Blindfold (5 page)

"Hey!" she called over her shoulder as she lifted the wooden bar that acted as a lock. "C'mere, everybody! I want to check out the coal bin."

When no one answered, Maggie hesitated. Were they already that far ahead of her? She'd only stopped for a second. She shouted again, then, deciding that it really didn't matter since she could always exit through the chute and meet them all outside, she went into the coal bin, leaving the door open, and ducked her head to avoid striking it on the frame.

Inside, it looked the way she remembered it. Black as pitch but for a dingy glow emanating from the chute window, at the top of the front wall. Coal had been delivered through that window, spilling down the chute into the wooden bin at its base. The bin took up most of the space in the tiny room and an ancient black coal furnace sat in one corner.

There are probably spiders in here, Maggie thought uneasily. And climbing up that chute now

that she was grown didn't look as easy as it had when she was small. Besides, the window was probably locked from the outside.

She turned to leave.

A sudden whoosh of air hit her as the door slammed shut in her face.

She heard the wooden bar on the outside of the door slam into place with a thud.

She was locked in.

After her initial surprise had passed, Maggie laughed uncertainly and called out, "Helen? Scout? Guys, this is not so funny! C'mon, let me out of here."

There was no answer from beyond the door. The only sound Maggie heard was the stealthy rustling of some small creature deep inside the walls.

She was alone in the coal bin and the door was locked.

been found sooner, she might have survived. When I heard that, I got this awful, metallic taste in my mouth. She had certainly looked dead to me, when I rolled her body under the truck.

She'd been lying there, alive, for hours? That gave me nightmares.

But then someone said that even if she'd lived, she never would have been the same again. Her brain had been pulverized. I think whoever said that actually used the word 'Vegetable." Then I didn't feel so bad, because I knew how Christy would have hated that. I did wonder, though, if she'd been cold that whole time, although she'd been wearing a heavy coat in her favorite color, red, and black leather gloves. But she hadn't had boots on her feet, so they were probably cold.

Not that it mattered. I mean, she was dying, right? Frozen toes were the least of her problems.

The truth is, I have wondered, sometimes, if she actually knew she was dying. And what that would feel like. It probably would have made her really, really mad, because she thought she had the world by the tail and that only wonderful things were going to happen to her. I mean, she was young, she was pretty, and I know she had big plans, because she'd told me so, more than once.

Well, you just never know, do you?

Christy was better off dead anyway. She'd have hated being stuck in a bed in some nursing home being fed by tubes and not knowing whether it was Monday or Friday. Not even knowing what a Monday or a Friday was. She would have especially

hated never being able to dance again. That girl did love to dance.

She should have stuck to only one partner.

The thing is, I didn't mind so much that they had shut me out. I had other friends. What I really hated was what she was doing to Dante. She was totally ruining his life, and his family's life. It wasn't right. It just wasn't right.

Someone had to stop her.

So I did.

But now, Dante was being blamed for her mur* der.

I didn't know what to do about that.

and the scurrying sounds in the walls got to her then. Her pounding became more frantic, her shouting more panicky, and she began kicking at the door, hoping its age would help her break it down.

Her hands were already sore and raw when she heard, over her own voice, Alex calling her name. She stopped pounding, shouting, and kicking, to listen.

"Maggie? Maggie, you in there?"

"Get me out of here! Hurry up, Alex!"

The door opened and Maggie stumbled out into Alex's arms. A moment later, Whit, Helen, Lane, and Scout came around a corner and joined them, all asking questions at the same time.

"What were you doing in there?" Alex asked when Maggie had calmed down. Her trembling had subsided, and, embarrassed now, she stepped away from him, careful to avoid the door to the coal bin.

"Trying on shoes," she answered caustically. Then, because it wasn't his fault, she added soberly, "I went in there to check it out and someone thought it would be funny to lock me in." She couldn't see anyone's face clearly, but she knew by their questions that they were all there. "Which one of you is the guilty party?" She managed a shaky laugh. "I think I'll just have to jail you in one of the cells for a while, show you how it feels."

