Twillyweed (38 page)

Teddy had slipped the boat into a tunnel of shade, camouflaged by draping willow. Where was he? And where were Morgan and Mr. Piet? They had to be in that hollowed lament of a building, the place half sunk in ruin. Skeletons of rusted girders squared off three floors of empty rooms that the wind gored through.
condemned
, its peeling signs warned. Backwater trees grew every which way from the moldy openings, its gates and rusty edges jagged. There was nothing but saplings and rubbish, rubber tires flung here and there. I climbed onto a pontoon of dry rotted plank and held on to a piling, then managed to get up on a cement aqueduct. I crept with tentative footfalls, edging along the side of a deep green pond. Chartreuse scum furred the top.

The wind died down, and it was quiet except for a profusion of birdsong. On another occasion, the remote beauty would have struck me. A duck had its head down, fishing underwater. But the duck stayed down, squirming, its tail wriggling in distress. It wasn't fishing. I realized a turtle must be under the scum, pulling it down. I tried not to look, waiting until the duck was gone. It took so long. My heart beat fiercely. Where had Morgan and Mr. Piet gone? I couldn't see them. Idiotically, I took out my phone. Of course it was soaked. I threw it at the turtle. And then I saw it. A heavy gate, camouflaged with branches, had been moved aside, and a gray cellar door gaped partway open.

I picked up a large stone and edged toward it, lifting the door the rest of the way open. It was dark down there. I sure as hell wasn't going down those broken stairs. No way.

I hesitated. Why didn't they call out? What had happened? The wet oozed up my socks and into my legs. The wind took up again in a frenzy, but the sun shone confidently and I was staying out here with it. On the landing a plastic bag of recent takeout was riddled with ants. I spotted something blue on the ground and bent toward it. A wet knapsack. It was Wendell's. So now I knew I had to go in. I picked it up and fumbled through it. Cupcakes. A juice box. A flashlight. I put the flashlight in my pocket and made sure the door wouldn't blow shut by pushing it all the way open. Shivering wildly, I moved down the steps. They continued down an old stairwell until all light was gone. I held my stone with two hands, edging down, trying not to slip. But the wooden structure was corrupted and weakened, and I didn't trust the walls; pieces of it had already crumbled and fallen away.

Suddenly I heard a distant shout and something crashed and unloosed down in front of me, whacking out a terrible mushroom of dirt and dust. Someone must have fallen through the ceiling. I struggled to see around me. It looked like it once was a parking garage. I could barely make out a series of orange extension cords snaking down the steps and I followed them. I was belowground now. I continued down the stairs, reaching carefully to avoid some broken steps. There was the terrible smell of mildew.

Suddenly the wind rose up with a howl and blew the cellar door shut. I was trapped in darkness!

That was when I realized how wrong I'd been about Teddy. This was a hiding place. My throat closed and I feared for my life. How would we ever get out of here? Oh, God, I realized in panic, I'd never thought to drop the anchor. The
Gnomon
would have drifted to who knew where by now!

And then I caught a glimpse of light moving in front of me in the darkness. Someone was up ahead. I hesitated and turned to go back up to the door. Hearing a far-off voice, I stayed still. It was loud enough that I could make out every word.

“Wendell, Wendell,” Teddy was reprimanding, “did you hear that? You made me forget to close the door!” I could hear the exasperation in his voice. “The wind will blow us all to pieces! You never should have come along. Now what am I going to do with you?”

I pressed close against the wall on the landing, shielding myself with my arms—and a cold, wet hand fell on my head with a thunk. I would have screamed had fear not turned me to salt. I slid my hand in my pocket and took out the flashlight. Trembling, I turned it on and light shone onto Mr. Piet's limp body, pressed, eyes closed, against the wall above me. He hung there as though he were hooked onto the wall. I got so scared the flashlight jumped out of my hands—cracking on the cement floor—and fell down the stairwell, down, down, making clanking noises all the way. I froze in pitch-black darkness.

There was a scuffling sound. Then Teddy's chilling voice, “Who is it? Who's there?”

