Right to Life Page 4
"Oh. You're innocent? Is that it?"
"I…"
"Let me tell you something, Sara."
She started at hearing her name. Almost as though he'd hit her again.
"That's right, I know who you are. And I didn't just lift your name off your driver's license either. I know plenty about you. But we'll get to all of that later. Let me tell you something. The only innocent on God's green earth is an infant, Sara. A baby. Some people would say an unborn baby. But I'd extend that to, say, the first six months of life or so. In my own opinion. What's your feeling on the subject?"
"I… I don't know. I…"
"Let me ask you something. What were you going to do with your unborn child? Your baby. Your innocent..." He laughed. "I know perfectly well what you were going to do with him. You were going to let some fucking jew doctor kill him and flush him down the toilet. Now that's real nice. I don't think that makes you exactly an innocent yourself, do you? I honestly don't think so. Plus you had to do a little fancy fucking in order to get yourself knocked up the first place, didn't you? And I don't see any wedding ring on your finger. So you tell me. Who's innocent here?"
She heard a series of snapping sounds and realized that he was taking her photo. Walking around her, getting her from various angles. She heard what sounded like him opening and closing a drawer behind her and then heard his footsteps approaching.
"This won't hurt," he said.
And then his hand was moving over her, rubbing some viscous scentless lotion over her shoulders, down across her back and waist. The relief was immediate. But he was wrong about the hurting. In a way it hurt like hell. When he got to her buttocks it hurt and when he got to her breasts. It hurt that this sick son of a bitch should be touching her in these places and that she had no say in the matter. She was learning that there were realms of hurt she'd never imagined.
"You're doing this because I…?"
"I'm doing this because I can, Sara. Get that through your head. Because I can. But yes, I also have an agenda. Let me tell you how it's going to be," he said almost gently. "Have you ever heard of the Organization?"
"No."
"I didn't think so. Open your legs."
She'd been holding them tight together. She didn't want him touching her there. The whip hadn't touched her there thank god so there was no reason and even if there were a reason she…
"I said open them. Do you remember what happened to you just now? Just a couple minutes ago? You want me to turn you around maybe, try the other side?"
She uncrossed her legs and braced herself, shivering. She felt his lingers smooth the salve over each of her upper inner thighs. His fingers coarse, the salve soothing. But the fingers went no further. They left her alone there.
"That's good," he said. "You're cooperating. I could have forced you. But that's not what this is about. This is about you doing what I ask you to do because I ask you."
She felt him stand and heard him walk around in front of her. "I'm not going to tell you much about the Organization right now. Except to say that the Organization has a very long reach. And that you're involved with it now, like it or not. Just like I am. I told you I know a lot about you. Well, here's just a little part of what I know.
"Your full name is Sara Evelyn Foster. You were born Sara Evelyn Schap in Boston, Massachusetts, on September 6th, 1955. Your parents are Charles and Evelyn Shap of 221 South Elm Street in Harrison, New York. Your mother is sixty-eight and your father's seventy-two. You teach learning disabled kids at the Winthrop School at 115 West 77th Street in Manhattan. You've got a boyfriend named Gregory Glover who lives at 224 Amity Street in Rye and who dropped you off for a ten-forty-five appointment this morning with a Dr. Alfred Weller, to abort your three-month-old fetus. How am I doing?"
Her head was swimming. How long had he been stalking her? To know this much?
"How can you know all that?"
"It's not what I know personally, Sara. It's what the Organization knows. And believe me, we know plenty. This is nothing but the tip of a very big iceberg. But the point is what I said before. That we've got reach. And we get what we want, one way or another. So don't think you're in this alone. You're not. Your mother and father are in it. Glover's in it. Your kids at the Winthrop School are in it. Along with plenty of others. This is not just your problem.
"So it all depends on you, Sara. If you do exactly as I say you'll not only avoid another beating like this you'll be keeping a lot of other people you care about safe and sound and out of some very deep shit."
"Why? What is this about?" She was practically screaming at him. She couldn't help it. It was crazy! She felt like a receiver on overload, could practically smell her fuses burning. " What do you want from me?"
"I want you to calm down, for starters." He sighed. "Look, I've got some stuff that needs taking care of. I'm going to take you down, put you in the Long Box again. You can rest."
How could she rest?
"You're not going to give me any trouble, are you? If I take you down? Remember what I said. The lives and safety of a lot of people are depending on exactly how you handle this."
Could all this possibly be true? Could there really be some kind of Organization out there waiting to pounce on her parents or Greg or the kids? Or was this some invention of his, something he'd made up just to scare her?
All this planning, she thought. So much planned ahead of time. The coffin - what he called the Long Box. The whipping frame. That horrible confining thing he put over her head. The abduction itself, so fast and clean. They'd targeted her specifically. Could there be something to what he was saying?
Then the woman. Who was she? Part of this Organization, whatever it was? The woman hadn't made an appearance since the car to her knowledge.
She remembered the quick deft plunge of the needle.
