Greg Iles - The Devils Punchbowl

“I'm burning up. But that’s not the worst part.”

“What’s the matter?”

“He’s been doing it to me. Quinn.”

“Doing it?”

“Raping me. He started last night. He’s done it so much that I'm getting a UTI. It hurts so bad when I have to pee, and I shiver all over afterward.”

“Did you tell Quinn that?”

“He gave me some pills he said would help. Antibiotics. They’re for dogs, I think, but he said it’s all the same. But they'’re not helping. If it gets any worse, I don'’t know what I'’ll do. I stopped drinking water so I won'’t have to pee.”

“You can’t do that, Linda. You have to drink. You’ll die if you don'’t.”

“I'm going to die anyway. They’ll never let me out of here alive. He’s going to use me till he’s tired of me, then feed me to the dogs. He told me.”

Fear and outrage rush through Caitlin in a flood. “That'’s not going to happen. Listen to me, Linda. We’re getting out of here!”

“How? Does anybody know where you are?”

Caitlin doesn’'t want to admit the truth, but she can’t bring herself to lie. “No.”

“Then how are we going to get out? There’s dogs outside this kennel. Bulldogs and something else too. Big dogs. They don'’t even leave men to guard me most of the time. They don'’t have to. It’s twenty feet to the fence. Even if you could get out of here, they’d tear you to pieces before you got to it.”

“Is that what this building is? A kennel?”

“Uh-huh. You’re in a regular room like an office. But the rest of it’s just two lines of fenced stalls with an aisle between. There’s cats in one stall down by the door. That'’s it.”

“That helps. The more I know, the better chance we have. I'’ll think of something. You just drink your water and try to stay strong. Maybe the antibiotics will start to work. I know the bladder infection hurts. I’'ve had those myself. But you listen to me, girl. We are

getting out of here.

Do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Say it, Linda.”

“We’re getting out.”

“Say it like you believe it.”

“I'm sorry. My throat hurts. Did they put a collar on you?”

“What?”

“A dog collar.”

“No.”

“They’ve got a dog collar on me, and it’s chained to a post. He only takes it off when he does it to me.”

Jesus Christ.

“If you’re going to do something, please do it quick.”

Caitlin thinks frantically. “Are we by ourselves now? Did they really leave?”

“I think so.”

“I'm sure I can get these bars off the window.”

“No! Don’t do that! You’ll draw the dogs. They could jump through that window if they tried.”

“Okay, okay, I won'’t.” Caitlin looks around her cell again, then lifts her gaze to the cheap tin roof. “What about the roof? Do you

care if I try to get part of that open? Then I could get up on top and see what’s out there.”

After a brief silence, Linda says, “I guess that’s okay. Just don'’t fall off.”

Caitlin flexes her hands, then takes hold of the window bars at shoulder height. With a mighty effort, she leans back and starts walking her feet up the wall, first to chest level, then past the window.

Skinning the cat,

they called it when she was a kid. Surprised she can still manage the maneuver, she keeps stretching and extending until her bare feet reach the edge of the low-lying ceiling, then begins kicking. By the fourth kick she’s put a dent in the tin, but soon she has to unwind and drop back to the floor, panting and rubbing her hands. She’s not sure how long she can keep it up, but she’s pretty sure a roofing nail has started to lift out of the two-by-four at the top of the wall.

CHAPTER

48

Today will be Annie’s first day back at St. Stephen’s, and she seems a little uncertain as we coast down the long drive of the school. I'm not exactly at peace myself. Despite my cease-fire agreement with Jonathan Sands, I’'ve warned the headmaster and security guard to be on the lookout for strangers on the campus, and not to be shy about calling 911 if they see any. Chief Logan has prepped the dispatcher to send two squad cars to St. Stephen’s with sirens blaring if there’s even a hint of trouble.

“Are you all right?” I ask, glancing over to the passenger seat. “You seem quiet.”

“I had another dream.”

“What about?” I ask, easing the car right, toward the middle school.

“Caitlin again.”

I glance at Annie, but she keeps her eyes focused forward. “Was it bad or good?”

“Bad.”

“Will you tell me what it was?”

Her face tightens with indecision, but then she says, “I dreamed Mom was alive again.”

This surprises me, since Annie was only four when Sarah died and has few clear memories of her. “What happened in it?”

“I don'’t want to say. It was creepy.”

“Everybody has creepy dreams sometimes.”

“Well, we went to visit Mom’s grave, like we’ve done before, but Mom was

with

us. And the thing is…the creepy thing…”

“It’s all right, baby.”

“

Caitlin

was the one who was gone. In Mom’s grave. And Mom was with us, looking down at the stone.”

Sensing that Annie is really disturbed, I pull onto the grassy shoulder of the driveway and put the Saab in park. Cars loaded with children glide past, then slow and empty their charges at the door of the middle school.

“Maybe you dreamed that because of the talk we had last night. What do you think?”

“I don'’t know. It’s just that the last time I dreamed about Caitlin, me and Gram ended up having to hide out of town.”

I pat her knee, then squeeze it reassuringly. “That didn't have anything to do with your dream. That was something to do with my work.”

She looks skeptically at me for a while. “Did you talk to her about what we said last night?”

“A little bit. We’re going to talk some more today, I think.”

“You think? Or you know?”

“We’re not sure yet. Sometimes big things like this take a little time to work out.”

She looks down at the glove box and nods with quick assertiveness, as though she knows her voice will crack if she speaks while looking at me. “Did you tell her I wanted her to be my mom?”

“Did you want me to?”

“Did you?”

I sigh in resignation, knowing she can outlast me at this game. “No. I didn't.”

“Good. I'm worried it might scare her.”

“No, no. Why would you think that?”

“Well, she’s going to want her own babies and stuff. She may not want to think of herself as my mom.”

Annie’s fear of rejection brings tears to my eyes. I squeeze her hand. “I'’ll tell you a secret. I think Caitlin’s always wanted to be your mom.”

Annie looks up at me and blinks three times, her eyes wide and vulnerable. “Really?”

“She’s tried to do all the things Mom would have done, if she’d lived. I think Caitlin worries that you’ll think she’s trying to take Mom’s place.”

Annie’s mouth falls open. “But I don'’t think that!”

As perceptive as she is sometimes, it surprises me that Annie doesn’'t see the relationship of her dream to what’s happening in our lives. “Well, that’s the hard part about these kinds of situations. People are scared to say what they really feel, and sometimes they wait too long to do it.”

“Have you done that? Waited too long?”

“I don'’t know. I don'’t think so. I think we’re going to get everything worked out.”