Constance glanced quickly to the right and then slid her back along the wall until she hit the casing around a doorframe. Taking a quick step to the right and then back, she moved into the empty doorway that was diagonally opposite of the basement entryway itself. The basement door should swing out and to her left. Whenever it finally opened, whoever was coming up the stairs would be standing directly in her line of fire.
The slow shuffle continued, followed by the sharp thunk and soft thump. Occasionally the odd rhythm was joined by the barest of a creak from the wooden stairs. Each time, the noises sounded closer, until finally they came to a halt immediately on the opposite side of the basement door. Constance watched on in the darkness, waiting.
Eventually, a slow click and scrape sounded as the old doorknob began to turn.
“FEDERAL AGENT!” She called out, her voice loud but still hoarse and rough. “STEP OUT SLOWLY WITH YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD! NOW!”
Constance kept her focus straight ahead, looking into the shadows with both eyes targeting down the sights of the Sig Sauer as she held it stiff-armed before her. The latch completely released with a languid pop, and she detected movement as the door itself slowly parted from the jamb.
A wisp of air, colder than the already frigid house, brushed against her cheek, startling in its intensity. Steeling herself, she sucked in a deep breath and repeated her previous instruction.
“STEP OUT SLOWLY WITH YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!”
With a long, low creak, the door pivoted open on its hinges. She sucked in another breath and held it, visualizing in her mind the top of the stairwell as it had been when she had ascended it earlier. Leveling her arms in a straight-on isosceles stance, she targeted at a point where she estimated an average-sized man’s chest would be as he came up and through the opening.
Her aim was far too high.
As the door swung wide, she found herself staring at the dark silhouette of a much smaller figure. In fact, it seemed to be the size of a small child. Moving her weapon down and training it on the shadow she barked, “FEDERAL OFFICER! DON’T MOVE!”
The silhouette seemed to obey, remaining frozen in place. Leaving the Sig aimed squarely at the figure, Constance dug her left hand quickly into her pocket, withdrew the still burning flashlight and pointed it at the lower portion of the doorway.
Staring back at her, unblinking in the blue-white brilliance, was a freckle-faced girl of around ten-years-old. Her mop of chestnut hair was tangled and matted. She was smeared with filth, and obvious tracks could be seen where tears had once streamed down her cheeks, but had now gone dry. What she could see of the rest of the child’s bare skin was splattered with blood, bruises, open wounds, and festering cigarette burns. She was partially clad in the ripped shreds of a plaid school uniform.
Constance slowly lowered her weapon as she stared in disbelief, remembering Sheriff Carmichael’s description of Merrie Frances Callahan when he had discovered her on Christmas morning, 1975.
“Merrie?” she whispered.
The little girl continued staring back at her, glassy-eyed and silent. In a very real sense, it seemed that she wasn’t looking at Mandalay as much as she was looking through her. The child swiveled her head slowly from side to side, as if lost and searching for her bearings.
After a moment, in a weak, flat voice she simply said, “I lost one of my shoes.”
Constance looked down and noticed that the girl’s left foot was securely buckled into a patent-leather Mary Jane, but her right was completely bare. The pronouncement the girl had made didn’t seem as though it was directed at anyone. It was more like something said by a person suffering from traumatic shock. An overstatement of the obvious made for no other reason than the fact that it was something to focus upon.
Mandalay blinked hard then looked into the little girl’s face and whispered once again. “Merrie Callahan?”
The girl turned away from her without another word and shuffled slowly up the corridor. Constance stood dumbfounded for a moment as the utter insanity of what she was seeing seeped into her overtired brain.
Mandalay hesitated, following the child with only the flashlight and her eyes as her own state of shock washed over her. She watched silently as the girl turned the corner and disappeared through the archway into the front room.
CHAPTER 26
Holstering her sidearm and latching the thumb break, Constance stepped into the hallway and followed after the girl. She pressed forward quickly, moving on automatic pilot as she jogged to her left and hooked through the archway. She played the beam of the flashlight around the room, but the child was nowhere to be seen. Directly ahead, the front door of the house was halfway open, allowing more light from the streetlamps to spill inward through the wide crack and mix with the beam of her flashlight.
Constance rushed to the door and pulled it wide. Beyond the opening was the front porch, and beyond that the yard. Near the center of that frozen expanse, the child was trudging forward through the snow, zombie-like but with what seemed a determined purpose.
Constance stepped quickly through the doorway and across the porch. Stumbling in her haste, she tripped her way down the snow-covered front steps, pitching forward in a clumsy fall. As she grasped for the railing to regain her balance, the small flashlight sprang from her hand and tumbled end-over-end through the air. When it came down several feet away, it disappeared into the mantle of white and created a muted glow just inches beneath the surface.
Pulling herself up, Mandalay regained her footing and jumped forward, abandoning the flashlight and taking the last two stairs as one. Then she began making her way through the snow-covered yard, chasing after the child.
“Merrie!” she called to her again, increasing her stride to catch up. When she closed the short distance and came upon the girl, she reached out toward her shoulder.
As her fingers fell the last few inches toward the child, the sound of crunching snow filled her ears, underscoring a shouting male voice. All Constance managed to make out was the word, “NO!”
She was blindsided from the right by what felt like a linebacker slamming into her; and he was moving at as much of a dead run as the thick blanket of white covering the yard would allow. Pain shot through her bruised side as a thick arm roughly hooked about her waist. There was a hard jerk on impact, her head snapped to one side, and she felt herself spinning, which caused her hand to whip back and away from the still moving girl. A split second later all manner of balance had instantly disappeared, and Constance was briefly airborne. Falling hard, she tumbled to the left with a sharp yelp, hitting the ground, but not before landing on top of whoever had just tackled her. She tried to roll away but felt the arm pull tighter, squeezing around her waist like a vise as he yanked her back.
She was pitched onto her back, still partially atop her attacker, the wind knocked from her lungs. She gasped for a breath as his other arm came around just beneath her ribcage, but over the top of her own left forearm, trapping it securely against her side. She felt his hand groping across her stomach, trying to get a hold on her right arm as well. She immediately pulled it away, but for a moment his fingers hooked into her coat sleeve and clenched.
She yanked hard in a desperate tug of war. Fortunately, given the awkward angle at which she was being restrained, she still had enough leverage, so that with a second sharp jerk she was able to break free and pull it out of reach.
The man was trying to talk to her-half-spoken, unintelligible words coming out between panting breaths, but she wasn’t paying attention. Right now she had no interest in hearing his threats; she just needed to get away from him before he could inflict serious damage.
Out of trained reflex, she threw her free arm forward and brought it back down at a sharp angle, summoning all of the strength she could muster out of her shoulder as she rotated it back. Pulling straight in with her forearm she cocked her elbow and drove it hard into her attacker’s stomach. She felt a fleeting moment of satisfaction when a deep, guttural huff exploded into the night immediately behind her right ear. She instantly twisted to the left as his hold on her loosened, but it still wasn’t enough for her to escape.