She needed more information. A lot more. Right now it wouldn't do any good at all to resist him.
"I won't give you any trouble."
"Good. Do you need to go to the bathroom? I can bring you down a pan."
"No."
When he'd uncuffed her and was leading her across the room she asked for some clothes but he refused. He told her she could take off the blindfold once she was inside and that he would tell her when it was okay to do that but that she'd have to keep it handy and put it on before he let her out again. She asked him for a blanket because it was cold in there and he handed her one made of light cotton, thin and soft like a baby's blanket and she wrapped it around her against her nudity as she lay down on the sliding board and he began to push her in. And then she had to ask him one more time.
"Please. What do you want from me? What do I have to do?" she said softly.
"Lots of things," he said, no harshness in his voice either. Almost as though he were somehow in league with her now. "You'll see. Most of it won't all be as bad as today. Though I have to be honest with you, some of it will probably be worse. I know how these things go. But it's all for your own good, believe me. I'm not so bad. You'll find that out in time. After a while everything will be fine. I don't want to hurt you any more than I have to, Sara. Honestly."
He slid her into the dark.
"Why would I?" he said. "You're pregnant. You're going to be a mother. You 're going to have a baby."
***
He went upstairs and saw Kath on the couch with a bag of potato chips open in her lap.
"How's your movie?" he said.
"Good. Book's better, though. I don't like some of the casting."
"I decided to go through her address book myself. I want to get back to Sandy soon as possible."
"Did she buy it?"
"It got her thinking, that's for sure."
He went into the bedroom and opened the closet door and took Sara's purse off the floor in back and fished around inside for her book. He sat down on the bed. He took a notepad and pen off the nightstand, opened the book and began making notes. Half an hour later he had what he wanted. He dialed Sandy.
"I've got some more stuff I want you to see if you can find out for me. Got a pen?"
"Hang on a sec. Okay. Hit me."
"First, her parents. Can you find out what her father does for a living or if he's retired or what? Any way to do that? Also if the mother works or did work?"
"Sure. IRS records."
"You can do that?"
He laughed. "You hurt me, old buddy. Easy as getting the clinic's files."
Sandy was probably one of the top two or three hackers in the Slate of New Jersey, had been ever since High School when he'd break into the school computer on a regular basis and rearrange grades for his friends. It was a game to him back then. Still was. But Stephen practically owed him his diploma.
God knows what he's hacking into now, he thought. The FBI? He decided he didn't want to know.
In that way they were a lot alike. Sandy never even watched the TV news. For a guy with the ability to do damn near anything computer-wise, to peer into any electronic corner, he had very little curiosity. Which made him fine for Stephen's purposes.
"Okay, then this Glover guy. What's he do for a living."
"Already found that. He and his wife run a travel agency in Rye. The company's online."
"His wife? He's married?"
"Her name's Diane."
"They have kids?"
"I don't know but I can find out for you. What's this all about, anyway? Why are you so interested in these fucking people? Playing amateur detective?"
"You really sure you want to ask me that, Sandy?"
He laughed again. "Nah. What're friends for, right?"
"It's nothing illegal. I can tell you that much."
"Did I ask if it was illegal? So. Anything else?"
And that was the extent of Sandy's curiosity.
"Yes. Two names. Annie Graham at 914-332-8765. And I guess this is a sister or maybe an aunt - Linda Schap. 603-434-9943." They were the only two names listed in the book without an accompanying address so he guessed she must know them by heart. That meant these two were probably close to her. He needed people who were close.
"That last one's a New Hampshire exchange," Sandy said.
"Okay, but I need the addresses and anything else you can find out for me. I also need her teaching schedule at Winthrop. And list of her students if possible."
"Easy. School computer. Hey, just like old times, buddy boy!"
"Just like old times."
He hung up and joined Kath on the couch for the tail-end of the movie. Gory shit.
Not bad.
She'd finished the goddamn chips though.
THE SECOND DAY
SIX
June 9, 1998
4:02 a.m.
She dozed and woke, dozed and woke again over and over as though she were in the grip of a high fever, her mind shut down to expectations, possibilities, danger, even to the reality of where she lay. It was as though she were waiting for something, some sign that life could once again return to normal. Until then she would remain dreamless, thoughtless, suspended in the moment. It was not something her will imposed. Her body imposed it for her.
On the last of these wakings she heard a sound, dim yet oddly familiar, seeming to come from directly above her, yet so low it might have come from anywhere in the house over whatever distance to eventually reach her here in her coffin.
A rumble. Something trembling. Yet she felt no vibration.
She pressed her ear to the rough wood.
Continuous, almost musical.
She listened. And when finally she identified the sound she fell back into the first true sleep of the morning. Her body and mind finally settling in, attempting to replenish themselves after a day in which both had burned to exhaustion.
Until well after dawn the cat remained lying just above her heart atop the Long Box.
And for most of that time continued purring.
SEVEN
3:30 p.m.
