Promises Pt. 11

July?

I nail the brakes and lurch to a stop about halfway down the block. The car behind me lets loose with a long blast of its horn, and I recover enough to resume driving, but I'm on autopilot now, wracking my brain for details.

When was it that Teri was first kidnapped? It was after her sophomore year in high school, I recall. Since Bethany was three years ahead in school, that would have been the summer after the older girl's freshman year at Berkley. A summer when, like all her collegiate summers, she was still in California, taking more classes so she wouldn't be there when her parents left. That would have meant that Bethany's older brother had the house all to himself for two weeks that July. And the next. And the next. Just when Teri went missing, three years in a row.

But now, with his parents dead and gone, and after having bought out Bethany's share of the house, he's got the place all to himself, all year long...

I punch the gas and hang a right at the next street, then cut into the alley that runs behind the houses on his block. The Kozlowski house will be the last one on the right. I glide to a stop in the gravel in the middle of the alley, right behind a detached two-car garage.

I unfold myself and hurry to the garage doors. They have plexiglass windows set into the second-from-the-top panels, but they're blacked out, probably painted on the inside. I don't even hesitate, knocking out a pane with my elbow.

My suspicions are confirmed. There's a blue, early 2000's model Dodge Caravan in one of the bays. It's been backed into the garage just enough to close the door, leaving lots of room behind it. Good if, say, you were going to unload a big wooden box.

Next to the minivan is a newer Corolla. I'm guessing that Bethany's brother is planning on driving the Toyota exclusively for a while so that the getaway vehicle can stay put until things cool down.

I peer over the top of the six-foot-tall privacy fence. It looks like a pretty standard backyard. Nothing suspicious. The house is two-stories tall with only four windows in the back, all of them with shades drawn. The gate seems to be locked from the inside, so I vault the fence and drop low behind a big plastic trash bin.

The concrete walkway to the house has a wet patch from melting snow, which is dripping from the garage roof's overhang. There are wet wheel tracks leading away from that patch, probably made by a dolly. Under the midday sun, they can't be more than a few minutes old. He must have wheeled the box into the house.

I've got all the proof I need, but probably not enough for the cops to go busting in. Still, they need to know what I've found, so this would be the time to call them. Not that I have any intention of waiting until they get here.

I reach for my phone. Naturally, I only now remember that I left the little device in the van's cup holder. I slap my head in disgust, but quickly dismiss the idea of going back for it. Time is of the essence now.

I head for the back door at a run, the soggy grass squishing beneath my feet. When I arrive, I find that it's unlocked. That's an oversight on his part that I'm sure he'd probably remedy soon. I carefully slip inside.

I'm in a mudroom with filthy linoleum tiles on the floor. There are hooks and cubbies on the walls, perfect for a family's winter attire, but it's mostly assorted junk that's overflowing the melamine surfaced boxes and hanging from the hooks. There are two other doorways from here. One goes into a kitchen that displays the same lack of order and cleanliness, but I'm far more interested in the one that leads down to the basement. On those bare concrete steps are traces of wet footprints. Moving as lightly as I can, I follow them.

The box and dolly are at the bottom of the stairs. Sure enough, the end of the crate is on a piano hinge with a hasp for a padlock. On the other end of the box is a bracket with a bottle of gas and a hand valve on a tube that's screwed into the wood. Undoubtedly, this is the Sevoflurane that Teri told me about.

This room is like the kitchen and mudroom, none too clean, and cluttered with a bizarre collection of stuff that would make for a very interesting yard sale. It's a wild mixture of trash and treasure, but leaning heavily toward the former. Unfortunately, I don't see anything that looks like it would serve as a weapon.

At the other end of the room is a long hallway with several doors off of it. I don't like the idea of searching these spaces unarmed, since Spencer is likely to have weapons close at hand. My only chance to take him down will be to get to him without warning, committing extreme violence before he has a chance to pick one up. My odds will improve, though, if he's distracted by the process of binding Teri to the mattress, so I get right to the task at hand.

I move steadily, checking corners and scanning for motion, while at the same time watching my feet to make sure I don't step on anything that will make noise. My nerves are on a razor's edge, and it's all I can do to keep my breaths silent and steady.

