Bone White Read online

  Chapter 35

  The damage to Becca’s wrists wasn’t limited to what I’d done. Her delicate skin had been rubbed raw long ago. Blood, some red, some a dark brown, smeared her pale skin like mud where the ligature had been. She went to touch one of the wrists, but winced, and my heart broke for her once again. The lowest creature on Earth didn’t deserve what she’d been through. With everything she must have witnessed, the pain she’d endured and the humiliation she’d had to tolerate, it was unimaginable. We’d never been “friends,” but we knew each other and had classes together over the years. It was enough of a bond to make us more than strangers, enough that I wanted to hold her, protect her, and make sure she had to endure no more.

  As I helped her slip her hands into the sleeves of my jacket, I saw her wince again. She was moving so gingerly, it was obvious she was in a lot of pain, and I felt terrible for adding to it. In addition to the rope burns and deep laceration on her wrist, the muscles in her arms and shoulders were probably screaming in an agony that I myself had never felt.

  “Can I see?” I asked.

  The grimace that came over her painted face made me feel bad for even asking. But, after only a moment and without further coaxing, she nodded and allowed me to gently roll up the sleeve. By the light of my cell, I played doctor and inspected the wound I’d caused. Despite the amount of blood that was still seeping from it, the cut itself didn’t appear to be as deep as I thought it would be, given how much it had bled.

  “I can fix this,” I said, but wasn’t sure who I was trying to reassure more.

  I grabbed the lawnmower blade and began unraveling the strips of filthy rag from the end. But, after recognizing just how dirty and utterly unsanitary they were, dropped them back onto the floor in a pile. I searched my memory for anything I’d seen since coming down to the basement that might work. There was nothing on the workbench that I could remember. Besides, I didn’t want to go back over there if I didn’t absolutely have to. After eventually coming up empty, I got an idea, something I’d seen on television. Then clutching the bottom of my tee shirt, I pulled it up and over my head.

  “Oh, Luke,” Becca said, a sly hint of playfulness in her voice. “I had no idea. Very nice.”

  When I looked up at her in surprise, Becca raised her eyebrows and managed another weak smile, this one showing a trace of her natural spirit through her tears. She looked like she would have even giggled if she’d had the strength. Instead, a cough racked her chest, and the smile faded as she tried desperately to keep quiet.

  I smiled back at her, knowing she was only flattering my skinny ass. I wouldn’t consider my muscle-barren body to be “very nice,” but it made me feel better to see that Becca still had a sense of humor. And a flirtatious one at that. That was definitely a good sign. This experience hadn’t robbed her of that.

  I tore off the sleeves from my shirt. Then, one by one, ripped them along the seams, leaving me with two narrow, relatively clean strips of cloth. Being as gentle as I possibly could, I carefully placed one of the strips over the cut and continued to wrap it around Becca’s wrist until it ran out. I did the same with the second strip of cloth, but this time wrapped it only once before tying it in a double knot. A slight gasp escaped Becca’s lips as I pulled the knot tight, but she didn’t pull away. As a small bloom of red started to blossom through the grey, cloth tourniquet, I could only shake my head and allow the feelings of guilt to blossom with it. When I looked up and met Becca’s eyes in the dim light, she must have seen the concern on my face, because she managed a real smile this time.

  “I’ll be alright,” she said with a nod. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me just yet,” I said, helping her get the zipper started on the front of the jacket. “We still need to find a way out of here, and get help.”

  Her eyes darted toward the far wall, where the bicycle, paper bags and white cartons were.

  “There’s a small window,” she said, hugging herself through a violent shudder. “It’s painted over, but I’ve been able to tell when it’s daytime. It’s the only way I even know it’s there.”

  “Can we get through it?” I asked, my eyes searching for the window in the darkness. I raised my cell phone into the air and aimed it in that direction, but the light wasn’t powerful enough to reach it.

