Jeff Strand: Graverobbers Wanted: No Experience Necessary

Chapter 4

I PUT MY serious drinking days behind me after I got married, but in college I'd found myself awakening in the occasional weird location. The meat display at a grocery store springs to mind, not to mention seven-and-a-half toilet stalls (the Morning of the Urinal was not one of my finer moments).

However, no matter how intoxicated I was on any given night, I'd never before woke up in a situation as unappealing as being tied to a chair with a burlap sack over my head, which is where I was now. My arms were tied behind my back with a thick, itchy rope, and the sack effectively prevented me from seeing any of my surroundings.

"Anyone here?"I asked after struggling with the rope for a few seconds.

No answer. Behind me I thought I could hear whispering, but it was so faint that I could neither make out words, nor a voice.

"Hey, it's me, the guy tied to the chair," I called out. "Somebodywanna talk to me?"

Silence.

"Come on, people, let's get a little verbal communication going here," I said, doing a miraculous job of keeping the terror out of my voice. "My wife gets a really stinky attitude when I let somebody besides her tie me up, so we need to get this over with. Where's Roger?"

"He's fine," Jennifer replied. Her voice was coming from at least twenty feet away, and she'd obviously been doing a lot of crying. "Andrew, listen to me. You need to forget about everything that's happened tonight."

"You'vegotta be kidding! I'm going to have a phobia of digging up coffins for the rest of my natural life!"

"I'm serious! If you want to live, you can't go to the police! You have to pretend that you never met me, and that this never happened."

"Let me talk to Roger, make sure he's really okay, and maybe we'll have a deal."

Jennifer began to sob, a sound that was quickly muffled. The next sound I heard was that of footsteps walking slowly toward me. Each footstep was accompanied by a creaking sound, as if from wooden floorboards.

Cold sweat ran down my sides as the person stopped directly behind me. There was dead silence for a long moment, during which I held my breath and squeezed my eyes tightly shut, half expecting a bullet to explode through the back of my head.

Something struck me. Not a bullet, a fist. My head jerked forward from the blow, but it wasn't a punch meant to do real damage. Then an open palm slapped my right ear, hard.

I didn't say anything as I nervously awaited the next strike, but it didn't come. Instead, I felt the tip of a knife blade slide underneath the burlap and scrape gently across my throat, not hard enough to break the skin but certainly hard enough to earn my frightened attention.

"I need to know that he's okay," I said.

The blade swirled around in a figure-eight, and then was removed. The person didn't step away.

"This would be a lot less awkward if you would say something. I thought people like you always had those voice disguiser gizmos."

No response.

"Look, I assure you that your whole intimidation thing has been a rousing success! I'm scared! I'll play along with your little game to keep you from slamming that knife through my neck! But you've got to give me some kind of proof that Roger is still alive."

I let out a grunt of pain as my captor punched me in the face.

"That wasn't proof," I explained.

Another punch, not entirely unexpected.I decided to shut up and let things run their natural course.

Whoever it was stood in front of me, motionless.I could hear nothing but a very soft breathing and Jennifer's muffled crying in the background. Finally, after about a minute, the person walked back to her.

Jennifer's sobs could suddenly be more easily heard—clearly she'd beenungagged . "Please, Andrew," she begged. "You have to promise that you won't involve the police."

I had to fight tears of my own as I realized that Roger was probably dead. I mean, was I really supposed to believe that I could just say "Scout's Honor" and be released? Even if my captor really did intend to let me go, nobody could be stupid enough to trust that I would simply return to my everyday life as if nothing had happened, not without proof that Roger was still alive.

"Okay, listen, Mystery Guest, you want the key, right? I'll give you the key. It's right here in my pocket. I don't want it. Take it."

I thought I heard a snort of laughter.

"Okay, so, you probably already took the key. I'm sort of stuck working with nothing but context clues here, so cut me some slack. If you've got the key, there's no reason to keep Roger. I don't know who you are and I don't care, so just free us and go unlock whatever it is you want to unlock!"

"Andrew, be quiet!" shouted Jennifer. "I have to read you a message. Pay attention. It says `Your friend is alive, and if you ever want to see him again you won't go to the police. If you so much as look at acop, believe me, he will die and he will die slowly. Do you understand?'"

"Yes, I understand," I said.

I listened to thescratchings of pencil on paper for a few seconds, and then Jennifer began to read again. "`Do not test me, or your friend will end up like'...oh God no...!"

Jennifer let out a shriek of terror, which was cut off by the sound of a knife slamming into flesh. I'd never heard that sound before, but there was no mistaking it for anything other than what it was. Jennifer began making gasping and gurgling noises as the knife fell again and again.

After the final plunge of the knife, the room fell silent except for the sound of dripping. My ears were ringing and my fists were clenched so tightly together that my fingernails were digging into the skin.

Then the killer began to walk toward me again.

I was so frightened I couldn't even blurt out a promise to keep quiet. The knife slid back underneath the burlap and moved across my throat the same way as before, this time slick with warm blood. A drop ran down my chest. I sucked in a deep breath as the tip poked a pinprick hole in my skin.

The knife moved away. I heard the sound of a cap being removed from a bottle, and then my nostrils burned as a chloroform-soaked rag was shoved against my face. Everything went blurry, and I returned to the wonderful world of unconsciousness.

I WOKE UP in a ditch. There are much worse places to wake up, such as tied to a chair with a burlap sack over your head in a room with a brutal killer, but it's still not the most delightful waking experience. I was lying on my side in the mud, with a nice sharp stick poking me in the thigh.

To my great surprise, Roger was there as well. I could barely see him in the dark, but he was lying on his back with his eyes closed.

I sat up, letting out a small groan as my brain neglected to rise with the rest of my body. I reached over and prodded Roger's ankle. "Roger...?"

He moaned something that was probably "Huh?"

"You alive?"

"I don't know yet. I doubt it."

I pulled up my sleeve, but the face of my light-up wristwatch had been shattered so I couldn't tell what time it was. Since it was still dark, Helen wouldn't be off work and wouldn't have the entire police force looking for me yet.

"Do you think you can walk?" I asked.

"Ask me in a few minutes," he said, though I could barely hear him. "I'm still working on whether or not I'm alive."

I got to a standing position, nearly losing my balance as my legs tried to give way beneath me, then stepped over to where Roger lay. I reached down and offered my hand. "Come on, we need to get out of here."

I pulled him to his feet. The arrow had been removed and his leg had been tightly wrapped with a cloth. "There's no way I can walk on my own," he said. "But I know how much you like it when I lean against you, so if you'll be a pal and keep me steady I can probably come with you to civilization." He glanced around the area. "Wherever the hell that may be."