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CHAPTER TWO: "Changling"Then Donna's gaze shifted suddenly. She looked directly in front of her, to someone with heavy footsteps that was in the kitchen with her. Loharo froze in her tracks half way down the hall that led from the front door. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The footsteps were heading for the hall. It was all the impetus Loharo needed. Glancing around quickly, she locked onto the hall closet. As fast as thought, the black woman whipped open the door and scurried into concealing darkness. She burrowed behind a thick winter coat and started to reach for the door. Footsteps stopped her. The intruder was already in the hall. Loharo pulled back into the darkness. If she closed the door now, the intruder would see it. The footsteps came nearer at an even pace. Loharo tried to shallow her breathing and realized her heart was thudding in her chest. The steps came closer. Loharo cowered in the shadows, grateful her dark coloring receded so in the darkness. She prayed it would be enough. Her jeans were dark enough to blend, but was her red checked shirt too vibrant? The intruder's footsteps came up to the closet door and then stopped. Loharo's breath caught in her throat. Had he seen her enter the closet? Had he noticed the door ajar? Or had he heard her heart pounding? Her mind raced as she pressed against the back of the closet, trying to plan her next move should the intruder press his search and find her. Was he armed? Could she get off a kick to his groin and get past him? And what if he wasn't alone? The closet door creaked open. A widening shaft of light spilled in. Loharo tensed, fearing discovery at any moment. The strength drained out of her arms and legs. Did she have the courage to act? And should she? Would the shadows be enough to protect her? "So have ye found yer bogeyman yet?" bellowed an Irish voice from down the hall. "I'm just being cautious," grumbled the local. "Then maybe ye should have latched the front door, ye great git! Then the wind wouldna have blown it open!" "You were the last one in," he retorted. "Get in here and stop acting like a woman!" snapped the Irishman. Loharo heard the intruder stalk off. She fought the urge to sink to her knees. There was still work to be done. She desperately wanted to get to Donna and untie her, but Loharo knew she was no match for two possibly armed men. The only recourse she saw was to get out of the lighthouse and get the town constable. Loharo strained to hear where the intruders were. She couldn't pinpoint them. Were they in another room or were they in plain view and just not talking? Knowing she couldn't hide in the closet forever, Loharo moved as silently as she could manage to the door. Fortunately the intruder had left it open. She eased herself out the door and into the hall. Every sense was alive for the slightest sight or sound, her expectation at any moment to be grabbed and trussed up just like Donna. Peering around the door, Loharo only saw Donna. She stepped quietly into the hall. Donna glanced quickly at her, nervous and uneasy. Loharo felt a pang of guilt, but surpressed it with logic. "I'm going for help," Loharo mouthed silently, hoping Donna would understand. Donna's eyes teared. She looked stricken, but at last nodded her approval. Loharo's attention shifted to her surroundings. She eased back to the door, eyes shifting back and forth, ears alert. The black woman got to the door and cautiously eased out, desperate not to make a sound. Once outside, Loharo broke into a full run down the path, her goal Skeffington's Harbor and the Constable's office, or at least a phone. In this situation the remote location of the lighthouse worked against her. No phone was available until she got to town, save the one in the lighthouse. Even then the next phone was located at the antique's shop. That was practically to the Constable's office itself. And she couldn't very well call from the Lighthouse. Loharo's thighs began to burn as she spurred herself on. She wasn't used to running; diving she was used to, but diving and running weren't the same. She wouldn't let herself quit, though. Donna was depending on her. Those men could be doing anything to her at that very moment: raping her, killing her, anything. Loharo shook the vision from her mind and continued on, the cool September air beginning to cut at her lungs. Finally she gained town. Gathering her bearings as she