She slowed, a headache beating unmercifully at her temples.
She switched off her headlights and turned down the darkened lane, following his taillights just barely visible a half-mile in front of her. It was a macadam road, tar mixed with crushed stone. When the moon passed behind the clouds it forced her to slow to a crawl. When it reappeared, she drove quickly, closing the distance between them. Cat and mouse, she caught him and lost him, caught him and lost him. Her headache drove spikes down into her neck. Her calf muscle cramped from carrying the tension there as well.
The road turned to mud. Twice she drove past side roads where his taillights and his tracks said he'd gone. She backed up, worried he might spot the backup lights, made the turn, and followed. It was a spiderweb of dirt roads out here; mud sprayed loudly onto the undercarriage. The front-wheel drive held the car close to the road. A left. A right. She would never find her way out of here. If this was a spiderweb, she thought, then he was the spider and she was the prey. Perhaps he had her exactly where he wanted her. Perhaps he had known she was back here all along.
Pamela Chase fumbled awkwardly nervously-with the oversized brass padlock, finally inserting and turning the key. The dogs were going crazy in there. The lock came open with a loud pop. She leapt away as a dog's nose and teeth jammed through the crack in the door surprising her. Biting at her. She placed her hand out for the dog to smell. It whined. It tried for her again, and she recognized that nose. "Felix?" she said. "Did you get out of your cage, boy?" She eased the door open, her hand-her scent-leading her. Felix approached and nuzzled her. A few of the other dogs stopped barking. She closed the door behind her.
It smelled horrible in here. He hadn't been keeping it clean.
It smelled wrong. Not exactly like dogs. It was dark, and she could not see clearly.
She switched on the lights. The very first pen she looked at was unoccupied, and her mind jumped to the immediate conclusion that this dog had been the one to receive the surgery. Finding an empty pen was exactly what she had hoped for-it exonerated Elden; another warm wave of tranquility passed through her at the sight of it.
Behind her and farther into the structure, she heard a collar sound its warning beep, and one of the dogs smash into the cage wall. She turned to see who was being so rambunctious.
A woman! Her hair tangled and matted, one eye bandaged, her mouth gagged, lips worn raw, a shock collar locked around her neck.
Pamela screamed. The woman screamed soundlessly. The dogs began barking ferociously again.
A bandage covering a kidney scar. Badly infected, by the color.
"Sharon?" Pamela asked tentatively.
The woman's one good eye cocked toward her suspiciously.
Untrusting.
Pamela felt weak, unable to move, without strength. This roller coaster between euphoria and horror was nearly intolerable. Only a moment before...
The kidney bandage cried out to her. How could she have done such a thing? Was she to be party to a murder? And what did that mean about Elden? Had he ever told her the truth about anything? She felt sick to her stomach-the smell, the pleading expression on this poor woman's face. And then another wave of calm swept through her, and she felt much less upset. She could handle this; everything was okay.
And then it struck her again that she was at least partly responsible. Where did her own involvement stop and Tegg's begin?
The woman in the cage-Sharon-laced her fingers through the wire cage and shook, deliberately ignoring the punishment of the shock collar that beeped its warning.
No apparent pain. The dogs were wild with excitement, but Pamela was used to the dogs, she hardly heard them; it was this woman's exceptional behavior that impressed her and held her interest. Pamela took several steps closer. How could she inflict that kind of punishment on herself and endure it?
"I'm coming," she announced, wondering why she was walking, not running. Wondering how she could feel this comfortable.
Pamela seized hold of the lock attempting to communicate to Sharon that she intended to get her out of here.
Sharon pointed and nodded violently. "The key?" Pamela asked.
"Is there a key in this building?"
The woman shook her head. "I'm going to get you out," Pamela said confidently, unsure where such confidence came from.
The captive nodded enthusiastically. She looked around. Without a key, then what? The shovel? Could she beat the lock apart? She walked over to the shovel, knowing she should hurry, but strangely in no hurry. it was okay. Everything was okay.
Sharon became frantic. Shouting. Waving her arms. Slapping the cement floor. Hopping up and down. God, she looked like one of the animals.
What was this? Several of the dogs quieted; they all began pacing their cages at once.
Sharon kept slapping the cement, in an ungainly primitive dance.
Pamela struck the lock with the end of the shovel. Nothing.
She tried again. "I'm trying," she told the frantic woman inside. This woman's behavior was making her nervous. "Stop it!" she said. Only when she identified this fleeting nervousness did she realize what a huge dose of Valium it must have been-there was a gulf between how she should have been, and what she actually was, feeling.
She struck the lock with the shovel again. Nothing.Now Sharon was shaking her wrist toward the main door. Pounding the cement again and pointing hysterically toward the door.
Finally, Pamela understood as she felt a rumble under her feet.
The dogs barking had covered the approaching sounds, but now Pamela heard them distinctly.
A car! But if a car, it could only be one of two people: Maybeck or Elden. And if either of them caught her in here doing this
Sharon grabbed hold of the cage again. Her collar sounded and Pamela watched as the collar punished her. She held on an impossibly long time. She pointed emphatically toward the door.
Close the door! Of course! Pamela moved quite quickly now, surprising herself. First toward the door; then, stopping, she returned to the cage and started in with the shovel again.
She should have never come here, she thought. All a mistake.
She glanced toward the door. Sharon pointed furiously. "I know," Pamela said. "I know." What Sharon didn't understand was that there was no way to lock that door from the inside. The only hope now was to get her free of the cage.
She never should have gone against him, she realized. He was too powerful for her.
She dropped the shovel, abandoning her efforts. It clanked to the floor. She felt terrified of him before she ever saw him. The Valium did little to help with this fear.
Sharon let out a muffled, anguished cry. The dogs went completely hysterical. Pamela wanted to disappear, to vanish. Anything but face his wrath. She had glimpsed his anger before. She shook with fear, unable to imagine how he might react to this.
The door creaked. Sharon retreated, curling back into a ball in the center of her cage.
Pamela felt like hiding, too. She watched as a hand pushed open the door.
She knew that hand.
Daphne had the Prelude up to forty, which in the dim light of an inconsistent moon seemed more like twice that. She careened through puddles, sending water up in a torrential spray, blurring her windshield and demanding the wipers.
She had lost him. A few seconds earlier his taillights had been distant but visible. She had slowed to avoid pressing herself on him. When she caught herself giving him too much leeway, she had sped back up. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.