Monday Mourning

The silence made the room seem darker, more deadly.

“No one will come for us. We must help ourselves.”

No response.

“If I slide closer, can you untie me?”

Silence.

“Are you able to walk?”

It was like talking to the dead.

Frantic, I struggled with my bindings, bucking and twisting until my skin felt raw. The knots held.

The back door slammed again.

I relaxed, closed my eyes.

Pomerleau returned with more accelerant.

Dear God. Where was Anne? She wasn’t in this room. Could I get Anne and McGee out? Would we die before emergency crews could respond?

Should I talk to Pomerleau? Could I form an argument, craft a thought that might buy us some time?

Did it matter? The house had been searched and found empty. I hadn’t told Ryan I was coming. Would Charbonneau get my message?

Tears pushed hard. I ached to rip at my bindings, to spring free and grab Pomerleau, to shut down this impostor for a human being.

I lay still and waited.

The smell of gas was strong now. I tasted bile, felt spasms under my tongue.

Another can hit the floor. I watched Pomerleau’s feet round the corner.

This time the rear door didn’t slam.

I tracked the footsteps. Hallway. Back room.

“Tawny, we have to move!” I hissed.

It was hopeless. I was going to have to act on my own.

Arching and contracting my back, I strained with every fiber to free my ankles from my wrists. The knots held. I wanted to cry from pain and frustration.

Pomerleau’s footsteps echoed again in the hall, then receded into an adjacent room. Seconds later they were closing in on the parlor.

I settled to the floor.

Too late.

The footsteps hitched, then sped toward the armchair. I heard a mewing, more kitten than human, then the footsteps veered toward me.

“So, my little dormice are both awake.”

It was pointless to remain passive. Summoning all my adrenaline-induced strength, I rolled onto my knees and looked up.

Pomerleau was an ebony cutout in the murky gloom. A cutout holding a coffee can. The room reeked of gasoline.

Fear rocketed from nerve ending to nerve ending.

Empathize? Cajole? Accuse? Beg?

“Where’s my friend?” Had Anne gotten away somehow?

Hideous leer from Pomerleau. “She didn’t last. She fell through the looking glass.”

Heartsick, I spat out, “Catts didn’t murder those girls. You did.”

When Pomerleau stepped closer, a single arrow of gray illuminated her face. “Murder?” Dusky voice. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You tortured and starved them.”

“They fell through my looking glass.”

“Angie Robinson.”

I felt more than saw Pomerleau tense.

“Tell me why,” I pushed.

“Truth or dare?” Lilting.

“What did you do to my friend?”

“Truth or dare?”

Dear God! The woman was enjoying this!

“You’ve brutalized Tawny.”

“Another Alice in my Wonderland.” Reptilian smile.

“You killed children.”

“Some last. Some don’t.”

“Give me their names.”

“Why?”

“Their families have a right to know.”

“Their families can rot in hell, and you won’t be telling them. Fool! You won’t be telling anything to anyone.”

“Your parents searched for you.” Pleading tone.

“Not hard enough.” Bitter.

“They miss you,” I lied. “They want you back.”

“There’s no going back.”

“There are people who will help you.”

“The looking glass cracks.”

Flashbulb image. My apartment. Shattered pictures, mirrors.

“All the king’s horses and all the king’s men can’t put the damned back together again.” Singsong.

“What happened to Angie Robinson?”

“Just another lost girl.”

“Lost? Or destroyed?”

“Just so much shoveled dirt.”

Keep her talking!

“When did Angie die?”

“Before my time.”

“I know what happened, Anique. I understand. Catts hurt you, then made you hurt others.”

“Who’s Catts?”

“Menard. Catts killed Menard and took his name.”

“Menard. Catts.” Air puffed from her lips. “Amateur hour.”

“He was evil. He tortured you. He tortured Angie Robinson. You had to play along to please him.”

“I didn’t play along.” A finger jabbed her sternum. “I ruled. I was queen.”

“Q.” Queen of Hearts.

“You did what was necessary to survive.”

“You don’t get it. I’m the queen, not the rabbit.”

Go with it.

“I know. You’re the strong one, Anique. You shot Catts.”

“He grew weak.”

“You smothered Louise Parent.”

“A mercy killing.”

Her flippant indifference triggered a helpless, savage anger. Suddenly, I couldn’t control myself. Without thinking I abandoned my attempt at dialogue and bucked and twisted. Sweat dampened my face and rolled down my spine.

“You callous bitch!”

Pomerleau laughed and rhythmically rose to her toes and dropped to her heels like an excited child until I sat back, heaving and exhausted.

“The police will find you,” I panted. “You won’t get away.”

Pomerleau hooked one finger under a studded collar circling her neck. A venomous smile crawled the dead pale face.

“Three bodies were pulled from the ashes,” she chanted. “But, praise the lord, one victim escaped the flames.”

Upending the can, Pomerleau doused my clothes with gasoline.

My stomach lurched. My heart flew to my throat.

Calm! Stay calm!