The Bone Man (37 page)

I walked to the window. Pale watery light filtered in from outside the barred, glassed, and wire-meshed window filthy with grime and age. The room—crypt?—couldn’t have been more than six-by-six, and I told myself that now wasn’t the time for claustrophobia. Right. A ceiling light dangled above my head but shed no light because the bulb was broken. Given the stairs I’d been dragged up, I was obviously not on the first floor. I wet my fingers, tried to clear a bit of glass, but failed. The mesh was too tight. My stomach cramped with fear.

I hunkered down, close to the chipped beige floor tiles. They, too, were grimy with age and coated with dust. So no one had been in this room for a long time. That all meant something. Why couldn’t I put it together?

I sat in the corner, my back against the chilly wall.

If Penny were okay, she’d find me. My captor said they had her, but I didn’t believe him. Couldn’t. Yes, Penny would find me. If not . . . I refused to think about it.

I pictured Aric and Hank. First, they’d be annoyed that I’d waltzed off. Then angry. Then worried. But by then it would be too late. I didn’t see how in hell they’d know where I was. Too bad I hadn’t left any bread crumbs.

I peered around the cell for spiders, webs, anything that spoke of life. I found nothing. The place was empty and
cold, with a horrible absence of life. The tips of my fingers had lost feeling.

Think, dammit
, I yelled at myself. I doubted they intended to kill me, at least not at first. So why lock me up? What did I have, what did I know, what could I do that they wanted?

I pushed myself up and began to pace. Movement, action, that was the ticket. I breathed in and out, listened for sounds. Other than my breath, all I heard was silence. I paced. Rhythm.

The boots were the same. I’d recognized four of my assailants, yet I had trouble placing them in my world. Back and forth. Pace. Rhythm.

A clanking made me stumble.
Ignore it
. Now was the time I must understand, or I would die. I believed that.

The clanking grew louder.
Think. Think, Tally, dammit!

Lightning. On the men’s boots. And where else? A breeze from a crack in the window brushed my face. A collar. A shirt collar.

The anchor-style guy I now knew to be Devlin had a lightning bolt embroidered on his shirt collar. Two pairs of boots and a collar. Not a coincidence. And there was one more. What? I paced, paced. The clanging grew louder still, yet . . .

A man formed in my mind, a shadowy one with a predatory disposition. I’d sure met enough of them lately. Anchor man? No, I recalled the lightning bolt on his shirt. It wasn’t he. Then who?
Who was I seeing?

The cell door flew open, and I jumped.

“Who’s there?” I said.

“You killed Paulie,” came the whispery voice full of hate.

I backed up a step, right into the wall. I braced myself. “Why would you think I killed anyone?”

“You killed him.”

I caught the glint of something. Gun? Knife? It didn’t matter. I had nowhere to go.

“You’re wrong.”

“You’re dead.”

I dropped to the floor just as something clattered against the wall. Footsteps entered the room, and I rolled. A large, round person was bent over retrieving the big knife that lay on the floor. He was vague, like a shadow, with eyes that burned.

I leaped on top of him, and he laughed.

I bit, kicked, tasted blood. A swat across my face snapped back my head. Hands, heavy and tight, squeezed my neck.

I gasped for air and groped for some place to grab on to. I found a smooshy area and clamped down hard with my fingers and nails, scraping along a surface.

The floor hit me in the head, and I saw stars while I kicked myself out of his way. I could hardly make out his face, but I saw streaks of red, and I pushed to my knees. His teeth glinted, and he watched me as he reached for the knife.

With both hands I grabbed for his balls and squeezed down hard.

Howling!

I squeezed harder and tighter, and he pushed me away, but I pushed back, using his energy, his force. Then I suddenly released him.

Wham!
His head smacked into the cinder-block wall. He slid down it, aware but stunned, and I grabbed his knife, wrapping both palms around the hilt, and I thrust it into him, my back arched, seeking an energy I didn’t feel.

He screamed, and I fell back. And he collapsed. His head tilted to one side, his eyes were closed, and blood ran from the wound in his side. I gasped for breath. Couldn’t believe I’d gotten the better of him. I sucked in air until the voice in my head shrieked,
Run!