ran, ignoring the curious stares of the locals, Loharo headed for the antique's shop. Half way there, she spotted Constable Harrington in his car. She flagged him down, sweat pouring down her milk chocolate skin despite the low-60s temperature. "What's the rush?" Harrington asked, polite but indifferent. He was near forty, a local, with dark hair, a trim build, and still pleasant features. "Donna!" panted Loharo. "...in the lighthouse...two men have her...tied up! They broke in!" "You saw this?" Harrington asked, suddenly alert. "Yes! Just came from there! They nearly got me!" "Get in!" he said, jumping into his police car. Loharo climbed into the passenger side and the car sped off. She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes had passed, at least. There was no telling what they could have done to Donna in that time. Loharo leaned her head back, telling herself there was nothing she could have done and refusing to believe it. The car pulled up the path to the lighthouse. Loharo jumped out and started for the door. "Hold on," Harrington said firmly. "Let me go first." The constable drew his weapon and eased cautiously up to the door. Loharo pressed to his back anxious to get in and help her friend. His hand reached out and tried the door. It was locked. He rapped on the door, standing to one side. "Constable!" he called out in his thick New England accent. "Open the door, please!" "Break it in!" hissed Loharo. "I know what I'm doing, ma'am." "But she could be dead...!" The door opened. Both callers tensed and looked inside. Donna stepped from behind the door. "Hiya, Sheriff!" she said in her Texas drawl, smiling but puzzled. "Hi, Loharo. Forget something this morning?" "How did you get loose?" gasped Loharo. "Get loose?" asked Donna, more puzzled now then ever. "You were tied up!" "I was? When?" "Just now! I left here not twenty-five minutes ago and you were tied up and gagged in the kitchen!" "'Fraid not," Donna replied, looking at her friend with concern and suspicion. "Two men broke in here and tied you up!" Loharo maintained. "I saw them!" "You did?" Harrington asked. She could hear the skepticism creeping into his voice. "Well, I didn't see them. I heard them! And I saw her tied up! I had to hide in the hall closet to keep them from catching me! One was a local man and the other had an Irish accent!" "All right, calm down," Harrington said. "You don't believe me!" "Look, honey, we can't help it. I ain't been tied up, OK?" Donna said. She pulled the sleeves back on her pale red western blouse and showed them both her wrists. "If I'd been tied up, I'd have rope burns, wouldn't I?" Loharo stared at the skin uncomprehendingly. It was clean and soft, without a mark on it. She looked down, momentarily confused. She knew what she saw. But now all the facts contradicted her. Then she spotted marks on the door frame. "Look at the marks on the door," Loharo said desperately, "by the lock!" Harrington examined the lock. "Lock's been forced," he commented in Donna's direction. "Oh, that," Donna said dismissively. "Couple of kids did that last week." "Did you report it?" Harrington asked. "No," Donna replied sheepishly. "They was only kids, Sheriff. I didn't want to get nobody in trouble." Constable Harrington turned to Loharo. He was to his credit trying to be diplomatic, but it was clear he no longer considered her a credible witness. "You haven't had any accidents recently, have you?" he asked her. "Hit your head, maybe?" "No," Loharo replied, trying to hold her temper. "Work with any chemicals that might cause hallucinations?" "No." "Are you on any..." "I am not taking any drugs," Loharo said thinly. "Menstruating?" "What's that got to do with anything!" "Look, Sheriff," Donna interjected, "I don't know what Loharo saw or what she thought she saw," and Loharo glared at her, "but she was obviously just worried about my safety. I kinda appreciate her being so forceful in looking out for me. Can't we just call this no harm no foul? Ain't no need to embarrass nobody." Harrington sighed. "I'm sorry if I offended you, ma'am," he said. "However, I've got no evidence of a crime here." Loharo held up her hands, indicating she was dropping the matter. Harrington nodded uncomfortably to Donna, then ambled off to his car. Loharo waited until he'd driven off, then turned furiously to her friend. "All right, what's going on?" Loharo hissed. "Nothing..." began Donna. "Don't bullshit me! I'm not crazy and I'm not stupid! I know what