Dark Water Rising, page 2
Roy pointed. “You get the driver. I’ll get the truck.”
Hershel nodded and raced toward the back entrance of the deli. He took down the driver just as he exited into the alley, knocked him out cold and tossed the body in a nearby dumpster.
Roy was behind the wheel when Hershel jumped into the passenger seat, and off they went, out of the alley, winding their way through the streets, and not relaxing until they got on the beltline and disappeared within the constant flow of traffic.
Hershel was fidgeting. He kept looking in the side-view mirror and running his hand through his hair.
Roy frowned. “Sit still, dammit. You’re breaking my concentration.”
Hershel glanced at Roy, then back to the side-view mirror. “You don’t understand. I can’t take being locked up again. I’d rather die. I grew up in the Kentucky hills and I need to go home. I need fresh air and sunshine...and woods so thick you can get lost and never be found.”
Roy frowned. “Then why the hell did you ever leave it if it was such a great place to be?”
“Because I didn’t know how good I had it until I was gone,” Hershel said solemnly.
Roy nodded. There was no sense arguing with truth.
* * *
Back at the Lawrence estate, the wind was rising. Within a few minutes, rain arrived in a downburst, running down the windows in rivulets, much like the blood running out of Haley’s hairline.
She roused once, disoriented by the fact that she was lying belly down on the stairs with her feet higher than her head.
“Help me,” she mumbled, but when she tried to move, the room began to spin, and she was gone again.
* * *
Momma, can I have a drink of water? Will you read me a story? Momma, my hair is falling out. Am I gonna die?
* * *
Haley roused enough again to open her eyes, but something was wrong. She wasn’t in Robbie’s room. She was upside down and she hurt. That didn’t make sense, she thought. She was in the wrong place. The room began to spin, and once again, she blacked out.
The next time she came to it was dark and she could hear rain. It took a few seconds before she realized she was lying headfirst down a flight of stairs. And then she remembered the showing that didn’t happen, and going upstairs to turn out lights.
Oh my God. I fell. I’m hurt. I have to get up.
But getting up was a whole other thing. Even the motion of lifting her head made her nauseated. When she tried to rise up, everything began to spin, and as she reached out to steady herself, the back of her hand hit the balustrades. Grateful for something to hold on to, the spinning slowly stopped.
She finally managed to get up, but the moment she put weight on her feet, the pain in her ankle reminded her of the reason she fell. There was something sticky on her forehead—probably blood, because her head was throbbing and her vision was blurring.
But instead of going downstairs, she got confused and climbed up. She staggered down the hall without thinking to turn on the lights, found her way into the master bedroom and collapsed upon the bed, and it was none too soon. Her head had barely hit the pillow before she passed out again.
Downstairs, the phone she’d dropped when she fell began to ring, but she didn’t hear it. It rang and rang and rang, then went to voicemail.
Rhoda Bates, the secretary from Truman Realty, had been trying to reach Haley for hours. She always called in after a showing, but this time she didn’t. At first, Rhoda thought nothing of it. Everyone was hustling around doing last-minute prep for the incoming storm, and then Rhoda forgot until after dinner. She was doing dishes when it dawned on her that Haley had never checked in, so she dried her hands and made a quick call, expecting to get an immediate answer. But when that didn’t happen and the call went to voicemail, she left a message.
“Haley. It’s me, Rhoda. You didn’t call in, and I’m a little concerned. Just let me know you’re okay.”
After she disconnected, she thought of their boss, Will Truman, and wondered if Haley had talked to him. Now that she was on the trail, she wanted to follow up, so she called him.
“Hey, Rhoda, what’s up?” Will asked.
“Haley had a showing this morning, but she never called in after it was over, and she always checks in. Have you spoken to her?”
Will frowned. “No, I haven’t. Did you call her?”
“Yes, but she didn’t answer. I left a message on her voicemail.”
“That’s not like her,” he said.
“I know. That’s why I became concerned.”
“Now I’m worried,” Will said. “If you hear anything, please let me know.”
“I will. Batten down the hatches,” Rhoda said.
“For sure,” Will said, and disconnected.
Rhoda laid the phone aside and went back to the dishes. She could hear the wind picking up and sighed. God, but she hated hurricane season. She was wishing she had evacuated. This wasn’t the hurricane, it was a precursor. She still had time to get out, and it was still in the back of her mind.
* * *
Sam Quaid was eating Chinese takeout and watching the evening news, waiting for the weather report. He and Haley had been divorced a little over three years now, but he still had dreams of her coming back to Dallas. In the dream, he opened the door, saw the smile on her face and then she disappeared.
With this tropical storm heading straight for Houston, he couldn’t help but worry about her. He knew the lower level of her apartment building might flood, but her apartment would not. She was on the fourth floor.
When the weather report began to air, the warnings that came with the incoming storm put knots in his gut. He told himself she was fine, but his appetite was gone. He got up, dumped leftovers in the garbage disposal and then sat down to go through his email.
