Night Journey (9 page)

Pain stabbed Emma from all sides as she prepared to down the pills. Only two of them remained, but that was okay. It would be enough to get her through the night. When she raised her hand to swallow them she glanced in the mirror—and saw the hideous, leering face of the nurse standing behind her.

She flinched and spun around, dropping the pills into the sink. Her heart pounded as she scanned the room.

The apparition was gone.

She held her breath and strained to listen for any signs of an intruder. A chill, black silence surrounded her.

The pain in her head shrieked at her as if to remind her of its presence. Her suffering overshadowed her fear and she turned her attention back to the sink. She could still see the tiny tablets, trapped in the drain.

Emma cursed when her ring caught as she tried to fish out the pills. She pulled her left hand back out, slipped the ring off her finger and placed it on the edge of the bathtub. Turning back to the sink, she tried again to retrieve the pain pills, but they slipped farther down into the drain and disappeared.

Emma slumped in despair, bracing her hands on the sink. Her knees felt as if they would give way. She sank down onto the white-tiled floor and began to sob. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and she held her throbbing head between her hands. She closed her eyes, feeling utterly miserable and alone. Her pills were gone forever, but the agony remained to torment her.

The creaking of a door in the next room fractured the silence. Emma lifted her head and stared with bleary eyes, wondering if—no, praying that Zan had come back early to their room. She hoisted herself up off the floor and crept out of the bathroom. The door to the hallway was still closed and locked.

Disappointed, she scanned the parlor and saw that the tiny door in the wall hung partially open. A sense of desolation swept over her when a voice inside her head began to berate her.
You are worthless—defective—barren. You promised him you would give him children. But you can’t do it, can you? The ring should go to Phoebe, not you. It must be passed on. He’s too good for you. You’re nothing but a little throw-away who got lucky. You don’t deserve to be loved by a man like Zan. The world would be better off without you.

Like a zombie she turned and walked back to the bathroom. She stared at the ring, glittering brightly beneath the incandescent light. She felt cold and numb and dead as she picked it up and carried it into the parlor. The voice echoed in her head.

Just throw it away—throw it away—throw it away!

Shuffling toward the little door she reached out and pulled it open wider. The voice screeched louder and her headache intensified. If only if would stop screaming at her!

She couldn’t stand it any more.

She stared sadly into the dark hole in the wall, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The ring fell from her fingers onto the floor.

The discordant sound of crazed laughter reverberated through Emma’s head, raging against the rhythm of her heartbeat. The stench of disinfectant swirled in the air and burned her nostrils. The temperature plummeted.

She trembled when a shadow in the corner advanced toward her, growing with each step, taking the form of the nurse she had grown to dread. She cowered, rooted to the spot, unable to move.

The terrifying specter stopped and stared. Emma shriveled inwardly at the scrutiny, but was powerless to move or even to blink. The room was as still and as quiet as a tomb. No sound emanated from the ghost, but Emma could hear the awful voice in her mind.

Climb inside the door. Nobody will ever find you in there. You can just curl up and hide—and die. That’s what you really want to do, isn’t it? Just go to sleep and never wake up. Go ahead—do it—do it!

The wraith’s eyes glittered and her lips twisted into a grimace. She pointed to the door in the wall and it slowly opened wider. Emma watched in horror as the ghastly nurse snatched up her ring and then hurled it through the door. Emma’s anguish peaked and shattered the last shreds of her control.

“No! Not Zan’s ring!” Emma screamed. She fell to her knees and began searching frantically for the ring, with her head and shoulders just inside the door. The evil nurse cackled and then a massive force lifted her up and slammed her whole body face first into the hole.

As soon as she was inside, the door slammed shut.

The darkness was absolute; a horrifying oubliette.

Dust choked her and she couldn’t stop coughing. Crawling on hands and knees, she searched desperately for a way out of the prison. She screamed and banged on the door, but she couldn’t get it to budge. Nobody could hear her. She felt as if she was buried alive.

