Sidney Sheldon's After the Darkness (16 page)

Trust.
It was a word from another life, another planet.

 

T
UESDAY MORNING DAWNED GRAY AND COLD.
Grace had barely slept. All night long, the voices haunted her:

Lenny:
Whatever happens, Grace, I love you.

John Merrivale:
Don't worry, Grace. Just do what Frank Hammond tells you and you'll be fine.

Karen:
When they catch you, they'll shoot you
,
no questions asked.

Grace didn't touch her oatmeal at breakfast.

“You need your strength,” Cora Budds told her. “Eat somethin'.”

“I can't. I'll throw up.”

The big black woman narrowed her eyes. “I ain't asking you, Grace. I'm tellin' you. You better get it together, girl. I'm putting my hide on the line for you today. We all are. Now eat.”

She's right. I can do this. I have to do it.

Grace ate.

 

“A
RE YOU SURE YOU'RE ALL RIGHT,
Grace? Perhaps you should go and lie down.”

It was noon at the children's center. The delegation of senior prison officials was due to arrive at twelve thirty. The morning had been spent tidying up desks and toys, putting up fresh artwork and generally ensuring that the facility looked its very best. If the delegation was impressed, they might raise the budget. Or at least not slash it. Grace had worked diligently as usual, but Sister Agnes was worried about her. Her complexion had been green when she arrived for work this morning. Now it had faded to a sickly off-white. A moment ago, reaching up to a high shelf to rearrange some books, she'd become dizzy and almost fainted.

“I'm fine, Sister.”

“I don't think you are fine. The infirmary ought to take a look at you.”

“No!” Grace felt her throat go dry with panic.
You can't send me to the infirmary. Not today. What if they keep me all afternoon?
She remembered what Cora said to her at breakfast. She had to pull herself together. “I'm a little dehydrated, that's all. Perhaps I could have a glass of water?”

Sister Agnes went to fetch the water. While she was gone Grace
pinched her cheeks and took some deep, calming breaths. By the time the nun returned, she looked slightly better.

From the far corner of the room, Lisa Halliday watched the scene with suspicion. “What's up with Lady Brookstein?” she asked one of the mothers, a young black woman who hadn't been at Bedford long. “She's been acting weird as shit all morning, even by her standards.”

“Wouldn't you be if you was gonna bust out of here?” said the girl. One look at Lisa's face told her she'd screwed up big-time. But by then it was too late.

“What'd you say?”

“Nothing. I was just…I don't know what I'm talking about. It's just some crazy rumors.”

Lisa Halliday put her face within an inch of the girl's. “Tell me.”

“Please. I…I shouldn'ta said nuthin'. Cora'll kill me.”

“Tell me everything or I'll make sure the warden never lets you see your kid again.”

“Please, Lisa.”

“You think I can't do it?”

The girl thought about her son, Tyrone. He was three years old, as cute and chubby as a puppy. He'd be here in a half hour, snuggling up to her, drawing pictures for her to keep in her cell.

She started to talk.

 

H
ANNAH
D
ENZEL KNITTED HER BEETLE BROWS
into one long, angry caterpillar as she led the VIPs down the hall to the children's center.

“This way, ladies and gentlemen.”

Denny did not like showing “delegations” around Bedford Hills. Today's self-important posse of politicians and police officers was as bad as all the others: the do-gooder prison visitors, the priests, the social workers, the therapists, the nuns, the whole goddamn army of meddlesome outsiders who infested her territory twice a year with their clipboards and recommendations. None of them seemed to realize that these women were vermin. That they were at Bedford Hills to be punished, not saved. It made Denny sick.

The group “oohed” and “aahed” over the children's center, scattering
among the pristine workstations and play areas. Warden McIntosh stood watching them like a proud father. Then his face changed. Grace Brookstein was hovering by one of the bookcases looking pale and ill.
Damn it.
He'd completely forgotten about Grace. The last thing he needed was to have his most notorious prisoner distracting the group's attention from the jewel in Bedford's crown.

He whispered in Hannah Denzel's ear. “Get her out of here. Quietly. She's a distraction.”