Teddy's limping footsteps came softly toward me, ascending in the dark, and I knew that Morgan had to be wounded. He'd never let Teddy carry Wendell off. … And where was he, hoisted against the wall like Mr. Piet or lying knocked out on the ground? If I moved, would I trip on him? I could hear Teddy coming slowly toward me, feeling his way step by step. I didn't know which way to go. Every cell of my body wanted to rush in the opposite direction, but if I stayed pressed against the wall, he might not find me. I stayed put, locked in terror. Again his slow steps and dragging leg, the spine-chilling sound of his confidential, coddling voice drawing near, “I'm just going to have to put you in the closet now, because I have some things to do. The windstorm is tearing everything down. You understand that, don't you, Wendell?”

I heard Wendell whimper.

And then, as if it pleased him, Teddy added in a tone of malevolence, “Time won't keep you in there long.”

The hairs on my neck stood. I couldn't let him close that door to the world up there. I had to get out.

And as he came closer his voice continued, ever so gentle, “It's your fault I have to put you in there, you know” he said. “You know that, don't you?”

Wendell answered with a stifled sob.

It came to me that Teddy didn't know Mr. Piet and Morgan were here somewhere. Mr. Piet must have fallen when the steps above collapsed and landed like that, knocked unconscious. But where was Morgan? I could just make out a moving form. Teddy had Wendell in his arms like groceries. And then he muttered distractedly, “You never should have followed me, Wendell. You put me in a very difficult position. You know that, now, hmm? But you see I have my gloves. So it won't be me who's taking care of you, but the nice soft gloves, all right? You're always such a good little boy.”

“All right,” the little boy answered, trying to buy Teddy's goodwill with polite behavior.

My heart beat loud enough to hear. I thought I heard Teddy going away in the other direction and I felt a moment's relief, but just then he yanked a chain and light from a stark bulb blared, revealing me.

We saw each other.

“Claire!” Teddy exclaimed in utter surprise. The jig was up. The blacks of his eyes became tight pins and I sensed a wolflike fury. “You know,” he said smoothly, without missing a beat, “I had the chance to get rid of you the other night.”

It struck me that he wore gloves.

I answered. “No, you were put off by my dog.”

We remained like that, in a face-off. Just then, a shrill sound pierced the murky corridor. It was Wendell, blowing like mad on a whistle, and it stunned Teddy for a moment. And at just that moment, out of nowhere, Morgan landed between us. He was wounded and blood trickled from his ear, but he grabbed Teddy. Wendell fell to the ground between them. Teddy, foiled, fought back. They struggled. I tried to get close enough to hit Teddy with the rock but they moved skittishly, twisting one way and then the other. I dragged Wendell out of the way by his paltry arm. To my horror, Teddy had Morgan in a headlock and was strangling him. Morgan couldn't get loose of him.

I left Wendell huddled against the wall and crept up behind them. With all my might I clomped Teddy on the head with my rock. He fell forward and slumped to the ground. “Oh, my God, I killed him!” I cried.

“Don't worry about him,” Morgan groaned. “Help Mr. Piet!”

We three scrambled together up the stairs to Mr. Piet and lifted him. Part of the wall came down with him and my right hand holding his back came away warm and wet. “Blood!” I cried. Morgan tore off his sweatshirt, ripped it in half with his teeth, wincing with pain as he did. He propped Mr. Piet's body against me so he could wrap a tight tourniquet around his torso. Mr. Piet wasn't big, but he was dense and heavy.

“Hold this here, Wendell,” Morgan instructed. Wendell, gritting his lips, pressed with all his might. Morgan brushed away as much dirt as he could and felt for a pulse. “He's alive,” Morgan said and he fell back, hurt. It was his shoulder, dislocated. “We fell through the floor.” He groaned in pain. “The steps gave way.”

From the corner of my eye I saw Teddy sit up. He struggled to his feet, swayed, and suddenly he darted past us up the stairs. It all happened so fast.

Straining under Mr. Piet's weight, I shrieked, “God help us, he'll reach the top! He'll lock us in, Morgan! We'll never get out!”

Morgan struggled to get up then faltered and seemed about to faint. I floundered with Mr. Piet's slumped form, most of him on top of me.

Teddy heaved open the cellar door and stood up at the top of the steps, menacing, the sun behind him, turning him into a hunched silhouette looking down at us.

“You'll never get away with this,” Morgan gasped, fighting to stay conscious. “I'll get you.”