She gasped, panting in terror. She felt dizzy. Then, realizing she was hyperventilating, she tried to calm herself and think of a way out of her predicament. Her head throbbed again, but she pushed the pain from her mind. She had more important things to worry about now.

She stood up straight and her bare foot touched something small, soft, and furry. She cringed when she heard the tiny squeak and felt whatever she had stepped on scurry away. She shuddered, afraid to move, lest she encounter something worse.

Emma’s nose twitched from the dank, musty smell of rotting wood. Summoning up her courage, she inched her body along the wall, carefully testing the environment. Cobwebs brushed across her face and a spider skittered across her arm. Her skin crawled and she frantically brushed at herself.

She had to do something. She blinked and tried to focus her eyes. A faint pinprick of light was barely visible high above her. Searching with her hands she found something cold and metallic. She ran her fingers across it and determined it was a ladder. Tugging on it to test its strength, she decided to try it. Anything would be better than being trapped in this place.

Emma closed her eyes and prayed she was doing the right thing. Her head throbbed again, reminding her of the pain that had been replaced by terror. Moving with great care, she placed her hand on an upper rung and then her foot on a lower. When it held her weight, she climbed higher. She repeated this action several times until she could feel the change of temperature in the narrow space. She shivered and she felt her hair rise upward from the extreme vertical current that blustered through the shaft.

A scraping noise from above alerted her to trouble. Her heart pounded when she felt the ladder shift under her weight. She heard the brittle snap of rusted metal just before she fell. Something sharp scraped against her shoulder and she felt searing pain.

Then something crashed down on her head. Her fear went away. All of her thoughts left her.

Zan gripped his cue stick and carefully studied the balls on the table. Choosing his target, he leaned into position, drew back the stick and aimed, then followed through with the shot. He banked the six-ball off the side cushion and it rolled into the pocket.

“Yes!” He thrust his fist into the air and strutted around the pool table.

“Way to go, Zan!” Phoebe and Moonbeam yelled in unison. Phoebe jumped up and down, waving her arms like a cheerleader. The Chief smiled and rubbed the tip of his stick with chalk. Allen pretended to sulk.

Zan walked around the table and prepared his strategy. Feeling cocky, he decided to really show off and try for a
cut
. But just as he was about to make his shot, the eerie sight of an old woman standing in the corner distracted him. Startled, he missed, and the cue ball went flying across the table without hitting any of the balls.

“Scratch!” Allen yelled in triumph.

Zan lowered his cue stick and stared at the elderly woman. The others noticed his odd behavior and turned to see what had arrested his attention.

“Who is
that
?” Allen broke the silence.

She looked tiny and ancient, standing forlornly in the shadows. Her thin gray hair was pulled back in a bun and her face was lined with age. She wore an old fashioned, long black dress with a white lace collar and carried an old, worn reticule. A prominent dowager’s hump contributed to her shrunken stature; the expression in her deep-set eyes seemed to cry out in unspoken pain and sadness.

A heaviness centered in Zan’s heart as an ominous premonition engulfed his mind. Something was wrong with Emma. His voice broke. “What’s wrong with my wife?”

“She needs you now,” the old woman answered in a shaky, solemn voice. “You must go to her. Quickly.” She paused to search his face, and then disappeared.

Zan stood frozen. The Chief and Moonbeam exchanged worried looks. Phoebe’s eyes widened and her hand flew to her throat.

“Jeez, that was freaky,” said Allen.

Zan threw down his stick, headed out of the game room and rushed down the stairs. The others chased after him. When he got to the parking lot two blocks away he fumbled in his pockets and stormed, “Where’re the friggin’ keys?”

“You probably left them in your jacket upstairs,” Phoebe volunteered, panting from their mad dash down seven flights of stairs and across the street.

“Let’s take mine.” The Chief motioned for the group to follow. He led them to the far end of the parking lot and stopped in front of a big 4X4 pickup with oversized wheels.

“Are we all gonna fit in there?” Allen asked, staring at the truck’s single cab.

“I don’t give a damn where I ride, as long as I can get to Emma,” Zan replied, fighting to hold back his panic. He boosted the women up into the cab, climbed into the bed of the truck, and motioned to Allen. “Get in.”

