Disembodied Bones (48 page)

Keefe made a little noise as he slept his
drugged sleep. She glanced over at him and went over to check him
again. He was breathing evenly, and his eyelids were twitching as
if he were dreaming of the St. Bernard puppy that tromped over his
grandparents’ yard waiting for him to come and play with it. She
had another thought. There was nothing in his pockets as well. Elan
hadn’t missed a trick. No pocket knives, slingshot or bubble
gum.

Leonie took some time to stick her head under
the faucet of the small sink. She washed off her face and drank
what seemed like gallons of water. Her mouth had been as dry as the
Gobi Desert. Then, with an irritated look into the blackness beyond
the opening of the pit, she used the toilet and flushed it when she
was done. It occurred to her that she couldn’t quite see the length
and breadth of the opening from the very back of the pit where the
toilet and lavatory were located. It was a blind spot to Elan, if
he’d even bothered to think about it. The logical conclusion was
that he didn’t think she could do anything except to do what he had
done. Do that or wait for a slow starving death, because she
suspected he would leave her here until she died. What Elan would
do with Keefe was another question altogether.

Her wrist was slightly purple where the
handcuffs were pinching it. Leonie stuck the entire wrist, handcuff
and all, under the cold water of the faucet to reduce the swelling.
The water didn’t make it any easier to get out of the cuff. While
she waited for the water rushing over her wrist to numb her flesh,
she looked around.

There was a toilet, a sink, a mattress, two
humans, and a long, long chain. The mattress didn’t have springs in
it. Leonie’s gaze switched back to the toilet. But the toilet,
didn’t that have metal parts in it?

She ignored the running water and lifted the
toilet tank’s lid off. Pausing, Leonie gauged the weight of the
porcelain piece. It was pretty heavy. It would make a nice weapon
in a crunch, something with which to clobber her boyfriend on his
revenge-laden head. She studied the lid in her hands and realized
something else. Porcelain would break into pieces that could be
used as an improvised blade. A blade could be used to cut through
the flesh and cartilage of her wrist. It would be more efficient
and practical than using her teeth.

Leonie started.
I’m not quite ready to
give up the ghost
. Inside the toilet tank was the equipment
that made the contraption run. Elan had thought ahead. It was all
made of plastic. Even the chain that was connected to the arm that
operated the float valve inside the tank was plastic. It was a
self-contained unit that was constructed entirely of plastic.
Seals, hoses, flush ball, trip lever, and handle, everything and
all was plastic.

Dammit. But why did he leave the lid
then?
She put the lid back on the tank.

The only conclusion was that perhaps this was
the way Elan wanted it to be. Chewing off her wrist would, after
all, take too long and might result in Leonie bleeding to death.
The green blanket over Keefe could be used as a bandage or even
strips of it could be used as a tourniquet. If he had thought of
it, then she would have as well. No easy way out for Leonie.

Studying her hand, Leonie bent her thumb
under her palm, pushing it with the other hand as far as it could
go. She had narrow hands with long fingers. With a little effort
she could almost make her hand slender enough for the handcuff to
pass. It would take off some skin, but better that than the whole
hand.
If only my thumb wasn’t in the way…

Leonie looked back at the toilet tank lid
again. Then she looked at her hand.
Slice it off or suffer the
consequences. Do what’s necessary. Take the hand and have a chance
to save the boy. The boy’s not at fault here. You should have found
Elan all those years ago. You should have known he was hidden
away
. Her thoughts grew increasingly frantic.
If you’re
quick they can sew it back on. If you’re clever you can beat Elan
at his game
. She yanked fruitlessly at the handcuff, leaving
angry red lines etched in her flesh
. My thumb…

Leonie gritted her teeth. She looked over her
shoulder at the black hole of the opening. If she stood next to the
sink, then there wasn’t any way he could see what she was doing. It
was a gamble, but it might work. She carefully checked Keefe again
and then moved the blanket that covered him. She used her teeth to
start a tear and ripped a long strip from one side, spitting out
green remnants of string. Then she moved back by the sink. If Elan
were watching and she was counting on him doing just that, then he
was probably thinking that she was doing exactly what he wanted her
to do.

