Hear me, Papa. Her inner cries for help had no effect on awakening her father. Ivy’s attacker dragged her from the bed as Ivy thrashed. Her foot kicked the organ stool at her desk, but it was too solid and heavy to tip over. This time the intruder was prepared for her fight and yanked her arms behind her, wrapping bindings around her wrists. The coarse fibers of rope rubbed her wrists raw as he tugged it tight. Like Gabriella’s bruises, and the yellowed bruises of Maggie. She’d told Joel of her suspicions about Maggie several hours ago, before retreating to her room and her memories. Now, the fear she’d seen in Maggie’s eyes clawed at Ivy.
She whimpered around her gag and kicked at her attacker as he threw her back on her bed and grabbed at her feet. She caught a glimpse of peppery dark hair and a craggy face, but within seconds he had overpowered her and bound her legs at the ankles. Mr. Foggerty? Or no. No, it wasn’t him. Her brain was still cloudy from being startled from her sleep, and her breath was knocked from her when he slung her over his shoulder like a bag of flour. Ivy squirmed against him, her bedroom door opening under his free hand. Her muted cries were futile. She knew her father was a heavy sleeper. It was how she and Andrew had snuck from the house night after night for their midnight escapades.
The man moved like a thief, silent and strong. His grip around her was impressive, as Ivy was no lightweight. But by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, she could tell he was breathing heavily.
She was dumped into the back of a wagon, which jolted and rolled away, bruising her with every bounce along the road.
Of all the risks she’d taken, the lectures from Joel for being reckless, and now she had been taken from her own home. Her own bed! When the wagon finally stopped, Ivy kicked to brace herself so she could twist onto her knees. She raked her face against the wagon floor, working her jaw back and forth to attempt to free herself of the gag. Her captor flung open the back of the wagon and grabbed Ivy’s bound ankles, pulling her toward him. As he did, her gag finally freed.
“Let go of me!” she screamed.
“Shut up.” He dragged Ivy from the wagon, and her shoulder slammed against the earth. Pain shot through the shoulder and down her arm, taking her breath away.
“Stand up,” the older man demanded. He yanked her to her feet, then reached down to slice free the ankle binding. “Now walk.” He shoved her forward, her wrists tied in front of her like a jailed prisoner. She tripped and stumbled along.
The man’s dark silhouette was unmistakable. Instinctively, Ivy knew all along where they were going. Foster Hill rose above her, mocking her with its ominous shadows. Like Gabriella, it appeared this place was there to consume Ivy’s life.
She was forced up the porch stairs and over a threshold. Her captor shoved Ivy in front of him. “Go.” He pushed again, and Ivy contemplated running. If she bolted past the stairs toward the rear of the house, could she make it through the back door before being caught? She wiggled her wrists in the rope that tied them. Her skin was already raw. Now was her chance, for there wouldn’t be another.
Ivy catapulted forward, her shoulder catching on the banister of the stairs as she ran. A shout. Pounding of footsteps behind her and then her abductor slammed Ivy into a wall. His furious black eyes drove into her, along with the full length of his body. He pinned her against the wall, and Ivy’s skin crawled beneath the pressure of him against her. She may have at one time suspected Mr. Foggerty of being involved somehow, but now he would have been a welcome relief.
Her abductor glared at her. “Never run again,” he hissed, running his finger down the length of her neck and along the top of her nightgown. He eased back and, with a grunt, hoisted her over his shoulder again. Ivy struggled to regain her breath as his shoulder drove into her belly.
His boots pounded on the stairs. The hallway floor passed below her, the shadows never ending, his footsteps echoing in the empty house.
Why would he bring her here? Why not just kill her as he’d tried to the first night here when he shoved her down the stairs? He had to know the house was one of the first places Joel and Sheriff Dunst would look when they found out she’d been taken.
They stopped in the middle of the third bedroom. Ivy saw the familiar bed, and fear like she’d never known flooded her body.
“No. No!” She beat against the man’s back. He swore and dumped her on the bed, straddling her as he did so. The soiled linens smelled moldy, but Ivy turned her face into them and away from his.
“None to hear you, none to care,” he whispered into her ear as his hands trailed down her side. Ivy lurched with her shoulders to fight him off. Her head collided with his nose, and he flung himself away from her with a growl, holding his face.
He pulled a knife from where it was tucked into a sheath that hung from his belt. He sliced at her restraints, freeing her hands. She surged forward, but he was prepared.
“Oh no you don’t.” The man’s grip bit into her arm, leaving blood from his nose on her sleeve. “In here.” He opened the closet door with Ivy struggling against him.
“Let me go!” she demanded. Ivy attempted a scream, but he clapped his hand over her mouth. The empty closet proved only to be a gateway. Her attacker worked at the back wall and slid open a loose panel to reveal a small space behind it.
No. Good Lord in heaven, no. Ivy’s eyes widened at the secret compartment. She knew instinctively that more women had been hidden behind this wall. She wasn’t the first. Perhaps even he had hidden here, watching them during the times she and Joel had searched the house.
Ivy dug her feet into the floor as he pushed her toward it. She wrestled against his grip, but he shoved her with a force she couldn’t match. She plowed into the back wall of the compartment and fell to the floor. She put her hands out to feel the confines of the space. There was barely enough room for her to turn around.
She looked up and locked eyes with him. Black eyes. A scruffy face that might have been handsome were it not for the voluminous beard and long hair tied back with a leather cord. He was at least fifty years of age. Ivy had never seen him before.
Evil shone in his eyes. “Go ahead and scream. It doesn’t matter.”
“What do you want from me?”
His lips tightened. “You surprised me the first time. I didn’t expect you in my house and I wanted you dead. In a way, I’m glad you didn’t die after all. I’m down two girls, so you’ll have to do as a replacement—for all my needs.”
Ivy launched forward as he slid the panel across the opening. Her hands slammed into the wall as it sealed her in. She pounded on it with her palms.
“Let me go!” It was a futile plea against the wickedness she’d seen on the man’s face.
Ivy closed her eyes, even though the darkness of the tomb-like space had effectively blinded her. She slumped against the wall, telling herself to breathe, to remain calm. But remaining calm was near to impossible as she began to understand how it felt to be buried alive in a place that threatened to steal a woman’s soul.
Chapter 37
Kaine