The pick-up’s engine came alive; its row of bright off-road lights lit up the darkness as they sped away. Zan and Allen clung to the roll bars as the Chief zigzagged his way up the side of the mountain. He dodged parked cars on the narrow streets and swerved into a rock wall to avoid a head-on collision. Zan could see the lights of the big hotel grow closer as they bounced along, but the ride seemed interminable.

“Come on, Emma…answer…” he barked into his cell phone, almost dropping it when the Chief made a sharp turn. Her voice mail came on and he hit
cancel
. He dialed again, this time trying to reach Jonathan. Same thing. They’d probably already gone to sleep.

Moments later they pulled into the hotel’s driveway. Zan jumped from the bed of the truck while it still rolled and loped up the front steps. He dashed through the lobby and took the stairs two at a time, winding round and round until he reached the fourth floor. He didn’t stop to catch his breath until he saw the room marked 419.

“Emma—Emma are you in there?” he pounded on the door, realizing he’d left the room key in his jacket along with his car keys. Frustrated, a primitive urge to kick in the flimsy barrier overcame him. He stepped back from the door and picked up one leg, preparing to batter it down.

“Zan…wait!”

He hesitated when he heard Moonbeam’s voice and the clatter of running feet on the ancient stairs. He peeked around the corner and saw the group coming toward him. Jimmy the bellman huffed and panted from the exertion of running upstairs. A big ring of keys dangled from his right hand. Zan stepped back and let Jimmy open the door.

Zan rushed into the parlor, searching for his wife. Lights blazed in every room of the suite, but Emma wasn’t there. Her clothes were sprawled across a chair beside the bed and her shoes were on the floor. The bed was still made up. The suitcase was open, as if someone had been rummaging through it. The others streamed in behind him, glancing around with worried expressions.

“Emma? Emma, where are you?” Zan called. He went into the bathroom, saw the empty medication bottle on the floor, and panicked. “She’s not in here, either.”

“Check the closet,” Phoebe suggested. Empty. Allen lifted up the bedspread, and searched under the bed. Nothing.

“Is anything of hers missing?” asked Moonbeam.

Zan shook his head, “Not that I can tell. It looks like all her clothes are still here. Her shoes too.”

Allen picked up the phone and dialed his father’s room. “Dad, this is Allen…sorry to wake you, but we’ve got a problem…we can’t find Emma…no, she’s not in the room…yeah, looks like she’s been here, but she’s not here now...okay, we’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Do they know where she could be?” Zan pleaded.

“No. Dad and Barbara said they got off the elevator on their floor and just assumed Emma came up to her room and went to bed. They had no idea anything was wrong.”

“Have there been any reports of anything strange tonight?” Zan turned to Jimmy.

“No, sir. Not until just a little while ago with this—uh—situation.”

“Is everything okay in here?” a bald man dressed in green pajamas stepped into the open door from the hallway. “I’m staying up in the penthouse and my wife and I heard the commotion.”

“I’m sorry if you were disturbed,” Jimmy said. “Have you heard anything unusual tonight? Within the last couple of hours, I mean.”

“Well, we did hear some banging sounds from inside the wall,” he said. “We just assumed it was pipes or something.”

“What kind of banging?” Zan asked.

“I don’t know…kind of a tapping sound, I guess. Then there was a crash and everything got quiet.”

“She’s in the wall.” Moonbeam’s eyes grew wide and she pointed toward the little door in the parlor. “She’s in there.”

Zan rushed to the door and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. He stared at Moonbeam in confusion. “That’s impossible. It’s nailed shut.”

“Yeah, look.” Allen pointed to the door. “It’s even been painted over.”

“I’m telling you, that’s where she is,” Moonbeam stated and then glared at the men.

“I think they’re right, Ma’am,” Jimmy interjected. “I’m not sure why, but I don’t think that door’s been opened in years.”

