Page 21 of Backwater Justice

It was early in the morning when she decided to pull the small table against the wall and try to see what was on the other side of the window. She moved it very quietly and hoisted herself up so that her eyes were above the window frame. And the bars. She could see a parking lot that butted against a dense wooded area. As she stood on her tiptoes, she saw heavy boots walking in her direction. She ducked and almost lost her balance, but her expertise on the balance beam from gymnastics saved her from falling off the table. The person kept walking and tossed a cigarette butt onto the pavement. She noticed several of them. Maybe this was where he took his break.

When he was long past the window, she returned the table to its original place, just in case someone appeared. The next morning, she did the same thing, trying to formulate some kind of pattern, a schedule besides the appearance of a tray of ham and cheese.

She willed herself to wake up at the same time, even though she had no idea what time that was. She’d go by the amount of light coming through the window. She listened for sounds. Nothing. She quietly moved the table to the window again. She saw the boots and the cigarette butts. She did this for several days before she realized it was a pattern. The Boots Man’s pattern. He was the only one. There were no others loitering in the parking lot at night. She checked. The lampposts lit the corners, and shadows were cast outside her window. It was eerily quiet.

As she began to step off the table, she grabbed one of the bars on the window. It was loose. She tugged on it. It wasn’t her imagination. Little crumbles of concrete dribbled from the holes where the fasteners attached to the wall. She gave it another tug. More crumbles. But it was still intact. She needed something to wrench the fasteners away from the concrete. The lamp. It was one of those high-intensity lamps. If she could pull off the top, she might be able to use the lip to wedge it between the screws. But then she’d have no light at night except for the bare bulb over the sink. She decided to wait until the next morning, after her food drop and after Boots went off his break. Her mind was racing. She was formulating a plan. If she got caught, they would probably kill her. But if she stayed, she might be killed anyway. It was worth the effort.

That evening, she couldn’t sleep. She was anticipating her escape. Once her food was delivered in the morning, she pulled the lamp apart. After Boots’s cigarette, she moved the table and began to work on the bars. It took some time, but she was able to pull one side of the bars away from the window. It still wasn’t enough to get through. She kept working on it until her muscles were beginning to burn. She had to take a rest, and it was getting dark. She would resume her project the next morning when she was fortified.Ham and cheese. Couldn’t they change it up a bit?

The adrenaline she had been experiencing was spent. She was exhausted and fell into a deep sleep. The next morning, she jumped at the sound of a door slamming. Breakfast. Thankfully, no one came down the stairs. She waited for Boots to pass by, then continued chipping away at the bars. They were coming loose. She tugged. And again. With her last effort, they gave way, catapulting her off the table and onto the floor. She was stunned but unharmed. She waited and listened. Nothing. It occurred to her the room was soundproof.But why?That was one question she really didn’t care about. It was the only thing in her favor at the moment.

Her next challenge was to open the window, but the crank had been removed. She was going to have to break it. That would have to wait until nightfall, when the building was empty or close to empty. She studied the twenty-four-by-thirty-inch glass. She looked around the room again. Could she break one of the legs off the table? But then what would she stand on? She looked over at the glaring bulb hanging over the sink.Maybe the toilet seat?She hurried over, got on the floor, and unfastened the screws. She’d try using the lid first. If that didn’t work, she’d try using the seat.

After darkness fell, Vanessa moved the table to the wall, hopped up, and began to bang the lid against the glass. Over and over again. Her arms were getting tired. She raised the lid over her head one more time and thrust it at the glass. Little cracks began to run through the window. She jumped down and got the pillow off the cot, then returned to her perch. She placed the pillow against the glass and gave it her last, best shove. Shards spilled in both directions. She stopped. Listened. Nothing. She took the pillowcase off the pillow and placed it over the jagged bottom edge of the frame. It wouldn’t completely prevent her from getting cut, but it would help. She hoisted herself up and pulled herself through the window until her body lay flat on the asphalt. She looked around. No one. She scrambled toward the woods with blood running down her arms and her face, with branches lashing at her wounds as she ran for her life into the dark.

She finally stopped when she was deep into the woods. She listened. No one had followed her. She was exhausted. She leaned against a large western red cedar and slid to the ground. It was dark as pitch. She’d have to wait until dawn to get her bearings and hope she wouldn’t encounter any creatures of the night, animal or human. The sound of a cracked branch stirred her awake. She was almost face-to-face with a deer. They looked at each other curiously; then the deer turned and continued on its journey.

CHAPTERTWELVE

The Next Day

Asliver of light shined through the canopy of trees, signaling it was a new day. Vanessa had no idea where she was, but she could now figure out the four cardinal directions. The question was, which one should she take? North? South? East? West? She listened for any sounds of human activity. Again, nothing. She was weary. Mentally and physically. Even if she knew where she was going, would she be able to make it out of these woods?

A barking dog in the distance got her attention. Again, she wondered if it was a good thing or a bad one. She would have to take her chances for the second time in two days. She had gotten this far. She had to carry on.

Vanessa moved slowly in the direction of the sound. Everything hurt. Her face. Her hands. Her legs. She was limping. Her bloodstained clothes stuck to her skin. She thought she might collapse when she heard a voice: “Hardy! Here boy!” Then the woman whistled and called again. “Hardy!”

Vanessa leaned against a tree with one arm and cried out. “Help! Somebody help me! Please!” In a few short seconds, a German shepherd was in front of her. He eyed her with interest. She looked at the dog. “Hello, Hardy. My name is Vanessa. Can you and your owner please help me?” The dog let out a loud bark, but it wasn’t a threatening bark.

“Hardy! Where in the Sam-hill are you?” The woman’s voice was almost pleasant.

The dog barked again. Vanessa could hear the crunching of leaves under someone’s feet. She could see a person approaching wearing a red-and-black-checked flannel shirt. Vanessa thought about waving, but she feared a sudden move might startle the dog. Instead, she let out a limp cry. “Over here.”

A woman with a walking stick moved quickly toward her. She gasped when she saw the shredded and stained young girl. “Oh, my Lord! Dear, are you alright? Silly question. Of course, you’re not alright.” She kneeled down in front of Vanessa. “What on earth happened? Can you stand up?”

Vanessa nodded. “I . . . I think so.” The woman placed Vanessa’s arm around her shoulders and helped her up.

“How did you get here?” the woman asked.

“I really don’t know.” Vanessa wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t sure how much she should or could reveal.

“Come along with me. My house isn’t far.”

The two gingerly and slowly made their way the quarter mile to the woman’s farmhouse, with Hardy following behind. The woman yelled through the screen door. “Fred! Come out here. Give me a hand!” A man in his mid-forties appeared and opened the door as the woman helped Vanessa up the porch steps.

“Come. Sit here.” The woman helped Vanessa into a comfortable chair while Fred went into the kitchen and returned with a few wet towels and a glass of water.

The woman began to wipe some of the blood off Vanessa’s face and hands. “Dear, we need to get you to a hospital.”

“No. No,” Vanessa protested. “I need to talk to my mother.”

“Of course you do, but you need medical help. The hospital will have to call your folks, but we can get you there pronto.” The woman seemed very kind. “What’s your name, dear?”

Vanessa wasn’t sure what she should say. What if these people were with the ones who’d abducted her? She made something up. She’d deal with the truth at the hospital. “Biddie.”

“Okay, now, Biddie. Tell me, how on earth did you get this way?”

Vanessa strained her brain to come up with a story. “I was hiking with some friends, and I got lost.”