Cast into Doubt

THIRTY-FIVE

Shelby opened her eyes. She lay on her side, curled up in a fetal position. All around her was blackness, and, for one moment, when she realized that it was not the grave, but a dark enclosure, and that she was still alive, she felt a giddy exhilaration. And then it quickly passed. Her head felt like it was being pounded with a hammer. There was tape covering her mouth. Her hands were tied behind her and her ankles tied together. When she tried, groggily, to straighten out her legs, she realized that she was being restrained in a cramped, tiny space. And beneath her, in the darkness, she heard something humming.

An engine.

Shelby’s eyes widened. Part of her brain was still sedated, but her natural adrenalin was kicking in, overwhelming whatever tranquilizer he had given her. She remembered now. He was coming toward her with a needle and she was struggling, trying to free herself from the bonds that held her to the examining table. And then, everything else was a blank. Somehow he had moved her out of his office – probably under cover of darkness – and now she was back in the trunk of his car, and he was driving her somewhere. She did not know where, but she knew that he meant it to be her last stop.

Was it worth it, she asked herself? Now, she knew everything, but she would not live to tell about it. Or to see justice done for Chloe. Jeremy would not have his Shep, and her promise to Chloe, to always be there for her son, would be void and broken. Would anyone seek justice for her, as she had for Chloe? Shelby could not imagine it. She had never felt such a failure.

She thought about her captor. Harris Janssen was still trying to regard himself as a victim and a decent man, but there was no decency left in him. Killing Norman Cook had been one thing. If he had only stopped then, he might have found absolution. But he had gone ahead and methodically arranged for Chloe’s death. He had given Bud Ridley an assignment too grievous to bear – and Bud had carried it out. Bud was unable to live with his conscience. At least he had a conscience, Shelby thought. Harris Janssen had lost his somewhere along the way.

When did it happen? He had been an admirable man when Chloe worked for him. When did character begin to crumble in the face of desire? Was it at the moment when his patient, Lianna, looked helplessly, admiringly into his eyes and he decided that he had to woo her away from her husband? Was that when he started down the slippery slope to the gutter without principles where he now existed? Or was it when he learned that she was bearing him a son? What did it matter anyway? He was ruthless now, and Shelby was his prisoner.

No, she thought. Don’t give up like this. It’s not over yet. You have to keep fighting. Frantically, Shelby began to try to pry her hands apart. As she strained to pull the bonds loose, her heart began to hammer wildly, and she could not get enough breath through her nose to fill her lungs. The panic was about to overwhelm her. Stop, she thought. Calm down. She lay still for a moment, trying to let the panic subside and let her breathing return to a semblance of normal. If she suffocated from her own fear, he would win. She wasn’t going to make it any easier for him.

Once she managed to get her heart to stop pounding, she began to try again with her hands and her feet. Pretend it’s an exercise, she thought. Pull them as far apart as you can, and hold them there. She was able to do that, as long as she didn’t try to think. Once she let her thoughts take over, they began to race away, and that was too dangerous. She concentrated, very deliberately, only on the small space she was making between her hands and her feet. Even as she held her hands apart, she felt around with her fingers for some loose scrap of fabric or rope that she could pull. Mostly they grasped at the air.

Where is he taking me, she thought? No one will even be looking for me. I will disappear and no one will even know. Her heart began to race again, and she forced herself not to think about it. The car stopped and then started again, rolling along silently. It was a good car. A new car. It would make a lovely hearse. NO. No, she thought. Don’t go there. Pull your hands apart.

The car continued to move.