Full Tilt

56

Hennepin County, Minnesota

The woman in the basement cell couldn’t stop trembling in her cold, wet prison, shaking at the horrors she’d witnessed and the horrors to come.

I watched Brittany die. I saw them all die. I saw what he did.

Tears rolled down her face.

He’s going to kill me next. He’s killed all the others. I’m the last one.

She’d welcome death, because for most of her waking moments she felt like she already was dead. Years of captivity had shredded her sanity-her life was a never-ending nightmare. She couldn’t go on. But each day a small voice rose from a buried corner of her heart urging her not to give up. It was a positive force reaching into her darkness to save her, imploring her to keep fighting. She had to keep fighting.

You’re the only one left. You have to live to tell the world what he did.

Brushing at her tears, she searched the floor until she found her rusted nail, stood and resumed scraping it against the stone wall. He had called her his prettiest one, his favorite, and promised that he’d keep her forever. But she’d learned never to believe anything he said.

He was a liar.

He had always called her Eve, but deep inside at the core of her being, she’d never accepted that name. She had other names.

She scraped and scratched.

I am Tara Dawn Mae. My name used to be-

She stopped to remember her other name before Tara Dawn.

Next, she scratched a V into the wall.

It’s Vanessa.

This is how she’d survived each day, by clinging to the faraway lives that she’d once lived. On the edges of her memory she remembered people calling her Vanessa. Those were the happiest times. She felt the purest, strongest kind of love. A bond she felt would never, ever, be broken. She remembered having a mom, a dad, a big sister, then came a sudden sadness and visits with relatives and strangers.

Those memories were like distant stars.

Those memories ended in violent, watery darkness.

Her next life began when she was rescued on a riverbank by her new mother and father. Her memories of that time were clouded. She recalled asking questions about her foster parents and her sister, then crying and crying, as the Maes told her that her life had changed, that God had wanted them to rescue her and be her new mother and father.

They’d taken her to live with them on their farm, where they called her Tara Dawn. She had a dog, kittens and she played with horses. She recalled the eternal flatland and the big sky, going to school and learning. Her new mother and father had given her a new life before Carl took her away.

Back then, he’d called himself Jerome before he changed his name to Carl. He made her tell him everything about her life. She was only eleven years old, but he’d forced her to tell him everything she could remember. Then he’d told her that he’d been sent by a secret government agency to save her from evil people who were planning to kill her, like they’d killed her parents and big sister in the car crash. He said that for her own safety he’d have to change her name and keep her hidden away because evil agents would be looking for them. Then one day he showed her some kind of papers that he claimed were official court documents and said, “You belong to me now.”

He’d always kept her locked up in a jail. He’d feed her, give her a bucket for a toilet, a tub to wash, toiletries and clean clothes. He’d bring her books and magazines. Sometimes he’d let her listen to a radio, or he’d give her a TV that didn’t get many channels. Over the years she’d lost track of time, forgot how old she was. She’d try to calculate her age by the dates of the magazines.

There was no hope of escape.

This was her life.

Sometimes Carl would sit outside her jail and watch her. Sometimes he’d come inside, chain her and do things to her. Sometimes, he talked to her about how beautiful she was and how she was his most treasured specimen. A few, rare times, he’d taken her outside the barn for short walks in the woods for fresh air, telling her he was going to be collecting new specimens. That’s what he called them.

Sometimes he’d make her watch what he did to the new ones.

Carl was a monster.

Because of the things he did to her and the other girls he’d captured.

Their screams haunted her.

Vanessa scraped at the wall with renewed fear. So much had happened recently. They’d left the barn. Why? For a new home, Carl said, a better one. She never trusted him. He’d put them in boxes that were like coffins. He drove and drove all over.

Now they were here.

Why did he bring me here? Is he going to kill me here?

As she scratched at the wall, shaping letters of her real name, fine particles of stone sprinkled from mortar between the cinder blocks.

Something bad was coming, she could feel it in her bones.

Time was running out.

I don’t want to die!

Becoming frantic, Vanessa scraped and scraped until she grew hysterical and was on the verge of screaming. She pounded her palms against the cinder block and froze.

It moved! One of those heavy blocks moved!

In her frenzy she’d somehow caused it to shift a fraction of an inch. How could that be? She bent over and examined the mortar. Much of it had eroded. She ran her fingers along the gap-filled seam, causing more mortar to fall. Recalling how the door frame holding the steel mesh of her cell had rattled when Carl locked it, she studied the mortar and seams of the blocks supporting the door frame.