“Not this time, Morgan,” Teddy sneered. He laughed. “You know they'll never find you here.” He struggled to take hold of the storm cellar door and lower it over us. He hovered it there between open and shut, life and death, dangling it like a tease.

Morgan lunged upward but fell short, the effort causing him to writhe with pain. He staggered backward as though he'd been punched and collapsed, unconscious, all the way down what was left of the staircase. I tried to get out from under Mr. Piet.

Just then, from behind Teddy, a raised form—obliterated by the midday sun—silently came upon him, lifting him into the air and casting him down over the ledge and into the pond.

All was still. I'd struggled out from under Mr. Piet's dead weight and lay on the stairs, gasping for breath. I could hear Wendell's little throat rasping. I got up on all fours and then stood and made my way across the landing to Morgan. I stopped when I saw an open door. It was an office, or what used to be an office. There was electricity—a terrible smell … there was—I'll never forget it—a preacher's lectern, and on the face of it, a pair of gloves.

And then I saw it: the festering body of a half-naked girl in rubber snow boots on a futon. It was wrapped in a haggle of blankets on a plastic sheet. Her dead eyes were open as though she were watching us, her lifeless body chained by one foot to the wall. I tasted Mr. Piet's blood on my hand as it met my shocked mouth. But no, oh, no. There on the welted mattress lay the body of Annabel Cupsand. The phosphorescent shimmer from the walls wobbled her greenish flesh. The protruding eyes blinked. Wait. Did they blink? I was sure they blinked. I moved closer. A scrawny hand reached out, stilted and grappling. Could it be she was alive?

“Mama!” Wendell screeched from behind me. “Mama!”

I couldn't bear for him to see and I grabbed at him. But he broke free of me and ran and fell, tumbling, then got up and clung, weeping, to her.

I never thought I'd see Annabel Cupsand alive. Never. And now here she was, bound in shock, her long, frizzy red hair in filthy tangles, her white skin mottled.

“Go outside.” Morgan's voice came from behind me. “Take the whistle. Flag someone down. Find a cell phone and call 911. Tell them we need three ambulances.”

I got to my feet and, shivering with more than cold, followed the wall and climbed up the crumbling stairs, my shoeless, mucky feet stepping gingerly over Mr. Piet's unconscious body. I went on my knees, crabbing like an animal as fast as I could, avoiding the treacherous holes, reaching for the daylight, grasping hold of the heavy door. I thrust it all the way back so it could never close us in; the sound of Wendell's voice echoed up from the damp behind me. That was all I could hear, little Wendell's wailing “Mama! Mama!” through the shattered chambers like hurry-up dice rolling a long shot, insistent with hope.

Outside, I stood on the ledge and saw Teddy's fallen cell phone at my feet. I stared at it. I picked it up. I punched in 911. The blinding sun was in my eyes. I looked down and squinted and saw a human shape there in the green muck of the pool. It was Teddy, sucked in and still, only half of his body sticking out. Speechless, I held the yammering voice of the operator in my hand.

A marigold dinghy was rowing out past the willow and heading toward Sea Cliff. I saw a slim back and a length of long yellow hair.

When they said the place was condemned, they weren't kidding. There were so many police and firefighters at the scene within half an hour that it started to come down on itself and they had to pull half of them out. Then some avid news reporter made a jump from the loading dock to the factory grounds and missed and they had to waste time jimmying him out. It was a mess. You have to give it to those Coast Guard medics; they really know what they're doing. Wendell stayed with me while the medical helicopter flew Annabel Cupsand and Mr. Piet off to the hospital, then a lady officer took Wendell with her in the police boat. They hoisted Teddy out. I was standing there waiting in an aluminum blanket. He was caked with mud, but as they brought him up, the green muck slipped away and one of his wide-open eyes looked directly into mine. Ice went through me, right through me. He would have let us stay down there in that dungeon. He would have left us there to die.

They started to load him onto a stretcher but then they lowered him into a body bag instead. The police helicopter was coming for him. I was still soaked and went to be close to Morgan, who had turned his back on the pool and Teddy's exhumation—he told me later he didn't go over to look at him because of no other reason than that he was Daniel's son. He felt like he owed Daniel that.