* * *
Roy and Hershel’s grand plan of getting out of Houston was over before it started, when they began running out of gas.
“What the hell?” Roy muttered, when he saw the gas gauge. “What delivery driver goes out to make rounds without a full tank of gas?”
Hershel was getting nervous. “We can’t run out here on the beltway. If we get out and start walking in these orange jumpsuits, this escape is over.”
“Right,” Roy said, and took the next exit. They were on the west side of Houston now, and driving through neighborhood alleys, looking for a place to hide out until dark, after which they would steal another vehicle and some food and clothes, and keep moving.
The van quit somewhere in the Thornwood area. They left it in the alley and started running, passing wall after wall of privacy fences.
* * *
Momma, I’m cold. Can I have the green dinosaur quilt? The one I got for Christmas when I was six?
Please, Momma, I don’t want to go back to the doctor today.
Momma, will you fill the hummingbird feeders so I can sit out on the patio and watch the birds?
Haley roused. “Gotta fill bird feeders,” she mumbled, but when she rose up on one elbow, the bed began turning so fast that she collapsed back into the dream where her son still lived.
The next time she woke it was morning, wind was blasting rain so hard against the windows it sounded like hail, and she wasn’t back home in Dallas. Robbie didn’t need the bird feeders filled, and she knew they’d covered him over in his casket with the green dinosaur quilt.
The hole in her life where her son used to be would never be filled, and her heart hurt from the memories. Then came the realization that she’d been here in this house most of twenty-four hours—and the danger she was in filled her with fear. Tropical Storm Gladys was arriving and in hurricane force. She’d lost her chance to get home. She was trapped.
She started to get up, but the pain in her body stopped her. She hurt in so many places she dreaded moving, and then saw the blood all over her hands and clothes.
“Good Lord. I have all the wounds of a bar fight with none of the fun,” she muttered, and eased herself off the bed, then hobbled into the adjoining bathroom.
One look in the mirror, and she knew she was lucky she hadn’t broken her neck. From what she could feel of the cut in her hair, it probably needed stitches, but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, so she began looking around for something to clean up with. The house was staged well enough that she had access to a washcloth and bath towel, so she turned on the water, let it get warm and then began to wipe off the blood as best she could.
Her navy slacks were ripped at the knee and her red-and-navy-striped blouse was ripped under one arm and splattered with blood. There was dried blood in her dark hair and a large purple knot above her left eyebrow. It was going to clash with her brown eyes. Not fashionable at all.
Everyone always said she looked a little bit like Sandra Bullock, only with a heart-shaped face. But she didn’t look like her now. She didn’t even look like Haley.
The knuckles on both hands were raw and bloody, and the ankle she’d turned was twice it’s normal size and badly bruised. She cleaned the cut on her head and wiped blood out of her hair, then dried off.
It wasn’t until she went back into the bedroom that she realized how strong the storm sounded now, and she hobbled to the window to look out. Rain was a gray wall of water blowing sideways, and the wind had plastered all kinds of limbs and debris against the rock wall surrounding the grounds.
Standing made her shaky, but when she reached out to steady herself and felt the bedroom wall vibrating beneath her hand, her skin crawled. That wasn’t her. That was the wind.
She quickly moved away from the windows and left the room to go look for her shoes and phone.
Halfway down the hall, everything began to spin again. She stopped, grabbed her knees as she bent over and waited until the feeling passed, then kept moving toward the stairs.
She hung on to the newel post to look down, and when she saw the pool of drying blood, guessed it was where she must have laid unconscious. One red loafer was on the second step, the other one about halfway down. Her phone was on the next to the last bottom step, and her tote bag and the box of muffins were on the hall table where she’d left them.
“Easy does it,” she said, and slowly made her way down, picking up her belongings as she went.
She sat down on the bottom step with her shoes, and after a bit of struggle got them back on in spite of the swollen ankle. Her phone was at 55 percent battery power as she pulled up the weather app.
Just as she feared, Tropical Storm Gladys had been upgraded to a hurricane. She got up and limped toward the front windows to check on her car. To her horror, there was water flooding the streets and her car was gone. She didn’t know whether it had been stolen, or blown away, but it was yet another sign of how trapped she was.
Struck with another wave of helplessness, she leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor with her phone clutched against her chest.
“Think, Haley, think.” Then she took a deep breath and called 911.
But the call rang and rang and rang, and instead of a dispatcher, she got a recording. No police. No ambulance service. No fire trucks available because of the storm.
She thought about checking messages, but her vision kept going in and out of focus. She needed to lie down, so she got herself up and headed back toward the stairs. There was nothing to do but wait out the storm here. She had a half-dozen large blueberry muffins, a six-pack of bottled water and whatever else was in her tote bag. Now all she had to do was get it all upstairs.
It was slow going having to hang on to the railing, and when she passed the dried blood on the stairs, the Realtor in her made a mental note to come back and clean it up. Finally, she made it up to the second floor and back to the bedroom.
