She held her breath, listening, but she couldn’t hear anything. When was her captor going to make himself known? Where was he?
After a few more minutes during which nothing happened, she finally gathered the nerve to move from the spot where he’d dumped her. By pressing her ear to the door, she thought she might be able to make out a noise or two that would provide some clue as to what was going on.
She managed to find the door by crawling on her hands and knees and feeling her way across the rough, hard floor. If her captor had left the premises, maybe she could bang on the door or the walls of her prison and bring help. It might even be possible for her to kick the door open and escape.
The tantalizing hope that thought offered was dashed the second she felt the door, however. It wasn’t the usual, somewhat flimsy wooden panel found on most houses these days. And there was no crack underneath. It felt like the heavy steel door of a walk-in freezer. She couldn’t hear anything through it, and she couldn’t break it, either.
Once again, her unease began to spiral toward panic. Was she about to run out of air? Had whoever grabbed her tossed her in here to suffocate?
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she whispered as she began to crawl around the room, searching for any opening or other possibility through which she might escape.
On the opposite wall, in the corner, she ran into a small commode. She had no idea how dirty it might be so she hesitated to touch it once she figured out what it was, but she could tell it was a toilet. There was a handle and everything. There didn’t seem to be an accompanying sink, however. There didn’t seem to be anything else in the room except a cot, which was bolted to the floor, with a lumpy mattress, a pillow and a few blankets.
By the time she made it all the way around to the door again, she’d determined that her prison was only about six feet by seven feet: the size of some walk-in freezers. She was fairly certain it was a freezer. But at least the presence of the toilet and the bed made her think she hadn’t been put here to suffocate. Those items wouldn’t be necessary if she was going run out of air.
Forcing herself to stand, despite her wobbly legs, she made a second circuit. The blackness was so complete she doubted she’d find the window she was praying for. It had been daytime when she’d been abducted, and there was no way enough hours had passed for it to be night—not during June in Alaska.
Still, she wanted to learn as much as possible about her surroundings, to perhaps find a light switch.
There was nothing on the walls, not so much as a picture or a nail. But once she gathered the courage to walk straight through the middle of the room, waving her arms to see if she could determine whether there was a high ceiling or a low one, she encountered a thin chain. It hit her face, startling her for a moment before she gave it a hesitant tug.
A small snap sounded and a single light bulb flickered on, buzzing with electricity and painting the stark white walls of the narrow room a dull yellow.
Evelyn felt infinitely better just being able to see. Darkness made everything more frightening. But her situation hadn’t improved otherwise. There was nothing else in the small, enclosed space besides what she’d already discovered—nothing except what looked like an HVAC vent to one side of the light bulb on the ceiling. As she stared up at it, she realized that she would have air, but her captor had taken great care in selecting and preparing this place.
There was no way she’d be able to escape on her own.
*
“She get caught up at work?”
Amarok swiveled on his stool to see Shorty, the proprietor of the Moosehead, wiping down the bar. “Must’ve.” Amorak had been having a beer while watching the Giants play baseball. He’d figured Evelyn would arrive any minute. She was busy, had more to do than most people, so he could see why she might be a little late. Now that Shorty had drawn his attention away from the TV, however, he could see that the huge clock between the two moose heads, which hung on the wall staring sightlessly down on the most popular gathering place in town, indicated she was more than “a little” late. She would never make Shorty or Shorty’s sister, both of whom were supposed to be meeting with them to go over the menu for the wedding, wait for thirty minutes without some form of communication.
“Want to give her a call?” Shorty asked.
“Yeah.” He could’ve walked to the payphone back by the bathrooms, but Shorty did him the courtesy of putting the business phone within reach. Since there was no cell service in the area, he and everyone else in Hilltop couldn’t communicate as easily as most of the rest of the world. But it didn’t take long to drive over from Hanover House, not in the good weather they’d been having recently. So why hadn’t Evelyn taken a minute to let any of them know she was running late?
Had something gone wrong at the prison?
The thought of that frightened Amarok. Something could always go wrong when dealing with the men she studied. But the biggest threat to her had been Jasper Moore, and Amarok had arrested him six months ago. Although Evelyn had worked with other killers—still did—none had become quite that fixated on her, not any who were now in a situation to harm her, at any rate.
He’d believed any danger to Evelyn was finally under control.…
But was it really? She’d had Jasper transferred to Hanover House. Not only had she deemed it poetic justice that he would become her captive instead of her becoming his, she’d longed for the opportunity to study the one man who’d sent her on the odyssey to understand evil in the first place.
The hair on the back of Amarok’s neck stood on end as he dialed the prison. He told himself he was getting worried over nothing. In a few moments, he’d hear her voice. Maybe she’d sound a bit harried—she was probably trying to get out of the office so she could keep their appointment—but she would apologize for the delay, and he’d finish his beer and the game while she drove over.
But that didn’t happen. When Penny, her assistant, told him Evelyn had left three hours ago to grab some files from home and had never returned as expected, the fear he’d shoved away suddenly reasserted itself. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked.
“I-I don’t know,” she responded, obviously flustered by the question. “I figured she must’ve decided to work at home this afternoon. She doesn’t have any appointments on her schedule.”
Because she’d kept the afternoon clear so they could meet with Shorty and his sister.
“Is something wrong?” Penny now sounded alarmed.
“No, nothing’s wrong,” he said. But when he called home and couldn’t get Evelyn there, either, his concern ticked up another notch.
“Any luck?” Shorty’s sister had sauntered close while drying glasses.
Amarok hung up, slapped some money on the bar and dug his keys from his pocket. “No. She’s not at the prison and she’s not at home.”
“Must be in her car, on the way over,” Roberta said.
He hoped to God that was it. She could’ve fallen asleep or something. But taking a nap in the middle of the day would be so unlike her. “Maybe.”
“Don’t freak out,” she warned. “You put that Jasper fella away, remember?”
“I remember.” But when Jasper wasn’t standing trial for one of the many murders for which he had yet to be tried, he was at Hanover House. As a matter of fact, Amarok was fairly certain he was there now. Maybe he’d figured out some way to get to Evelyn. Or someone else had. “I’ll give you a call when I know what’s going on,” he said and walked out without waiting for a response.