Jigsaw holds the bolt cutters in front of Martin’s face and makes a snip, snip motion. “Hope you know your ABCs, motherfucker.”
The veins in Martin’s neck bulge as he strains and jerks his head from side-to-side. The effort of trying to free himself leaves him panting and sweat rolling down his forehead.
“That’s right,” Jigsaw says in a hollow voice, “I’m about to break your bones in alphabetical order and floss my teeth with your tendons.”
Behind us, Pants chuckles. “Yeah, brother.”
I pat Jigsaw’s shoulder before leaving the kitchen.
I’d been so focused on Martin, I hadn’t noticed Ice and T-Bone leaving the kitchen. They must be searching the rest of the house. I meet them in the darkened hallway.
“Nothing.” Frustration bleeds into Ice’s voice.
“Another bedroom’s over here.” T-Bone points to an open door. “I think her trunk—”
He doesn’t even finish his sentence before I rush past him.
Inside the room, I stop dead.
It’s Shelby’s trunk all right but it’s empty. Lid open. Nothing inside. I stare into it as if I have the power to will it into giving up its secrets.
“Fuck.” I jab my hands through my hair, yanking on the ends, while my gaze frantically bounces over every surface. Bed, neatly made up. Rug. Nothing out of place. No signs of a struggle.
Where is she?
I run to the kitchen, muscling Jiggy out of my way. Lifting my foot, I slam it into Martin’s thigh, sending the chair sliding sideways. “Her trunk’s here. Where is she?”
In the short time I was gone, Jigsaw’s worked him over pretty good. Not with the bolt cutters—yet. But Jiggy’s fists are plenty lethal. Especially when he’s on a rampage.
Martin smiles at me, his split lip bleeding onto his tan pants. “You’ll never find her.”
“Playtime is over.” Jigsaw lifts the bolt cutters. “Pants, grab his hand.”
“No!” Martin screams.
“Start with his pinkies.” I slap Jigsaw on the back and return to the bedroom.
She’s gotta be here somewhere.
“Shelby!” I close my eyes and listen.
Nothing but Martin’s screams.
“Shut him up for a second!” I shout.
The screaming cuts off with gurgling yelp.
Ice’s shoulder brushes mine. “Did you see a basement?” I ask him.
“Yo!” he shouts. “This place got a basement?”
“No!” Jigsaw shouts a few seconds later. Guess the loss of a pinky finger motivated Martin to start answering some questions.
I stomp into the bathroom and rip the shower curtain aside.
Nothing.
She’s too big to fit in the cabinets but I check them anyway. Linen closet too.
The screaming from the kitchen resumes—although a bit muffled now. Combined with the harsh questions from Pants, and Jigsaw’s crazed laughter, it’s one hell of a psychotic symphony.
Coming out of the bathroom, my eyes zero in on the bed. The wooden frame extends all the way to the floor. No way to hide a person underneath.
Ice flings open a slim door. A shallow closet—barely the depth of a normal-sized hanger. With ruthless focus, Ice tears clothes out of his way and tosses them on the bedroom floor. Next, he sweeps his arm across the shelf and dumps several shoe boxes on top of the clothes.
Together, we search for any sort of hidden space or doorway—tapping on the walls, brushing our hands over the shelf and above the door.
Just an ordinary closet.
My gaze drops to the shiny hardwood floor of the bedroom, then shifts to the carpeted closet floor.
Odd choice of flooring.
I pull my knife out and rip up the carpet.
Well, fuck me.
There’s a small square in the floor with a pull ring that fits flat against a recess in the surface so it’s easily concealed under the carpet. “Motherfucker.”
Bracing myself for whatever’s inside, I pry the door open and drop to my belly. As I shove my face into the hidey-hole, my vision’s immediately swallowed by the darkness. “Shelby?”
No answer.
Ice hands me a small flashlight and I use it to illuminate the dark space. All four sides are carpeted. A small stack of books, a pillow, a scratchy-looking blanket, and a bottle of water are arranged neatly in the corner. Waiting to welcome a new prisoner or left from a previous captive?
“What the…?” I whisper. I pull my head out of the space and sit on my heels. “He’s kept someone in there. Or he was planning to. It’s empty now.”
“Who is this sick fucker?” Ice takes my place and checks out the hiding spot.
I press my hands against the dresser next to me. It groans as I shove it sideways. I search the dusty floor and the wall the dresser had been leaning against. No hidden panels or doors.
Together, Ice and I move almost every piece of furniture, toss each throw rug, and scour every available inch of the hardwood floor for hidden latches or panels.
No more hidey-holes.
My gaze lands on the bed again. It looks solid. Heavy. Thick wood with broad, black iron accents.
“Help me flip this thing.” I nod to the bed.
“Bro,” Pants says from the doorway. “He swears she’s not here. Says he left her somewhere else and we’re not gonna find her.”
“What do you want to do?” Ice asks me.
“She’s in this house. Somewhere. She has to be. He didn’t have time to stash her somewhere else and make it all the way out here.” Actually, I have no idea if that’s true or not. “I’m not leaving until I’ve turned this place inside out. Why leave her somewhere else and hide here by himself?” I gesture toward the kitchen. “Who was he eating dinner with? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Good points.” Ice gestures to the hallway. “Let’s keep searching.”
Pants wanders over to the closet and peers inside. “What the fuck’s that?”
Ignoring him, I press my palms to the bed’s wooden frame and start shoving. At first, it won’t budge. Ice scrambles over to help me push. Then I realize, the top of the bed is moving. The underneath isn’t.
“Shit!” I drop my hands from the bed and fall to my knees, tugging on the two black O-rings on the side of the bottom part of the bed. It’s a separate piece that easily rolls out on two steel tracks.
…You remind me of a soft, tiny rabbit. Cautious, yet unaware of the dangers that surround vulnerable creatures in need of the safety of a cage.
The final letter he sent Shelby.
He wasn’t joking or waxing poetic about putting her in a cage.
Through the thick, black metal lattice I make out Shelby’s still form.
Sweet fucking relief flows through me. Followed by stone-cold fear.
“She’s here! I got her!”
I work the latches and throw the top open.
“Shelby!”
She’s on her back. Hands folded over her stomach. So still.
Devastation ravages my soul. My entire world turns black.
“Baby, no,” I keep repeating in a ragged whisper. Carefully, I slip my arms under her limp body and lift her out of the shallow box, cradling her body against my chest.
“Jesus Christ.” Jigsaw drops down next to me. “Shelby?” He brushes her hair out of her face.