The Lost Years

77

Her head hurt so much. Mariah tried to touch it but could not raise her hand that high. She opened her eyes. The light was dim, but she could see that she was in some kind of strange place. She lifted her head and looked around.

She was in a museum.

I’m dreaming. It has to be a nightmare. This can’t be.

Then she remembered Lillian’s call. I went rushing to meet her. He was waiting for me. He slammed my head against the car. Then I was in a car trunk and Lillian was there.

Bits and pieces about the ride came back to her. It was so bumpy. My head kept hitting against the floor. Lillian was next to me. She was tied up too.

Mariah recalled hearing the sound of a door opening, like a garage door going up. Then he opened the trunk and dragged Lillian out. She kept pleading, “Please don’t hurt me. Please let me go.”

Then he came back for me, she remembered. He picked me up and carried me to a lift. And then it went up. And then we were here in the museum. He took me into a bathroom and untied my hands. He said, “I’ll let you have a few minutes in here.” I tried to lock the door behind him, but there was no lock. I heard him laughing. He knew I was going to try to lock it. I tried to wash the crusted blood from my head and face, but then I started bleeding again. I pressed a towel against the gash and then he came back.

Mariah remembered how helpless she had felt when he retied her hands and legs and dragged her into this room and threw her down on a mattress on the floor. He didn’t care at all that I was still bleeding, she thought. He wanted to hurt me.

Her head was throbbing but her thoughts were starting to come more clearly. He had held up what looked to be a large antique silver jewelry case and opened the lid. He reached inside and took something out. He held it over my head, she thought. It looked like one of those rolled-up scrolls that she had seen in her father’s study.

“Look at it, Mariah,” he demanded. “It is so unfortunate that your father would not sell this to me. If he had, he would be alive today and so would Rory. And neither would Lillian be here with us. But that was not meant to be. Now I want to honor what I know would be your father’s fondest wish: that you touch it before you join him. I know how much you have missed him.”

He brushed the parchment against her neck, taking care that it did not come into contact with any of the blood that was still oozing from her forehead.

And then he had laid it back into the silver chest, which he placed on the marble table next to her.

I don’t remember what happened after that, Mariah thought. I must have passed out again. Why didn’t he kill me right away? What is he waiting for?

She strained to raise her wrists and look at her watch. It was twenty minutes past eleven. When I was in the bathroom it was almost five o’clock, she thought. I’ve been unconscious for more than six hours. Is he still here? I don’t see him.

Where is Lillian?

“Lillian,” she called out, “Lillian.”

For a moment there was no answer, but then a sudden terrified wail from near the center of the room made her cringe. “Mariah, he’s going to kill us!” Lillian screamed. “He only held off killing me so that he could use me to trick you into coming to the motel. When he comes back, I know what’s going to happen. I know what’s going to happen.”

The sound of Lillian’s gasping sobs became a crescendo of terror that echoed throughout the cavernous room.