The other rooms look to be much smaller than the first, and the basement was obviously laid out long before the whole "open concept floorplan" became a thing. Each room I check has an amazing assortment of detritus, but no Teri.

Teri had never mentioned that the space she'd been held in felt small, but then again, Spencer's family had been far away the first three times he took her. He could have safely used any room he liked. Now, though, Bethany, who lives nearby, could reasonably drop in to visit at any time. A careful man would build a hidden room, necessarily small, for his secret perversions. It may not be easy to find.

With that in mind, I mentally dimension each space as I enter, putting together a floorplan in my head. Every time I look around a corner, I expect to see Spencer waiting for me, but each time, the only sign of his presence is the mess he's created here.

By the time I've been through every doorway, I've estimated the dimensions of every room. They all fit together with no gaps, except for one small space in the northeast corner of the basement that's unaccounted for. I didn't find any doors leading into it on my first pass through, so I creep back in that direction to look more closely.

Along the smaller dimension of the missing space, there's a finished bathroom with a pink tub and tile. I don't see how there could be any access from here, so I go back out into the hall and check it out from the other side. This room is long and narrow, but I quickly calculate that it's not as long as it should be.

Bingo.

The back wall is bare except for a big full-length mirror and a tall bookshelf. Doors hidden behind bookshelves are a hokey cliché, but there's a reason for that. I quickly, but quietly, move to investigate.

I've been in the basement for several minutes and I can only imagine the things that Spencer could be doing to Teri by now. Alerting him prematurely that I'm here won't help her at all, though, so I discipline myself to be smooth, quiet and methodical.

I quickly find that the bookshelf is freestanding. There's nothing behind it but smooth wall. That leaves the mirror. It's mounted in a slim wooden frame and appears to have little room for a latch or hinges. It feels like it's solidly mounted to the wall. Still, I begin to feel along the edges. I run my fingers up one side, across the top, and then down the other, feeling nothing but smooth wood. Then I do the same along the bottom of the mirror, a bare inch above the rust-colored shag carpet.

It's subtle, but I feel two ridges, about an inch apart. I press upward between them. Lo and behold, the surface gives. I press a little harder. With a quiet click, the right side of the mirror detaches and begins to swing away from the wall on hidden hinges.

I stand up and prepare to move quickly, then smoothly swing the mirror out of the way. Behind it is a heavy door, hinged to swing inward, equipped with half a dozen deadbolts along its perimeter that can only be thrown from the outside. They're all undone, indicating that Spencer must be in there with Teri.

Now I'm really wishing I'd taken the extra minute or two to retrieve my phone and call the police. If Spencer incapacitates me, he'll have time to escape with Teri, or worse.

I consider going all the way back to the van and calling 911, but my mental images of what is likely happening on the other side of this door are just too vivid. I need to get to her now.

I carefully try to turn the doorknob. It's locked, so I'm going to have to force the door. I take a deep breath, visualize what I'm going to do when I enter, then throw my shoulder into the door as hard as I can without the risk of stumbling into the room.

The door gives way with the sound of a shattering jam. It swings open with tremendous force, smashing against the inside wall. As I've mentally rehearsed, I duck low and roll through the opening, scanning for Spencer. I look left first, but from the right, the roar of a large-caliber handgun is nearly deafening in the tiny space. I feel a heavy impact and then sharp pain on the left side of my chest.

He's still pointing the gun at me, apparently watching to see if I'm going to die. He hasn't fired a second shot. That's a serious mistake on his part because while he's hit me, adrenaline is coursing through my body and everything still seems to be working, at least for the moment. And I've got no intention of dying before Teri's safe.

In one swift motion, I roll to my feet, lunge toward him and slap the weapon from his hand. It bounces off the wall and clatters across the concrete floor behind me into the far corner. I turn from Spencer and take two steps, scooping up the gun. When I turn back to him, gun in hand, he's retreated to the other end of the narrow room.

As the gun comes up, time seems to slow. I view the scene set in front of me. The room is about twelve feet by five, a nice size for, say, a family bathroom. The walls are bare sheetrock with no paint. The space is lit with two bare bulbs in the ceiling.

