After the Kristi Cooper debacle, Emily Kenyon had learned how frail support and loyalty really could be. It was like a thin string, stretched and snapped. Several of her friends made derisive comments about her during the investigation, which ultimately exonerated her. In a way she learned how hard it was for a defendant to recover his or her good name after an acquittal. Once the bell has rung, it can never be completely silenced. Even David made cruel remarks about how she'd let the heat of it all steal her wits, how she shouldn't have done what she did.
But never Christopher. He was true blue from the moment Reynard Tuttle was shot, to the dreadful discovery of Kristi Cooper's body by those boys out with their BB gun, to the departmental investigation by her supposed friends and colleagues.
"What is it about you?" she asked. "Why did you stick up for me?"
Christopher set his hand on her shoulder. "Look, what happened to you could have happened to me. To anyone. You were doing your job. You have always been a million times better than that one incident. What happened never defined you for a second. Not to me. Not to anyone who really knows you."
But to David, it was the crack that grew to a chasm.
Without saying a word, her eyes now cast downward, Emily started to sob. She didn't want to cry in front of Collier just then, but her emotions were so jagged, she just let go.
Christopher put his other hand on her opposite shoulder and gently turned her to make her face him dead on. "Don't do this," he said. "Don't beat yourself up again."
She shook her head slightly. "I don't know." She knew she couldn't change what had happened to Kristi, but she wondered how much that played into Jenna and Nick's disappearance. She was thinking of her daughter just then, not Kristi.
"What if we don't find Jenna?" she asked.
Christopher wrapped his strong arms around her. He didn't hold her too long, or too tightly. "We will," he said softly in her ear. "We're going to get her and bring her home"
A voice called out into the darkness. It was indifferent. Barely louder than a whisper. A voice of ice. Just words strung together. "Hey. You. Hey?"
It came from a slit of light, across the blackened space.
Is this God? Am I dead?
In an instant the light was snuffed out with a thunderclap, like a trapdoor into another world. Darkness consumed the space. Jenna Kenyon couldn't move. She hurt everywhere. She wanted to touch the back of her head; she was sure she'd been injured somehow. The pain was disorienting. The dark ness didn't help. Maybe hit over the head? Blacked out? But she didn't know. When she went to move, she found her arms, and then her legs, were paralyzed. She was supine on a cot or mattress, smelly and damp. She was so unsettled, so confused, that she had no clue where she was or how she got there. After the light went out, she felt the presence of another, somewhere in the room, the cave. Wherever she was.
"Hello?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear. She heard something, but it was behind her and she was unable to turn. "Hello?" She twisted her body and tried to squirm into a sitting position, but it was no use. Her limbs were bound tightly by rope or cording.
Then he spoke. "Jenna?" His voice was recognizable, but her thoughts were so hazy, Jenna couldn't say who it was just then. "Are you all right? I'm over here"
She tried to follow the sound with her eyes, searching through the blackness of the smelly black place. She knew for sure that she wasn't alone, and she wasn't sure if she should feel relief or fear. Her memories were hazy and as she slowly regained consciousness, her terror began to spike.
"Nick?" she asked, barely able to keep from crying. His name came from her lips with more hope than confidence. "Are you here?"
A muffled noise. Then an answer.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm over here. I'm tied up with some tape or something. I can't move. You free?"
Jenna let her tears flow. It wasn't possible to hold them any longer. Not there in the dark. "No. No, I'm not"
"Can you move?" Nick's voice was stronger just then. He was being stronger for her.
"I don't think so. I think my legs are broken" She heard scraping sounds above. Maybe they were in a basement somewhere and someone above was moving furniture about the house. "Where are we?"
She could feel him, his breath, his voice as his words came to comfort her. He was maybe five feet away. Close. The space wasn't as large as she'd first thought.
"I don't know. I think we're underground somewhere. I can feel dirt against the palm of my hand"
Jenna was shaking. "I'm cold."
"I know."
"I'm scared, Nick."
"I am, too," he said. "We'll get out of here"
"Who did this to us?"
"I didn't see," he said. "Did you?"
Just then, a brilliant flash of light flooded the space, and something skidded across the floor. She could see Nick, though her eyes were burning and she was crying. He was supine, too, about four feet away. In the same flash, she saw the walls were concrete for the most part, but bricked over in sections. It was so fast, like a flashbulb exploding in someone's face and blinding them temporarily, that she couldn't be sure of what she'd seen. She thought she caught a glimpse of a bucket, a hammer, and some baling wire. Maybe a ladder and some rope, but it all happened so fast it would be hard to say for sure.
In the same flash there was the echo of breaking glass. Someone had thrown something into their prison. Maybe a bottle shattering on the hard, stony floor? Then a strange odor. Jenna had smelled that scent. And then nothing. Everything was in the darkest shadow as though a heavy curtain had been hastily thrown over the entire space. The light was gone. The air was still.
Not far from Nick and Jenna, there was more scraping, followed by the rapid thud of hurried footsteps, and then absolute silence.
Chapter Thirty-three
Monday, exact time and place unknown
A pinprick of light like a tiny star came from the doorway. Jenna lay still and stared at it for the longest time, her mind trying to focus on where she was and how she got there. She felt woozy and nauseous. Look at that pretty little star, she thought. Twinkling. A nursery rhyme streamed through her consciousness, but she shut it out of her mind. She tried to concentrate on what she last remembered. But it was all foggy, drowsy.
"Jenna? You awake?"
It was Nick's voice, huskier and raw.
"Yeah. What happened?" Her voice was a whisper.
"Someone chucked something in here. We passed out. Are you okay?"
"I'm sick," she said. "I feel like puking."
"Me, too. I've been awake for a while. Whoever put us here hasn't been back"
"Who is it? Where are we?"
Thinking, Nick hesitated. Then his voice pierced the darkness. "I don't know. I'm totally messed up on remembering. Last thing I knew we were at Bonnie Jeffries'."
Jenna dug through her memory, but between whatever made her sick and the fear that wrapped around her, she could recall very little. "Yes, in her living room talking. She went to the back door, the kitchen door."
"Yeah," Nick said. "I can't put it all together. Anything after that?"
"No:
"Me, neither. We have to get out of here. and I've been working on that. I might be able to cut this tape. I've found something sharp, a nail or something, and I'm kind of rubbing through it. I think it's working."