  “Maybe,” she said. “But, it’s pretty high up. Close to the ceil—”

  A sound from above froze us, and we huddled together on the cold floor like cave-bound hikers riding out a blizzard. Somewhere upstairs, a door opened and closed. In that brief moment, the sound of steady rain hitting a tin roof could be heard. It was the same sound I’d heard while standing with the front doors open. That gave me a pretty fair idea who was moving around up there, going in and out. I doubted the daughter even had access to the key for the padlock on the chained front door. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the lock and chains were in place as much to keep her in as they were to keep others out.

  My heart caught in my chest as an image of the coffin entered my mind. I couldn’t remember if I had closed the lid or not. If I had, we might be okay, at least until someone went looking inside it. But if I hadn’t closed it … well, we’d know soon enough.

  “Light,” Becca hissed.

  I looked over, reminding her with my eyes not to speak out loud, not with someone so close by. Her eyes shifted toward the bare, yellow bulb hanging at the foot of the stairs. I nodded my understanding. We couldn’t do anything about the coffin lid now, but I had to do something about the light. If anyone looked in the direction of the open basement door, that light would easily give us away and we’d have company for sure. That would definitely be bad given Becca’s condition and the lack of escape routes down here. On my own, I might have a chance to run, or even fight my way out. But I had wished to no longer be on my own, and fate had granted that request. Becca’s company hadn’t improved the situation, however. Instead it put me in an unfamiliar one. I was now in charge, and not only of myself, but both of us. The game had changed.

  I left Becca’s side and crept over to where the bulb hung down. After a quick glance up the stairs, I reached up to unscrew the bulb. The hot glass seared my fingers, but I kept turning. I couldn’t risk climbing the stairs to the switch, nor waste time finding more cloth to insulate my hand. I kept unscrewing the bulb until finally, the light flickered and went out, plunging us into complete darkness.

  We waited in silence, barely breathing. I could hear my heart pounding against the walls of my chest as I listened for footsteps or anything that would signal immediate danger.

  But nothing else came.

  All was quiet inside the church again, and that told me two things. First, that someone had probably just left through the front doors. And second, since there was no way to refasten it from the outside, the chain was undoubtedly off.

  But, was it worth the risk? Rolling the dice on entering the church had started this whole mess. Risking the lit room in hopes of finding the missing girls had landed me in a locked coffin. Games of chance weren’t working in my favor lately, and I was fairly certain my days of taking risks were over. But then I remembered Becca, could feel her shivering beside me as she hugged herself inside my green jacket, her pale face covered in makeup that may as well have been finger paint. And the anger returned; with it came a realization. Garrett wasn’t here to call the shots, and Becca was depending on me. If I was going to get us both out of here alive, then I was going to have to take some risks. Standing there, I was reminded of a saying by T.S. Eliot. If my father had quoted this once during one of his lectures, he’d quoted it a hundred times: “Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.”

  It was time to find out.

  My thoughts returned to the window. I wanted to at least check it out before heading back up the stairs. Maybe gambling on the front door being unlocked wouldn’t even be necessary. Putting my hands on Becca’s shoulders, I whispered in her ear that I’d be r
ight back. Using only the light from my cell, I crept to the far wall. There, above the boxes of bones waiting to be shipped around the world, was the window that Becca was talking about. Just as she said, it was blackened out like the windows upstairs.

  Becca was right about another thing, as well. The window was really up there. I mean, way up there. The window was just below the basement’s unusually high ceiling, leaving at least eight feet to the bottom of the opening. We would need something to stand on just to get up to it. And helping Becca through in her state was certainly going to put my upper body strength to the test. I remembered the struggle I’d had just trying to lift her up and off the hook. Maybe if I’d been more of an athlete, or at least hit the weights a little more. I made a silent vow to reacquaint myself with the gym after I got through this ordeal.

  Becca cleared her throat as quietly as she possibly could, while still getting my attention. Like a good field operative, she waited until I had slinked back over to her before speaking. She’d moved a couple feet to lean against the cold wall for support. In the blue light from the phone, she didn’t look quite stable, but she seemed measurably stronger than when I’d unscrewed the light. It was a start.