I lurched to my feet. God, it was hard. I couldn’t leave him like this. When he came to, he’d come after me again.
I’d only wounded him. I rifled his pockets, pulled out a Zorro poker token. Stupid. Finally, in his shirt pocket, I felt something metal, something like . . . a key. Yes. He had a flashlight, too. I took both of them and crept out of that vile room.

I locked it behind me, and the satisfying
snick
told me that for the moment, I was safe.

In the hall, the howl of the wind sounded like madness. It reminded me of Chaco. Different, but the same.

I should leave, get Hank and Aric. But I couldn’t leave. Not without Penny.

Fear seeped into my brain like a poisonous oil. I ached for a courage I wasn’t feeling.

The corridor was pitch black, but for one greasy window that allowed in a pale light. That was to my advantage. I slipped into a nook in the hall that might have once held a water fountain. I pressed on the flashlight. A halogen with a direct beam. Perfect. I listened for Penny, but heard only silence. I had two choices—I could turn left, down that hall, or go right, deeper into the labyrinth.

Left . . . it made little sense that anyone would be there. Passing cars might see someone walking in the building. Right it was, and so I went deeper into the bowels of the place that felt like a snake pit.

I walked quickly, again thankful that Hank had bought me the Merrells. The farther I traveled, the colder it
seemed, until, another right and . . . I saw a light down the end of the corridor.

I realized I was shaking and tried to catch my breath. What a place! High ceilings, cold, damp walls, bars on the windows, stone everywhere. A medieval prison or a madhouse or the catacombs of Moria.

Get it together
. My teeth began to chatter. Those people wanted to kill me or worse, torture me. I’d been lucky to make it this far. How long would my luck hold? Maybe I should run. My soul said:
flee
.

I slipped my hand into my pocket in search of some gum, Altoids, anything to feel a little normal. Instead, my fingers touched something hard and egg shaped. It felt warm. I laughed out loud, slapped my hand across my mouth. But I couldn’t help smiling. The rock I’d brought from Chaco. I’d slipped it in my jeans for a pocket fetish. I rubbed my thumb across its surface. It comforted my heart.

And a lightning bolt of recognition hit me. Almost literally. I found another alcove down the hall and backed into it.

My brain had finally put the insignia in its proper place. The lightning on the boots and the one on the National Geographic guy’s shirt. Lightning bolts. And just now, the monster who’d tried to kill me, he had what I’d taken as a Zorro poker chip. I nearly laughed again. Of course it wasn’t that, but it was a chip with a bolt of lightning on it. And, yes! I’d seen another one. Izod-man’s gold tooth. I’d taken the mark on it for a Z, but, again, it was a bolt of lightning.

I knew just what those lightning bolts meant.

According to Zuni belief, humans lived in an underworld before they emerged to the surface of the earth. The earth was swampy and humans couldn’t live there. So Sun Father created twins. These brothers were to take care of the humans. The twins created lightning, which could ignite
fires that would dry the earth. And so the surface became livable and humans emerged.

Except many were eaten by ferocious beasts.

So the twins turned the creatures to stone, all except for their hearts, which continued to beat. The twins then told the stone animals to serve as guardians for humans. They have done this ever since. And so fetishes were born to protect and aid the Zuni.

Could the pot thieves believe that a fetish would protect their work? I had trouble getting my head around a desire for a particular fetish over and above all else.

The lightning was some fetish cult formed by these non-Zunis.

I could sort that out later. I shook myself. Right now, what I believed didn’t matter. What
they
believed was what counted. I had to get moving.

I eased out of the cranny and continued on down the hall. The farther I went, the more disturbing the vibe. The place was a hellhole. I wished Hank knew where I was. From its abandoned look, no one ever ventured into the building. No one except people doing very bad things.

The hall tilted downward and widened a bit. I wondered if that was real or my perception. From a bend down at the end of the corridor, what looked like the shadow of fire flickered on the wall. It stopped me.

I’d seen that in some dream. Nightmare. I’d swear it. Go beyond that turn, and I would die.

I sagged against the wall, clammy with sweat and fear. I had dreamed this very scenario. Foolish, foolish. But in my bones, I knew it to be true.

