe she went down for some dog food because we threw it away, you know, but then I remembered that we burned the dog and—”
“Shut up, Eugene. Please, just shut up and try to make some sense for once. Her name is Balinda. So Balinda left without telling you. I’m sure she’ll be back. You can live without her for a few hours, can’t you?”
“This isn’t like her. I have a very bad feeling, Kevin! And now I’ve gotten Bob worried. He keeps looking in all the rooms, calling for Princess. You have to come—”
“Forget it. Call the police, if you’re so worried.”
“Princess won’t allow that! You know . . .”
He talked on but suddenly Kevin wasn’t hearing. His mind had turned over a stone. What if Slater had kidnapped Balinda? What if the old hag was really gone?
But why would Slater take Balinda?
Because whether you like it or not, she is your mother, Kevin. You need her. You want her to be your mother.
A cold sweat broke out on his temples and he wasn’t sure why. He had to call Jennifer! Where was Samantha? Maybe Jennifer had heard from her.
He interrupted Eugene’s rambling. “I’ll call you back.”
“You can’t call me! I have to go home!”
“Then go home.”
Kevin hung up. Where was Jennifer’s number? He ran downstairs, still in his boxers, snatched her card from the counter with a trembling hand, and dialed the number.
“Good morning, Kevin. I’m surprised you’re not still sleeping.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“Caller ID. You’re on your home phone.”
“Have you heard anything?”
“Not yet. I just got off the phone with Samantha. It seems we were wrong about Slater being the Riddle Killer.”
“We may have a problem, Jennifer. I just got a call from Eugene. He says that Balinda’s missing.”
Jennifer didn’t respond.
“I was just thinking, do you think Slater could have—”
“Balinda! That’s it. It makes perfect sense!”
“It does?”
“Stay put. I’ll swing by in ten minutes.”
“What? Where are we going?”
She hesitated. “Baker Street.”
“No, I can’t! Really, Jennifer, I don’t think I can go in there like this.”
“Don’t you see? This could be the break we need! If he took her, then Slater’s tied to Balinda and Balinda is tied to the house. I know this may be hard, but I need you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“We can’t risk me being wrong.”
“Why can’t you just go?”
“Because you’re the only one who knows how to beat him. If Slater did take Balinda, then we know that this whole thing goes back to the house. To the past. There has to be a key to it all, and I doubt that I’m the one who’s going to find it.”
He knew what she was saying, and it sounded more like psychobabble than truth. But she could be right.
“Kevin? I’ll be there with you. It’s paper and boards; that’s all it is. I was there yesterday, remember? And Balinda’s gone. Ten minutes?”
Balinda was gone. Bob wasn’t the problem—he was a victim in this mess. Eugene was just an old fool without Balinda. The witch was gone.
“Okay.”
The white house stood as ominously as always. He stared at it through the windshield, feeling silly next to Jennifer. She was looking at him, knowing him. He felt naked.
Balinda wasn’t in the house. Unless she’d come back. If so, he wouldn’t go in. Jennifer might want him to. She seemed pretty convinced that there was more to this than he’d told her, but in all honesty, he couldn’t think of anything. Slater was the boy and the boy had nothing to do with the house.
“When is Sam coming?” he asked, stalling.
“She said noonish, but she has a few errands to run.”
“I wonder why she didn’t call me?”
“I told her you were sleeping. She said she’ll call you as soon as she can.” Jennifer looked at the house. “You didn’t tell Sam about locking the boy in the cellar—how much does Sam really know about your childhood, Kevin? You two have known each other for years.”