  “Maybe they’ve left,” she whispered.

  “I know. I was looking into all of our options, but –”

  “The window –”

  I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see it. “It’s too high,” I told her. “Even if I could climb up to it and pull myself through…” I let the rest hang there, knowing in the silence that she understood. This was my downfall as a hero. I was too weak.

  “Luke?” There was a sadness in the way she spoke my name, and I hoped to never hear it said that way again. “We’re going to die here, aren’t we?”

  My heart splintered at her words, but as it did, it only hardened my resolve. “No,” I told her, in a confident voice, “we’re not. I have a plan to get us out.”

  Chapter 36

  It was a bad idea, going back up the stairs, but it was our best option. Our only option if I was going to get Becca out, and not just me. Still, with a window to the outside within my reach, it seemed insane to be taking her up into the heart of the church. Becca stood beside me in silence, waiting for me to make a move.

  I could venture out on my own and get help, but it could take hours, and Becca might not survive that long. The hacked remains of whoever’s body lay on the workbench told me that much. I couldn’t let that happen to Becca. I would like to think I couldn’t let it happen to anyone, beautiful girl or not. Most guys have that chink in their armor. It was just something in our DNA, and Becca Lewis definitely fit the beautiful girl description. Even with her matted hair and sunken eyes, an inner beauty still shone through and I was damned if I was going to let anything tarnish that.

  “Well,” I said, breaking the silence, “if we’re gonna do this, let’s do it now before he comes back.”

  Becca put her hand on my shoulder and, with my arm around her waist, we gingerly shuffled our way to the bottom of the stairs, where we took a moment to listen. There still weren’t any signs of life from above. The only sounds I could hear were my heavy breathing and the beating of a heart. Whose heart, I wasn’t sure. Was it possible that our hearts were beating in unison? Had the stressful, life-threatening situation actually connected us that much?

  I dismissed these delirious thoughts, setting them aside for a later date. When we were home safe, there would be plenty of time for them. Now, I needed to focus on my knightly duties. Still, as we crushed together to mount the first step, our arms wrapped around each other, I couldn’t help but wonder what our relationship would be like once we had gotten back to our dull lives in New Paris. After all this, would we then consider ourselves friends? Or, would there be something even more behind her smile as we passed each other in the hallways at school?

  Obviously, the stress of the situation was getting to me, and I had to shake my head in order to clear it of the craziness. Given the last couple of hours, I think my mind was simply trying to occupy itself with happier thoughts. But first things first.

  I unwrapped my arm from around Becca’s waist and placed my hand on the small of her back, urging her to go first. Climbing the stairs would go faster in single file, and I wanted to be there to support her if her legs faltered.

  One at a time, we took the wooden steps. Her strength was slowly returning and her barefoot steps were proving steadier than I would have thought. To watch her climb the stairs, you’d never know she’d just spent time tied up in a killer’s basement. Either she was recovering remarkably quickly, or she just wanted to get the hell out of there really badly. Probably a combination of both.

  Four...

  Five...

  We cautiously ascended the steps toward the narrow doorway, even though we didn’t know what awaited us on the other side. It somehow didn’t matter. The prospect of being only steps away from freedom propelled us on. Like a comforting beacon, deliverance drew us onward, steering us toward safety like we were a ship that had been lost in a storm.

  Eight…

  Nine…

  My heart beat harder and faster with each step. I’d counted thirteen of them on my way down. We were almost there.

  Ten…

  Eleven…

  Becca’s back went rigid under my hand and a faint light burst forth from the alcove above. Or maybe it happened the other way around, I couldn’t be sure. My head snapped up to see a hulking man standing in the tiny doorway, a featureless profile silhouetted by the light from behind him. I felt his angry eyes boring into me, reducing me to a child caught sneaking out of the house. It was enough to shatter my veil of confidence, releasing more terror than I’d ever felt. The warm prospect of freedom, extinguished by the icy grip of fear.