In his silent, business-like manner, the Chief reached into a hidden pocket in his buckskin shirt and unsheathed a Bowie knife with a ten-inch blade. He walked purposefully toward the door in the wall and used the knife like a pry-bar. The green painted wood splintered and cracked, along with a bead of caulk that had completed the seal. The door creaked open. Silence momentarily filled the room as everyone strained to peer into the dark interior of the wall.

Zan poked his head into the hole, but he couldn’t see anything. “Does anybody have a flashlight?”

“Here, try this.” Jimmy produced another key ring with a tiny pin light attached.

Zan took the key ring and swept the light back and forth. He gasped when he saw her, crumpled into a ball several feet inside the wall. “Oh, my God. There she is…she looks like she’s hurt….Emma!”

He tried to climb inside, but his shoulders wouldn’t fit through the opening of the debris that surrounded her. Panic greater than he’d ever known before welled in his throat. He wanted to rip the place apart—anything to hold her in his arms and know that she was safe. He tugged on a board that lay across the opening, but stopped when he felt the dust and dirt raining down from above. The cracking sound of splintering wood caused him to freeze. He didn’t want to make things worse for her. His face ashen, he turned around and shouted, “Somebody call an ambulance. Hurry!”

Jonathan and Barbara hurried into the room and saw the group huddled around the door in the wall. Sydney and Maureen Lowenstein trailed behind. “Did you find her?” Jonathan asked.

Phoebe held the telephone in one hand, nodded, and pointed toward the bedroom. “Hello…yes, we have an emergency at the Crescent Hotel….uh, it’s a woman trapped inside the wall…they can’t get her out because they’re afraid it’ll collapse on her…we don’t know her condition…I think she’s unconscious…okay…room 419…thanks.”

Turning to Zan, Phoebe said, “They’re on the way.”

Soon the room bustled with activity as other hotel guests, most of them wearing nightclothes, crowded the hallway to find out what was going on. Larry, the night maintenance man, bustled into the suite wearing a pair of overalls and carrying a toolbox. He set it down and pulled out a big torch lantern.

“Shine that light in here,” Jimmy commanded. “We need to see what’s fallen on her before we can start digging her out.”

Zan felt helpless. He wanted to rush into that hole and carry her out and never let her go, but he knew it would be too risky. He was terrified he might cause an avalanche that would do more harm. Thank God somebody had finally come with a bigger light. At least now maybe they could see what they were up against.

“Oh, man,” Larry sucked in his breath. “She’s bleedin’ pretty bad.”

“Let me see,” Zan cried. The maintenance man handed him the light and moved out of the way. “Emma, Emma—it’s Zan—can you hear me?”

Blood trickled down her arm and pooled on the floor. She was slumped to one side, her eyes were closed and her head was resting against a rotted post. Her brown hair looked wet and matted from the wound that still bled on the top of her head. The tee shirt she wore was soaked and red. He noted a big gash on her shoulder and her legs seemed to be covered with debris. She didn’t move or respond in any way.

“Oh, my God. We’ve got to get her out of there,” Zan cried.

“Mr. Fuller—please,” Jimmy touched Zan’s shoulder. He motioned for Larry to take over. “Why don’t you let us see what we can do?”

Zan stepped away from the door and gave back the flashlight. His powerlessness crushed like a heavy weight against his chest. He closed his eyes and prayed silently
Dear God, please don’t take her from me. I love her more than life itself. If I could only trade places with her, I would. Please give us another chance
.

“The paramedics are here,” someone yelled.

Two fire fighters and two EMT’s entered, carrying a portable gurney, as well as other emergency gear. Dissonance and confusion filled the room. People were everywhere, shouting and standing and pointing.

Zan endured a feeling of helplessness as he watched the emergency crew prepare to rescue her. Emma would hate this. She couldn’t stand being the center of attention. He wished she would just wake up and give them a sign she was still alive. Stricken with concern for his wife, he barely noticed the worried hugs and reassurances from friends and family. All he could think about was getting her out alive and well.

The buzz of the saw seemed surreal and distant. Zan tuned out the din around him and watched the firemen work. He hated this feeling of impotence, of not being able to help. He was a hands-on type of guy and this was like torture to him.