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Chapter 8: "Pluto's Touch"It had been a hectic evening. After saving Loharo Reeves from the murderous intent of Dennis Flynn, Constable Robert Harrington had called Dr. Englehart and asked her to stop by. He then had to keep the neighbors, awakened by the gun battle between he and Flynn, from stomping all over the crime scene. Martha Hampton was particularly insistent about comforting Loharo and only by becoming equally insistent did Harrington keep her out. By then one of the night shift deputies had arrived and he was given crowd control while Harrington returned to Loharo and they compared notes. After fifteen minutes, Dr. Englehart arrived and was ushered in. Caroline Englehart was used to house calls in the middle of the night. She was the only doctor in Skeffington's Harbor. For about fifteen years she had shared her practice with her father, until advancing osteo-arthritis forced him to retire. Her being Calvin Englehart's daughter made it easy for the town to accept a female doctor. Harrington watched her sit down beside Loharo and instantly win the woman's trust with gentle concern and a sympathetic manner. At forty-one, she was still a handsome woman. She kept her figure healthy and trim. Her black hair, thick on top but tapering down and ending boyishly just below the ears, framed a face that was still vital. She wore wide fashion eyeglass frames that seemed to magnify green cat's eyes, eyes that were all-knowing one moment and impish the next. Her nose was long and tapered, her mouth graceful when she was serious and almost naughty when she wasn't. Caroline was dressed for the weather in a red knit wool turtleneck and rugged blue jeans under her leather coat with lamb's wool trim. "Well, it's going to be a nasty bruise on your jaw," Caroline said, finishing her examination. "But there's no damage otherwise. If you put some ice on where he hit you, and on these rope burns on your wrists, it'll take some of the swelling down." She looked Loharo right in the eye. "Now you just went through something very traumatic, Loharo. If you'd like, we can have dinner tomorrow and we can talk about this, if you feel you need to or you find yourself reliving it or being scared because of it. Maybe I can help you cope. Just don't keep this bottled up, OK? That's not something good." "I'll think I'll be all right," Loharo said. "But thanks." "Did you have anything else to ask her, Bobby?" Caroline asked, turning to Harrington. As they locked eyes, Loharo noticed something more between them besides a professional relationship. "Well," Harrington said, reluctant to press Loharo, but just as reluctant not to do his job. "Are you sure you can't tell me who told you about Flynn?" Loharo hardened. "Yes. I said I'd keep her anonymous." "Because I'm really eager to get this guy off the streets," Harrington continued carefully, afraid of destroying the tenuous line of trust just established between them. "If she's in some sort of trouble, I'd be willing to overlook just about anything if it puts this maniac in custody." Loharo was about to snap another angry reply, but didn't. Harrington was just doing his job. He was being sincere - - pushy, but sincere. And she could sympathize with his motive. "I'll let her know," Loharo said reluctantly. "But if she says no, it's no." "OK, but just try to impress . . ." "Bobby," Caroline interjected with stern affection, "she said she'd talk to the woman. Now if you don't have anything else to ask her, scoot." Harrington wanted to protest, but surrendered without a fight. "Don't mind him," Dr. Englehart said, patting Loharo's hand. "I know he can be persistent when he's on duty, but he's really a teddy bear deep down." Englehart glanced back and saw Harrington scowling at her. She flashed him a wicked grin and wrinkled her nose at him. "Harrington and Dr. Englehart?" Loharo mentally gasped. "I wonder how many people know?" "I know it may be difficult, but try to get some sleep," Caroline said as she got up. "I'd give you a sedative, but I try not to carry drugs on house calls." To Harrington she said, "I'm going to head back home, Bobby." "I'll walk you," Harrington offered. "Sorry, I need to get some sleep, too," she smiled. The look that passed between them once more amazed Loharo. "I'll be fine." The animals prowling the woods near the lighthouse gave it a wide berth this night. Humans were in the area. One human shivered in the September chill. Her hands were tied behind a tree, a young tree no more than a foot in diameter. She frantically tugged at the cord binding her wrists behind the tree, trying with fanatic desperation to pull loose from their grip. All her exertions managed to do was cause the cord to dig deeper into the flesh of her wrists. As the light from the lighthouse filtered through the thicket of trees, it briefly illuminated her. The woman's chest heaved under a stylized western blouse. Legs covered in jeans jammed to the ground and the heels of cowboy boots dug into the earth to brace for another tug at the bindings. Blonde hair matted against her forehead, stuck down by the perspiration that turned instantly cold in the autumn air, and shook loose again as she shook her head from side to side in some vain hope that it would free her. Dennis Flynn paced in front of her. He held his right hand, still clutching a .38 automatic, to his left shoulder and he was not in good humor. "She set me up!" he spat for the twentieth time as he paced almost deliriously. "The sodding baggage set me up! She knew that copper was going to be there!" Flynn's prisoner flung her