The prison guard's cruel eyes lit up. “Yes, sir.” This was more like it. Walking over to Grace, she grabbed her roughly by the arm. “Let's go, Brookstein. Back to your cell.”

“My cell? But I-I can't,” Grace stammered. “I'm working.”

“Not anymore you're not. Move it.”

Grace opened her mouth to protest but no sound came out. Panic rose up in her throat like vomit.

“Is something the matter?” Sister Agnes glided over. “Can I help?”

“No,” snapped Denny, pushing Grace toward the door. She resented the Sisters of Mercy's presence at Bedford Hills. Sister Agnes should back the fuck off to her rosary and leave the inmates to the professionals. “Warden wants this one on lockdown. And he
doesn't
want a scene.”

Grace looked pleadingly at Sister Agnes.
Help me!

The nun smiled kindly at her friend. “Don't look so woebegone, Grace. You could do with a little rest. Enjoy your afternoon off. We'll still be here tomorrow.”

Yes. And now so will I,
thought Grace. She could have wept.

 

I
T WAS THREE FORTY-FIVE BEFORE
L
ISA
Halliday was able to get out of the children's center. That slave-driving do-gooder Sister Theresa had given her a list of chores as long as her police record. Sprinting to the warden's office, she marched up to the reception desk.

“I need to see the warden,” she panted. “It's urgent.”

The receptionist looked at the surly bull dyke in front of her and stiffened. “Warden McIntosh can't see anybody today. He has a delegation—”

“Like I said. It's urgent.”

“I'm sorry,” the girl repeated. “He's not here.”

“Well, where is he?”

The receptionist's tone got frostier. “Out. He's in meetings all afternoon. Is it something I can help you with?”

“No,” Lisa said rudely. “I want the organ grinder, not the friggin' monkey.” She had to see the warden and she had to see him alone. If word got out that she was the fink who'd sold out Grace Brookstein, she'd be finished at Bedford Hills.

“Then there's nothing I can do.”

Lisa sank her great bulk down onto one of the hard chairs lining the wall.

“Fine. I'll wait.”

 

C
ORA
B
UDDS LEFT HER JOB IN
the kitchen at ten of four and hurried over to the children's center as arranged. Two mothers were saying good-bye to their kids while a single, bored guard looked on.

Cora asked one of the mothers, “Where's Grace?”

“In lockdown. Denny dragged her off hours ago. She didn't look well.”

Cora thought,
I bet she didn't. That's it, then. If Grace is in lockdown, the whole plan goes up in smoke.

She walked into the storeroom alone.
Maybe it's for the best.

 

G
RACE SAT ON HER BUNK, STARING
into space. She was too drained to cry. It was over. God knew when she'd have a chance to try again. Maybe not for years. Years in which whoever killed Lenny would be out there, free, happy, unpunished. The thought was unbearable.

Mindlessly, she looked at the clock on the wall: 3:55…4:00…4:05…The truck would be there by now. Cora would be loading it, alone, wondering what had happened.

At 4:08, Grace heard the jangle of keys in the lock. Karen's shift must have ended early. At least
she'd
be pleased the escape plan had failed. The door swung open.

“Get up.” Denny's eyes blazed with spite. She'd been brooding all
day over Sister Agnes's words to Grace.
Enjoy your afternoon off.
As if this were some sort of summer camp! There were no
afternoons off
at Bedford Hills. “You missed four hours of work detail this afternoon, you sneaky little bitch. Thought you were on vacation, did you? A free pass?”

Grace said meekly, “No, ma'am.”

“Good. Because there are no fucking vacations in A Wing. Not while I'm in charge. You can make up those work hours, starting right now. Get your ass over to the children's center and start scrubbing the floors.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“When you've finished, do it again. And you can forget about eating tonight. You stay on that floor, scrubbing, till I come for you, understand?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“MOVE!”

Grace bolted out of the cell and started running down the corridor. Denny watched her go, a slow smile of satisfaction spreading across her face.

She had no idea that Grace was running for her life.

 

C
ORA
B
UDDS HAD ALMOST FINISHED LOADING
the crates.

