John Locke - Saving Rachel

“What’s the range of this device?” I say.

“The planet Earth.”

The light turns green. Something else suddenly comes to mind. “Wait a minute. The computer I used today—it’s new. Your device can’t be keyed to this one.” Creed sighs. “Sam, I’m quite familiar with your computer.” “How’s that possible?” I’ve been living in your house for two years.” “What?” “You control a quarter billion dollars of my money. Do I really strike you as a hands-off type of guy?”

No. You strike me as an insane type of guy!

I turn on Frey’s Hill and circle Sawyer Park. I’m almost home.

“Where are you?” I say, wondering if he might be waiting for me at my house.

“Sam, we’re running out of time, so don’t interrupt. I know you’re almost home. I know this because someone’s placed a device on your car. I’m tuned to it now, just as they are. You and I need to make a pact. You’re going to do whatever I say, no matter how crazy it sounds, and I’ll come get you. I’ll save you, Sam. Provided you agree not to rip me off.” “You’ll come get me? You mean you’re coming to my house?” Creed sighs. “No, Sam, I mean, when they take you away, I’ll find you and save you, provided you refuse to give them my code.” “What about Rachel?” I say. He pauses. “Sam, when it all goes down, if that’s what you want, I’ll save Rachel too.” I wonder what the hell that means, but before I can ask, he says, “Did they give you a phone?” “Yes.”

“Okay. They’ll expect you to go straight to your computer, but instead, you’re going to go down the first set of stairs to the basement. Then you’re going to run the length of the basement up the spiral staircase all the way to the top. Then you’re going to hide in the secret room you built for the little girl you never had.”

“How did you know about—”

“Sam, you’re in this deeper than you think, so do what I say. You’re going to take their phone with you. They’ll keep calling you, and at some point, they’ll force you to answer it. They’re going to want the codes. You’re going to refuse.” “What if I give them just one code? Not yours, but someone big. You think the gangster would set Rachel free?” “He doesn’t have Rachel.” “But I heard—” “What you heard was a tape of Rachel. He put the recorder up to the phone to make you think he had her.”

“How do you know that?” “It’s my job to know.” “Fine,” I say. “So where’s Rachel?” “That I don’t know. Not yet, anyway. But they’ll be taking you to wherever she is. And I’ll be following.” “If the gangster doesn’t have her, who does?” “I’m not sure yet. But I’ll help you get her back, if that’s what you both want.” “Why do you keep saying it that way? Of course it’s what we want!” “Then do exactly what I tell you, and don’t question or second-guess me.” “Fine.” “Sam, why did you stop just now? Turn in your driveway. They’re coming.” “I was just checking the yard.” “Get in the house, now! Go to the secret room. I’ll get you through this.” He pauses and then says, “If what?” I think a second. “If I don’t let them steal your money.” The line goes dead. I click the button to open the garage door.

Chapter 17

I shut off the engine and rush into the house and down the steps like Creed told me. Then I run down the long, dark basement hallway at full speed. Before I hit the spiral staircase, the cell phone in my hand starts blaring like a weather siren. I could be shouting my location through a bullhorn, and it wouldn’t lead them to me any faster. I stop where I am and turn on a hallway light. I try to find the mute button. Suddenly, the driveway sensors are going crazy. The cell phone is still blaring, and I’ve got to find a way to mute it and set it to vibrate only. I fumble with it some more, but it’s not my phone, and I’m having trouble with it, and …

Shit!

I drop it on the floor. I hear men’s voices shouting at the front door one floor up.

This fucking cell phone is ringing so loudly I fear for my eardrums.

There’s a heavy banging sound above me as they try to smash through the front door. These are four-inch solid mahogany doors. If I were them, I’d try an easier entry point.

There! I finally get the cell-from-hell phone muted. I run to the spiral staircase and take the steps two at a time. There are thirty-eight steps in all from the basement to the top landing, and I’m only halfway up when I hear the glass in the back door shatter. Within seconds, they’re swarming the kitchen, and I’ve still got a dozen steps to go.

I hug the wall and continue climbing. When I reach the top, I tread softly because they’re in the hall below me, heading to my study. I enter the room we built for the daughter we never had. I leave both doors open—the bedroom and closet doors—so it won’t be obvious I’m in here. I creep to the bookcase and pull on one of the shelves, and the bookcase door opens. I flip on the interior light switch and nearly have a heart attack.

Donovan Creed is in there, holding his finger to his lips. He hands me a small bottle of water and a piece of metal in the shape of a pill. “Swallow this,” he whispers. I start to protest, and his hand becomes a blur. Suddenly, he’s holding a knife to my throat. “It’s a transmitter,” he whispers. “If you shit it out before I find you, swallow it again.” “That’s disgusting!” I whisper. “So’s dying.”

I swallow the pill and think about how normal my life had been just yesterday. Creed motions me to get in the secret room and close the bookcase door. He turns his back to me and opens the attic access door. I haven’t been in the secret room since I can remember, but I do remember there wasn’t an access door when we built the house.

