Kevin O'Brien - One Last Scream

Annabelle listened to Sandra crying in the fallout shelter, but the sound was muffled. She laid the towel by the big, heavy door, then sat down on it. “Sandra? Can you hear me okay?”

There was a gasp, and then she cried out, “Who’s there? Is somebody there?”

“It’s me, Annabelle,” she called to her. “Listen, I can’t talk long-”

“Get me out of here! Please, please, you have to help me….”

Why do they always say the same thing? she wondered, fanning at her toes and blowing on them so her nail polish dried faster. Just like Gina, and all the others. She let Sandra scream and beg for another minute, and then finally interrupted her. “Listen, I can’t spring you out of there right now. It’s just too dangerous. But I’ll help you. I promise, you won’t have to stay in there long-”

“No! You have to get me out of here now ! Please, Annabelle, I want to go home, please!”

It was nice, the way Sandra called her by name. Annabelle leaned against the door. “Hey, Sandra? Please don’t be mad at me for this, okay? He forced me to do it. But I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“I’m not mad at you,” she said, her voice still full of panic. “In fact, my parents will give you money if you help me. I’m sure of it. They’re rich….”

Annabelle frowned. The offer of money was nice, sure. But an offer of friendship would have been better. She had this notion about killing her father and helping Sandra escape. Of course, then she’d have to go on the run. But she’d already planned for that. For several months now, she’d drawn money out of her father’s account with forged checks and the occasional trip with one of his credit cards to the ATM at Sherry’s Corner. So far, she’d stashed away over three thousand dollars. There was also her mother’s jewelry, and a silver service that belonged to her grandparents. Annabelle figured she had about six or seven grand worth of crap around the house that she could hock.

She imagined, after several days in captivity, Sandra would bond with her. And if she helped Sandra escape, Sandra would do the same for her. Like in Thelma and Louise , life on the lam with her new best friend would be an adventure. She and Sandra already looked alike. People would probably mistake them for sisters, or even twins. That would be nice.

“Sandra, I left you something in there,” she said. “That stuff he used to knock you out, it’s chloroform, and sometimes it burns your face. I knew he’d be using it tonight, so I left you a little jar of Noxzema under that old rag in the corner. It’ll help soothe the irritation. I left some chewing gum there, too.”

He always starved them for the first twenty-four hours. The promise of food and water always made them more cooperative, especially after an initial bout with true hunger. Some of them were probably even grateful to get the cat food.

“Annabelle, I really, really want to go home. He hurt me. I’m in pain….” She started crying again. “I miss my momand dad. Please, please, help me….”

Annabelle let her cry for a few moments. “I’ll help you escape, Sandra,” she said, finally. “But it’s impossible tonight. Just hang in there, okay? And listen, if I get you out, I can’t possibly stay here. You’ll have to help me get away. Can you do that? Do you promise to help me make a clean break and go start somewhere else?”

“Yes, of course!” Sandra answered, almost too quickly. “I promise. I’ll do anything you want. Just get me out of here! Please…”

“Sandra?” she said, her face pressed against the crack in the big door.

“Yes?”

“Earlier tonight, you asked me to go to the movie with you,” Annabelle said. “Were you just inviting me out of politeness, because I was giving you a ride? Or did you really want to hang out with me? Because I’m not sure if I fit in with your friends-”

“Oh, no, I–I wanted you to come with us,” Sandra replied. “I wasn’t just being polite. I like you, Annabelle. You seem very nice.” But the tone of her voice smacked of desperation, as if her life depended on giving the right answer.

And, of course, it did.

With a sigh, Annabelle got to her feet and gathered up the bath towel. “I need to go now,” she said. “I don’t want him to know we’re in cahoots-”

“No, God, please, don’t go. Annabelle, don’t leave me here…please….” Sandra started pounding on the other side of the door.

Annabelle turned away. She reached up and pulled the string to the overhead light in the furnace room. Standing in the darkness, she listened to Sandra Hartman begging her to stay and talk just a little longer.

It felt kind of nice.

Wenatchee, Washington-three years later

SEARCH CONTINUES FOR MISSING MOSES LAKE WOMAN said the headline near the bottom of page 3 of the Columbia Basin Herald for October 21, 1992.

Karen had found it almost by accident. She’d been at the Wenatchee library for forty-five minutes now, scanning microfiche files, moving backward from February 1993. She was searching for a news story, but didn’t quite know what kind of headline to expect, maybe something like Child Snatcher Shot Dead or Dramatic Rescue Reveals Waitress-Killer.

So far, she hadn’t come up with anything, except a slight crick in her neck from all the tension. She tried not to rush through the files, but after scanning the headlines on the first five pages of every edition for two months, she started skipping days. Karen kept reminding herself that she wasn’t in any hurry. Amelia was supposed to meet her here in an hour.

She hadn’t heard back from Jessie, yet. Nor had George phoned with an update. Most surprising of all, Detective Peyton hadn’t returned her call. And so far, she hadn’t found a damn thing in the Moses Lake newspaper files, until now.

There was a photograph of the missing woman: a thin, pale-looking blonde with big eyes and short, curly hair. Karen read the caption: “Kristen Marquart, 22, was last seen leaving work at The Friendly Fajita on Broadway in Moses Lake last Wednesday night.”

According to the article, Kristen’s car was still in the restaurant parking lot the following day. Investigators determined the car had been tampered with, but they didn’t say exactly how. Kristen, a graduate of Eastern Washington University, had been missing for a week when the article was written.

Karen saw the second-to-last paragraph, and grimaced. “Oh, God, here it is,” she murmured to herself.

Kristen Marquart’s disappearance is the most recent in a rash of missing person cases in the Columbia Basin area, all young women. In August, Juliet Iverson, 20, vanished while picnicking with friends at Soap Lake. In March, Othello resident Lizbeth Strouss, 24, disappeared after finishing her night shift at a convenience store. Earlier in March, Eileen Sessions, 27, of Moses Lake vanished after dropping off her two children at day care. After 17 days, her remains were discovered near a hiking trail in Potholes State Park forest near the Potholes Reservation.

Four women had vanished in eight months, and the authorities didn’t have any suspects. Karen had been hoping to find a story like this, and now that she’d found it, she felt horrible. These women weren’t just part of some puzzle. They were real.

And it seemed even more likely now that Amelia’s birth father was a monster.

Karen wondered if he’d abducted and killed any more young women before moving to Salem. Or had Kristen Marquart been the last?

Staring at the screen in front of her, Karen realized she must have scanned past the news story about Lon Schlessinger shooting the neighbor who had allegedly molested Amelia. That neighbor was also blamed for the murder of a waitress. Was the murdered waitress Kristen?