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Allister took a deep breath. “According to the person who called on Heather’s behalf, she’s been held against her will for nearly two months.”
“Who told you this?” Bradley snapped the paper. More a peacekeeper than a troublemaker, Bradley was slow to anger but when his back was against the wall, he typically came out swinging fast and low.
“She placed a clothing order with an online boutique. In the comments section, she added a note and your phone number. She also gave directions to the place where she’s being held. She hasn’t been in touch with the outside world since she arrived there over two months ago. She stressed that much to the boutique owner and pleaded for her help.”
Bradley patted his pockets. Allister handed over his cell. “You left it behind this morning. The woman I spoke to said Heather’s message came in four days ago. The owner only checks orders before they go out and she said whoever processed the shipment apparently didn’t catch the note.”
“Heather is on drugs,” Bradley reminded him. “If she needs help, it’s money she’s after.”
“How do you know?” Curt removed his cap and slapped it against his leg. “You don’t know if she’s on drugs or if she’s ever taken the first drug. You haven’t seen her.”
“She dropped out of school so she could work to support her partying habits,” Bradley said, seemingly certain. “You think I’d make this shit up?”
Curt snatched the note and read the directions. “Wait a minute. I know this place.” He looked up at Allister. “This isn’t good.”
“You know who owns it?” Draegan asked, peering down at the message, too. He paled as soon as he saw it. “Fuck me.”
“Ah now, sugar.” Markie returned in time to grab a jab. “Don’t be comin’ on to others in front of your one and only.”
Best friends for most of their lives, Markie and Draegan carried on with something all the time. Allister rarely had the tolerance for it. “Not now, Markie.”
Draegan gave Markie a sideways glance. “Remember Toms Vance?”
Markie thinned his lips. He didn’t so much as whisper a response.
“Well if that name shuts him up, I’d love to know why,” Allister said.
“Hadn’t heard anything about the Vance boys since high school.” Markie massaged his temple.
“Wait a minute. Did you say Vance?” Harley was suddenly more interested, too. “That’s where she is?”
Draegan tapped the directions. “If Allister copied down the information correctly then yeah. She’s at the old Vance place.”
Curt sneered. “That place was scary way back in the day. Locals used to say it was crawling with ghosts and demons.”
“It ain’t the ghosts we need to worry about,” Harley said, giving Allister a sour look before directing his conversation to Bradley. “It’s the demons. If your sister is in Vance Holler, we need to get her out of there now.”
“Yeah,” Draegan muttered. “If there’s anything left of her.”
* * * *
Heather was cold, lonely, tired, and scared. She had been in the hole before, but this was different. Logic told her it was the same place. How many semi-dry wells could there be on one property? Besides, it smelled the same. The doldrums of dripping water seemed to echo with the same hypnotic tempo, a dreary little beat that had almost driven her mad the last time she’d been there.
“Hey! Hey! You over yonder! Got a light! Got a match! Wanna smoke? Wanna drink?”
Heather balled her fists and held her breath. How long had she been out? How long had she been locked up there in the dark with some fruitcake?
“Hey! Psst! You! You over yonder! Got a light! Got a match! Wanna—”
“No. I don’t.” She shivered, scared crazy by what she heard. H
eavy breathing resounded then, and a few times she could’ve sworn someone was breathing right at her ear. She swatted her arms around her head, but didn’t bump up against anyone.
The masculine voice hitched, and the nasally tone began again. “Got a light! Got a match! Gotta drink? Wanna sip?”
“Leave me alone,” Heather said, her teeth clattering. She backed against the damp stone wall, tracing each block until her fingers hit the mortar in between one square and the next. Some sort of slime covered some of them, but she tried not to think about it as she walked the circular interior, feeling her way around the cylinder shape in hopes of finding a ladder.
The last time she had been in the hole, she’d tried for days to find a way out, desperate for fresh air. When Rons finally came for her, he’d opened up the top and descended right down the ladder, one which had been there the whole time, but perhaps had a five or six foot drop from the last rung to the ground.
