Chapter VIII
This time when Frank awoke he felt much more himself. He had some vague memories of what had gone before, but wasn't sure if they were real or dreams. He let his eyes drift around the unfamiliar room. He lay on a large, old fashioned poster bed against one wall. The shades were drawn under the yellow curtains of the single window by a beat up dresser.
He tried to sit up, but something pulled at his arm and he pushed back the blanket to look. His right wrist was handcuffed to the metal mattress support. Wow, he thought, I must have really been out of it not to think of that. The cuff was fastened between two slats, limiting movement, but by moving carefully he eased into sitting position.
He noticed his jacket hung neatly over a nearby chair back and a closet door on the opposite wall. That was all he had time to see before a key rattled in the lock and the door swung inward. A tall woman with wavy, greying hair entered, balancing a tray on her hip. She stopped dead at the sight of him and they stared at each other a moment.
"You're awake," she said finally. Frank nodded. She lowered the tray onto a chair and locked the door behind her. Frank noticed that the tray contained a bowl of ice, a pitcher of water with a glass, some clean washcloths and a pile of gauze.
She turned from the door. "Let me take a look at your head."
Without ceremony, she took his head in her hands and looked critically into his eyes. After a second she nodded, satisfied, and bent his head toward her, gently fingering the bump on the back. Frank winced and pulled away. She ignored him, pushing the hair off his forehead to study it closely.
"Much better," she said in a pleased tone. "How do you feel?"
"Confused." He rubbed at the back of his head. "Where is this?"
Her expression changed, becoming guarded. She turned away to pour a glass of water. "That's not important. Drink this."
"It's important to me." But he took the glass, studying her. "I know you from somewhere."
She avoided his eyes. "This isn't the first time you were conscious. Are you hungry?"
Frank suddenly became aware of an empty feeling in his middle. "Starved," he admitted.
"I'll get you something to eat."
"Look, I just want to know - "
The door closed firmly behind her. He heard the key turn in the lock. He slumped back against the headboard in frustration, yanking irritably at the handcuff with so much force that he cried out in pain. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Breaking his wrist wouldn't help. That was something Joe would do.
Joe. And Callie! They must be worried sick.
He glanced at his watch. 8:30PM. Then he had been gone about - four hours. He caught sight of the date and sat up straighter with a gasp. September first! Could his watch be wrong? It seemed to be working okay. So he had been here more than twenty-four hours?
He leaned his head back and concentrated hard. What could he remember? Those voices. Something about...kidnapping being a felony. And...grand theft. He opened his eyes. Theft of what? But nothing came to him. Then some argument about killing...he winced. Probably him. And...and three days. He murmured it aloud, trying to grasp the elusive thread. There was something...why wouldn't his head work? He glanced at his watch and shifted fitfully. One day gone. He had to get out of here!
He heard the key in the lock and forced himself to look neutral. The woman reentered with another tray, this one holding a bowl of tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich and a glass of milk.
"It's not a lot," she said apologetically, "but you haven't eaten in a while and whatever they gave you sure didn't agree with you. I think you'd better take it slow."
"Looks great," said Frank appreciatively. All of a sudden he felt hollow.
"I don't suppose you're left handed?" Frank shook his head. "Can you manage, do you think, or shall I feed you?"
Frank recoiled at the thought of being fed. "I'm sure I'll be fine." He tentatively tried the soup. It tasted good, and he was pleased to see that he managed rather neatly. He was hungry, and no wonder, he thought, considering his last meal was lunch yesterday, and he made his way through it quickly. He glanced up as he finished and surprised a look of motherly amusement at his appetite, but as his eyes met hers, her expression went blank again and he decided that he had imagined it. He swallowed the last of the milk and sat back.
"Thanks."
She gave a glimmer of a smile as she took the tray and shook her head. "The resilience of youth. Is there anything else you'd like?"
"Yes," responded Frank bluntly. "I'd like to leave."
Her expression hardened. "And so you will. In just two days."
"You're sure of that, are you?"
For a second she looked scared, then determined. "Yes, I'm sure. Because I have it all figured out. Whenever anyone comes to that door, even if you think it's me, I want you to lie down and pretend you're still drugged. If they think you've come round they'll want to inject you again, and I don't think that stuff was very good for you."
Frank, whose brain still felt wrapped in a soft fog, had to agree. "You think they'll buy that one injection kept me out for three days?"