  Becca gasped as the man’s bulging arm shot straight out, stopping in front of her face. I flinched at the sound of a wet thud and a sticky mist hitting my cheek. Becca listed toward me, and my mouth dropped in horror. Sticking out of her left eye socket was a long, white bone. It was roughly the size of one of those miniature baseball bats they sell at the ballpark. Only this was no toy. It was a bone. White and cruel.

  Covered in red.

  Becca’s mouth had frozen in mid-scream, and she started to collapse on the steps. Started to, but couldn’t. The man held her suspended by the bone sticking out of her skull, held it like some macabre handle. The feat of strength, for me, added yet another layer of fear.

  With the same swiftness he’d shown ramming the bone into Becca’s skull, the man’s other arm swung around like a windmill. With a flash of silver, time slowed to a crawl. Despite the dim light, I could see the tool clearly. A curved blade. I’d seen it before. Not this one, but one like it, in Mr. Singh’s knife collection. The bolo knife had intrigued me the moment Cricket showed it to me. The curve of the blade sloped in the wrong direction for it to be aerodynamic, curving away from the person instead of toward them. But, as I’d seen on the internet, the Filipino tool, while designed that way to cut through vegetation, was also highly effective in the slaughtering of pigs. The images from the slaughterhouse videos ran through my mind as the breeze from the man’s blade brushed my face. The blood of the pigs, their squealing, were but distant echoes. The reality wasn’t like that at all.

  The bolo’s blade buried itself in the side of Becca’s neck, but it didn’t stop there. The brawn in the man’s forearm rippled as the blade continued through muscle and bone like it was cutting nothing more than cake. Becca’s head separated from her body, coming off clean like a dandelion in the hands of a giggly child. The rest of Becca fell against my arm, too limp for me to keep upright. She crumpled in a heap at my feet, and I knew even before her body hit the steps, that there would be no more passing glances in the school hallways.

  Becca was long gone.

  And all I could do was stand there, frozen with fear and the utter shock of not only what had just happened, but also how quick it had all gon
e down. Only seconds ago, our spirits were on the upswing, full of hope. We’d been steps away from the end of this nightmare. Now, the nightmare had taken an even darker turn and her blood was both figuratively and literally on my hands. Becca was dead because I’d chosen the stairs as the easy way out. Dead because I wasn’t man enough to lift her out the window. Dead because I wasn’t as smart or as strong or as gutsy as Garrett. Becca Lewis was dead because she’d relied on me. And in penance for my sins, I was soon to follow.

  I sensed it coming more than I saw it. Acting on an overwhelming urge to duck, I did just that as a large arm swung in my direction. I felt its breeze sweep across the top of my hair. I could smell the tang of blood on the metal blade, but I remained intact. I found myself freefalling backward, my feet kicking wildly, but finding nothing but air.

  Eleven steps later, I hit the cold, hard concrete, my shoulder absorbing the initial blow. Unbelievable pain rocketed through me, but otherwise, I was still alive. I curled on my side, breathing in the stale, macabre air as the image of Becca’s body rewound in my brain. Her head coming off, over and over. Her body collapsing against me, showing me every humble detail of her severed neck. Muscles. Windpipe. Spine.

  With the grief over Becca’s death already setting in, all I wanted to do was just lie there in the darkness, surrounded by its concealing comfort and close my eyes. Block out the consequences and curl up into a ball until it was all over. That’s what I wanted to do, but my stubborn will to survive wouldn’t let me.

  A shuffling sound made me open my eyes. The man’s silhouette still darkened the doorway, but now from the steps. With a not so subtle nudge, his boot sent Becca’s head onto the next step where it landed with the thud and spun around. It came to rest with the bone pointing accusingly in my direction, like some sick version of Spin the Bottle. As her good eye stared directly at me, the first tear of guilt formed in the corner of my eye. In the next moment, Becca’s voice screamed throughout my head, pardoning me with a single direction.