I saw! Now what is going on?" Donna sighed. "I can't tell you," she said. "Why not? Are you in trouble?" "No. It's...just something you can't be involved in. It's private." "Donna, this is me!" "Girl, it's for your own good as much as mine! I'm not in any danger, believe me. Other than that, you can't get involved! Hon', you just have to trust me!" Loharo's lids narrowed over her eyes. "You're making it difficult," she said. "I know, and I'm sorry," Donna said quickly, "but if you got involved, Ken would never forgive either of us. You don't want your guy mad at you, do ya?" Loharo stared at Donna, feeling like she'd been struck by lightning. That quickly, she knew. Ken was her old boyfriend, the one she'd dumped just before the Fourth of July. She was going with Chris now and Donna knew that. At least the real Donna knew that. She waited for Donna to correct herself, but the woman didn't. Instead she got a look that said she knew Loharo knew she wasn't Donna. The two women stood there for a beat, unsure how to proceed. "OK, I'll trust you on this," Loharo whispered. "But you owe me." "I know," Donna said with forced sincerity. "I won't let ya down." Loharo walked stiffly down the path and headed toward town, not daring to look back. When she was out of sight, a woman from inside the lighthouse joined Donna. She was a white woman, dressed in black slacks and jacket. Her brown hair was thick and shaggy and fell unstyled and uncaring down her back. She had pretty features and could have been a striking woman if she tried, but she chose not to. Her eyes peered through her large round eyeglass frames at Donna. "Think she believed you?" the woman asked in a flat, unemotional monotone. "No," Donna replied. "Why not?" "I slipped somehow," Donna said, her Texas accent now gone. "I don't know how, but she spotted something that told her I wasn't her friend." "Well, it might not matter," the woman replied laconically. "She's discredited in the eyes of the police. If she pursues this, they'll just consider her a crank." "And if she finds something that backs her up?" Donna asked. "I'll have Dennis keep an eye on her." "Dennis?" Donna asked reproachfully. "You're going to trust this situation to that psycho?" "Sure," the woman replied, stone-faced. "It gets him out of my hair that way." Loharo entered her apartment and sighed loudly in frustration. No one believed her. She'd gone to the local newspaper and told them Donna Young had been kidnapped. The person at the paper called the constable to confirm her story. As the reporter listened to the constable, Loharo could feel herself growing more embarrassed. She'd called city hall and told them their lighthouse keeper had been replaced by an imposter. The person who answered hung up on her. A call to Travis Grant's Petrotech Corporation only got her referred back to city hall. She'd even called the FBI, since kidnapping was a federal crime. The agent she talked to promised to investigate, but Loharo could detect the skepticism in the woman's voice. She figured they'd call Constable Harrington and that'd be the end of it. Now it was after six and she was no closer to finding Donna then before. More importantly, she didn't know what else to do. Tears began to well in her eyes. She didn't want to cry. She wanted to do something constructive. But the tears still came, unmindful of her wishes, overflowing down her cheeks. She shouldn't have run. She should have stayed. If she'd stayed hidden, she might have gotten a chance to get to Donna and get her out. "Or you could be tied up and gagged right next to her," Loharo told herself, "wherever that is. Of course, at least then you'd know how she was." Loharo emitted a loud sigh. "God, Donna, I hope you're alive!" There was a sharp rap on her front door. Loharo exhaled in annoyance. She didn't want to deal with anything other than her friend's disappearance. If it was Martha Hampton with another plate of her cranberry tarts... Loharo opened the door. The black barrel of a .38 caliber automatic pistol jammed into her face. The black woman froze. She couldn't even see who was holding it. Her vision was dominated by the gun in her face. It was so close she could smell the powder inside. "Hello, darlin'," Dennis Flynn said in an Irish brogue that was ominously familiar to Loharo. "Having anything nice for supper?" continued... Story is (c)2000 by Bill Kropfhauser The Lighthouse chapter three. 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