The only furniture in the room is a steel-framed bed with a thin mattress and fitted sheet. It's at the other end of the room from where I'm now standing. Teri is spread-eagled on the bed, nude and apparently unconscious. Her ankles and wrists are encircled by padded steel cuffs which are chained tight to the legs of the bedframe. She's not gagged or blindfolded yet, which strikes me as a bit careless. What if she woke right now and saw his face?

Then I belatedly realize that this means he has no plans to let her go. But then again, why would he? His parents aren't coming home from vacation this time, and this room would be impossible for most people to find. He could have kept her here for however long she survived.

Personally, I intend Teri's stay at Spencer's place to be a very short one this time, and the gun in my hand is just the tool to make sure that happens. I have next to no practical experience with handguns, but my brief glimpse of the weapon as I picked it up told me that it lacked the cylinder typical of a revolver, so it must be a semi-auto. It should fire the next round as soon as I squeeze the trigger.

Spencer has pulled a large knife from a scabbard on his belt and is moving around to the head of the bed, which is a couple of feet from the end of the room. I sight down the barrel, aiming for his center of mass, then smoothly pull the trigger without jerking, as I've read you're supposed to do. I figure at this distance, it would be hard to miss.

The gun doesn't go off.

"Hah!" Spencer yells in a nasally tenor. "It's a Derringer."

Despite myself, I look down at the gun in my hand. Shit! He's right, and it explains why he only fired at me once. A Derringer is a type of handgun that only holds one round and has to be manually reloaded after every shot. What the hell is he doing with one of these nearly useless things?

I drop the weapon and begin to pursue him into the corner, but now he's crouched down low behind Teri's head and has the knife at her throat. He doesn't have to shout, "Stop or I'll kill her," but he does anyway.

I stop.

We're both motionless for a long moment. I look at Teri more carefully. She appears to be unhurt and I can see her little ribcage rising and falling.

I'm inwardly cursing my stupidity now, realizing that, of course, I should have just grabbed the creep the moment I'd disarmed him. Spencer's overweight and soft, so it would have been easy, but dammit I'm an engineer, not a Navy Seal.

"You should have grabbed me when you had the chance," he says with remarkable calm.

Yeah, thanks for the pointer.

I decide that, looks aside, I'd best not underestimate the man. He's got to be pretty sly to have gotten away with the things he's done over the last seven years.

I carefully slip out of my jacket and feel for my very first bullet wound. I find a sticky hole in my T-shirt and my side. I nearly flinch from the pain. The rib underneath doesn't feel so hot either.

About four inches further around my side is another two-holer. So the bullet went in and out, and from the short distance between entry and exit wounds, it didn't go too deep. I'm going to guess the bullet hit at such a shallow angle that it ricocheted off my rib. I feel I can safely disregard the damage for now. I've got bigger fish to fry.

Mounted to the wall where both of us can see it is a flat screen TV. On it are four camera views, apparently of the front, back and sides of the house. I can see the backyard from a high angle, probably right under the peak of the roof. He'd had a clear view of me the whole time, even when I was crouched behind the trashcan.

"Yeah, I saw you coming," he says, answering my unasked question. "I didn't expect you to find the room, though. You almost caught me by surprise."

I have to at least try. "You'd best put that knife away, Spencer. The cops are on the way."

"Bullshit. I saw you looking for your phone. You didn't call them."

He's got me there. "Okay, but Marsha's van is blocking the alley. Someone's eventually going to call the cops about it and they'll check out the broken pane in your garage door. They have a description of your vehicle this time, so they'll come looking. With the evidence they have, they won't bother with a warrant."

"Fair enough, but they'll never take me alive. I'd rather die than go to prison and be someone's bitch."

Yeah, with his mild manner and soft body, he'd assuredly end up as Bubba's girlfriend. "Okay," I say, "how about we do this; I'll let you walk right out of here and drive away if you don't hurt Teri. You could take your other car and be long gone before the cops arrive."

"Yeah, right," he says, rolling his eyes. "You'd grab me the second I moved the knife away from her throat."

