Page 103 of Her Last Whisper
She peeked into each bedroom and realized that there weren’t any closets. Odd. She hadn’t noticed it before. The house wasn’t that old—as a home built in the 1920s might have had little or no closets—but this house should have had ample storage space—at least something. There were none. Looking at the plan, she saw that the closets should be on the far side of the room. She oriented herself. The plans didn’t match what she saw.
Standing back in the hallway she heard McGaven moving around in the opposite area, but the sound didn’t resonate inside the bedrooms. She moved back to the hallway and she distinctly heard McGaven opening cupboards and even his heavy footsteps.
Katie remained quiet, not wanting to alert her partner just yet to the strange sound difference. What did all this mean?
Digging her hands into her pockets, she pulled out the small piece of adhesive she put there the last time she was inside the house. She squeezed the small piece of rubberized plastic between her fingers and straightaway the image of the special effects warehouse came to mind with the amazing, realistic masks and piecework—the building blocks that could transform people, places and things into something else.
“Could it be?” she whispered.
Katie ran her fingers along the edges of the wall and down to where the baseboards should have been. The walls went to the floor but she could feel a faint breeze.
Just like the monsters at ScareFest, nothing was as it seemed.
Taking a step back, centering her balance with her arms up, gripped fists, she then attacked the wall with a high stomp kick. It barely made a dent, merely chipping some drywall that littered the floor. She repeated her technique two more times until she had made a hole the size of a dinner plate with her foot. Adhesive, similar to foam used on construction jobs, filled the makeshift wall and acted as a soundproof barrier.
McGaven ran into the room. “What the hell is going on?”
“Look.” She gestured to the wall.
He walked up to the hole and peered inside. Even without a flashlight, he could see into the small hidden room; to an old box-spring bed with a headboard, magenta sheet, rope, and two small air vents above. “What in the…?” he uttered.
“We just found where Amanda was being held. She was telling the truth. Shewashere. Everything she described.”
Katie ran out of the house to the car; opening the trunk she retrieved the tire iron and ran back inside. Using all her anxious energy and frustration, she managed to wind up and execute several well-placed swings, hitting the wall, opening it farther for them to enter.
McGaven searched the perimeter of the wall and found cleverly disguised hinges and a finger hold to release and slide a narrow portion to open the room—just wide enough for a person. “Here it is. Tricky.” He showed Katie.
“We need forensics in here right now. But what if Tess Regan is here somewhere?”
“Let’s go,” McGaven agreed.
“We’re going to need help searchingallthe houses on this block,” she said.
Fifty-Eight
Tuesday 1545 hours
Tess awoke with a jerk, still weak and disoriented. Her vision was still blacked out but her hearing was acute. Her chest ached and her neck and throat felt tight, making it difficult to breathe. Her energy was dwindling at an alarming rate and she didn’t think she could muster enough energy to try to loosen the restraints again.
Moving her wrists in any direction made a sharp excruciating pain shoot down her arms. There was warmth enveloping around her wrists and slow blood droplets dappled her forearms. The restraints felt different. They cut immediately into her flesh like razor wire. If she kept working her wrists or hands, the wire would no doubt cut a major vein causing her to bleed out.
“No, no, no,” she said, moving her head from side to side. It was the only thing she could do that didn’t cause her to cry out in pain. Her voice faded. “Why…?”
The sound of a motor caught her attention. The engine gunned and gears shifted several times.
“Please, help me, I’m in here… please…” Her voice petered out and was too low for anyone to hear her.
The vehicle sat nearby in idle for a while before she heard it leave—slowly driving away. She listened for as long as she could until silence returned once again.
Sleep overwhelmed her and pushed her to submit, the disappointment too heavy to bear.
Tess thought she heard voices talking and more cars approached, but she soon dropped into a semi-conscious state.
She tried to speak, but it only came out as a faint whisper—her last whisper.
She could only wait—to die—alone.
Fifty-Nine