One at a time, they all denied having any part in her confinement. And Scout, especially, didn't like being accused. "Like I would ever do that to you!" he said indignantly.

Maggie didn't know what to think. Someone had locked that door behind her. If it wasn't any of her Mends, then who?

"I'm out of here," she said firmly. "I've seen more than enough. I need fresh air and sunshine. You guys coming? And can we please stay together this time?" she asked as they began walking.

They promised, but it was impossible to see them in the dark. All she could do was assume they were still with her.

They hadn't gone far when a veil of soot descended upon their heads and shoulders. Unable to see anything, Maggie stopped walking, clapping her hands protectively over her nose and mouth. She realized that everyone else must have stopped, too, because in place of footsteps padding along the passageway, all she heard was more coughing and sneezing.

They were so lost in the discomfort of the coughing fits, they didn't hear the faint groaning sound near them. They didn't notice as the groan gained strength, growing louder until it had become a full-fledged tearing, ripping sound.

By the time they did hear it, it was too late. The ground beneath their feet shook and shuddered as the upright, wooden beam stretching from the ground to the ceiling gave way, toppling to one side in a shower of wood chips and chunks, dirt, bugs, and dust.

Maggie was the first to realize what was happening. She screamed a warning, but her throat was so

fu.ll of dust, the sound that came out was little more than a hoarse cry.

Still, the others heard her, and realized that something bad was taking place. Instinctively, they jumped backward.

Just in time.

There was a second, mightier shudder when the beam slammed into the ground. A thick spray of brown, musty-smelling dirt flew upward upon impact, spraying all of them as they stood frozen, mouths open, watching disaster strike. The floor above had no choice. It had to follow. It sank downward slowly in a thick shower of hardwood flooring, dust, more bugs, papers, dirt, and limestone. Even a desk chair made its way into the debris.

Everyone jumped backward further to avoid being struck. Their hands over their mouths for protection, they stared, speechless, for long moments after the shower came to a halt.

When the last thud had died and the dirt had settled beneath a hole in the ceiling the size of a bass drum, Alex was the first to speak, his voice hoarse. "Man," he breathed huskily, "what was thatr

All eyes were on the mess in front of them. The heavy beam was lying directly in their path. Piled atop it, as if someone were planning a large bonfire, lay a heap of remains from the first floor. Chunks and slices of hardwood flooring from above were crisscrossed in the heap like skis standing on end, their edges stabbing upward. Here and there,

sheets of white paper dotted the debris. The towering mountain of rubble reached almost to the low ceiling. Some light shone faintly through the hole, and distant cries of alarm began to filter downward.

Lane and Whit echoed Alex's question. "What happened!"

When their breathing had finally slowed to some regularity and they had made certain that no one was injured, they stood silently for several more minutes.

Finally, Scout said, "The question is, what do we do nowV

Even in their shock and disbelief, they could all see very clearly why Scout had asked that particular question. Because although they were more than ready to leave the basement -- eager to leave the basement of the old courthouse -- they couldn't.

A pile of debris that reached from floor to ceiling and from one wall to the other was barring then-path.

They weren't going anywhere.

and called in return, 'We're not hurt. But we can't get out. There's a big mess blocking our way."

Pale eyebrows drew together in a frown and the shiny, pink scalp withdrew.

"That was Samuel Petersen," Alex said, his own voice not quite steady. "Town clerk. My dad always said Mr. Petersen never makes a decision until he's thought about it for a long time. He says hell could freeze over twice while Samuel Petersen thinks things through. We might be here for a while."

With some effort, Maggie pulled herself together. She was not waiting around in this horrible place. "No, we won't," she announced, sidestepping the fringes of the rubble and pushing aside broken pieces of flooring to clear her way to the coal bin door. As reluctant as she was to reenter the tiny room, she was even more reluctant to stay where she was. "We can climb up through the coal chute. If it's not filled to the ceiling with debris from upstairs." She lifted the bar and pulled the door open again. The hole had spread into the room, but there was no debris blocking the way to the metal chute.

