Page 45 of Traces of Kara

Jackson wondered how he’d gotten to where he now walked, in the dingy sub-basement, fearing for his life. All he’d wanted was to finish the last few months of his commitment to Kearns, then retire and spend his days with Nancy, doing nothing more than reading and playing Bridge.

He inched down the hall, passing the elevator and moving into the hallway beyond, wondering why he hadn’t retired early, as Nancy had wanted. He shot a glance at the fault line, cursing the generators. Jackson considered turning back, then pushed past his fears. He could never look Ted in the eye if he chickened out and something happened to Mimi.

Thunder roared outside the walls of the plant. Jackson started, his eyes darting, his hearing attune to foreign sounds. Water trickled somewhere down the hall. The sub-basement, he thought. He came to the edge of the wall and peered around the corner. The sound of rain grew louder. Across the empty room was a half-boarded up window to the outside. Jackson walked to the center of the room. What the—

“No!” Mimi’s panicked voice filtered through the cold basement.

Jackson spun around, his light sailing over the puddle of blood on the floor. “Holy shit,” he said. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He looked back toward the hole in the wall, then back at the hallway. He set the extinguisher down and headed toward the window, withdrawing his cell phone from its holster. He hoisted himself up and held his hand outside, his finger poised above the red emergency call button. Rain pelted the phone. His fingers slipped across the screen.

“Come on, come on,” he said. The phone slipped through his fingers and fell to the ground. “Damn it!” he whispered. He felt for it, his fingers diving into the mud and coming up empty. He pulled himself further up the wall, until he could see outside. The rain came down in sheets, splashing into his eyes and face.

A woman’s scream rang out, echoing through the basement.

Jackson clenched his eyes shut. Safe and sane. “The hell with that,” he exclaimed. He took a deep breath, then jumped down from the wall. Jackson hoisted the extinguisher as if it were a sledgehammer, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He strode toward the voice, determined not to back down, his flashlight forgotten.

Kara pushed at her mother’s arms. “Get off of me.” She and Mimi were alone. Shortly after the plant shut down and the generator kicked on, Roland had left the room, threatening that if they tried to escape he would blow up the entire plant. He’d killed Paul. He was crazy. There was no escape.

“Kara, I’m sorry,” Mimi pleaded.

“My whole life was a lie! Even my name is a lie. How could you do that to me?” She looked away, rubbing a pain in her lower back. “I don’t even know who I am.”

Tears slid down Mimi’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. I was protecting you.” She wiped her eyes. “We had to change your name so he wouldn’t find you.”

“So you gave me your maiden name?” Kara looked away. “He was just a kid.”

“When your dad and I split, it just made sense. I had to protect you.”

“From what? My father left me, my stepfather hates me, and my brother—I have a brother, for God’s sake! Granted, an eff’d up one, but still…”

Mimi covered her face with her hands. “I know how crazy it sounds, believe me, I know. But the look in his eyes, the way he acted.” Mimi rubbed at a pain in her forehead. “Kara, we have to focus. We have to get you out of here.”

Kara coughed, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“Are you okay?”

Kara held up her hand, pushing her mother away. She was so conflicted. This was not the time for hurt feelings, and she knew that. Whatever her mother had done, she’d obviously done to protect her, so why was she acting like a spoiled child? Kara knew why. It was easier to focus on the past—on anything—other than the terror that held them captive.

“Damn it, Kara. I won’t let you die.” Mimi looked around. She ran into the back room. There, against the wall, was a burlap bag. Mimi rifled through it, pulling out a stack of loose-leaf papers. She ran to the entrance of the room, where a string of light filtered in, and read through the hand-scrawled notes. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Kara. Kara!”

Kara didn’t answer, trapped between the pain in her stomach and the fear that swallowed her.

Mimi rushed in, dropping the papers on the floor. “Kara, where’s his alcohol? That’s the antidote.” She scoured the room, looking for the bottles. “Can you see okay? He wrote it all down—dizziness, vomiting, diarrhea, then…then…shit.” She ran into the back room, picking through his supplies until she found a bottle of whiskey. Mimi pulled it to her chest. “Oh, thank God.” She carried it out to Kara. “Drink this.”

“No,” Kara protested. “I can’t.”

“Kara, drink it. If his notes are right, you’ll die without it.”

Kara sobbed. “My vision’s already blurry.” She rubbed the pain in her kidney. “Am I going to die? Oh, God.” She grabbed her mother’s arm, pulling her close.

“Drink it.” Mimi unscrewed the top and held the bottle up to Kara’s lips.

Kara pushed it away, gagging and coughing.

Mimi set her eyes on her daughter and said in the most motherly tone she could muster, “Kara Jane, you need to drink this. Now.” She held it up again, pouring it down Kara’s throat in tiny amounts.

Kara coughed and spat. She gagged and retched, biting back the alcohol. “Should…should I throw it all up?”

“I don’t know,” Mimi said and grabbed the handwritten notes again, scanning them. She read aloud, “Alcohol tricks the liver, keeps it busy so glycol can pass right through whole, without a need to break it down.” She looked at Kara. “Drink it, baby. Just drink it, as much as you can.” She turned back to the paper. “Listen to this. If you bombard the receptors with alcohol, the glycol can’t bind and is excreted.” Mimi breathed in fast, hard breaths. “Kara,” she said.