Page 96 of The Girl Who Was Taken

“We don’t talk. We whisper.”

“When was the last time?”

“I’m not sure. A few days ago.”

Livia wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear. A year ago would make it easier. A few days meant she’d just missed her. A few days meant that if she’d worked harder or faster she might have run up those stairs and found her sister lying on that bed, just the same as Elizabeth Jennings.

A car screeched to a stop outside.

“Are the police here?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes,” Livia said, but her voice was filled with forced hope and relief. The noise outside was not what she expected. She longed to hear far-off sirens slowly growing louder, culminating in red-and-blue lights bouncing and flashing through the house. She wanted to hear ambulance horns waking the night. Instead, she heard a single car with no sirens and no lights. Absent were shouting or clamoring officers. There were no paramedics banging gurneys and equipment through the empty house and down the stairs. No radios squawking. Instead, Livia listened to a single set of footsteps as they walked overhead, pausing at the crest of the stairwell before finally descending, the glow of a flashlight preceding the strides.

Livia noticed, over the sound of the approaching footsteps, Elizabeth Jennings began to hyperventilate. She retreated to her defensive position with her kneestucked to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. Megan, too, was panicking. Livia pushed Megan behind her and stood in front of the bed as if she could protect them both from what was coming.

The light shined brightly in her eyes when he came around the corner, a fierce spotlight that brought the entire space to life and blinded them all as though looking into the sun. Livia dropped her own flashlight when the brilliant light found them. It clattered to the floor and pointed toward the corner.

The voice that came was strong and firm.

“Megan. What’s happening, honey?”

“Oh my God,” Megan said at the sound of her father’s voice.

“Where’s Nicole?” Livia said.

“Megan, I’d like you to go outside to my car.”

“Where’s my sister!” Livia yelled.

“I’m not sure what she’s told you, Megan, but I’m here now. I’ll take care of everything. Other officers are on the way. Go outside and wait for them in my car.”

Megan began to move. Livia grabbed her arm.

“Right now, Megan! Go outside so I can gain control of this situation.”

Megan walked past Livia, out of her grip.

“Good girl. Wait outside.”

Trembling, Megan walked toward the bright spotlight, unable to see her father behind its powerful glow. When she drew next to him, instead of turning to climb the cellar stairs she reached for his gun. The holster strap was fastened and she fumbled while she tried to wrestle it free. Livia saw the light drop from her eyes. With her retinas bleached, she was still blinded. Therewere no rational thoughts to her movements. Adrenaline flooded her circulatory system and Livia ran at him. Their bodies collided in the center of the cellar, his much heavier and thicker than hers, reminding Livia of her sparring sessions with Randy. She saw Megan tumble onto the stairs, and Livia felt Terry McDonald’s powerful grip throw her to the floor. She lunged at his feet and wrapped his ankles in her arms as she continued forward. Falling to the ground as Livia tangled his feet, the powerful spotlight rattled and landed against the wall, dousing much of its brightness.

The bottom of his shoe found Livia’s face and she felt herself propelled backward. They were both quick to their feet, Livia letting loose a side kick that landed to his ribs and took the wind from his lungs, doubling him over. She transferred her weight to her left foot, about to deliver another side kick.

Your kicks are lethal, but they get stale if you go to them too often.

Instead, she brought her right knee sharply upward and felt a clean connection with his nose. His knees crumbled and he fell in a pile to the floor.

Livia stood frozen with indecision. She wanted to grab Megan and run up the stairs, but she couldn’t bring herself to abandon the lost girl on the bed. She heard a hiss, and the acidic odor of ammonia filled her nostrils even before her eyes registered the pain. She tried to shield herself in the dark cellar, bringing her hands in front of her as the pepper spray covered her face. The burning was immediate and intense and it drove her backward.

She felt him grab her by the hair, and Livia let out a gothic scream as he launched her through the air. Shelanded on the table by the wall and crashed into the corner of the cellar. Her eyes bled burning tears and her lungs wheezed as the irritant entered her system. Against protests, she raised her eyelids. The flashlight Livia had dropped lay still on the floor, pointing to the spot next to Livia and brightening her hip and the concrete and the thing she had felt when she careened across the table. It was a bottle of spray paint. Livia’s mind flashed to the two strange symbols painted onto the wall. In a single motion, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the Bic lighter Kent Chapple had given her when he swore off smoking during his visit to her house the other night. She picked up the paint can with her right hand and lit the Bic with her left. Just as Terry McDonald reached her, she depressed the aerosol cap on the paint can and sprayed it through the flame. A giant fireball erupted, as if the canister itself were filled with flames. The horizontal blaze struck Terry McDonald in the face, igniting his hair. He recoiled immediately, turning away from the flame, but it was too late. First his hair, then his shirt took to flames. They were violent orange and lit the cellar brightly as the three girls watched his burning body stumble and turn. His screams were prehistoric and sickening.

He stumbled across the room, shrieking and moaning and slapping his face and head and chest. Megan ran to her father, pulling the blanket from the bed and throwing it onto his burning torso and head. He collapsed to the ground and she smothered the flames.

Semiconscious, he lay panting in the far corner. The smell of burnt flesh mixed with ammonia was worse than anything Livia had encountered in the morgue. Livia lifted the heavy flashlight that had landed in thecorner. It provided all the light needed to see Megan staring at her incapacitated father, his face and chest burned black and greasy.

Livia worked hard to keep her burning eyes open as Megan unhooked her father’s gun from the holster. For an instant Livia, lying in the corner, raised her hand and tried to speakno.But before she was able, Megan adjusted the gun, both hands playing over its surface until it clicked and clattered. Then she carried it to Livia.

“Here,” Megan said. “Safety is off. Shoot him if he moves.”

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