At least she was drinking and eating a little. American cheese on white bread. Hunger kicking in, jarring loose the survival systems. At least she wasn't going to die on them.
Like the other one.
Stephen had her tied to the chair, just blindfolded this time so she could eat, not inside the headbox. He said it was time Kath made her presence known, time for her to begin. So that was what she was doing.
Light from the single bare 100-watt bulb that dangled from the ceiling made weird ugly shadows in the corners as though things were crouching there, hemming them in. She would never get to like this room. No matter how much time she spent here.
She took the empty plate and patted Sara's hand.
"Good," she said. She walked to the back of the room and put the plate on the worktable and sat down in the director's chair in front of her.
"Who are you?" Sara said. "Why am I here?" The voice wasn't strong but it wasn't exactly meek either.
"The Organization wants you here. Same as me."
"You?"
"That's right."
She watched the woman consider it.
"I don't believe you. I don't believe in any Organization."
She laughed and bent over and took her hand in both of hers, a little surprised when she didn't try to pull away. Maybe this was going to be easier than she'd thought.
It was still too early to tell.
"You'd better believe. Look, I'm not supposed to be saying we know this but I will. Your father's a retired high school principal. I forget what year he retired. Your mother never worked again after you were born. Strictly a homemaker from then on. She took care of you and your sister Linda who lives in Hanover, New Hampshire. She's forty-three and single and works as a nurse on the pediatrics ward in the hospital there. You have a good friend named Annie Graham who lives in Harrison, New York, not far from where Greg lives. Greg runs a travel agency in Rye with his wife, Diana. They have a son, Alan I think his name is, who's ten. We know your teaching schedule at Winthrop and we know all your students' names and addresses. They're upstairs on the kitchen table. Want me to go get them?"
She saw that Sara was crying softly, could tell by the way she was breathing. Scared crying.
"I don't understand," she said. And now the voice was small.
Kath gently squeezed her hand.
"You will. It'll take a little while but trust me, you will."
"He said something about a baby."
"There's plenty of time to talk about that. Just remember that the Organization's been watching you real close and for a very long time. Same thing with us, even though we're a part of it. They're watching us too, see, not just you. They want to find out how this goes. It important. Believe me, Sara, I know exactly what you're feeling. I felt the same way once. I really did. It'll pass. You just have to give it time."
"Why do I have to be naked? Why did he beat me?"
She withdrew her hands.
"It's the way the Organization wants it to be. I already told you. You've got to go with whatever they want from you. Really, truly smit. With all your heart and soul. Just like I did. Then nobody else will get hurt. Nobody. Not even you anymore."
"But I don't…"
She got up. "We'll talk again soon, I promise. But right now I've got a billion things to do. The place is a goddamn mess. So you just sit there awhile and think about what I said. Think real hard."
"I don't… I don't even know your name."
She almost laughed. "Don't worry. There's time for that too. Think of it as being on a need-to-know basis. Like in the movies, right?" She picked up the plate and flicked the wall switch and left her there in darkness thinking, first step taken. Stephen will be pleased.
It was important to please him.
EIGHT
4:45 p.m.
The headbox seemed to have gotten smaller. That was impossible she knew but the damp darkness seemed more enclosing than before. The musty-carpet smell thicker. She tried to move her head as though movement c
ould clear the air, circulate the air inside but she could only move it slightly, half an inch or so in either direction because the back was latched to the X-frame. She was spread-eagled on the X-frame. Facing outward to whatever, whoever was out there.
She had been here about half an hour now. That was what she guessed. Guessing the time was her one form of recreation. It held no rewards because she never knew if she was right or wrong. But it was better than thinking.
Images kept skittering like night-crabs across a moonless beach.
Rushing to the plane that day, late as was usual in those days after Danny died, so late leaving her parents' winter home in Sarasota that she almost missed the flight, a packed Freddy Laker flight where you had to seat yourself, leaning over a man in an aisle seat way in the back, breathless, saying to him is this seat taken? and the man who was Greg Glover she learned after two vodka tonics to sooth her nerves, the man then taking off his sunglasses and smiling saying no, it's all yours.
The frozen ice. The hole in the frozen ice so small she could barely believe he'd slipped through. The surface of the ice for yards and yards around. Searching the pale bright face of it for a hand, a boot, a glimpse of clothing.
She and Annie little girls, kissing each other goodbye at her dad's car because Annie went to Catholic school and Catholic school started earlier than public school did and it was the end of the summer so Annie had to go back, leave Rockport and Sara who wouldn't see her now for another whole two weeks. Both of them crying the innocent tears of little girls who are wholly in love with one another and unashamed.
The ice. The face she had never found but had imagined countless times pressed up to the ice from beneath. Cold ice and drifting water.
All these memories. Good and tender. Bad and worse. Leveled somehow onto the same plane now. Each a heavy weight upon her heart as heavy as the headbox on her shoulders. Racing unbidden through her consciousness to torment her.
It was better to guess the time. How long she had been in this or that position. The exact time of day. The hour, the minute, the creeping passage of seconds.