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ELEVEN
“Another day and I’m still alive.” Poppy Anderson ran her fingertips over the bumpy stone walls, taking note of the unusual gouges and scrapes. The cold seeped into her from the forever damp walls. The constant sheen of moisture fed a patch of bright green moss. It started in a crack on the floor and tumbled across one corner before climbing up the walls. She had to be imprisoned in a section of caves deep underground. Moving her hands slowly, she examined the rough surface and small fissures. There’d been animal scat on the floor when she’d arrived and a variety of critters—mice, rats, cockroaches, ants, spiders, and maggots—visited daily.
Time seemed to drag by in one endless day, but it had to be summer by now, because the man who’d imprisoned her glistened with sweat when he arrived, as if he’d walked for a time carrying the supplies. She wondered if the caves had once been part of an old mine or used as a prison a long time ago. There had been a TV show about the railroads cutting through the West. In those days towns grew very fast and places like caves were often used to hold prisoners or as storage. Her prison cell was very damp, and some days water ran down the walls to escape into a drain. The plumbing confused her. If this cave was deep underground, her jailer had taken great pains to add a toilet and washbasin. In days gone by, she’d have had a bucket and straw on the floor. Even with the amenities the odor of sweat and sewage clung to the damp stale air.
Keeping her mind active was her only chance of survival. Going stir-crazy meant a slow death. It was as if their jailer used it as an excuse to hurt them. As if listening to her thoughts, a woman pleaded to be set free and pounded on a door close by. Poppy pressed her mouth to the crack in the door and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Calm down. He’ll kill you.”
She listened in horror as the woman ignored her whispers and screamed, hammering on the door. He’d come now, maybe not straight away, but he’d always walk in real slow. A wave of dread washed over her and she trembled as footsteps, slow and deliberate, echoed through the passages well before he arrived. The smell of him seemed to seep through the door in a miasma of unwashed male. She’d found a tiny crack in the wall to peer through without him seeing her, but panic gripped her. He stood for a time not a hand’s width away, looking up and down the rows of cells. As if making his choice, he opened a door and dragged out one of the women. The woman fought back, kicking and biting, but his large hands closed around her throat. As he shook her to the brink of unconsciousness, the conversation was always the same. He inclined his head and stared at her bulging eyes. Bile rushed up the back of Poppy’s throat. Surely, he knew his victim could never reply. It was as if asking the questions was a ritual to validate murdering them.
“What is your number?” He lifted them from the floor. “Do you understand the consequences of making a noise?”
The woman’s eyes rolled up in her head and he dropped her to the floor. Coughing and gagging, the woman tried to crawl back to her cell, but he was on her in a second.
“You’ve asked to be punished.” He pushed the choking woman to her knees and grabbed her hair. “Do you figure you can tempt a man to leave his wife now?”
The woman shook her head, gasping for breath.
“I’m going to kill you. Can you make me change my mind?” He bent to stare into his victim’s eyes. The woman was clutching at her throat, just trying to breathe. He shook her by the hair. “No? I didn’t think so.”
Terrified, Poppy shivered. The woman’s screams crawled inside her head. She covered her ears and slid down the wall and hummed. The man took forever to kill, as if he savored every painful blow. There was no mercy. Sick to the stomach, Poppy trembled uncontrollably as the only sound coming from outside her cell was the man’s heavy breathing and the dragging sound as he removed the body. Fear overwhelmed her and she couldn’t move. No sound came from the other cells. Was she finally alone? Would he bring more women to feed his need to kill? Teeth chattering with fear, she crawled to the mattress and curled into a ball. Soon it would be her turn to die unless she could work out a way to escape. She’d laid awake for hours trying to recall the lectures from the crime investigation conferences she’d attended. Reaching deep into her memory, she’d first come up against panic-driven brick walls, but as she relaxed, bits and pieces of information filtered back into her memory. She clearly remembered Special Agent Jo Wells’ lecture on the criminal mind. How to interview a psychopath and what not to do if confronted by one. Trying to reason with them never worked because their mental processes didn’t recognize their prey as anything of worth. Her jailer showed all the signs of a psychopath. He numbered the women in the cells and this took away any semblance of humanity. She remembered Jo saying that, if captured, the only chance of survival would be to become of some value to them.
It had been a struggle as Poppy tried to keep her sanity and wits. Conversation was banned, but once a week the man would take her from the cell and watch her shower. During this time, she’d make small remarks. Asking how his day had been and thanking him for the shower. Most times he ignored her, treating her less than if he’d just hosed down his front steps. There had to be a way under his guard, she just had to find it. In the meantime, she’d use the time to scan her surroundings. If she got the chance to escape, she’d need to find a way out. During the days in between his visits, she’d think of something else to say to make a chink in his armor. She had to make him realize she wasn’t an object for him to brutalize, but an asset. Ideas flooded her mind, foolish maybe, but she would die anyway, so what the heck?
Footsteps came back, and Poppy froze. Fear had her by the throat, but as the key turned in the lock, she scrambled to her feet. The door opened with a metallic creak, and she waited, standing tall and proud. Cowering to this monster would give him power over her. Staring him straight in the eyes, she couldn’t miss the blood spatter over his face and bare chest. She swallowed hard, realizing he was naked. What did he want with her? Taking her life in her hands, she pushed down the terror and lifted her chin. She needed to make him understand. “I know why you punish the women. Why do you do everything alone? I can help you.”
“Why would you want to help me?” He stared at her with not the slightest hint of expression on his face. “You’re just like them. I’ve seen you in action, remember? You admitted to going to Black Rock Falls to land you a deputy. You must know he lives with the sheriff? It’s the worst-kept secret in the county. It’s been that way since he arrived in town, and you planned to come between them, didn’t you?”
Gathering her nerve, Poppy straightened, not taking her eyes from his face “Forget Dave Kane. I can help because I’m just like you.”
