Page 58 of Traces of Kara

A click filled the room. The door pushed slowly open, just enough to allow cool air to whisk across Mimi’s cheeks. Mimi listened to Roland’s heavy breathing. Her heart was sure to leap from her chest. A faint crashing sound came from somewhere behind him.

His heavy breathing quieted. Mimi held her breath. She watched him standing in the doorway, his silhouette barely visible. Another noise rang out. Mimi listened as the doorknob righted itself and Roland turned and walked away. The door slid off his back, failing to click shut. Roland’s heavy footsteps retreated.

A rush of air expelled from Mimi’s lungs.

Ted hung from the open window for only a second before dropping onto the concrete floor below. The sky boomed, sending sheets of rain through the rough opening. He stepped across the broken glass, away from the spray of the rain, fumbling with the weight of the gun in one hand and Jackson’s cell phone in the other. Jackson had an iPhone, as did Mimi, and Ted remembered how happy Mimi was that the phone came with a flashlight application, which she used to shine on her car’s lock at night. He searched Jackson’s phone applications. Water dripped from his clothing. His fingers shook with cold. The powerful stench of wet coal surrounded him. He found the flashlight icon and pushed the image. The phone emitted a high-pitched whine, and then tendrils of light extended into a spray before him.

Ted swung the light from side to side. The stale room held nothing of interest. He took a few steps forward, the light held out before him. He stepped into a small puddle, and spied a hallway leading out of the room. His shoe gripped the floor as if he’d stepped in syrup. He turned back toward the window, shining the light on the floor behind him. His footprints were not brown, as he’d expected, but rather a rich, crimson red.

“What the—” Ted’s sweaty fingers clasped the gun even tighter. He walked back toward the puddle and crouched, setting the phone on the floor beside his feet. Light spilled over the pool of blood. Mimi. The hair on the back of Ted’s neck stood on end. He spun around toward the hallway, picking up the phone and rising slowly to his feet. He listened to the roar of what seemed like a never-ending storm. Ted was momentarily paralyzed with fear. One hand clenched the gun like a lifeline, the other held the illuminated phone.

A noise came from somewhere far away in the plant. He couldn’t place what it was, or guess the range of its distance. He blinked rapidly, the danger of what he had embarked on settling around him like an invisible demon. He moved to the wall, beside the opening to the hallway, and crouched, clicking off the flashlight application. The sound of his own breathing filled the room. His heart pounded in his throat erratically. He pushed 911 on the cell phone, and raised it to his ear. The line clicked and crackled, but no ring came through. Ted lowered the phone, clicked the red button, then tried again.

Click, crackle, silence.

“Damn it.”

He took his own phone from his pocket, setting Jackson’s on the floor beside his feet. His fingers trembled as he tried to find his call log. He pressed the number for the last incoming call, and lifted the phone to his ear. Mitch.

The line crackled.

Thunder crashed beyond the plant walls.

Ted sat up straighter, listening to the dead air and hoping the call would go through.

“Marissa!” A man’s furious voice boomed through the bowels of the plant.

Ted shot to his feet. Marissa? Who the hell is Marissa? The line was dead. He stuffed the phone in his pocket. He used both hands to steady the shaking gun, which he held out before him, his index finger hovering just millimeters from the trigger.

He couldn’t keep his fear at bay. His chest constricted. His eyes darted from the hall to the room, which suddenly felt much smaller. His body felt too large, as if there was no way to hide his presence. His footprints would announce him, even if he were to hide. He dropped his eyes to the puddle on the floor. Mimi. Ted took a deep breath and headed for the hall.

The walls pressed in on him. The ceiling pushed down from above. There was no escape. He was in this for the long haul. Whatever lay before him was his destiny. Whether or not this had anything to do with his stepdaughter or his wife wasn’t clear, but he was in it all the same.

He rounded one corner into another darkened tunnel. A dim light spread across the area just ahead, where the path crossed with another. Ted lowered his chin, looking through the tops of his eyes, his shoulders residing just beneath his ears. Tension laced every fiber of his being.

As he neared the end of the passageway, a low mumbling became apparent—a man’s voice, low and shaky, his words unclear. Ted stopped and listened. It was not Jackson’s voice. Where the hell was Mitch? His fingers locked in a vice grip around the gun’s thick, unfamiliar handle. Ted breathed heavily through his nose, convincing himself to be brave. He inched closer to the light, lowering his rigid arms just a few inches so he could peer around the edge of the wall without being seen.

He pressed his back against the wall, the gun still clenched in both hands. He counted to ten, building his courage with each number. Eight. Nine. Ten. He leaned his head toward the adjoining hallway, peering with one eye beyond the corner. The mumbling halted. Ted saw a dimly lit, empty hallway. It suddenly occurred to him that the voice may have come from the other direction. He pulled his head back against the wall. Shit. How could he do this? He couldn’t watch both sides. He was a dead man.

The murmuring began once again. Ted focused on the sound, listening for the direction it had come from. His eyes bounced from right to left. The sound stopped again. Focus, he told himself.

A shuffling sound came from the left side of the hall, as if something was being pushed along the floor, followed by a sloshing sound.

Ted’s eyes widened. The shuffling continued. A low groan floated through the air. Ted raised the gun. Another slosh, followed by a loud exhalation. Ted peered around the wall. A silhouette of a massive man became visible in the darkness. He raised something large to his lips with thick, bulky arms. Then, the sound of lips smacking, and the silhouette turned toward Ted.

Ted slipped back behind the wall, his finger on the cold metal trigger of the gun. Ted clenched his teeth, raised the gun, and stepped into the hall, his gun aimed at the center of the mass of a man who stood before him. The man held two jugs of antifreeze in one hand, the other clenched into a thick fist.

The man lifted his gaze to Ted, a confused expression in his dark eyes. He dropped the jugs of antifreeze to his side and lifted his chin. Like a dog measuring a rival’s stance, he set his eyes on Ted and cocked his head.

Ted watched the man’s deadpan gaze change from one of confusion to that of a wild animal. Ted’s legs shook. Fearing they’d buckle, he locked them as straight as he was able to, the gun outstretched, his trigger finger ready.

“Where are they?” he said.

The man took a step toward Ted.

“Where’s Mimi?” Ted’s voice echoed in the corridor. He stumbled backward, the gun feeling more foreign than ever.

The man’s chest rose and fell. His girth dwarfed Ted’s average build. The man took another step toward Ted.