The Shadow of the Bear: A Fairy Tale Retold (27 page)

“There’s some in the car.” Carl lifted his shades and fixed a pair of cruel eyes on Blanche.

“Cut it out!” Rob said. “No one’s getting out of this!”

Blanche licked her dry lips. A thought occurred to her—if she dared to make a run for it, she might be able to get out of the courtyard and into the open field beyond, which was visible to the highway. Anyone could see her there, and she might be able to flag down a car.

I’d better do something soon
, she realized. She couldn’t tell if they were joking about tying her up, but if they decided to (and they very well might) that would end her chances of escape.

Hoping for just a scrap of courage, she began to pray.

“Fish?” Rose said, bewildered, finally recognizing the prisoner as the young derelict she had met in the park.

“Yeah, it’s me. What the devil are you doing here, Rose?”

“I followed Mr. Freet home from school and—”

“Ah. Dangerous of you. He’s coming back any minute. You’d better get out.”

“But can’t I—”

“You can try to untie me if you want. But I’m afraid Freet did a thorough job.”

“It looks like it,” Rose admitted. Fish’s wrists were each tied separately around the pillar by ropes tied to the opposite elbows. His ankles were tied to the stool he was sitting on, and more ropes across his chest tied him to the pillar.

“Look, if you want to help me, untie my shoes.”

“Why?”

“Just do it. Quickly!”

Rose hurriedly knelt and fumbled for the boy’s shoes. He wore heavy sneakers, whose laces were tied in double knots. She undid them as quickly as possible.

“There!” she said. “What was that for?”

“It doesn’t matter. Now just get out of here!”

She would have questioned him further, but just then, there was the sound of a door opening upstairs.

“Quick, hide! There’s a place beneath the stairs. Wait, the lights!”

Mr. Freet seemed to be busy with something upstairs, so Rose punched the pillar switch and dashed across the room to flick off the other. Then she dove into the area beneath the stairs and huddled behind some boxes, her heart thumping wildly.

It was no use
, she realized. Mr. Freet would see the open bolts on the cellar door and know he had been invaded. All she could do now was pray.

She heard his footsteps pause at the top of the steps for what seemed an eternity. Slowly, Mr. Freet began to come down the steps. Rose thought he would never reach the ground. Then she heard him beginning to walk towards their room.

Suddenly, the lights on the rows of shelves came on, and Rose could see Mr. Freet’s sharp profile against the glow as he stood there, his eyes gleaming like tiny gems. He held a gun in one hand with a silencer screwed on the muzzle. She did not dare to move, or breathe.

“Well, Benedict, I see you had a visitor,” he said impassively.

There was a faint mumble from Fish.

“Someone talked to you,” Mr. Freet said, and for a moment Rose thought he had noticed the shoelaces. “They must have cared enough about you to risk hearing what you might have to say.”

Fish laughed sarcastically, “Maybe I got the gag out myself.”

Mr. Freet aimed his gun at Fish. “Don’t lie to me, boy. Isn’t that supposed to be a sin?”

“Please, be careful where you point that thing,” said Fish. “I’d hate to see it go off.”

“You just might if you don’t tell me who’s been here.” Still holding the gun, Mr. Freet walked towards him, scrutinizing the room around them.

“Whoever it was left, so you don’t need to worry,” Fish said.

“Ah. And who might it have been?”

“Could have been one of your drug flunkies. I wish he’d have untied me, but the guy just laughed at me and left. He didn’t seem too surprised to see me though,” Fish went on, incredibly natural. “Do you do this sort of thing often?”

“As if I’d be such a fool,” Mr. Freet said contemptuously. “I’ve already regretted half a dozen times since I nabbed you that I didn’t strangle you right off. Kidnapping is far more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Far more trouble than robbery and murder, I suppose you mean,” Fish said pleasantly. “Although you intend to end this episode with murder, I don’t doubt.”

Fish gave a sharp gasp and Rose guessed that Mr. Freet had grabbed a handful of his hair.

“Sooner than you think, altar boy, if you don’t tell me the truth about what just happened.”

“Fine. Don’t believe me. I knew you’d only start torturing me again, whatever I said,” Fish gave a strangled sigh. “You’re a terribly suspicious man, Freet.”

“We’re too much alike, Benedict. That’s why we’ve always hated each other.”

“Yes,” Fish coughed, and Rose hoped that Mr. Freet had let him go. Fish continued, “It was a shame I didn’t have a more natural liking for you. I might have suspected you earlier.”

“You never suspected the degenerate atheist of murder?” Mr. Freet scoffed. “You’re far too trusting.”

“Well, I had no idea your differences with Fr. Raymond went beyond theological arguments.” Rose had a feeling he was trying to distract Mr. Freet, to give her the chance to get away. Fish went on, “If I’d had known how deeply you disliked him, we might have added you to the suspect list earlier.”

“’Suspect list’,” Freet mocked. “Hot shot rich kids pretending to be the new Hardy Boys. You thought you were capable of anything, didn’t you? Until you landed in jail. How amusing.”

“Oh, I think you must have been something other than amused.  ‘Scared,’ maybe? We must have done something to deserve two eight balls of crack in our lockers. Or was that your brother’s doing?”

“My brother is an idiot,” Mr. Freet said evenly. “He didn’t have the slightest notion of what I was up to—he still doesn’t! All he cares about is politics, bureaucracy, degrees, and academic standards. He has no idea what’s
really
going on.”

