The Follower Read online

  ‘Today’s a big day. I’m giving you the opportunity of a lifetime.’ Was it a smile or a smirk that twisted across her face?

  Julie held back a sneer of contempt. Whatever ‘opportunity’ this woman offered wasn’t likely to be to her advantage. She had to get her emotions under control but she couldn’t speak, could only sit there, slack-jawed, attempting to force her vocal cords into an appropriately respectful reply, but nothing would come.

  ‘I’m going to let you prove yourself to me today. You keep asking me to trust you and now I have a task that will show me if I can. Don’t ruin it, girl, or you will never get such a chance again.’

  Julie held her breath, waiting for the woman to get to the point. Her nausea had subsided but her belly had started to bulge in earnest; she had no time for long-range plans anymore. Any chance could be her last.

  She’d learned her role well, however, and bowed her head deferentially.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  The room was silent for a moment. Then the woman finally unveiled her plans.

  ‘We’re going to move this console out of here.’

  Julie’s head jerked up in shock.

  She was going to leave this room.

  The one thing she knew for sure was that they’d never get her back in it alive. The thrill of it overwhelmed her as hot patches erupted all over her body and beads of sweat popped out on her flushed face, but she held her expression in check. She must not show anything, she would be a blank slate, a vessel, a projection screen for whatever crazy notion this woman had of her that led to this moment of inexplicable trust.

  She would figure out the rest later. Right now, she had to get across that threshold.

  ‘Now, don’t get any ideas. I’ve worked it all out.’ She examined the console, seeming to note its true dimensions as if for the first time.

  It was enormous, alarmingly so to Julie. That heavy wooden cabinet was unexpectedly the key to her destiny, yet what if they couldn’t carry it? She reassured herself, remembering the stories she’d heard of people developing superhuman strength in times of disaster, lifting cars off loved ones, fighting off bears, scaling rocky cliffs. If this wasn’t an emergency, she didn’t know what was. She needed her miracle. She deserved her miracle.

  The woman sighed. ‘This won’t be easy but I think we can do it.’

  Julie nodded slowly, hoping the woman couldn’t see the fire burning in her eyes.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ she managed to choke out. She felt as if a fever had come on. Everything inside her started rushing at once, rivers of blood flowed, brain waves crashed, synapses fired off like lightning, riptides of cells exploded against one another.

  ‘Hold still,’ the woman was saying from someplace far away.

  A sudden tightness at her ankle forced her out of her haze enough to look down. That bitch was knotting the rope and winding it around and around her leg, tugging at it hard enough to constrict the blood flow. So that was her plan. No matter, Julie would overcome these obstacles. Nothing would stop her, she thought, transfixed as she watched the rope dip around her calf for its fifth circle.

  Then Julie realized the true scope of it. She was tying them together.

  She suddenly felt sick again for the first time in days, but she swallowed her bile. There was no time for weakness. The other end of the rope was already wrapped halfway up the woman’s calf, tied at the end with a strangely intricate knot. They were joined together all right. Irrevocably so.

  That could only mean one thing then. Julie would simply have to break out with a dead weight attached. Fine, she would render that woman unconscious one way or another, and then, if she had to, she’d drag her fat, inert body behind her until she found a phone or made it down the driveway into the road where she could hail passersby. Julie would haul her carcass until her skin ripped off in shreds, all the way to the nearest town. There had to be people somewhere nearby. Someone would help her.

  Apparently satisfied that they were secured together with a length of rope between them, the woman pushed Julie toward the most important object that ever existed, positioning her so that she would be the one backing down the stairs, bearing most of the weight. Julie accepted her lot with joy though, eager to begin.

  The top edge of the console cabinet jutted out by about three inches. Julie slid her fingers awkwardly underneath it in a weak grip that made her hands ache. It would have to do.

  ‘One, two, three, up,’ the woman uttered, as they heaved in unison. The set rose a mere two inches off the ground. It was obviously heavier than either had expected but they could just manage it in quick baby steps, stopping to rest every few feet.

  By the time they reached the door, Julie was panting from the effort of lugging it the six short paces across the room.

  Superhuman strength, she chanted inwardly.

  The woman pulled the key out of a patch pocket on her pants, and then there it was: the door, open.

  The dark hallway gaped outside of it, beckoning her. And further on, she could see the top step disappearing into empty air.

  Oh, God, the stairs.

  They were the most beautiful things Julie had ever seen, those stairs covered in their worn red floral carpet, that oak banister that traced the route to her freedom. Her eyes could hardly bear the glory of them.

  ‘Don’t get excited, girl,’ the woman said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Remember.’ She lifted up her leg.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Julie said softly, turning her head so the woman wouldn’t see the determination on her face.

  ‘Back it out slowly,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll count each step so we stay in sync. No mistakes.’

  Julie nodded. Her right foot crossed the threshold first and she took another step back into paradise. She couldn’t help but close her eyes, the pleasure was so overwhelming.

  She was outside the room.

  If only she could stand there for a moment, savoring the deliciousness of it. But there was no time. She had to keep moving. And she had to calm down. The woman was right, don’t get excited. Don’t blow it.