Jabbing her rusty nail into the mortar, she discovered that it crumbled. Faint light passed through the gaps. Very little mortar remained to hold the blocks in place. She pushed hard on them and they shifted.

If I could push out the ones framing the door it might give way.

Wait.

Is Carl here?

She was convinced he’d left. The floor above hadn’t creaked for more than an hour. No rush of water through the pipes. Certain she was alone, she began pushing and shoving the blocks, moving them a fraction of an inch at a time.

Minutes went by and her effort grew difficult then futile because she’d moved the blocks to such an angle, the door had wedged.

Nothing would move now.

Carl would see this. Escape attempts are forbidden! He’d reinforce the door, then he’d punish her.

Think!

She got down on the floor, on her back and, using her legs, pressed her feet against the blocks and heaved with all of her strength. The blocks moved. Grunting under the strain, she kept it up, shifting them to the point of teetering.

Vanessa stood and slammed her shoulder against the steel mesh.

Gritting her teeth, she slammed again and again until the steel door collapsed outward and she fell on it, as a few of the cinder blocks toppled with rocky thunder and a dust cloud.

I did it! I’m out!

Stunned, she got to her feet, breathing fast. Her pant leg had torn, her thigh was bleeding. Her forehead and arm were bleeding, too. But she felt no pain as adrenaline pumped through her.

She hurried to the first basement window-it was secured with bars. All of the windows were sealed. She’d have to take the stairs. Casting about for a weapon, she went to a workbench, found a ruler-sized piece of steel and hurried up the stairs. At the top, she pressed her back to the wall, held her breath and listened.

Nothing.

She moved down the hall. The floorboards cried out with loud telltale squeak-creaks as she arrived in the kitchen. She unlocked the door and stepped outside, finding herself at the back of the house.

Her skin came alive in the sunlight and fresh air.

Thank you, God! Thank you!

She ran down the dirt driveway.

Not knowing when Carl would return she kept close to the ditch. Is he chasing me? She kept checking over her shoulder and saw nothing. It took several minutes before she’d cleared the long dirt road on the property and came to a paved ribbon of country road.

Looking left, she saw the distant rooftops of a subdivision.

That way’s help! That way’s life!

She put her steel bar in her back pocket and ran down the empty road, struggling to grasp what had happened, scanning the horizon for a car, a truck, someone walking or on a bicycle, anyone to help. The emptiness of the region was underscored by the slap of her feet on the pavement, her hard breathing and the twitter of birds as she recited what she needed to tell police.

I escaped! My name’s Vanessa! I used to be Tara Dawn from Alberta! He killed them all!

As she neared the subdivision, chrome glinted on the road ahead. In the distance a lone car was approaching.

Be careful. Carl drives a van. I know what it looks like.

Vanessa hid in the bushes as she studied the car.

Not a van. A white SUV!

Her heart nearly bursting, Vanessa rushed to the middle of the road, waving her arms over her head for the vehicle to stop.

Please, please, please!

The vehicle slowed to stop. The woman behind the wheel looked worried and moved to open the passenger door.

Vanessa ran to it, barely able to think-her years of imprisonment, the horrors of her life, all blazing before her to embrace her resurrection.

“Oh, God, help me! Please! I escaped. My name’s Vanessa. He kill-”

In the next nanosecond her brain overloaded at the heart-stopping realization that the woman in the car looked wrong because her body was wrong, her hands were too big, because she was Carl dressed as a woman and he was now reaching for her. At the same time muffled screams came from the rear, a teenage girl sitting up, her hands and mouth bound, while she’d managed to nearly remove the tape from her legs.

Carl’s big hand seized Vanessa’s wrist.

Instinctively Vanessa stepped back and, with her free hand, reached into her pocket for her steel bar and screamed at the new prisoner.

“Run for your life! Out this door!”

With the blinding speed of a frightened bird the young girl flew over the front seat to the open door as Vanessa smashed Carl’s head with steel, enabling the teen to scurry out the door.

“Run for help!”

The groggy teen staggered, then ran fast, but Vanessa was locked in Carl’s grip. She hit him repeatedly with the bar, but her blows landed more on the curls of his grotesque wig. He’d managed to drag her into the front, managed to close and lock the doors as they struggled.

Within a minute he’d overpowered her.

Her sobs mingled with his savage grunts and the peel of duct tape as he secured her and hefted her like a roped steer into the backseat.

He turned and glared at her.

Under the twisted wig, his face was a hideous riot of smeared makeup, sweat, snot and rage at Vanessa for what she’d done.

The teenage girl was gone. Not a trace of her.

Vanessa whispered a prayer for her.