At that turn, right there, right beyond where I could see, monsters awaited me with arms wide. Their embrace would be slow, but final. I would go insane. I would lose myself. Forever.

I leaned back. What was wrong with me, seeing these things, believing them?

I closed my eyes, willing myself out of there. I stroked the stone in my pocket. It calmed me. Penny. She would never, ever leave me in a place like this. Never.

So how could I leave her?

I straightened. Whatever that right turn held, I refused to go gently. Knife in my left hand, flashlight in my right, I walked forward, toward the flickering, shadowy light up ahead.

I took a breath, was about to make that hideous right turn, when I heard a familiar
clack-clack
.

I flipped around, and saw a low shadow in the dark hall. I ran uphill toward it, and the clacking grew louder, and in an instant, two paws slammed into my chest.

I buried my face in Penny’s fur and cried. “Safe. You’re safe.”

“I found her,” said a woman’s voice.

I jerked up.
“Pozor!”
I commanded Penny.

“She doesn’t need to guard you, you know.”

I beamed the light up, toward the sound of the soft voice. Five feet up the corridor stood a pretty, young woman. I walked toward her, kept my knife at the ready. Penny hugged my side.

“Here,” I said to Penny. “Come.”

As I closed on the young woman, I saw that she was filthy. One side of her face was bruised, and her hair hung in greasy hanks. She looked unwell, feverish or starved or sick at heart.

“You are?” I said.

“Um . . .” She rubbed her lips with her finger, back and forth. “I’m . . . I’m not sure. They’ve been drugging me. I’m confused.”

She began to collapse. I grabbed her waist, but I couldn’t keep her upright. We both ended sitting. She tilted her head back against the wall.

“Let’s get you out of here,” I said. “All right?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Take a few breaths,” I said.

“Okay. Yes.”

Hard to tell, but I’d swear the girl was Amélie, Delphine’s daughter. I felt her forehead. She was burning up.

Her frail hand reached out and buried itself in Penny’s fur. “She saved me.”

“Her name is Penny.”

“She . . . she found me.”

The gloves. Maybe they weren’t Delphine’s but Amélie’s. I pulled them out. “Do you recognize these?”

She held the gloves as if they were fragile glass. She smiled. “Yes, yes, I do. Mama knit them for me. Long ago.”

“Come on.” I got to my feet. “We’re leaving.”

“Can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” I snugged my arm around her waist. “Help me, now.”

“Yes,” she said with a whisper.

I pulled and she pushed, and we somehow got her to her feet. We wobbled, but managed to stay upright.

I looked up the hall, which now seemed a monumental hill to climb. Yet I could see no other way out of here but back the way I’d come.

“Okay, Amélie. Here we go, huh?”

One foot, then the other, then again. We inched slowly up the hall. For such a petite girl, she had to weigh four hundred pounds. One foot, then the other. I prayed our snail-like progress would be enough to get us out of there.

I looked ahead, flashed the beam once, and saw that we’d almost made it to the upper hall. Once there, no more hills, but flat until the downward stairs took us out of the hellish place.

“You okay, Amélie?”

“Okay.”

A surge of joy.

Then a flash of light doused hope.

A burst of pain in my head, then . . .

I awakened slowly, as if a hangover made breathing hard. I was sitting, but my head was bowed, my feet on the floor. Maybe the Fun House of Horrors had all been a bad dream. Yes. I smiled. I was home. With Hank. Sitting on the . . .

No, I wasn’t.

I opened my eyes, but didn’t look up. My hair hung like a curtain, shielding my face.

I sensed a vast room, well lit, warm. I wiggled my fingers. They were bound in front of me at the wrists. My ankles were bound, too.

Murmurs, chatter. I couldn’t tell what was being said. Strange.

“We know you’re awake,” came a voice.

Rat-a-tat
of footsteps moving closer.

“
Bonjour
, Tally.”

I looked up. Blinked a dozen times. The ghost remained.

She wore a black turtleneck and tight black pants. Her signature black hair was pulled back into a long ponytail and she wore bangs, as always. Silver yei figures dangled from her ears. A wide red belt wrapped her tiny waist, and a slash of red covered her thin lips.

“Flies will get in your mouth,” Delphine said, “if you don’t shut it.”