MELT: A Psychological Thriller (36 page)

The lid didn’t pop open.

Chrissie let out her breath. 'Now turn the handle.'

Megan shook her head. ‘Don’t, Alex.’

Alex nodded and hurled the box with all his strength. The box spun twice through the air before disintegrating against the far wall.

CRASH!

Springs and splinters and wood and tiny pieces of machinery flew everywhere.

Everyone flinched.

Neither trap nor food appeared. Jack lay like a crushed snail.

'What's next?' asked Alex defiantly. 'I can throw shit at walls all day.'

Chrissie's hand tightened on the pistol. 'What if that was food?'

'Then you'd be eating off the floor like a pig.'

He's testing me.

Chrissie pointed at the large leather sack, another unknown quantity. No one had dared even to move it.

'Megan, open that.'

Megan's mouth fell open. 'This is your plan?’

'Open it,' repeated Chrissie.

'I'll open it,' offered Alex, stepping forward.

‘Don’t move,' ordered Chrissie. 'You had your chance.'

'Wait,' said Megan.

Chrissie raised the pistol and shrieked, ‘JUST OPEN THE FUCKING BAG!’

Megan scuttled over to the bag. She knelt before it, fumbling with the drawstring.

This will teach Alex to fuck with me. If Megan dies it's his fault.

'Faster!' yelled Chrissie.

'I'm trying! It's knotted!'

Chrissie threw the knife at Megan’s feet.

 Megan cut the drawstring.

'Slide back the knife,' instructed Chrissie. 'Stand back, Alex. This could be messy.'

 Megan slid back the knife, closed her eyes, and then opened the bag.

Nothing happened.

She didn't start choking or convulsing or screaming.

So far so good.

'Put your hand in.'

'Fuck that!' swore Alex. 'That's just evil, Chrissie. Let's just push it over with the umbrella.’

Chrissie leveled the pistol at Alex. 'Megan, put your fucking hand in there before I shoot Alex in the stomach.'

Megan thrust her hand into the bag.

She drew out a fist of gray powder.

'What is that?' asked Alex. 'Old flour?'

Megan studied the powder. 'Maybe. It's just dust now.'

'Put it back,’ said Alex.

'Don't move,' ordered Chrissie.

Megan kept perfectly still. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Taste it.’

Megan screwed up her face.

‘I’ll taste it,’ offered Alex.

Chrissie waved him forward.

Alex knelt beside Megan and took a pinch of her powder. He smelled it.

'This isn't flour,' he said. 'It's another technological development.'

'Is it edible?' asked Chrissie.

‘I wouldn’t recommend it,’ replied Alex. ‘It’s cement.’

Chapter Twenty-five

 

Chrissie hated withdrawal.

She'd barely slept last night.

When was my last full cigarette?

She remembered.
It was i
n the car with Maddie.

Maddie had been coughing again that morning.

Fake coughing again.

'That still smells, Mommy.'

Chrissie had lowered the driver-side window enough to blow the smoke out the window. 'Better?'

'Not really.'

What does she want me to do? Put my head in traffic?

'Mommy, my buckle isn't done up.'

'Mine isn't either, see? We're not going far.'

'Is Daddy picking me up today?'

Not this crap again.

Chrissie didn't answer so Maddie tried another angle.

'Daddy says that smoking gives you yellow teeth.'

Chrissie inhaled deeply on the last of her cigarette and then flicked the butt out the window. 'Smoking doesn't give you yellow teeth, Maddie. Being poor gives you yellow teeth.'

'But Nana's not poor and her teeth are yellow.'

'And does Nana smoke?'

'No.'

'Well, there you go. Smoking doesn't make your teeth yellow.'

Chrissie stopped in the 'No Parking Zone'. In her opinion, a rule not enforced was merely a suggestion. The Day Care Center couldn't write her a parking ticket.

'Ready, Maddie?'

As usual, Maddie was making the process as frustrating as possible.

'What are you doing back there?'

'I can't find the bracelet Daddy sent me.'

Chrissie had resolved not to shout at Maddie in public anymore. Instead, she hissed. 'Hurry up, for God's sake. I'm going to be late.'

'But I need it.'

'You don't need it. They have other toys. Now get out before I get angry.'

Chrissie rubbed her shoulder, pressing down on the fresh nicotine patch.
Is this thing even working?

'Wait, Mom. Just wait a second. I really need it.'

You're not going to find it, because I took it.

Maddie's voice sounded close to tears again.

'Maddie, we talked about this. Nobody likes a cry-baby. I'll find your bracelet tonight. Now hurry up.'

Maddie climbed out reluctantly, still looking over her shoulder, dragging her oversized backpack.

Chrissie wasted another five minutes with the frustrating daycare staff. Didn't they realize some people had real jobs?

Her clock showed 6:20 am back in the car.

She put her foot down, risking another speeding ticket.

What the hell? A detour?

The road crew was still setting up.
If Maddie hadn't slowed me down, I'd have beaten this.

She lowered her window. 'Hey look, I need to go through? My daughter's sick. It's critical.'

