The Meridians(88)

He repeated the words one more time. It was all he could risk. If he spoke more than that he was worried that he might be heard. "Are you all right?" he repeated.

The girl nodded.

Scott smiled at her, and as he did so he realized what a gruesome figure he must have presented: a scarred face looming over her as she woke, a hideous stranger in what must have been a night of hideous experiences. Yet she had not screamed, had not thrashed around. Again, this either spoke for the girl's character in an amazing way, or pointed at stress-related shock. The latter would be a more reasonable assumption, but just as he had felt that the house was not empty; that there was someone inside waiting and willing to do others harm, so Scott felt now that this girl, though shocked, was made of deeply tough stuff.

He smiled again, and was relieved to see her eyes slip into a less-widened position as she relaxed ever-so-slightly. She was aware he was not a bad guy. She was aware he was there to help. He marveled at the resiliency of some people. He did not know if he could have reacted with nearly such aplomb had he been victimized the way this girl had been.

And there, in the darkness, he had a realization: the girl had not been victimized. Oh, she had been hurt, it was true, had been treated cruelly, it could not be denied. But she had not allowed herself to become a victim. She was still fighting, still ready to be rescued, as shown by her readiness to accept the idea that Scott was a police officer here to help her, as demonstrated by the fact that she had not screamed at his scarred visage, but had waited patiently to find out what he was planning to do. She had not allowed herself to be made a victim. Though she had been powerless to stop others from harming her physically, she had retained and reserved for herself the right to choose not to be victimized, the privilege of deciding how she would react when evil came knocking at her door - or in this case, knocking it down and taking her hostage.

Scott felt ashamed. This girl had shown more strength this night - in the past five seconds, in fact - than he had shown in the last eight years and more. She had not allowed the whims of fate or chance or the malicious eye of cruelty to beat her down; she had refused to be cowed.

Scott looked around again; they were still alone in the front room. He took the girl's gag off. "Where are your parents?" he said.

"I don't know," she whispered back.

"I'm going to try to get you out of this," he said, and began fumbling in the darkness at her ropes. Quickly, however, he determined that it was no use. The knots were too tight. He would have to find a knife or some other tool to cut her loose.

That meant he would have to leave her here. And go farther into the house.

"Honey," he whispered, "what's your name?"

"Tina."

"Okay, Tina. I'm going to find something to get you loose. I'll be right back, all right?" She nodded. "Do you know how many people did this to you?"

She shook her head, fear creeping into her eyes for the first time. "I was asleep in my room and I heard something downstairs. Then the door opened, and that's...." Her breath hitched in her throat. "That's the last thing I remember before I was here."

Scott tried not to let any disappointment show in his face. It would have been tremendously helpful to at least know how many people he was up against. But he was still playing this game blindfolded. He had one more question, but it had to be asked. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Or just your face?"

"I don't know."

He cursed mentally. As a homicide detective, he had learned that someone attacking the face only usually meant it was a close acquaintance of some kind behind the violence. If Tina had been able to answer him he could at least have deducted that he was looking for a single, unbalanced friend or relative, rather than any number of unbalanced persons unknown. But fate was not to let him get through this easily in any way, it seemed.

"I'll be right back, Tina. You stay brave, okay?"

She nodded again. Tough kid.

Scott looked around. There was a doorway to the left, which no doubt led to a kitchen and basement, and a hall to his right that curved around and disappeared. Judging by the layout of the house, it probably went to one or more rooms, as well as to a staircase to the second floor.

Too many options, he thought. It was the worst kind of place to have to deal with alone: one with many ways in and out of the rooms, one where he would have no guarantee of the rooms remaining clear and safe even after he had checked them out.

Still, he had to try. Tina was relying on him.

He decided to try the left. Hopefully he could get to a knife in the kitchen, then come back and cut Tina's bonds before anyone knew he was here. That way he could send her out to be with Kevin and Lynette before he tried to find her family...and whoever had done this to her.

He crept to the kitchen. The door between the front room and the kitchen swung on well-oiled hinges, but even the swish of the air as the door swung inward sounded like a hurricane to Scott's fear-tuned ears. He expected the house to shake on its moorings at the sound; expected those behind this nightmare to come rushing out of the blackness to attack him.

But no. No one was in the kitchen.

He grabbed a knife from a nearby knife rack and hurried back to Tina.

She was still alone. Still had not moved.

He began hacking at her bonds, but the rope was thick, and made of some tear-resistant material that made the blade of his knife want to slip off constantly. He realized after about twenty seconds with little progress made that he was not going to be able to cut her loose without either hurting her or remaining a sitting duck for far longer than he sensed was safe to do.