head back and screamed to the heavens, her eyes jammed shut and squeezing out new tears to flow over the dried tracks of her old ones. The gag tied in her mouth absorbed most of it. The illumination from the lighthouse passed by again and returned her to shadow. "She's probably sitting there, laughing up her sleeve at me!" bellowed Dennis, unconcerned in his blind rage that someone might hear. "Just like me Da'! Just like all the little bastards what used to beat me and treat me like I was some piece o'trash!" He snorted. "They were no better off than I was, but it didn't stop them from acting all superior! Well I showed them!" He grabbed a fist full of blonde hair and bellowed into wide, fearful eyes. "I showed them all, damn them!" Dennis flung his victim's head back against the tree, dismissing her. "I'll show her, too. I ought to just go down there, kick the bloody door in and empty me gun right into her gut! Then just watch her bleed to death right at me feet!" The blonde, still desperate to get away, pulled again and again at her wrists. Dennis was forgotten. Everything was forgotten except for the simple, animal instinct to survive. The rasping pain in her throat didn't stop her from screaming again and again into her gag, hoping someone somehow might hear her and help her. "No," Dennis said his voice ominously quiet. "That's just what she'd expect me to do. I've got to get her back on the defensive." With predatory calm, Dennis pulled the gun away from his shoulder and pointed it at his victim. She froze, wide-eyed in terror, then began frantically shaking her head and mewling into her gag. "Nothing personal, darlin'. I just have to leave someone a message." The friction of the wall's surface against Faith's forehead was beginning to irritate the skin. Faith ignored it and kept rubbing. The rope binding her hands behind her was already chafing her skin. Her arms and shoulders throbbed. The thick gag in her mouth made her jaw ache and dried her throat to a painful degree. It would be easy to quit, to just lay there like a bound up rug and wait for her fate, but Faith knew she couldn't do that. It was obvious now that something was going on and it was probably criminal. If her captors found out that she was a police officer, even an ex-officer, they'd most likely kill her. If Dennis Flynn was working with them and found her here, she was certainly dead. She couldn't afford to be here, helpless, when they finished whatever they were doing and came for her. She'd tried to slip the ropes, but they were painfully tight. The knots were tantalizingly out of reach. She knew she wasn't the only prisoner being held here, but she didn't know where the other person was or what state that person was in, due to the blindfold tied over her eyes. Therefore she couldn't depend on that person for help. The only option left to faith was to remove the blindfold. Once she could see again, she could find her fellow prisoner and they could free each other. Failing that, she could look for something sharp enough to cut the ropes. At this point she was prepared to squirm out the door and down the stairs if it came to that. She had no intention of staying here. It was a cloth blindfold, not tape. With luck, she could work it over her eyes soon. Even one would be enough. So far though, it was being stubborn. That didn't stop Faith. She knew she couldn't surrender to frustration or fatigue. Dennis Flynn might be waiting for her if she did. To occupy her mind, Faith began to ponder who was in the room with her. The person was gagged, so he or she was probably bound, too. But who could it be? Were they keeping the real Donna up here? Was it someone else who stumbled onto this operation and was abducted to keep them quiet? Faith got a chilling thought. What if it was Loharo? In the back of her mind, Faith had held out hope that Loharo would miss her if she didn't escape and send the police looking for her. But if they were both caught, they were both dead. Faith began rubbing a little harder. Caroline Englehart walked absently down Henry Street. She was in sight of the two story and home. She'd lived her life in the second story of that house. Her dad had remodeled the first floor into a doctor's office in the fifties. In residency she'd briefly flirted with staying in Portland at the hospital, but decided she liked Skeffington's Harbor more. Fifteen years hadn't changed her mind. If anything, falling for Bobby Harrington had reinforced her decision. You couldn't walk the streets in Portland unafraid at night. You could here; at least until tonight. The attack on Loharo Reeves changed that. Caroline scowled. It would be a shame for that aspect of the harbor to change. But crime did occur, even in small town America. Just because the last murder had occurred in 1962 didn't mean it'd never happen again. Fishing her keys out of her pocket, Caroline turned the lock and opened the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a shape rush up. Suddenly another person's weight was at her back, shoving her through the open door. Caroline felt hard metal press into her ribs on the right. She stumbled around and faced the intruder. He was short, wiry, with matted black hair, cuts on his face and dried blood on the shirt over his left shoulder. A pistol was in his right hand. "Are ye the doctor?" he panted in a thick Irish accent. Instantly Caroline flashed back to the description of Dennis Flynn she'd overheard Bobby and Loharo discuss. "Yes," she replied with controlled anxiety. "I need ye to fix me shoulder," he said, waiving the gun. "Don't get heroic and ye'll live through