Double

37: McCone

I was aware of turning over on the hard floor of the dungeon a few times, of trying to pillow my head on my arms. Then I began to stir. I thought I had heard a noise, but it must have been part of a dream.

I sat up, stiff all over, and looked at my watch. It had stopped. Stupid of me not to have wound it. I wasn’t hungry anymore, or even very thirsty. Long deprivation had almost made those senses dormant. I stretched my cramped body, then went over and sat by the outside wall — ignoring the dead woman because, after having slept, the craziness that had permitted me to deal with her the night before was gone.

I closed my eyes, trying once more to think of a way out of the dungeon. And then I heard a faint rattling sound, the sound I’d heard before that I’d thought was only part of a dream.

It came from directly above me, a noise from one of those swamp coolers I’d seen perched on the roof of the house. Why hadn’t I noticed it last night? Probably because they operated on some sort of automatic timer, coming on and going off only when the heat was most intense. That would make sense; there were no power lines to the house and running the coolers all the time would only sap the generator.

I tried to dredge up what I knew about swamp coolers. They used water, usually from a hose from some outside source. And there had to be some sort of venting arrangement, sometimes as simple as an open window. I had a friend who lived in Phoenix who had a swamp cooler, and she’d complained of having to leave a window open and thus creating an invitation to burglars.

If this cooler was running, there had to be a vent. And the vent had to be close by.

Then why hadn’t I found it during all that tapping I’d done last night?

Because it was someplace I couldn’t reach. Like up near the ceiling.

Well, that was just great. Because I couldn’t get up there to check.

Or could I?

I eyed the two ornate sconces, still burning with red light. They were massive, sturdy. If I unplugged them, took the light bulbs out, and used each as a sort of stilt...

I rushed over and yanked their cords out of the wall socket. The bulbs were hot, but I ignored the pain as I unscrewed them. Listening carefully, I located the position of the cooler, then placed the sconces by the wall closest to it. Mounting them was a tricky proposition. Finally I stood up, my legs shaking, the sconces wobbling.

I began tapping the wall close to the ceiling. I had to move the sconces twice, but eventually I struck a hollow place. A large hollow place.

Dull excitement stirred inside of me. I climbed down, got my purse and the Swiss Army knife. After climbing back up again, I ripped at the vinyl wallpaper with the knife. It came off easily, and soon I was looking at a hole with rubber hoses poking through it. And beyond that was bright daylight, which half blinded me after the long hours in that hellish red glow.

Daylight. How long had I been in here anyway? Twelve hours? Eighteen?

I wrenched at the hoses, and they came free of the cooler above me. Water dripped down on my head as I pushed them out the hole, leaned forward, and squinted through it. I could see sand and rocks and ocotillo. In the distance was the old water tower. The sun glared down; it must be late morning.

The hole was big enough for me to slide through — if only I had the strength to hoist myself up to it. On the first try, my right foot slipped on the sconce. It clattered to the floor and I pitched downward after it. I landed on my side, tears of pain coming to my eyes. Brushing them away, I got up and righted the sconce.

This time I was more careful, getting a firm grip on the edge of the opening and pulling myself up slowly. I slipped partway into the space, wriggled forward, and poked my head out, estimating the distance to the ground. It was a good eight feet — but I’d fallen almost that far only minutes ago.

I wriggled farther forward. My purse caught on the edge of the opening; I gave it an angry tug. It came loose, and I curled in a ball, trying to get my feet out the opening. One heel caught on the purse strap.

I decided to abandon the bag. The only important thing in it was my car keys, and I kept an extra set in a little magnetic case under the dash. I gave the purse a kick and heard it drop onto the floor of the dungeon. Then I slid my feet the rest of the way through, pushed off, and fell to the sandy ground.

I lay there for a moment, stunned and blinded by the glaring light. The sun was well overhead, moving either toward or away from its meridian. Finally I got to my feet, wincing with pain, and ran around the house, toward the front where I’d left my car.

But my car was gone. So was Sugarman’s. And in their place was a long white Cadillac.