She put all of her things on a chair in the sitting area, then dug in the tote bag for a container of wet wipes and headed back to clean up the blood.
By the time she got back to the bedroom again, she was in so much pain she couldn’t think. She found a bottle of over-the-counter pain meds in her purse, downed a couple, then plugged her phone into the charger cord before she lay back down. There had to be someone she could call for help. Maybe she’d think of them after the pain pills kicked in, but not now.
Then her phone began ringing, signaling an incoming call. She fumbled to answer, desperate not to lose the connection.
“Hello? Hello?”
“Haley? Oh, thank the Lord! I’ve been trying to reach you since noon yesterday. Where have you been?”
Hayley eased down onto the pillow, hoping the bed would stop spinning.
“Rhoda?”
“Yes, this is Rhoda. Are you okay? You sound weird.”
“Not okay. Fell down stairs at the Lawrence property in Thornwood.”
“Oh, honey! I’m so sorry. Were you badly injured?”
“I think concussion. Have cut in my head that’s still seeping. Probably needed stitches,” Haley said.
“Then why didn’t the doctor stitch you up?”
“No doctor... I’m still in the Lawrence house. Unconscious for long time. Still keep passing out. My car is missing. No rescue services.”
Rhoda gasped. “Oh, my God! Haley! Houston is flooding everywhere. That house is a two-story. Get up there and stay.”
“I’m on the second floor already. Is it flooding everywhere?” Haley asked.
“It’s going to, and there’s nothing they can do to stop it. The Bayou area is already flooded and backing up through neighborhoods. I evacuated in the middle of a thunderstorm, along with several thousand other people with the same idea. Took hours and hours to get to my sister’s house.”
The light fixture above Haley’s head looked like it was spinning, but it wasn’t a ceiling fan, and there were no blades.
“Oh no! I’m so dizzy. Can’t talk. Say prayer.”
Rhoda began to cry. “Yes, honey, I’ll say prayers for you, and if the rescue services resume, I will call them for you. I promise.”
“Address?”
“Yes, yes, I can get the address off our listings. Do you have any food or water?”
“Some. Have to sleep now,” Haley mumbled, and disconnected. She rolled over onto her side and passed out.
Horrified, Rhoda called Will Truman to let him know about Haley, then tried 911 services herself. Haley was right. The recorded message gave all the callers the same info.
At this point, there wasn’t anything anyone could do but wait.
Two
The phone rang at the Houston Police Department, but no one answered. It made the knot tighten in Mae Arnold’s belly. She’d been notified by the US Marshals Service about the van transporting her son, Hershel, being wrecked, and that he and another prisoner were on the run. She was warned that if he showed up at home, to try and convince him that it was in his best interests to turn himself in.
Mae hadn’t commented beyond thanking them for letting her know. But now she was scared. Hershel never did call, and she knew if he was on the run, he would be calling her. She’d been expecting him to come home for months to reclaim the box he’d shipped home. They had stored it in the old smokehouse, expecting him to arrive soon afterward, but then they learned he’d been arrested again and soon forgot about the box.
Now the news coming out of Houston was all about the hurricane, and that’s what scared her. Hershel was her only child. She was past judging him. She just needed to know he wasn’t dead and floating in floodwaters somewhere in Texas.
* * *
Haley slept most of the day, still dreaming of the time they were losing Robbie.
* * *
Momma, tomorrow is my birthday.
Momma, will you rub my feet? They’re cold.
Momma, I am tired of being sick. I’m not going to get well, am I?
* * *
She woke up with tears on her cheeks and an ache in the pit of her stomach. She got up for a bathroom break, ate a few bites of a muffin and drank a bottle of water. She knew to stay hydrated, so she refilled the bottles with water from the tap each time she drank. The six-pack wouldn’t last long, and while she still had safe water to drink she wouldn’t let the bottles stand empty.
After checking the weather app, she was officially scared. She thought of Hurricane Katrina years back, and of the people who’d been rescued from roofs because their houses had flooded clear to the attics. But this house was two stories, and in a place that didn’t normally flood. She should be safe. Only the longer she thought about it, the more uneasy she became. At the least, she needed to check the attic access and see if there was a way to get out onto the roof. It would make her feel better to know what her options were, and she wanted to do it while it was still daylight.
She left the master bedroom, moving slowly on her swollen ankle toward a door at the far end of the hallway. She’d been in the attic once during a showing, and knew there were even more stairs to maneuver, which she was dreading. When she reached the access, she flipped on the light switch, and grabbed hold of the railing to steady her steps going up.
The attic was surprisingly large, with two dormer windows overlooking the grounds behind the house. She couldn’t see much for the wind and rain, but saw enough to know if the need arose, she could get out from there.
The attic had actually been finished off like the other rooms in the house, and even had a half bath. Having satisfied herself that she wasn’t going to be trapped inside, she made a point to unlock both of the attic windows before she went back down to the second floor.