  How would she do it though? She could tell from their work that the woman was twice as strong as she was. Julie would lose any physical confrontation. She’d need a weapon.

  ‘One, two, three, step,’ came the woman’s singsong voice, guiding them down the stairs.

  Julie pretended to look behind, judging her next steps, as she desperately tried to get a glance at what waited at the bottom. She knew the kitchen was below, but her memory of its layout from the night of her abduction was foggy, and she wanted to see if there was something within reach, a knife, a hammer, a cast-iron frying pan. Anything that could do the deed. But all she could see was the landing where the stairwell turned, the kitchen still out of sight.

  As they carefully lowered the set down the stairs, most of its weight settled on Julie’s upper arms, shoulders and back. Her whole body shook from the strain, and pain clouded her thoughts. She needed a plan but it was impossible to think like this.

  When they reached the turn, Julie was pinned to the red-papered wall with barely room to breathe, her stomach pressed hard against the bottom edge of the console. Sweat dripped down her face and her chest heaved as she gulped at the air. She slid to the right, and a framed photograph toppled off the wall over her shoulder, landing in the corner beside her, face up, balanced against the molding.

  ‘Leave it,’ the woman barked.

  Julie didn’t touch it, but she thought for a second she’d seen a spark of encouragement glint in the eyes of the young woman staring out at her from the sepia-toned picture beneath the cracked glass. Julie took it as a sign.

  Ripping her gaze away from the image, her eyes slid over slightly to the rope that bound them together. It was too long for its task and had trailed behind them as they’d come down the stairs. Now the bulk of it had slid down in a pool on top of her feet. If she took one wrong step or moved a little too quickly, she would topple over and the set would
come crashing down on her. After all she’d been through, what if it ended like this, in a freak accident, her insides crushed by a hunk of junk from 1965?

  That’s when she had the idea.

  ‘Can we – can we rest for just a moment, ma’am? I can’t – I need to get my bearings.’ The words came out at a staccato pace between sharp breaths.

  ‘Okay.’ The woman needed to stop too. She placed the edge of the set several steps up from where Julie stood. Putting her hands on her hips, she stretched her back, her elbows pinned behind her like a resting butterfly. She panted too but was much less winded than Julie.

  Julie didn’t get much of a break even then, because she was still bearing the weight of her end. She placed one foot on the step and balanced the console on her bent knee for a moment, then lifted it back up to ease the strain on her leg.

  Then she went into action. Without taking her eyes off the woman’s face, she slid her other foot under the rope, and twirled it around her ankle until there was only a foot or so of slack left in the line. The fates were going to have to decide this one, but Julie wagered they’d be on her side.

  ‘Enough resting. Let’s go. When we get it out of the house, we’ll put it in the trunk of the car. I left it open.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  The woman lifted her end and tightened her grip, her knuckles going white. Julie did the same, easing her way down a few more steps, her eyes glued to the woman’s graceless feet. When the woman had taken the first step off the landing, Julie yanked her entwined foot hard, pushed the console up as much as she could over the banister and threw herself backward down the stairs.

  Two birds, one stone.

  Both women tumbled down and Julie’s world switched abruptly into slow motion. The red walls blurred with black-and-white checks and bare skin. A crash of breaking glass filled her ears as the console landed and shattered somewhere on the hard floor behind her. Searing pain shot through her back and up her spine just before her head hit the ground and bounced back up from the impact. Something spurted down her face.

  She reached up to assess the damage, but before her hand touched her skin, everything went dark.

  CHAPTER 33

  Cora was awakened by a loud knocking sound that rang in her ears, the pounding echoing in her head as if a thousand tiny hammers were pummeling her skull from the inside. She forced herself to open her eyes. Everything was bathed in a milky haze, her focus fluctuating in and out. She squinted and at last saw the ceiling fan spinning above her.

  The knocking again. She couldn’t tell if it was inside her head or out. And then it dawned on her.

  It was the door. Someone was at the door.

  Cora lifted herself off the floor, but her back seized up and she flopped down like a fish on the dock. Then she realized that her skin was stinging in a hundred different places. Her temple throbbed from within but little specks of pain tingled on the outside too. She raised her hand to it, and pulled it back to see that it was covered in small shards of glass.

  What had happened? Where was she?

  Then the memories floated back slowly. They’d fallen somehow.

  With great effort, she turned her head. Sprawled out on the kitchen floor a few feet away was the girl, still unconscious, thank God, and in between them, her precious collectible, utterly destroyed. The picture tube had shattered, revealing a myriad of valves and wires. Even the wooden frame was askew, splintered in part to reveal the particleboard crumbling on the edges.

  It was over. She’d never raise the two hundred and fifty dollars now. James would kill her.

  She let her head fall back to the floor.

  The knocking again.

  Oh, yes, someone was at the door. What would she do?

  Her first thought was to lie perfectly still, to do nothing until they went away. But her car was out front with the trunk open. They’d know she was home, and it was likely some interfering person who would be worried for her safety. They might break in to save her, or, worse, call the cops. Unless it was the cops.

  Either way, she had to answer it.

