Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel (22 page)

The lack of water was beginning to take its toll. Her lips were cracked and her tongue felt rough and swollen.
A dull headache had set in, not like the one from the tequila, but one of those nagging, never-going-away pains that promised to last all day.
Was yesterday the last time she’d peed? It had burned like crazy, the torn tissues reacting to the urine she supposed.
From what she could tell in the bad light,
her puddle
had
looked to be a dark yellow-orange in color.
The strong odor had made her wrinkle her nose.
She dreading having to go again and not just because of the pain. Even though no one could see her, having
to squat with no bathroom,
was
w
ell…
gross
,
something she had done only twice in her life
.
Both times when her father wouldn’t stop at a gas station and made her get out beside the car when she couldn’t hold it one second longer.
H
ow
utterly embarrassing
. But
now, no
squatting since yesterday afternoon.
I need water, bad
.

Again, with the first light of day, she had gathered what little dew she could reach with her fingers, a maddening small amount; a tongue-wetter, no more. She thought about
all those delicious drops of water
, then spoke
aloud.

“There has to be a way, some method to reach more of the dew, gather it somehow. There
’s the
webbing from the chair.
Would that work? I could push it outside the crack, wait until morning and pull it in. Maybe, hmm. Wait, wait, wait, the poncho; it’s made of plastic, big, and wider than the webbing.
Sure, that would do it.”

Melissa hadn’t seen the mice in a while and she called out.

“Lulu, you hear that idea? What about it?
Would it work?”
Then to herself, “I’d need maximum surface area that’s for sure. Let’s just say it did work, how best can I get the dew back through the crack without dumping it?
What have I got to work with here?”

The inventory didn’t take long.

“I got leaves, sticks, a broken chair, a poncho, a jar, and a cot, that’s about it.
Any ideas Lulu?”

She concentrated on each item, one at a time, hoping for a spark of inspiration, a surge of creativity. She
kept coming back
to the chair
, focusing on the metal,
thinking, forming possibilities.
Minutes passed.

“I got it. I got an idea
,
Lulu. Okay
,
mouse
, listen up. What we have here is a frame, that’s exactly what this is, a frame to hold the poncho, to collect the dew.”

With growing enthusiasm, Melissa
rolled
the longest edge of the poncho around one leg of the bygone chair, repeated the action on the other side with the other leg, and then, keeping both hands tight on each leg, pulled the plastic tight. As long as she kept her grip, there was a good foot and a half of usable surface area to catch the next rain, if there was one, or some dew at nightfall.

“Yes!”

Back at the top of the stairs, she
carefully
worked her invention through the crack
, avoiding
any
sharp and pointed
weeds
,
and found a relatively
clear
area with
short
grasses.

“Lulu, I think we have liftoff.
All we need now i
s
for the weather to cooperate, the right temperature and humidity, and we will drink my little furry friend.
We will party down!”

It was a poor choice of words. The word
party
conjured up a flashback to her ill-advised visit to the Pirate’s Den and the numerous shots of tequila that night. Other scenes began to flood her senses. She fought them off, didn’t want those thoughts in her mind, not now, not until she was free and yet the images appeared; the patio, the music,
people coming and going
.
Melissa shook her head as if to smash the mental photos developing in her brain.
But like an old Polaroid instant camera, the pictures kept on coming,
whir-chunk
;
someone
touching her breast,
whir-chunk
; a face over hers, forcing his mouth on her lips,
whir-chunk
, an arm, a muscular arm, holding her down.
Melissa tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and let loose with an animalistic scream to the outside world.

“NOOOO!”

Her heart was racing again, on the verge of another panic attack. She grabbed the lip of the door, something solid, and held on, squeezing the fear away.

“No, no, don’t let it happen Lissa. Don’t lose it, not now. Calm down, breathe, breathe.”
She sucked in the air, passed her dried lips, tasting the freshness, taking it to the bottom of her lungs, feeling the heat, and imagining it to be the warm breath of life.
The
sensation
passed. Calmer now, the girl brought the poncho back inside the cellar and spoke to the mouse although she still couldn’t see it.

“Sorry if I scared you
,
Lulu. Tell you the truth, I scared myself a little too.
But I’m okay now.
You can come out.”

The mouse did not appear and the pile of leaves at the rear of the cellar was quiet.

“All right, I know you’re frightened. Just don’t leave me, okay?
I need your company, more than you’ll ever understand.”

She took another deep breath and thought about her new invention and tried to see it happening.
They had talked about condensation in science class, something about water vapor molecules and thermal energy, but the specifics had been forgotten.
All she could remember was warm air meeting cool air and since the grass would be warmed from the sun during the day, the cool air of evening should reach a dew point causing water droplets to form on the plastic. It was a plan. Better than nothing—much better than screaming her lungs out—especially with her tongue and throat so dry.
The thoughts about the night air brought up another problem; how to stay warm without the poncho to cover her bare legs and feet.

With a rustle of leaves, a mouse suddenly appeared, but instead of its usual methodical search for food, the creature made a dash for the st
eps and carriage board.
After the first few inches and realizing the presence of the human, it stopped and stared.

“Well hello there, nice to finally see you. What’s your hurry this morning?”

