Page 74 of The Hitchhikers
“Please. It’s important.”
Soft steps, then Jenny was at the door, holding the rifle in front of her body.
Now Alice had to think of a way to get through to the girl. She remembered how upset she had been when she saw the blood all over Simon.
“Did Simon tell you about the man he hurt at church?”
“Of course.” But there was a defensive tilt to her chin and worry in her eyes.
“Did he tell you how he beat him until he was unconscious—with a thermos?”
“You’re lying. Simon only punched him and made his nose bleed.”
“No, Jenny. It was worse than that. Much worse. Simon hit him in the face over and over. God, he broke his teeth. I heard bonescracking.”
“Stop!”
“It’s true. I swear. I tried to stop him, but he hit me. Look at my arm. He was out of control! He kept beating the man after he was already limp.” Alice was speaking faster and faster. She had to make her point before Simon came back. “Please let us go. Please.”
Jenny stared at her. Her eyes pooled with tears that ran down her cheeks. She stepped into the room.
Alice leaned forward. “Untie me, and I’ll break the window. We can make it look like we cut the twine. He doesn’t have to know you helped.”
Jenny only reached for the handle, stepped back, and closed the door.
They lapsed into silence. It was stifling with the window and door closed and Alice felt as though she was melting into the floor. She lifted her bound hands to wipe sweat from her face. She and Tom were side by side, backs against the wall, arms sticking together. He had his eyes mostly closed and was taking shallow breaths. They needed water.
Ruth moved a few times on the bed, seemingly to get more comfortable, but Alice heard other noises, frustrated sounds, like she might be straining at her bindings. Bones was still on the rug. He’d been panting but now he was snoring, feet occasionally twitching. As time passed, William’s snores joined in. Alice was glad that he could find some peace.
Alice tried to fill her mind with images of their home in Seattle, how it nestled among the other Craftsman-style bungalows on their tree-lined street. A cedar hedge ran along the front and sides of the home, low enough that they could wave to neighbors, and a wrought iron gate opened to a tidy brick walkway that was lined with flowers. In the summer it hummed with bees.
The original white paint had been peeling when they’d bought the house, so she’d chosen Sunshine Yellow and Tom spent an entire month repainting. She’d wanted so much to raise their child in a happy home. Though that dream hadn’t come to fruition, she still loved the house. Every spring, Tom made sure to repaint the front steps and the trim a crisp bright white.
When they got home, they’d go to Pike Place Market and get fresh-ground coffee beans from Starbucks—Tom’s favorite. They’d walk on the beach and collect shells for edging their garden beds. She’d plant tulip bulbs in the fall. She was imagining them in bloom when she was jarred by Simon’s low voice in the kitchen. Jenny’s mumbled responses.
Now it sounded like furniture was being dragged. She couldn’t place if the noise was coming from the living room or the kitchen. William had stopped snoring.
Alice looked toward the couple on the bed. “What could he be moving?”
“The table. He’s in the basement.” William’s voice was gruff, angry, and Alice guessed that he was regretting telling them about the secret hatch and William’s distillery.
The kitchen was silent. Maybe Jenny had gone into the basement too.
“Is there anything else down there?”
“Just boxes and old furniture.”
“And my canning,” Ruth said. “Pickles, cherries, peaches.”
“Is there a door to outside?”
“I boarded it up,” William said. “Didn’t want animals getting in.”
They were all quiet for the next few minutes, waiting, listening. Simon could be snooping around for more things to steal. Maybe he wanted the liquor.
Simon’s and Jenny’s voices. Distant, then louder. Footsteps in the kitchen.
Alice held Tom’s hand tightly and waited for the sound of the hatch closing. There were only Simon’s heavy footsteps as he walked down the hall.