"Oh, there's an idea," Lane said sarcastically. Recovered completely from shock, she was running fingers through her silky dark hair in an effort to dislodge as much dust as possible. She had removed the yachting cap and stuck it in the waistband of her slacks. The hat was now more gray than white. "I'm not going in there. That chute has to be filthy with coal dust. And cobwebs. Maybe bats and spiders live in there. It hasn't been used in years."

Maggie glanced down at her own denim skirt and white T-shirt. They were coated with a thick sheen of gray and brown dust and dirt. "You're worried about getting dirty? Lane, we're already filthy. Look at your hat!"

"Besides," Alex added, "by the time old Petersen figures out how to get us out of here, more than your cap will be gray, Lane. Your hair will be, too."

'We're not kids anymore," Lane argued, shaking the cap vigorously and plunking it back on her head. "Maybe we won't fit in the chute."

'There's only one way to find out. Come on." Maggie stepped into the place she had fought so hard to escape.

"I've never been in here," Alex commented over his shoulder.

"Then how did you get in and out of the basement?" Maggie asked as she moved cautiously through the blackness to the bottom of the chute. "When you played down here?"

"I never played down here." He sounded indignant. "When my mom brought me into town, I went upstairs to my dad's office to visit him, then I went to the movies." He frowned. "Why would I want to play down here?"

Helen, behind him, said, "Everyone did. When we came in from the country on Saturday, I couldn't wait to play down here."

Sirens sounded faintly in the distance. "They're sending help," Lane called from outside the coal room. "Why don't we just wait? They can put a lad-Si

der down through the hole in the ceiling for us."

But Whit argued, "A ladder won't do us any good. Leaning a heavy wooden ladder up against the edges of that jagged hole could make more of the floor up there collapse. No, thanks. I'm going up the chute, like Maggie."

Scout said hastily, "I'm with you," and after a moment of hesitation, Alex said the same thing. Helen and Lane were the last to agree.

Maggie could only hope that more of the ceiling didn't decide to give way while they were struggling up the chute to the window.

There was only enough space for two people to maneuver at a time. The others waited their turn out in the corridor.

Maggie approached the chute cautiously, without the reckless abandon she'd enjoyed as a child when she had scrambled up it as if she had suction cups on her feet. To Whit, behind her, she said, "It's a good thing this chute is here, or we'd be stuck! I just hope the window isn't latched from the outside."

Before the gas furnace had been installed in the courthouse, a truck had regularly backed up to the window, fastened it open with a latch that slipped into a hook on an outside wall of the building, and dumped a steady stream of the nuggets down the chute until the bin was heaped high. Pleased to be the first person in Felicity to be heating with coal instead of wood, Otis Bransom had built the chute himself.

As a child, Maggie had found sliding down it

great fun. Almost like a slide at the playground, except that the chute was narrower and had higher sides, to keep the coal from spilling over. She'd had little trouble going back up it, gripping the curving sides of the slippery metal chute with all her might to pull herself up and out. But... she'd been little then ... and stupid. Climbing up the slippery metal chute looked just about impossible to her now.

Because the hole in the bin's ceiling was smaller than the one in the passageway, there was very little light pouring through it. Maggie had to feel the way with her hands. Her stomach twisted at the thought of inadvertently touching something gross. Were there bats down here? Hadn't someone said there were probably bats in the cupola perched on top of the building?

"We have to go up one at a time," she cautioned Whit. He was already close on her heels. She waved him backward. "The chute is slippery. We don't have to rush, anyway. It's not like the building's on fire."

Lane, waiting in the doorway, overheard. "Please don't mention that word," she warned. "Everyone knows the courthouse is the worst fire-trap in town. My mother says even a heated argument could set this building ablaze. It'd be ashes in minutes."

"You weren't listening, Lane." Maggie climbed up onto the chute, sank to a crouching position, and gripped the sides with both hands. "I said there wasn't any fire. Relax!"