The mouse
hesitated for only a moment before making a final rush to the top of the
stairs
,
past Melissa,
and with one leap, exited through the crack of the cellar door, disappearing in seconds.
Lulu
had left the building.

When the shock of seeing her friend leave in such an unexpected and unexplained manner set in,
emotions welled up inside her
and before Melissa could stop it, a deep sob
erupted from
her chest. The departure was a crushing blow to her fragile state of mind, her best pal leaving her
w
ithout a single gesture of farewell.
It was silly to think like that and deep down, she knew it, but a bond had been broken. They, she and Lulu, were going to stick it out together, hell or high water, come what may, and eventually leave together, but not like this, not one without the other. It was then that Melissa remembered the other mouse she had seen earlier.
Maybe the departed mouse wasn’t actually Lulu at all but her sister or brother instead.
Could have been a distant cousin for all she knew.
That was possible, quite possible. In fact there could be any number of mice still roaming around, more than willing to keep her company.
No need to get all boo-hoo about it, not yet. But what if all the mice had up and left during the night? What if that was the Last of the Mohicans and she was truly alone?

“C’mon
,
Lissa,” she said aloud.
“Get a grip.
It was just a mouse.
You got more important things to think about, like how to stay warm tonight. Yeah, why don’t you worry about
that
Lissa and not lose it and get mushy–mushy over some little mangy, nasty, and probably diseased rodent?”

The tough talk didn’t help much.
She was going to miss the little varmint, no doubt about that.
She decided that talking to the mouse was so therapeutic,
so oddly comforting,
she would continue with the inane chatter, mouse or no mouse.
The shrinks might say that was crazy but screw ‘em.

“Lulu, if you’re still here, tell me this.
What can I use to cover up with tonight when I’m freezing my tootsies off, hmm?
How do
you
stay cozy in this damp and dreary hell hole?”

She went to the bottom of the steps and sat down to think about it.

“What’s that old saying, necessity is the mother of invention?
Lissa, you sure do have a necessity, staying warm and alive, so you better da
rn
well invent something.”

The old army cot worked great to keep her off the cold floor; the problem was the chilly air beneath her. With the
thin
canvas having no insulation, there was no way to retain body heat. Then another revelation hit her. The answer was right in front of her eyes, or in this case, her feet.
She had been walking around
on
them since day one.
The leaves, at least four to six inches deep in some places, covered the cellar floor.
Lulu, no doubt, had made a den somewhere beneath the surface. With the leaves packed in tight, the mouse’s bedroom must be as comfy as a bird’s nest.
Melissa began to feel of the leaves, moving from front to back, top layer to bottom, testing.
The first couple of inches on top weren’t bad, but below that, where water had seeped into the cellar, the old foliage was damp to the touch, definitely not cozy, and there weren’t enough dry le
aves
for
a human
-
sized bed
.

Melissa returned to the
top of the
stairs and stretched out against the steps, enjoying the sunlight as long as possible, and closed her eyes in thought. The heat radiating from the door felt good on her face and she caught herself falling asleep despite the discomfort of the steps digging into her back and legs. At least it was warm.
A balmy wind from the southwest blew through the gap, moving her hair and caressing her face with a gentle touch that was almost human.
Her mind began to drift, up and away from the cellar, to places she longed to visit; pristine beaches, the national parks, and places overseas such as Paris or Rome.
She would take a cruise, lie out on the deck, get a tan, and watch the blue of the ocean sweep by.

Her eyes jerked open. Warm! I’m wasting warmth.
In a flash, she was back in the leaves, grabbing the driest and putting them in a pile at the bottom of the stairs.
The slightly damp, she carried to the top steps, nearest the door, the warmest spot in the cellar, piling as many leaves as the steps would hold. Back and forth she went, until every step was heaped with brown and gold. She waited five minutes, then five more, and touched her open palm to the highest step. The leaves were
drying out
. It was working.

While waiting for the sun
and warm air
to do
their job
, Melissa took the dry leaves she had collected and spread them across her cot, evening the piles as best she could, until the bed was covered.
She lay down and got still, hearing the crunch as the driest of the leaves broke and crumbled, filling the gaps. Would this make a difference or be energy wasted? It didn’t take long to find out. Now, without the cold air beneath her, she began to feel the spread of her own body heat, first on her back then on to her thighs and calves. The leafy insulation was working for Melissa just as it had done for the mouse that had given her the idea.

“Thank you
,
Lulu,” she whispered and once again, closed her eyes.

The nap was short lived. Somewhere in her subconscious, attuned to any change of noise and a possible rescue, a new sound penetrated her uneasy sleep.
It was
different
than the usual rustle of scampering mice, this movement had urgency, a sense of drama unfolding at the back of the cellar.
A mouse was involved, that was for sure, as she could hear the frantic squeaks and squeals.
Something was happening, a battle of sorts? Do mice fight? Melissa got off the bunk and cautiously edged to the rear of the cellar.
The sun was getting low
er
, the light almost gone with one single
narrow
beam peeking beneath the door.
The leaves moved again. There was something there, struggling.
Too dark to see.
Light a candle?
No way, not with the limited number of matches left. Then, more movement.
She froze, waiting.