Aftermath(83)

We slip to the front hall. Through the kitchen doorway, I see dishes piled in the sink. Quite a few dishes, considering Owen seems a tidy homeowner. A sign that he’s feeding a captive, too?

The smell of fried chicken hangs in the air, but I don’t see takeout containers. There’s a cast-iron pan in the sink.

Jesse taps my arm. Nothing to see here. Time to get upstairs.

We’re almost to the second floor when a noise sounds from the attic. We both stop and look up.

No other sounds come.

I mouth, “Bats?”

Jesse shrugs. We continue on, slower now. Above us, on the second floor, we see four doors. Two are closed. We can see through the other two – a bedroom in one and a bath in the other.

Jesse’s looking between the two closed doors. That’s when something moves over his head, and I’m grabbing his shoulder to yank him back, and then I realize it’s a dangling cord.

The cord hangs from a trapdoor in the ceiling. And it’s swaying.

“Attic?” I mouth.

He nods.

I pantomime a bat and point at the cord, asking if he thought a bat might have set it swinging. He studies that cord for another moment. Then he motions for us to approach the trapdoor.

If it’s not a bat, then something in the attic set the cord swaying, something moving about. Something that could be a girl bound and gagged, held prisoner right over our heads.

I’m right behind him. He’s passing the railing at the top of the stairs. A thump sounds behind me, and I turn and —

A stifled cry of rage. A blur of motion. I’m spinning toward it, and I see an open door. An open door where there’d been a closed one.

A figure barrels straight for Jesse. I lunge. His hands rise to ward off the figure. It plows into him, battering like a ram, head lowered.

Jesse flies backward. He hits the railing. There’s a crack. The old wood gives way, and he’s falling, and I’m lunging to catch him, but it’s too late. He’s falling backward through the broken railing, arms windmilling.

A stifled scream. Not from Jesse. From the figure standing in the hall. It’s Tiffany, her mouth gagged, hands bound, her eyes wide with horror as Jesse falls.

I’m already racing down the stairs, and then vaulting around the last few and stumbling to Jesse. He’s flat on his back, heaving deep breaths.

I drop beside him. “Don’t try to get up. Just stay there.”

He motions to his chest.

“I know,” I say. “I’m getting help.”

I have my phone out, and I hear the back door slap open and the sound of running footfalls.

“Jesse? Skye?” Chris calls.

“In here!” I shout.

Jesse’s trying to rise, and I put my hands out to stop him.

“Don’t move,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Just… wind. Wind knocked out.” He gulps breaths. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

He keeps rising, brushing me off and wincing as he pushes to his feet. A thump sounds behind us, and I look to see Tiffany tumbling down the last few steps.

“Help her,” Jesse says. “Chris, call the police. I… I just need… catch my breath.”

Chris is already making the call, and I’m running to Tiffany. She’s on one knee, tears rolling down her cheeks. I get the duct tape off her mouth, wincing as I do.

“I thought you were him,” she says as I untie her hands. “Owen. It’s Owen.” She looks at me. “Owen Pryor. He’s the one —” She can’t finish, choking on a sob. “I don’t understand. I just don’t understand.”

“Where is he?” I ask.

“Gone. He – He left me here. Left me to —” She can’t get out the rest, chest heaving. I finish untying her hands.

Chris says, “The police are on their way. Five minutes. They said if there’s no sign of Owen, we should stay put. I’ll watch the front.”

I lead Tiffany to a chair in the dining room. Her gaze keeps flitting to the front door, and her mouth opens, and I know she wants to go, just go. But the police are right. If there’s no sign of Owen, we shouldn’t run.

I’m not sure Tiffany and Jesse could even run. Jesse’s on his feet, helping me with Tiffany, and he’s breathing hard through clenched teeth, clearly in pain.

Tiffany glances at the door again.

“We’re fine here,” I say. “We didn’t see any sign of him, and his car’s gone.”

“I know. I just…” She straightens. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It was just…”

She looks up at me. “He left me here. He came home from work, and I could hear him making dinner, and then he took a call. From Vicki, I think. He started swearing and he said they were done, that he couldn’t finish it. When he got off the phone, he threw something. A plate or…” She sees the broken glass on the floor. “That. It must have been that. I heard it smash, and then he came upstairs, and he never said a word to me. Never opened my door. I heard him in his room, drawers opening and shutting, like he was packing a bag. Then he left. Left me bound and gagged and locked in.” She meets my gaze again. “How could someone do that?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”