Freet went on, moodily. “Certainly he hated Fr. Raymond, but that was because of some idiotic Church politics.  He never saw your priest’s other side—his dark, carnal passion for beauty.  Fr. Raymond hoarded treasures just like I did—except he masked his greed with piety, like most priests in the Roman church. At least I never disguised my fetish for gold with hypocrisy.  So, we two hoarders had an inevitable gentleman’s quarrel—a duel—over our private appetites. He lost, I’m sorry to say. And the duel would have ended if you two fresh-faced schoolboys hadn’t rushed in to pick up the gauntlet.”

“So that’s how you saw it, is it?” Fish asked with subdued mirth. “You can’t believe good of anyone, can you, Freet?”

“Paugh! Still under the old priest’s spell, are you? What, you don’t like to think of your saintly Fr. Raymond as being capable of avarice? You probably don’t recognize the sin, but I do. And you can’t pretend that his affection for your mother extended further than monetary gain. Oh, now I’ve wounded your sacred memories, but it’s true. I know how the clergy work. It’s simply astonishing how many dying ladies end up signing over whole fortunes to the Roman Church due to some lily-faced priest they met before surgery. It goes on all the time. He got what he wanted out of your mother, don’t doubt that.”

For the first time, Fish sounded piqued. “You’re wrong if you think so. My mother gave hardly a hundred dollars to the church before she died. And St. Lawrence never got the grants that she had planned to give, because of my dad. And you were responsible for that.”

“So he believed you and Arthur were the drug dealers the police claimed you were?  Sensible man.  He’s not so fond of religion as you are, hmm?  So you two ended up jailed, broken, and defeated.  But for some reason you apparently decided to keep up your little crusade of hiding the treasure and tracking down the bad guy, hmm?  Trying to prove to dear old dad that you really were the good guys, eh?  Or perhaps you really have been brainwashed by the Roman church after all.  Either way, it hasn’t exactly worked out in your favor, has it?  What a grim awakening.” Mr. Freet chuckled unkindly.

“If you’re trying to provoke me, Freet, it isn’t working. I gave up on our plans the moment you pulled the gun on me in the alley. The only thing I’m concerned about at this point is my soul.”

“Still the crusader, Benedict? Devout Catholics are so amusing.”

Rose had gotten to her feet and inched out of her hiding place. Now, she moved towards the door as quickly as she dared. Suddenly, there was a whiz and a bullet ricocheted off the cement floor just in front of her, hitting a chalice on the shelf with a clang. She ran around the corner and tore up the cellar steps.

Mr. Freet was in close pursuit behind her. Breathing hard, she ran through the kitchen to the parlor and yanked at the door. It was locked and bolted. Out-maneuvered! But there was the front door.

She dodged out the other door as Mr. Freet barreled into the parlor, sending another bullet after her from his silencer-equipped gun. Pelting down the hallway, she leapt into the dining room and was halfway across when she slipped. Stumbling on her feet, she caught sight of her pursuer in the doorway, giving the fishnet swag a yank.

Without warning, it rained heavy gold around her and she was crushed to the floor by the weight of the net. When she tried to leap to her feet, she was caught, tripped, and fell again, entangled in the mesh.

With a smirk on his face, Mr. Freet advanced towards her, still brandishing the gun.

“My, what a pretty minnow I’ve caught,” he said. “Now sit still and tell me what you’re doing here, or I’ll put a bullet through your redheaded skull.”

Chapter 18

TRAPPED, ROSE ceased her efforts to free herself and sat still under the net, watching Mr. Freet’s face. The face was the same as it usually looked—withered, arrogant, but there was an unkindness there now, unmasked, that Rose thought she should have recognized before.

“Explain yourself,” Mr. Freet repeated, waving the gun at her.

What should she say? Could she risk telling him the truth? Or would she be playing into his hands, giving him more of an advantage over Fish and Bear than he already had?

Taking a deep breath, she said at last, “I’m not doing anything, Mr. Freet. I just followed you home from school —on an impulse.”

“Oh?” Mr. Freet squinted at her. She could tell he didn’t believe her.

“Yes,” Rose said simply. “I get these impulses from time to time, and I just know I’m supposed to follow them. I heard you and your brother talking about chalices through the heating vent, and I decided to follow you home.”

 Mr. Freet thrust out his hand and seized the back of her neck, pinching it tightly. “And why,” his voice rasped in her ear, “were you interested in chalices?”

Rose struggled to maintain her composure. “It was a mad impulse,” she said truthfully. “My sister says I am far too inquisitive. I suppose she’s right.”

He continued to squeeze her neck, as if trying to force the story out of her, but she let herself remain limp in his hands, enduring the pinch. It was probably better that he thought she was crazy than to discover her connection with Bear.

With a short laugh, he released her. “So, you are bewitched, then?” he said. “I could have guessed that about you and your milk-faced sister. Just like your hero G. K. Chesterton, possessed by fantasies of wild adventures—with so very little idea of what real life can be like. ”

He began to yank a rope free from the net. “This divine madness of yours is going to cost you your life now, do you realize that?  You have your Chesterton to thank for it.”

Rose gave a small sigh. “Curiosity killed the cat,” she remarked, even as she wondered how quickly you died from strangulation and if it hurt very much.

Mr. Freet gave her a harsh grimace. “Those were my very next words. But unfortunately, I’ll need you alive just a bit longer.” He slid a hand under the net and jerked her wrists towards him. “Keep still,” he warned her, tucking his gun under one arm and beginning to tie her hands with the rope. “You overheard my little conversation with Benedict. I need to interrogate him further, and you, my mad maiden, are going to help me. I’m afraid neither of you will enjoy it.”