That was exactly the plan, of course.

"Well, how about I go out in the front yard where you can watch me on the screen, then you can slip out the back."

"Sure, and you'll be calling in a description of my other car before I go a block," he says.

"I could use the handcuffs from Teri's feet to bind my hands to the bed," I offer. "You could leave and we'd all live to see another day."

He nods thoughtfully. "I actually like that idea, but unfortunately, I left the keys to the cuffs on my dresser."

"I'll get them for you."

"No thank you. You might find another pint-sized Mexican girl with a coconut and major-league arm."

"Huh? How do you know about that?"

"Because I've watched the recordings."

"Recordings?"

"Yeah, the ones from the nanny-cam in Mexico."

"How on earth did you get your hands on those?"

For a guy who's facing off against a man who could quickly and gleefully kill him with his bare hands, his grin is a real shit-eater. "Because I'm very good with computers. Hell, I've had undetectable spyware on all of Bethany's computers since she was twelve. It allowed me access to everything on her hard drive, her email, and all of her social media accounts. Everything that went back and forth between her and Teri, I got. Hell, I knew exactly where in the house Teri was, and which window she'd cracked open, before I even arrived to take her from the slumber party.

"From Bethany's laptop, I was able to get control of Teri's. Then, once she networked in, I was able to monitor the security cameras at her folks' house, and then yours too. You've got yourself a quality firewall, but it's not that good."

"Oh shit," I mutter. I thought we had been so careful, but evidently nothing's private in this digital age.

"I wasn't sure I'd be able to take her at the beach," he says, "but I hadn't had even the slightest opportunity in years, so I figured it was worth the long drive. So when Teri went into the motorhome alone, I knew it was fate smiling down on us, serving us an opportunity on a silver platter. If I'd had another ten seconds, we'd have gotten away with it. I had my box ready to go."

We? After all of this, he evidently thinks she wants to be with him? I suddenly realize that Spencer's not just an evil genius, he's insane.

The TV screen isn't showing any police activity yet, but if I can just stall him long enough...

"So it appears we have a standoff," Spencer says, abruptly ending his monologue as if he's read my mind. I really hate this guy.

"Indeed we do. So do you have any better ideas on how to end it?"

"Yeah. I've got a couple more.45 caliber rounds for the derringer in my pocket. I'll toss one to you."

"Uh, I fail to see how giving me a loaded weapon helps your cause. Not to ruin your plan with any spoilers, but I might just shoot you."

"I rather doubt that. I'll be here, hiding behind Teri with a very sharp knife to her throat. You're more likely to hit her than me, and I'd slit her throat if you tried."

"Then I'd kill you about three seconds after that," I tell him. It's not bluster or bravado. It's a fact.

"I'm well aware of that, but it would be a feature, not a bug. Remember, I don't want to go to prison. Still, it wouldn't bring Teri back for you."

"So what exactly do you expect me to do with a loaded gun?"

"I expect you to shoot yourself in the head," he says simply.

That kind of just sits there for a while.

"And why exactly would I do that?"

He sighs. "Let me lay it out in words that you might understand. You made Teri a promise that you would do 'everything in your power' to protect her on this trip to Minnesota. And I happen to know that you're slavishly observant of your promises.

"Now, we can both see the TV. If the cops come, my escape will be cut off. I won't be taken alive, though. To be sure about that, all I have to do is kill Teri. At that point you'll want to dispatch me quickly, and your only chance to do it is before the cops arrive. Unfortunately for you, though, Teri will still be dead and you'll have broken your promise to her."

All of that is exactly true. He knows me well for never having met me, but then again, if he's been watching everything we've done since I installed those security cameras, he would.

I nod, and he continues. "The only way Teri gets out of this alive is if I get away cleanly. And the only way I get away cleanly is if you're dead."

Unfortunately, he's right. "But won't you just take her with you once I'm dead?"

He shakes his head. "No. It would take me forever to get her out of here. Then I'd have to drive the minivan because the box won't fit in the Corolla. Since the cops have the van's description, I wouldn't make it a mile. And even if we did get away, I don't have another place prepared for her."