Raven bit her lip. Was Chelsey lying, or had she been wrong about the cuts? Guilt slumped Raven’s shoulders.
“Stay and talk. I’m so sorry for jumping to conclusions.”
“I’m leaving. The next time you accuse someone of cutting, do five seconds of due diligence before you make a fool of yourself.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Saturday, August 14th
3:35 p.m.
A noise upstairs jerked Justine out of a nightmare. In her dream, spiders and cockroaches covered her body as she curled on the dark floor of the basement, bugs skittering in and out of her ears, crawling into her nose. She jolted and tried to swipe the imaginary spiders off her body. Justine found her wrists chained as before, her body pitched forward with her shoulders bearing the weight. With a moan, she adjusted her feet and leaned back, careful not to scrape against the wall. She’d learned the hard way that cobwebs and dust covered the concrete, draping off the ceiling. They took up residence in her hair, her nose, her clothes. The filth was a part of Justine now, as much as she was one with the dark.
She squinted at the thin line of light burning around the sound barrier over the window. Judging by the strength of the light, it had to be afternoon. As she tested the manacles and searched for a weak spot, footsteps descended the staircase above her head. She’d heard her abductor moving through the house since he locked her in the basement. But he hadn’t visited since morning, again standing in the shadow so she couldn’t recognize his face. Was this man someone from her past?
She recalled the kidnapping through a malnourished haze. Justine had walked out of the supermarket and into the fog. As she pushed the shopping cart to her car, she’d noticed the man in the wheelchair struggling to load his groceries into the van. A cast covered his leg. All a ruse. He’d fooled her, taken advantage of her soft spot for the disabled. All she’d wanted to do was help, and look where it got her. She’d made it easy for him, falling for his trick when he asked her to fish the crutch out of the van. Then he struck her head. Who was the man? He wasn’t injured or disabled. Even the cast had been a fake. Was she a random victim, or had he targeted her?
The days and nights blended together. Justine had no idea how long he’d locked her in the basement. Days, weeks. Her gaze searched the rear of the basement where the water heater stood. The heater had become her silent partner, the only thing in the darkness that kept her company besides her delusions. She shivered when she remembered the crazed eyes staring at her from behind the water heater. She assumed it was her kidnapper. Yet she swore he’d been somewhere in the house moments before. Whoever the person was, real or imagined, the stranger wasn’t here anymore.
Her eyes fell to the floor. Despite the gloom, her vision adjusted. She discerned shapes and shadows. While she’d slept, he’d removed the tray and taken it upstairs. Except for nibbling on a crusty piece of bread, she hadn’t eaten since he locked her in this inhospitable dungeon. Her stomach lurched with hunger as she swallowed the sickness crawling into her throat.
A cupboard opened and closed. She imagined him fixing a sandwich, cutting through the bread with a sharp knife. Little droplets of mustard spilling off the bread as he lifted the sandwich toward his mouth. It seemed impossible the man could eat a meal or sleep through the night with a prisoner locked in his basement. Carrying on with his life without a care. If she died, he’d find someone to replace her. A new pet.
Defeat slumped her body forward, and the chains snapped her arms behind her again. She cried out. Stars filled her vision.
As she pulled herself erect, he spoke. The ceiling muffled his voice, made it impossible to make out words. Perhaps he was on the phone.
Then a second voice responded. A woman’s voice.
Justine straightened and concentrated on the two voices. Had someone knocked on the door? No, she would have heard. The woman was inside the house. Adrenaline surged through Justine’s body. She wanted to believe…no, needed to believe the woman wasn’t working with the man to keep her trapped. It was possible the woman didn’t know Justine was locked in the basement. Justine opened her mouth to scream, and a raspy groan emanated from her chest. Her parched throat refused to respond.
Tugging on the chains, Justine shuffled forward until the manacles stopped her. She stood directly beneath them. Closing her eyes, she listened. His raised voice silenced the woman, forced her to comply. A whimper followed. He’d upset the woman. Was she another kidnapping victim? Or was this his wife or sister, living in submission, too petrified to question why he locked unsuspecting women in the basement?
Footsteps, lighter than his, trailed up the staircase to the second floor of the house. A door closed. Silence pervaded.
Justine waited for the man to move again. A minute later, footsteps crossed overhead, and the sink ran. Water trickled through the basement pipes.
Then a key twisted in the basement door. Until now, she hadn’t realized the reinforced door opened with a lock and key. Any hope she held for escaping her prison faded away.
The door opened. A rectangle of light pierced the darkness and forced Justine to avert her eyes. The brightness seared her vision as his shoes thumped against the stairs. He was coming for her.
Justine dropped her head to her chest and pitched forward. She bit her tongue when her shoulder joints threatened to tear. Closing her eyes, she pretended to be asleep as he shuffled through the gloom. She
