Page 48 of Traces of Kara

“Ted?” the man yelled. His footsteps quickly retreated.

Roland let out a long, low breath. Now they were looking for him. They knew Mimi was here. There was little time. What could he do? He needed to down the antifreeze. He needed to end it all, and he needed to take Mimi with them.

Jackson sprinted up the stairs to the door and grabbed the doorknob. He pushed against the door with his shoulder, but it would not budge. Locked. The shutdown. Damn it! Jackson hurried back down the steps, still gripping the metal head of the fire extinguisher, its body tucked under his arm. He wound his way through the basement toward the sub-basement. He could get out of the building through the old Bilco doors. There was no door to the sub-basement, no chance it had locked with the shutdown.

He followed the culvert of water on the cement floor. Frigid air raised goose bumps on Jackson’s arms. His footsteps echoed in the dimly lit sub-basement. Jackson’s heartbeat throbbed in his ears. He listened to his own hastened breathing. He couldn’t reconcile Paul and the body he’d seen. Who had killed Paul? Why would someone kill him, and why in the plant?

He should have retired when he’d had the chance. He should have taken the safe and sane route he was known for. He’d never known fear so all encompassing. It was all he could do to remain focused on finding the Bilco doors. It had been years since he’d been down to the forgotten sub-basement. It hadn’t changed. It was dank and high ceilinged. Pipes and wires ran along the ceiling, beneath the unfinished floors. Jackson wound his way through the rooms like a mouse searching for cheese. A voice came from down the hall. He stood stock-still.

The voice was faint and it was female.

Jackson swallowed his fear. He gripped the neck of the fire extinguisher in both hands and held it over his shoulder. He headed in the direction of the voice.

The voice became clearer. It was coming from above. Jackson looked up and noticed a grate in the ceiling up ahead. As quietly as he was able to, he moved toward it, his senses heightened.

“You have to drink it.” The woman spoke in a stern, quiet voice.

Shuffling. A moan.

Jackson stopped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, blew it out slowly. Safe and sane. He inched forward, trying to see through the grate. A rancid stench filled the culvert beside where he walked. He held his breath, releasing only when he felt he could no longer hold it.

Through the grate, he caught a glimpse of a cardboard box.

“Drink it, Kara,” the woman’s voice said.

Kara! Jackson opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it, and listened. He moved to the side, trying to see through the gate to the people above. There was no one in sight.

“No!” the woman screamed.

Shuffling sounds came from above, followed by a woman’s cry.

“Get away from her,” the woman yelled.

Jackson inched back against the wall, staring up through the grate.

“Step back,” a male voice commanded.

Jackson gripped the fire extinguisher harder. He had to do something. Who was that?

“She’s sick. She needs help.”

Mimi!

“This is all your sick game. She’s not going anywhere. No one’s separating us again.”

“You’re not a killer, Roland,” Mimi said.

Roland? Jackson’s eyes opened wide. Roland? Who the hell was Roland? He listened.

“You don’t know me,” he hollered. “You’ve never known me. You cast me away like trash. You tore my sister away from me.”

“You hurt her, Roland Greer, and I swear I’ll kill you.”

“We’re all as good as dead,” the man said.

Shit. Jackson took two steps back down the hall, his eyes trained on the grate above.

“Roland Greer, we took you in, we gave you a—”