The phone buzzes softly in my pocket. I put my hand on Creed’s shoulder and whisper, “Let me in there with you.”

He shakes his head. “No. They need to find and capture you. Otherwise, we’ll never find Rachel.”

I hear men running through the house shouting my name. They’re all over the place, but they’re concentrating on the main floor and basement for now. In a matter of moments, they’ll be charging up the steps. Creed ducks his head and enters the attic. He stops and holding the door open whispers, “They’ll probably take you somewhere and force you to enter the codes. Your job is to stall them till I get there.”

I hear shouting at the base of the steps. I pull the bookcase door shut. There’s no lock on it because Rachel read somewhere that once upon a time, a kid got locked in her secret room, fell asleep, and got strangled in her blanket. But I doubt anyone is going to find me in here because on the closet side, the bookcase is filled with children’s books, and there’s no reason anyone would think it leads to a secret room.

I whisper, “What if they force me to give the codes before you get to me?”

“Resist as long as you can,” he says.

I hear what sounds like at least a dozen men rushing up the stairs, shouting orders to each other. They’re coming for me. They’re practically on top of me. “That’s it?” I whisper fiercely. “That’s all you’ve got? Hold out as long as I can?” “There’s this,” he says. “If you’re forced to enter the codes, enter mine last. Say it.” “I’ll enter your code last.” “No matter what,” he says. “No matter what.”

With that, he shuts the attic door. I hear a soft click and wonder how he had time to build the door and install a lock. Then I remember how he said he’d lived in my house for two years.

Chapter 18

Ihear a dozen different voices, all angry and frustrated. Someone has a walkie-talkie in the upstairs hallway on the opposite side of the secret room wall. I hear him asking one person after another if they’ve found me. Then he sounds like he’s on the phone. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but a moment later, he shouts, “Ted! Hook up a wire to the speaker system. I want Sam to hear this.”

Ten minutes later, a man’s voice—not the gangster’s—is coming through my in-home stereo system.

“Sam,” he says, “we’ve never met, but I know you can hear me. I’ll give you thirty seconds to come out of your hiding place with your hands in the air.”

For the next thirty seconds, the cell phone in my pocket vibrates softly.

Then the man says, “Sam, I have Rachel here with me.”

Bullshit! I think. It’s a tape.

“I’m going to have a little chat with your wife, and you can listen in.” There’s a short pause, and then he says, “Rachel, I’ve got Sam on the phone. I told him you’re with me, but I don’t think he believes me. Tell him what time it is.”

In a small, frightened voice, Rachel says, “It’s ten till three.”

“You hear that, Sam? Check your watch.”

I do. And it is ten till three. Still, he could have prerecorded this on a tape and waited until now to play it. I’m not sure I believe their timing could be that good, but I’m not ready to surrender yet; I need more proof.

“Sam, I’m usually a patient man. Everyone says that about me. I had this whole thing worked out. It was incredibly elaborate. But you screwed up my timetable when you saw that situation in the trunk at the park a little while ago. I won’t give Rachel the details just yet. I’m not a monster after all.” He chuckles. “Well, some say I am.”

The phone in my pocket vibrates again.

“Answer the phone, Sam,” he says. “Now!”

Go fuck yourself! I say to him, in my head. Another half minute passes, but I still don’t answer the phone.

“Sam, for the next thirty seconds, I’m not going to call you. I’ll be too busy beating your wife.”

Ten seconds later, Rachel’s screams are playing throughout my house. She’s being tortured. I try to drown out her shrieks by focusing on what Creed told me, to hold out as long as possible. I wonder what he could be doing in the attic to help me. Does he have someone on the outside, triangulating the cell signal? Rachel’s screams die down. I hear her whimpering.

“Sam, you’re a stronger man than I am,” the voice says. “If this were my wife, I’d be dying inside. Perhaps when this is all over, you’ll want to reevaluate your relationship.”

The phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it.

“Very well, Sam. It’s only going to get worse.” I hear him sigh, which means everyone in my house hears it too. “Rachel,” he says, “take off your clothes.”

“No,” she says. “Please.”

My fists clench so tightly it feels like my knucklebones are going to burst through the skin. I shut my eyes and wince.

I hear him slap her. She cries out in agony. “That’s right,” he says. “Start with the blouse … good girl. Okay, now the skirt …”

I shift my weight from my right foot to my left and back to my right. I feel like throwing myself through the wall. I’ve got to give Creed as much time as possible to do whatever it is he’s trying to do. But I don’t want this man to hurt my wife.

“Now the bra …”

“Please,” she says.

He hits her again. But this time, it’s not a slap. I think he punched her. It sounds as though she slammed into something and crumbled to the floor. Maybe I’m reading that into whatever happened, imagining the worst, but I’m not imagining her sobs. I hear her whimper, “Please. Don’t hit me again. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want.”