  She was lucky she’d taken the extra precaution of locking the front door with the key. Lucky the girl hadn’t been the one to wake up. The visitor, whoever it was, could have simply walked into this scene and everything would have been over.

  Her heart pounded against the walls of her chest as she thought of all the possible permutations. How could she have taken this chance? All because James couldn’t manage his money. This was his fault.

  Those thoughts were for later. First she had to get through this.

  ‘Hold on,’ she yelled out weakly. ‘Be right there.’

  Her heart was racing as she forced herself to a sitting position. She held her head in her hands, grimacing from the pain. Her right arm was starting to swell. She must have sprained something, but nothing felt broken. She’d be sore for a while but she wasn’t dead. Not until James got back, anyway.

  She turned over, crawled to the edge of the table as far as the rope that joined them would reach, and pulled herself up slowly.

  A voice spoke to her from the other side of the door.

  ‘It’s me, Ellie Rainey. From the diner? I tried to call but the phone was disconnected. I brought some chicken soup for Mrs. Johnson.’

  Cora froze. She couldn’t move, couldn’t answer. But she knew she had to.

  ‘Everything okay in there?’ came the voice again.

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s fine. Just a moment.’

  Cora forced herself to stand up straight, despite the resistance of every muscle in her body. The console would have to stay where it was for now, but she had to get the girl out of here. She glanced up at the stairs, imagining dragging her limp body all the way up. It would take too long, and she wasn’t sure she could manage it with her wrist like it was. She’d have to put her in the pantry for now. And then hope.

  She crossed over to the girl and placed two fingers on her neck. Her pulse beat weakly but she was alive. Cora felt a rush of relief, even though she knew it might have been better for her in the long run if the girl had died in the fall.

  She slid her hands under the girl’s arms and heaved her seemingly lifeless form toward the pantry. It was only five feet away but in her state it seemed like a million miles. Plus, they had to pass by a gap in the curtain of the front-door window. If this nosy woman dared to take a peek, well, Cora would have a major problem on her hands.

  One foot behind the other. She had to make it there. She lifted the girl up higher in her arms, pressing her head to her breast. The girl rolled her sagging head, moaning softly.

  ‘Shut up, shut up,’ Cora whispered, hoping she had trained her enough to fear the sound of her voice.

  The girl was a total dead weight. Even in her emaciated state, she was heavier than Cora had expected.

  She sighed and inspected the route along the floor behind her. There was no choice but to lug her through some of the glass. Hopefully a few more cuts and scrapes wouldn’t wake her.

  One foot behind the other.

  Just as she reached the pantry door, the interloper knocked again, gently this time at least.

  ‘Are you sure everything is okay? Should I call for help? Do you need—’

  ‘No,’ Cora barked, then softened her tone. ‘It’s fine. I’ve just got to run something up to Mrs. Johnson. Five minutes.’

  She hauled the girl into the pantry closet. She didn’t fit lengthwise, so Cora folded her over and rolled her onto her side, her back slumped up against the large jars of pickles along the bottom shelf. The pantry had only a heavy cloth curtain but at least it touched the floor. She would be concealed for now, but this was a very temporary solution. She had to hope for the best.

  Cora sat on the floor just outside the curtain, her fingers flying over the knot pressing into her leg. She’d expected to be able to cut it off, but she’d left the shears upstairs. She tugged at the rope, but the knot seemed to get tighter the more she fooled with it
.

  She flipped open the curtain and scanned the pantry. Wasn’t there something? Her eyes lit upon a pair of scissors on the top shelf, propped up in a can jammed full of kitchen tools. She dragged the stool in the corner closer to her. The rope held her fast though. She couldn’t reach it. She was six inches shy.

  She climbed down and pulled the girl’s legs closer to the ladder, then mounted it again. The handles of the scissors were too far away, but she could just grasp the can. She inched it closer to the edge, and then it spilled out. The can and the scissors crashed to the floor.

  Standing still on the step with her shoulders hunched, Cora waited for Ellie’s rap at the door again. Surely she’d heard that.

  Silence though.

  She peered out the small window in the pantry and saw that Ellie had stepped off the porch into the yard, her hand over her eyes shielding them from the sun as she stared at the upper windows of the house.

  Damn her. Why couldn’t she mind her own business?

  Cora grabbed the scissors and cut herself loose, then quickly unwrapped the rope from the rest of her calf. She checked the girl’s pulse again. Slow, but alive. Now she had to hope she’d stay knocked out until she could get rid of that woman. Whatever she did, Cora would have to keep this Ellie Rainey out of her house.

  Checking herself in the small mirror at the foot of the stairs, Cora panicked at the sight and hurriedly wiped a smear of blood off her cheek. Her hair had tumbled out of its bun, stiff, over-sprayed bits of it erupting here and there. She quickly twisted it and shoved it back up in a knot, pulling out pins and redoing it with fingers flying. The makeup she’d put on this morning looked awful. She’d thought it would shore up her courage, make her feel powerful, but in truth it only made her look like a fool.

  She was a wreck but there was nothing for it. Wiping her hands on the back of her pants, she limped her way over to the door, absently massaging her injured wrist.

  She opened the door a crack, no more than three inches. She knew that seemed suspicious, but there was no choice.