Page 62 of Traces of Kara

Ted, still hanging onto the wall, cringing from the cough, righted himself and called out, “Jackson?” He doubled over. His stomach muscles tensed when he spoke, causing more pain. He groaned.

“Ted! Ted, help me, please!”

Ted pulled himself toward the light, wanting to yell to Jackson and ask about Mimi, but he couldn’t. Pains shot down his legs and spread through his chest like fingers pulling on the roots of his nerves. The light was just ahead. He hung onto the concrete as if he were part of it, pulling himself forward, urging himself to keep moving.

When he neared the illuminated entrance to the room, he stooped, peering in from the darkened hall. Coal dust flitted through the light. Ted tried to focus, his eyes wide, his ears alert. The sound of water trickling filled the space between him and the room.

Grant moved quickly through the labyrinth of the plant, Mark in tow.

“Where to?” Mark asked.

Grant cursed himself for not bringing the blueprints. He ran through the means of egress in his mind. The rear of the building, the Bilco doors, the stairs—with the doors locked. Damn locks.

“We know they’re downstairs. We have to get there,” Grant answered.

Mark gave him a look that said, No shit.

Grant swallowed his pride. “Yeah, okay already, you were right, I was wrong. Move on.” Grant looked for another access point. “I saw two ways to gain access from outside, but would assume those doors are also locked.”

Mark held up his gun and wiggled it.

“No,” Grant said. “We do that and they’re as good as dead.” He mumbled something under his breath. “Use your head. You’re not a rookie.”

“Look, we either shoot the door open, or we hit the outside entrance.” He crossed his arms. “You’re the boss, it’s your call.”

The storm had eased. Rain fell from the sky in soft sprinkles. Grant exited the main entrance to the building, passed through the turnstile, and ran toward the coal yard. He’d seen a door leading to the yard on the plans, and wanted to check it out.

When the path changed from gravel to grass, the earth beneath them drank in their shoes.

“Shit,” Mark said.

Grant walked determinedly through the yard, looking for the door in the side of the building.

“There it is.” Mark pointed to the rear-most point of the wall. He jogged over and reached for the doorknob.

“Wait!” Grant yelled. He positioned himself to the left of Mark, his gun aiming at the door. He nodded.

Mark turned the knob. It didn’t budge. It was locked. “Damn it.”

“Come on.” Grant ran toward the back of the building. “There’s another entrance this way.”

Roland’s world was crumbling around him. The bitch had taken off, the weasel was tied up, and now he’d killed another man. That wasn’t even close to his plan. He wasn’t a murderer. He just wanted to be with Marissa. Why was this happening? His plan was so well thought out—he’d grab Marissa, she’d be thrilled to see him, and they’d celebrate, talk about the years they’d missed, have some cake, then drink themselves into their next life, where they’d remain together forever, uninterrupted by nosey cops and social workers.

Roland stopped at the elevator and leaned over, his head bowed. He had to catch his breath. He had to figure out where Mimi had taken Marissa. He eyed the bottles of antifreeze. He could end it all now, drink the whole bottle and be done with this awful, crazy world. God only knew when the police would be there. The burning sensation in his hands had yet to dissipate. They were on fire.

He kicked the antifreeze across the floor. The gun he’d taken remained tucked into his pocket. Roland didn’t like guns. They were cheap, and mean—a coward’s way out. Men protected their own with their hands. He thought about the man who lay on the floor, blood pouring from his gut. He hadn’t been the one who’d pulled the trigger. He would have just as soon tied the guy up to get him out of his way, but the guy…he made him do it. Roland hadn’t had a choice. He knew Mimi and Marissa had little time left, and he needed to be with Marissa when she died, otherwise it was all for naught.

He stopped in front of the room where he’d left the dead guy days earlier. The stench emanated from beneath the door. Roland didn’t feel remorse. The guy had deserved it. He had discovered Roland last week, during one of Roland’s planning missions. Roland had had no choice. He’d tried to explain, say he was a maintenance guy, but the bastard would have none of it, aggressive punk that he was. He’d pushed and pushed, and finally he’d reached for the phone to call the police. Roland had tried restraining him, but he’d grabbed that goddamn piece of steel and tried to hit Roland with it. Stupid motherfucker. Within seconds Roland had removed him from the equation with that very slab of steel.

Roland’s face contorted in pain. “Marissa!” he yelled. He stomped across the floor and snagged the fullest jug of antifreeze. “I’ll find you!”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Mimi stared into the darkness. The door hadn’t clicked shut when Roland left. She sat on the floor with her back against the wall, Kara’s unconscious body against her chest. Mimi’s arms wrapped around her daughter’s shoulders. She pulled her close and whispered, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Kara’s breathing remained shallow, her skin a cold, clammy suit upon her bones. How long could someone remain in a coma? Mimi wondered. Had the antifreeze already caused her body or her brain irreparable damage?

She laid Kara down on the floor and moved quietly toward the door, listening for Roland’s return. She tried to formulate a plan, but without knowledge of the building, she came up empty. She’d be running through a dark network of hallways and hidden rooms.