this!" "Let me take a look at it," Caroline said, approaching the man cautiously. He allowed her to pull back his shirt, but he kept an edgy grip on his weapon. Caroline examined the wound, dabbing away the dried, blackened blood with sterile disinfectant gauze. Dennis hissed. "You were shot, right? It looks like the bullet passed through." "Then why can't I move me arm without it hurting so?!" demanded Flynn. "Because you've suffered a severe invasive trauma," Caroline replied, incredulous. "The friction of the bullet burned your skin and muscle tissue and the dirt and cordite from it may infect the wound. And from the angle, I'm sure you've suffered a fracture to the left scapula. Are you having any breathing problems?" "No! Just fix it!" Caroline sighed in frustration. "There's not much I can do besides immobilize the shoulder, recommend an antibiotic, an anti-inflammatory and a pain reliever and suggest you rest for a month." "Not flaming likely," Flynn snorted. "Have ye got any of those pills?" "A few samples. Not enough. You'd need to go to a pharmacy for that." "Ye're not much use at all, are ye?" Flynn snarled. Caroline felt the impact of the gun against the side of her jaw almost as soon as she spotted his swing. She crumpled to the floor, the strength gone from her legs. Dazed, she propped herself up on her arms, but couldn't draw the strength to pull her legs under her to get up. She could see Flynn at her supply cabinet, pulling something out. Her first thought was to get away, perhaps find Bobby and warn him, but to escape this dangerous psychotic. The woman managed to struggle to a crouch and aim herself unsteadily toward the door. However, Flynn saw her and brought the gun's weight down across her shoulders. Caroline sprawled awkwardly to the floor. At once he was on top of her, cursing with pain as he jerked her arms behind her. She felt adhesive tape wind around her wrists, trapping them behind her. "What are you doing?" she mumbled, then wondered why she would ask such a stupid question. "Don't do this!" Flynn replied by jamming a roll of gauze into her mouth. Caroline barely suppressed the urge to vomit, but couldn't expel the wad before her mouth was covered by a strip of tape. It wound around her head and over her mouth four times, the rage of the man passing to her with every savage tug. Her head fell limply to the floor and she moaned as her captor pulled her elbows painfully together and taped them behind her. Then his weight was off of her, but it was small comfort. Flynn was merely taping her ankles together. Caroline looked around for something she could use to defend herself. However, her glasses had been knocked off and, nearsighted as she was, her surroundings were a series of light and dark blurs. She fought and squirmed, trying to somehow wrench free, as Flynn taped her legs around her thighs. When he finished, he shoved her legs to the floor and stood over her. Sick and fearful, her chest heaving and every muscle tensed to the breaking point, Caroline gazed up at the blurry, shadowy figure above her as he rummaged around her supply cabinet. He pulled out something, then downed them hungrily. It must have been the drug samples she kept there. The woman could feel her heart thumping in her chest. She gurgled something through the choking mouthful of gauze. She'd seen Dennis Flynn's handiwork. Never in her life had Caroline Englehart been this scared. Irma's New England Kitchen held the usual number of morning patrons: fishermen having a hearty breakfast before going off to work, people who catered to the tourist trade at some of the other shops, a few city service workers and the older crowd who sat around and argued politics because they had no where else to go. At a table by the window, Loharo picked nervously at her juice and muffin and looked out the window, searching for Faith. She had been there since seven forty-five. It was now eight thirty and she was officially worried. Instantly seized by a need to act, Loharo got up and paid her check. As she steamed toward the door, her mind rolled over courses of action. She didn't know where Faith was staying, so she couldn't check there. She thought about going straight for the lighthouse, but that might tip "Donna" and her mysterious friend and blow Faith's cover if she was on to something and keeping a watchful eye. Perhaps she should wait some more? No. Every sense Loharo possessed screamed that Faith was in trouble. But what to do? The morning had been uncharacteristically balmy for the time of year, sunny and warm. Loharo no longer noticed. She was walking determinedly toward the Constable's Office, her violet skirt flowing away from long, shapely legs as she moved. It meant betraying a trust, but she felt Faith would forgive her if it meant saving her life. Loharo walked through the door and up to the counter. Anne McDougald looked up to see who was there and did a double take when she spotted Loharo. She frantically pressed a button on her dispatcher board. "Miss Reeves!" gasped Anne. "I just tried to call you at your apartment!" "Oh? Why? What's wrong?" "You'd better let the chief tell you," Anne replied, pressing another switch. "I've patched the call through to the desk phone. Chief? I've got her." "Constable Harrington?" Loharo asked, talking into the phone on the counter. "What's happened?" "Steady yourself, Miss Reeves," Harrington said. She could hear the reluctance in his voice and instantly feared the worst. "I've got some bad news. We found Donna Young. She's dead." Continued . . . Story is (c)2000 by Bill Kropfhauser Chapter nine Back to chapter seven. |