I search for a trigger—something that allows the wall to pop out or slide back. The man isn’t that sophisticated, so it has to be something simple, something in plain—
A small knot in the wood has been cleaned out, revealing a simple, but open hole. It could be so easily missed or dismissed. Placing my right pointer finger inside, I grip the wood and pull. The facade easily pops off the wall and I nearly lose my balance as it lands on top of my feet. Throwing it to the side, I drop to my knees. Beneath the fake facade, set back half a foot or so, is a small insulated door, barely four feet tall.
Tugging on the handle, it doesn’t budge.
“Shit. Of course, it’s locked,” I mutter under my breath.
Luckily for those incoherent images from earlier—I know exactly where the key is.
Scrambling to my feet, I rush over to the man. Dropping to my knees, I push him over so he’s on his back.
“What the hell are you doing now?” Blake says, walking back into the house. His eyes are wide with surprise and he steps forward with his hands splayed wide.
“Shut up and go take a look at the wall. She’s in there. I need to find the key,” I say, mentally preparing myself to search the man for the necklace with the key.
Taking a deep breath, I thrust my hand under his shirt in search of the necklace. Nothing’s there but an overly hairy chest.
Flashes of him twirling the necklace and shoving it in his pocket come to mind. I shudder, pulling my hand back.
“Ugh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Christ, how’d you find this?” Blake says from the living room.
“How the hell do you think, dumbass. Psychic, remember? Just because you don’t believe it, doesn’t make it less so.”
Taking a deep breath, I plunge my hand into the man’s right pocket and pull out the key.
Blake’s jaw drops open, but thankfully he doesn’t say another stupid statement. Instead, he backs away and makes space for me as I scramble back over to the little doorway.
Placing the key inside, the satisfying click of the lock pulling back is like nothing I’ve ever heard. I yank the door open and inside, Esther falls back on her butt, tears streaming from her red face. With her inside is the little puppy that lured her here, a small cloth for a blanket, and the ugly orange shag carpet.
“C’mon, let’s get you outta here,” I tell her, extending my arms to her.
Esther’s eyes widen, and she clutches the puppy to her body.
“It’s okay, Esther. We gotta go,” I urge.
She shakes her head, “Where’s my mom?”
Blake pulls me back, taking my place.
“Hey sweetie. Do you remember me? My name’s Blake and your mom and dad are both very worried. They’ve sent us here to come get you. Will you come with us?” he voice is low and soft; the kind of tone I suspect a good dad uses when they’re trying to get their kid to bed.
“Mom’s gonna be so mad at me,” Esther says, fresh tears streaming from her eyes.
Blake shakes his head, “Nobody’s mad. We all want to see you get home safe and sound. Will you come with us?”
He offers his arm out to her and she nods, “Okay, but can I keep the puppy?”
“Sure, Esther. Bring her along, too,” he nods, pulling both of them in close.
“It’s a boy. See?” Esther lifts the puppy by its front paws revealing its gender.
“So it is,” Blake chuckles. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Blake takes a step back, helping Esther out of the little room.
“Where the hell ya’ll think yer going with her? She’s mine, ya hear,” the man slurs from the floor.
5
WE BOTH SPIN AROUND surprised to see the man of the house rousing and reaching again for his shotgun. His gestures are slow, and sluggish as he struggles to get to his knees.
“Told you we should have tied him up,” I blurt out, my voice nearly a screech.
Esther screams and flings herself back inside the room.
Blake pushes past me, rushing forward, and kicking the shotgun out of the man’s reach. He follows the movement immediately by landing his steel toed boot squarely upside the man’s head. For the second time tonight, he slumps to the floor.
“Oh my God, tie the man up, would you?” I say, my eyes blazing into Blake’s before turning back to Esther. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s safe now.”
Reaching for my hand, hers shakes as she bends down and exits the small enclosure. Her eyes widen at the sight of her captor on the floor, and she hugs the puppy tighter—who in turn squeals and tries to break free from her grasp.
Without a word, Blake sets to work, hoisting the man up into a small arm chair, and tying him up with whatever ropes and cords he finds available. He secures him expertly, tying knots I haven’t seen in years.
“Boy Scout, were ya?” I say, pulling Esther close, unable to take my eyes off him.
“Something like that,” Blake mutters, not breaking his focus.
When he’s satisfied with his handiwork, he finally pushes up to a stand and lets out a sigh of contentment.
For a moment, his dark brown eyes lock with mine. Something plays at their creases—but it’s more than simply relief. Curiosity, maybe? Borderline appreciation? All of it? In those brief seconds, I wish like hell I knew what was going on in his mind. What I wouldn’t give to know what he was actually thinking.
Such a strange sensation, when your whole life, you’ve never not known the ins and outs of someone else’s mind. Hell, half the time I understand most people better than