"Combined with that knock on your head? They'll believe me. They have to. Besides, they have more important things to worry about."
"I'll bet. What things, exactly?"
The woman looked startled, as though surprised to find she'd been talking out loud. She set her jaw and faced him squarely. "Now, you listen to me. I've made it my job for the next two days to see that you stay hale and hearty and leave here in one piece. That means you do as I say. It means you lay low. It means, most of all, that you don't ask any questions. None. You understand? The less you know, the safer you are."
"Which isn't very safe at all, is it?"
She rose abruptly, picking up the tray.
"Two days. Two days, and you rejoin your friends. Forget this ever happened. It'll all be just a bad dream." She unlocked the door and, balancing the tray on her hip, pulled it closed behind her. He heard the key turn in the lock.
So. They knew about Joe and Callie. He shuddered with sudden fear. He looked desperately from the window to the closet, then from one piece of furniture to another, back to the cuff on his wrist. Then he stretched out on his stomach to study the way the bed fit together.
"Sorry, lady," he muttered "But it's every prisoner's responsibility to try to escape. And one way or another, I'm breaking out of here."
*
It was 10:15PM by the luminous dial of Joe's digital watch as he was squatting with Callie in an alley, watching the stage entrance to the Opera House. There was a sharp breeze blowing and Callie shivered in her thin cardigan.
"Joe," she whispered. "It's been almost an hour. What are we watching for?"
"An opening," Joe whispered back. "But I'm not sure how much longer they'll be in there. Another half hour and we'll check out the door and see if there's some way to bluff our way in."
Just then a van pulled along the curb and they ducked low. They could just make out the words "Elite Catering" on the side in white letters. A boy near their age got out and went around to the back, lifting out a large tray filled with wrapped sandwiches. Callie rose cautiously to her feet.
"Wait here," she whispered. "Follow when I signal."
"Callie - wait - " Joe made a grab for her, but Callie was already approaching the driver, smiling disarmingly. She ran a quick hand through her blonde hair.
"Hi!" she said lightly. "Are you the caterer?"
The boy eyed her appreciatively. "Yeah."
"Well, I've been on the lookout for you. We've got a pretty hungry crew in there." The boy glanced at his watch.
"I'm a little late," he said apologetically. "I got held up in traffic."
"No problem. Why don't you follow me?" Callie led him toward the stage entrance, gesturing behind her back for Joe to follow. Joe darted after them, using every available scrap of cover and chuckling to himself.
Callie sashayed unconcernedly to the door, her sharp eyes catching sight of the doorbell. She rang it. The door opened almost immediately. "Elite Catering," she said unspecifically. And sweetly to the caterer, "Let me hold the door for you." She held the door while he passed through with his large cardboard tray and continued to hold it while Joe slipped in behind him and flattened himself against the wall, moving carefully out of the light. Then she followed the caterer to the backstage area.
Joe moved in the other direction, toward the audience side doors and out into the lobby, thankful for Alissa's tour earlier that day. The lobby was eerily silent, but he didn't feel comfortable enough to turn on the flashlight. Instead he moved by memory, using the faint streetlight glow coming in the windows for illumination.
When he thought he was at the right door he risked the flashlight briefly, dulling the glow with his hand. Bingo.
He knelt down by the lock and took out his lockpicks. Now he would have to use the light, and, holding the flashlight in his mouth, he worked delicately at the lock. It gave way with a faint click, and the knob turned gently under his hand. With a soft exclamation of triumph he crept inside, closing the door behind him.
Muting the flashlight with his shirt, he made his way to the desk and picked up the rosters sitting there. Then he carried them behind the desk and knelt to check them out, out of view of the door.
The first one was an employee entrance/exit log. He was about to discard it when it occurred to him that it might be interesting to know who had been where during Frank's robbery and disappearance. He pulled out the pocket copier and flipped to the pages with the correct dates. A curl of paper ejected from the other end of the copier and he put the log aside.
The next one showed call time and sign in for the performers. Joe made copies of the proper date pages there, too. Then he turned to the third log.
This one had pages labeled with the four license plates Alissa had mentioned. Joe sighed with triumph and picked up the photocopier.
Just then a light flashed on outside the door, followed by the sound of footsteps. Joe caught his breath, turning off the flashlight and ducking under the desk, willing the footsteps to go by.
They stopped right outside the door.
He heard the rattle of a key in the lock. Slowly, the knob began to turn. Then the door swung inward, and a click flooded the room with light.