The moronic face under the hardhat answered on autopilot. 'Sorry. Gas leak. You have to detour.'

'Just gas? I'll keep my windows up.'

The man glanced over Chrissie's car. 'Your windows won't stop this kind of gas. If you—’

Chrissie cut him off by closing her window.

She had no time for his drivel. She turned into the detour and tapped her GPS impatiently.

'Come on, come on. Which way?'

Her GPS didn't update. It wasn't even tracking her.
Just fucking perfect.
No coverage. She would blast somebody over the phone about this later.

Now she had to interpret the cryptic detour signs like a tourist. She looked in the mirror. Another car detoured behind her. At least she wasn't the only one following the yellow brick road.

The detour cut through the industrial precinct. Gray warehouses crammed together either side of the street.

This can't be the right way.

It wasn't.

The street came to a dead-end. Nothing moved but a small yellow forklift.

'Shit!' Chrissie smacked her palms against the steering wheel.

Did I miss a turn?

She checked her mirror. The other car stopped behind her. They were lost too. The stupid road workers had messed up the detour signs!

She flipped open her mobile phone, dialed, and looked in her mirror. The driver behind her climbed from his car.

Stay in your car, idiot. I don't want to talk to you. I'm obviously lost too.

Her phone gave her the 'out of network coverage' message.

She snapped shut her phone as the man tapped her window.
Yes, Pal. We've both been led to a dead-end. There's nothing to talk about, so why don't you just get in your car and leave me alone.

She rolled down the window enough to say, 'Looks like we've been railroaded into the boondocks, huh? I'm going to just make my own way out of here. Good luck.'

The man didn't answer.

He held up a photograph.

He studied the photograph and then studied her.

Chrissie shut the window.

Creepy. I'm getting out of here.

She put the car in drive, took off the handbrake, and hit the gas.

CRUNCH!

She didn't go forward.

She went up.

The entire car jolted under her. She was being lifted upward.

The forklift.

The yellow forklift was lifting her car off the road! Before she could even panic she was eye-level with the man at her door. He pressed the photo to her window.

It's me. It's a picture of me. Oh, my God, he's got a gun!

Chrissie looked again.

It wasn't a gun.

A drill?

He pushed the thick drill-bit against her window.

Brrrrrrrrrrrr

Transparent shavings spun away from the drill-bit.

He'd drill through in seconds!

She hit the horn and held it on, hoping to attract help.

Crack!

The drill bit punctured her window, stabbing toward her face. Chrissie scrambled into the passenger seat.

Thump

T
he man dropped the drill onto her car roof.

He pushed a plastic tube through the hole. With an ear-piercing
HISSSSSSSSSS,
white gas blasted from the tube.

Gas! They're gassing me!
She held her breath, but she'd already inhaled some. The gas tasted like hair spray.

I have to get out.

Her car only had two doors. The man blocked the driver's door, the forklift blocked the other.

The trunk! She could escape through the trunk.

Gas now filled the car. She groped blindly beside the seat. She found two levers. Which opened the trunk? She yanked up both and then crawled between the seats.

She never reached the trunk.

It felt like time travel.

Like the time she’d needed ankle surgery under general anesthetic. She experienced no sensation of passing time. Just one second in a gas-filled car and the next in an ice-filled chamber.

She hadn't told the others about her abduction.

She didn't want to answer their questions: 'Why did you stop the car? Why didn't you just circle back and keep on driving? Why didn't you hear the forklift approaching?’

She didn’t tell them because all those questions had the same answer: 'Because I was late for work.'

 

 

#

 

 

Frustrated, Chrissie dropped the Rubik’s cube back on the calendar.

Stupid thing.
I bet there's a scrambled Rubik’s cube under every serial killer's bed.

She kicked off Carl's sneakers. The steel floor barely gave
her feet a moment's relief from the increasing heat.

God, it smells revolting in here. Those corpses smell even worse now.

'We're done,' called Megan.

About time.

She found Megan and Alex arranging last night’s artifacts for her inspection.

Jesus, look at all this stuff. It's like a frigging museum fire sale.

She pointed at Alex, 'Why are your hands gray?'

Alex slapped his powdery palms together. 'I searched that bag of cement for anything hidden inside.'

'Find anything?'

'Just the bottom of the bag.'

Chrissie studied the blue elephant statue. It looked intact, so it hadn't fallen from the ice.

'Why did you touch the statue?’

'Victoria said it was safe,' answered Megan.

'How could she know that?'

‘She knew a lot,' said Alex.

'Like how to kill us, you mean.'

Alex looked at the floor.

'Hurry up then,' said Chrissie. 'What is all this crap?'

Megan pointed, 'That hourglass and compass emerged first.’

Chrissie stepped closer. The sturdy wooden hourglass looked unbreakable. Chrissie could barely see the sand-filled glass bulb through the dark wooden frame. The brass compass looked extremely sophisticated, with inscriptions of the moon's phases and star constellations displayed on hinged metal plates.

This doesn’t seem right. I think something is missing.

'When were the hourglass and compass invented?'

Megan swallowed. 'Around 1000 AD. We think.'

Chrissie shook her head over their collection.