Lifting up the heavy toilet tank lid with
both hands, she shifted it so that it was held ably in her right
hand. It was uncomfortably cumbersome and the muscles in her right
arm began to tremble with strain almost immediately. It didn’t
matter, however, for what she was about to do. She put her left
hand on the cool porcelain sink. Her thumb was left, extended
outward into the air. There was a low moan that filled the air and
she hesitated before she realized that the noise was coming from
her.
I have to get this right the first time.

She hesitated because of what she was
actually contemplating. The only time in her life she had really
been hurt was with her encounter with Whitechapel. Now she was left
without another option. No one in their right mind wanted to hurt
themselves.
Least of all me.

Leonie steeled herself and thrust the lid
down, letting the weight of it to increase the plummeting blow.
There was an ugly sound that ripped at her insides and the pain was
instantaneously relentless. She dropped to her knees with a faint
cry that escaped weakened lips and grayness danced at the edges of
her vision.

The porcelain tank lid slipped from her
fingers and fell to the floor, cracking into three pieces. One
piece skittered to the side and broke the pipe under the sink.
Water began to spray in an uneven arc, soaking every part of her.
She didn’t even notice it because her head was bent over and the
pain was worse than anything she’d envisioned.

Leonie straightened her back and tried to
concentrate on what she needed to do.
I can’t lose
consciousness. I can’t.
Her eyes went down to her thumb and she
realized immediately that she had done exactly what she’d needed to
do.

But that wasn’t going to be the worst
part.

-

I have four of these,

With matching extremities.

They can do many things,

And hardly ever bring me pain.

Unless I stick them with a pin,

Or burn them sometimes when…

What is it that I can wiggle at will?

And use in other means still?

I am fingers.

Monday, July 29th

Tom gave his brother John a box.

About it there were many locks.

The box was not with key supplied,

But caused two lids to open wide.

What kind of box was it?

Scott didn’t even get to get to the hospital
with his pilfered flowers to do his newly developed
see-how-I-care-although-I’m-a-man shtick. Instead, the flowers were
wilting in the passenger seat of the cat and he was directing a
search to find a man who shouldn’t have been able to escape. As a
matter of fact, Scott had done everything except mobilize the
National Guard in an effort to put Gideon Lily back where he
belonged.

I should smack myself in the head
,
thought Scott.
That crap Lily pulled in the interrogation room
and all I can think of is how fragile Dacey looked in the hospital.
I’m going soft.
And Ken Ash had given him a sly, sideways
glance, mentally sizing up the situation as it would be reported to
his girlfriend in exaggerated fashion.

Hours after Malone reported that Gideon was
gone from the interrogation room, Scott was dog tired. It was well
after midnight and he hadn’t even had caffeine to keep him going.
He had stolen wilting flowers in the cab of his car, and had a
missing prisoner. He was going to get voted out of office quicker
than transvestites being thrown out of a biker bar.

A few hours earlier Sue Hewitt had told him
about a reported sighting of the prisoner at a 7-Eleven store on
the edge of town. It turned out it was just a man who happened to
like day glo orange and didn’t look anything like Gideon Lily
otherwise. As a matter of fact, the guy was black and weighed in
the neighborhood of three hundred pounds. It had taken an
unbelievable two hours to clear that up with the man shrieking
about how his inalienable rights had been violated by a nightstick
whacking the side of his head. Law suits were flashing in that
guy’s head like little neon dollar signs. He couldn’t wait to get
to the nearest ambulance chaser with a digital camera.

The officer involved professed utter
innocence, despite the obvious lump on the man’s head, and Scott
was forced to put the deputy on administrative leave for the time
being. It was just what Scott needed. An innocent man battered and
a deputy off duty when the sheriff needed everyone in a uniform he
could grab.

