Daylight (Atlee Pine #3)(118)

He turned the TV on, rewound the tape to the beginning, and hit the Play button.

They all stood there and watched.

Pine felt herself getting light-headed and realized it was because she was holding her breath.

And then there was the door to the cave. Minutes went by and nothing happened. Then—

“That’s Joe Atkins,” said Roberts.

Joe Atkins, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt with a baseball cap on his head, appeared. He held a shotgun. Then next to him appeared a small woman with long, dark hair and a brooding expression. She was carrying a tray of what looked to be food.

“And that’s Desiree,” said Roberts.

Blum noted the date and time stamp that appeared at the bottom of the frame. “May thirty-first, 2002,” she read.

Roberts said, “That’s right. Joe’s body was found the very next day.”

Joe pounded on the door and called out, “Get away from the door, Becky. Food’s here.”

Joe waited and then unlocked the door. He stepped back, readied the gun, and nodded at his wife. She cautiously opened the door and placed the tray on the floor and used her foot to slide it in.

Then she slammed the door shut.

Joe got the padlock back on just before something hit the door with a tremendous blow; it made Joe and Desiree jump back. Joe fell on his ass and dropped the gun. From inside the cave they could hear peals of laughter.

Joe scrambled to his feet and picked up his shotgun. “You cut that shit out, Becky. You do that next time, Desiree gonna add another mark to your hide, you got that?”

The laughter died away.

“That’s right, Rebecca,” said Desiree in a subdued tone, as though she were on some sedative. “We don’t want that, do we? Marks on your hide?”

There was no response from behind the door.

Pine thought she might be sick. Blum put an arm around her shoulders and whispered, “Agent Pine, I am so sorry.”

Roberts looked at the pair curiously.

“Hey,” said Kyle, whose gaze was still riveted on the TV screen. “Dude forgot to close the padlock.”

Pine said, “You’re right. Can you fast-forward this?”

“Yeah.” He hit a button and the video leapt forward. Pine watched the frames like she had never watched anything else before.

“Stop,” she said.

Kyle immediately hit the Play button, and the frame speed returned to normal.

The door had just been hit by another blow. And then another, even more powerful one.

“Why is she doing that?” asked Pat. “She must know the padlock’s on there.”

Pine said, “Stop the tape for a sec.”

Kyle did so, and Pine looked at Pat Simmons. “She knows he didn’t close the padlock.”

“But how?” said Pat.

“Because she’d been in that hellhole for years, and she knew every sound. And she didn’t hear that sound that night.”

Blum said, “Do you think that’s why she didn’t jump out at them when the door opened? She waited until he was putting the lock back on, but before he actually locked it she hit the door to distract him?”

“I think that’s exactly what she did,” said Pine. And with that statement, she felt an immense sense of pride in both her sister’s patience and her cunning. All those years a prisoner and she had remained vigilant, just waiting for an opportunity.

“Turn it back on, Kyle.”

Kyle did so, and they watched as three more blows hit the door. Then the fourth one was the charm. The open padlock flew free of the clasp and the door swung open.

And there . . . there, just like that, was Mercy Pine, tall, lean, strong, filthy, dressed in rags and looking quite . . .

Pine had to admit it to herself.

She looks . . . not in her right mind. And who the hell could blame her?

Pine’s hand shot out and hit the Pause button, freezing Mercy’s image. She was staring right at the camera. Pine thought she must have known where it was located. She took in every atom of her twin’s appearance, trying to wind it all back to when they were six and then carrying it forward once more to this . . . person.

Roberts said, “Is that the person you’re looking for, Agent Pine?”

Pine didn’t answer him right away. Her gaze kept searching, the eyes, the nose, the forehead; the body was of no help, it had changed too much. But then she leaned forward and gazed closely at something.

It was the freckle. On the nose. As a child Mercy had told her twin that God had done that because she had come out first and their mother needed a way to tell them apart.

Pine straightened and nodded. “Yes, it’s her.”

I never thought I would be able to say those words ever again.

Her head was filled with so many thoughts, some happy, some insanely sad, some that were threatening to tear her apart. In desperation, she hit the Play button.

Mercy came to life, looked around, and then dashed off to the right, heading toward the house and out of the camera’s view.

The tape kept running, and they all jumped when they heard the shot. Then screams. Then another gunshot. Then more screams. They couldn’t make out who was screaming, and they had no way to know who was shooting, although Pine assumed it might be Joe Atkins. Then things grew silent and the tape continued to run. But the only image on it was the busted door.