The truck driver grumbled, “I thought there was gonna be two of yous? I'da brought another guy if I'd known.”

Cora shrugged. “Life's a bitch, ain't it?” It was already dark in the cramped courtyard backing on to the children's center storeroom. The temperature was below zero, but the biting wind made it feel even colder. The boxes were small, about two feet square. Looking at them, Cora couldn't imagine how Grace had ever thought she was gonna squeeze herself inside one. They were also heavy. Their weight, combined with the finger-numbing cold, made the work slow going.

“Sorry I'm late.”

Grace stood shivering in the lamplight. Still in her skirt and thin cotton blouse, she was ridiculously underdressed for the winter evening. The wind sliced into her skin like razor blades. Cora Budds's eyes widened in surprise but she said nothing.

The driver looked pissed. “Are you kidding me? This is your number two? She couldn't lift a cup of coffee, never mind a crate of clay.”

“Sure she can,” said Cora. “You can leave it to us now.”

“Fine by me.” The driver climbed back into the welcoming warmth of the cab. “One of you ladies give me the nod when you're done.”

Back in the storeroom, Cora and Grace worked quickly. Sister Agnes or one of the guards could come back any minute. Cora pulled Grace's documents out of the pocket in her jumpsuit, stuffing them into Grace's bra. There were four fake IDs with matching credit cards, a slip of paper with an anonymous Hotmail address on it and a small wad of cash.

“Karen has a friend on the outside who'll wire you more money with Western Union when you need it. Just e-mail an amount, the zip code you're in and the initials of the fake ID you're using, and this person will do the rest. Take this, too.” She handed Grace a silver stiletto. “You never know.”

Grace stared at the blade in her palm for a second, hesitating, then slipped it into her shoe. Cora pried open the lid of one of the crates, emptying its contents at lightning speed. Somehow the box looked even smaller when it was empty.

Cora said, “I don' think it's possible, Grace. A cat couldn't fit in there.”

Grace smiled. “It's possible. I was a gymnast when I was younger. Watch.”

Cora watched in awe as Grace climbed into the box, ass first, folding her tiny limbs around herself like a double-jointed spider. “Girl, that looks painful.” She winced. “You sure you're okay?”

“It's not exactly first-class travel, but I'll live. Try the lid. Am I in?”

Cora tried it. Easy. About an inch to spare. She levered it open again. “You're in. I'm gonna load the rest of 'em now. I'll put you three rows back, so you're hidden at the checkpoint, but leave the lid loose so you got some air.”

“Thanks.”

“Sit tight till you get through the checkpoint. Once you're outta here, soon as the truck stops, you jump.”

“Got it. Thanks, Cora. For everything.”

Good luck
,
Amazing Grace.

Cora Budds replaced the lid and carried Grace out into the darkness.

 

W
ARDEN
M
C
I
NTOSH EYED
L
ISA
H
ALLIDAY SUSPICIOUSLY.

“This had better not be some sort of scam.”

“It ain't.”

“Grace Brookstein is in lockdown. She's been in her cell since lunchtime. Besides, A-Wing prisoners never work on deliveries. Sister Agnes knows the policy.”

“Sister Agnes don't know her pussy from her paternoster.”

“That's enough!” the warden snapped. “I won't have you disrespecting our voluntary staff.”

“Look. You don't wanna check the truck? Fine. Don't check it. Jus' don' say I didn't warn you.”

Warden McIntosh did not want to check the truck. It had been a long day. He wanted to finish up his paperwork and get home to his wife. But he knew he had no choice.

“All right, Lisa. Leave it with me.”

 

T
HE DARKNESS WAS DISORIENTING
. G
RACE HEARD
the rear doors of the truck slam shut. For a moment fear gripped her:
I'm trapped!
But then she relaxed, forcing herself to take slow, even breaths. It was uncomfortable, coiled inside the crate like a marionette, but she could bear the position. The cold, on the other hand, was debilitating. Limb by limb, Grace felt her body start to go numb. Her head ached violently, as if she'd just sunk her teeth into an ice cube.