When Scott finally made it back to his
office, he was plumb tuckered. The night clerk had stopped him at
his door with a few questions about calls. Then when he got into
his office a few minutes later, he threw himself into his chair and
propped his feet on top of the desk. Tiredly he let his head fall
back against the high back of the chair and wearily contemplated
the ceiling tiles. After a moment he pulled his feet off the desk
and sat up straight, digging through his top drawer for the
appropriate change for a coke.
Got to get a fridge in here.
Bring my own cokes, instead of that rat bastard Ken getting all the
Diet Dr. Peppers before I can get there.

Scott’s eyes flickered up and saw that the
screensaver was activated on his computer’s monitor. Little
toasters with wings flew endlessly to unknown destinations.
And
if I ever find out what asshole put that screensaver on my computer
I believe I’ll take my nine millimeter out and plug him. I hate
that goddamn thing. What the fuck does a flying toaster mean,
anyway?

Sighing heavily, he found the right amount of
change, slammed the drawer shut and exited the office. He had to
get that coke and go out and take the absent deputy’s place. It was
going to be a full night of work and he needed all the energy he
could muster.

Scott brightened momentarily
. Maybe I can
swing by the hospital and drop off those flowers before they
die.

•

Gideon listened to Scott Haskell rustle
around in the outer office. The computer was turned on; the law
enforcement officer could hardly miss it, but would he make the
connection that his escaped jailbird had turned it on?

Covering his mouth, Gideon tried not to move
unnecessarily as he looked around the tiny bathroom. There was a
toilet, a sink, and a medicine cabinet. There was no place to hide
in here.
Please God, don’t let Scott have to take a big
dump
.

There was a big thump. Scott sighed deeply.
Then there was a slamming noise like the sheriff had shut a drawer.
The next noises Gideon heard were the door shutting and the man
locking the door from the outside. The keys rattled like wind
chimes in a gale.

Glorioski,
Gideon thought. He peeked
into the main office and saw it was empty. The computer was still
on and the blinds were still shut
. That’s another little
security problem they have there. Assuming that a prisoner wouldn’t
stay in the building. Really, really bad to assume.

Gideon took two steps into Scott’s office and
an overwhelming surge of pain brought him to his knees. It was a
blinding array of anguish that made him groan with torment. Slowly
he brought his throbbing hand up before his eyes. From the computer
monitor’s dim light he honestly thought he would see some gaping
wound that would explain his distress. It was a forceful injury
that seemed to target his hand, and then another worse pain that
doubled him over. His thumb in particular felt like it was being
torn asunder and he abruptly realized it wasn’t him at all, but it
was Leonie he was feeling.
Christ, what in hell is going on?
Leonie?

There wasn’t a response. There was only pain
and more pain. Whatever it was that was happening was a gnawing
unbearable hurt that racked every inch of her. He could almost feel
the tears streaming down her lovely cheeks as she staunchly bore
her misery.
Leonie? Leonie!

Gideon clamped his mouth shut and prayed he
hadn’t said it aloud. There was a vision of a Whitechapel-like man
torturing Leonie, but no matter what was happening to her, he still
needed time to find out where she was. If she was still alive and
hurting, then there was still time to find her. He lurched to his
feet and suffered a cloud of black dots tangoing at the edge of his
vision. It slowly cleared and wonder of wonders, the intolerable
spasms of pain began to abate.

He stared at his left hand and wondered what
it was that could have caused that. For the brief seconds that he
could feel her utter affliction, her mind was a jumble of fear and
pain. Nothing coherent could be found within it, even if Gideon had
been clever enough to try to search for it at the time. There was a
weighty pause that froze him in place. I can feel her pain.
Will
I feel it when she…dies? Not
when,
stupid. If.
If
she
dies.

There was a lump in his throat the size of a
Sherman Tank. He forced it down and staggered to the computer.
Gideon still had things to do. He jostled the mouse and the
screensaver disappeared, flying toasters vanished into nothingness.
He accessed the email software and began a composition to hackers
he knew. He needed information and he needed it quickly. He put up
a bounty to be paid upon delivery of the information that he
required.