The Vines by Shelley Nolden (most motivational books .txt) 📗

The line had already gone dead.

Two hours later

August 8

o relieve a muscle ache in his back, Finn curved his shoulder blades, inward and away from the window fencing. According to the woman, Rollie should be arriving in fewer than two hours. Assuming he could make it here.

The water looked like a smooth, asphalt path from his third-story vantage point, but Finn knew the chop had to be severe.

Compulsively, Finn yanked on the grate. If he could reach Barretto Point Park within the hour, he could borrow a cell phone and call off his dad. Then, tomorrow morning, he would show up at Rollie’s practice and demand an explanation. If his father gave him the runaround, then Finn’s voice might have to get a little too loud near the patients’ waiting room. Rollie would view such coercion as a direct violation of their sacrosanct family rules, but at this point Finn didn’t care.

“You ready?”

Startled by her sudden return, he jerked his head toward the dark observation window. “For what?”

“To leave. I’m letting you go.”

In disbelief, Finn tried to shake away the dizziness caused by dehydration.

“Your kayak’s still on the western shore.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t steal it.”

Cora snorted with annoyance. “She’s exactly where you left her, poorly hidden in the marram grass.”

Unsure if she’d meant that as an insult, he asked, “What happened to waiting for Rollie?”

“Change of plans. Your girlfriend called.”

Finn swore under his breath.

“The name Lily kept appearing on the screen, even when the phone didn’t ring. Kinda like a telegraph. Anyway, two of the times she called, I did answer.”

“And…what did you say?”

“That I plan to execute you for your family’s crimes.”

Finn winced, then reconsidered.

“I don’t buy it,” he said, shaking his head. “Lily’s got nine-one-one on speed dial. This place would be crawling with police by now.”

“Nine-one-one?”

How could she not know about that? Unless she had spent her first decade here, too. Impossible. “What did you really say?”

“That I’d snuck onto the island to photograph the ruins and found your phone. She was so worried about you. Apparently, she’s in love. It made me feel guilty, so I’m letting you go. But if you’d rather stay . . .”

It had to be a trick. Allowing him to walk out, then slicing one of his major arteries, would save her the effort of dragging his body. Or this related to her scheming to find the entrance to the supposed tunnel. Regardless, his odds of survival would be better outside the cell.

“I’m good with leaving.” He stooped to pick up the dime magazine. The story hadn’t ended well for the Native American.

“Did you call off my dad?”

“I left him a ‘voice message,’ like the recording told me to do.” She rapped the pane. “Now pay attention. If you don’t follow my instructions precisely, you will get a knife in your spine.”

Finn gritted his teeth. “I’m a good listener even without a death threat.”

“Open the door. It’s unlocked.”

Surprised, he twisted to check. Before entering the nurses’ station, she must have silently slid aside the deadbolt—another reminder that this was her terrain. Cautiously now, he crossed the room. The door squealed as he eased it open.

“Your gear is on the floor. Take out your flashlight, then sling your pack over one shoulder. I want to have a clean shot at your back.”

In the darkness he groped for the main zipper. The interior reeked of antiseptic. He slid the magazine—a valuable bargaining chip—along with his sketchbook into the pack and reached for his phone, to no avail.

His knuckles banged against his canteen bottle. He finished it off and tucked the container into the cording that crisscrossed the front of his bag.

“Did I say you could drink that?”

Her voice had echoed from the blackness down the corridor.

“You didn’t say I couldn’t.” The reprimand had come after he’d finished. Maybe she did intend to let him leave.

He found his tactical flashlight and nudged its switch.

The beam illuminated the swaying corpse of a baby, hanging from the top frame by a vine.

Finn yelped and jumped back.

Wrapped tightly around her neck was the tribal bracelet he’d left with the Toblerone.

Did she strangle that infant? With his eyes squeezed shut, he could still see its small, battered form and open, crystalline blue eyes.

Those haunting irises: his light had reflected off them like they’d been made of glass.

Maybe they are, he thought, forcing himself to return the beam to the tiny body.

An antique baby doll, Finn realized and exhaled heavily with relief. Yet, still, he felt nauseated. The whole thing was gruesome and sick.

“Why the fuck did you do that?”

“It’s a warning,” she said from the gloom. “And a test. Your reaction was surprising, considering you’re Ulrich’s grandson. He would have appreciated the gesture, more so if it had been an actual Jew or Gypsy infant.”

“How do you know so much about him?”

“I know everything about your family.”

The statement had sounded like a threat.

“What he did was heinous. I would change my last name, but what good would that do? The Jews he murdered would still be dead. I’m nothing like him.”

“People change. I’m not going to sit around and wait for that to happen to you.”

I have to get out of here.

He flicked the beam in the opposite direction, and she appeared near the end of the wing, a respirator mask shielding her face.

She pointed at his bag. “You need more bug spray, a good, thick coat.”

“Why?”

“Just do it. Then take the stairs in the dayroom. Once you’re outside, take your same route as before.” She strummed the tiled wall. “In reverse, obviously.”

Fending off a recurrence of the light-headedness, he sprayed his entire body, the cloud of chemicals nearly choking him.

“I’ll give you a thirty-second lead,” she said before the air had cleared, “then the hunt begins.”

Finn raced along the corridor and down the two flights of stairs. Hurdling overturned chairs and dodging file cabinets, he charged through the dark administrative suite and lobby.

As he passed through the entrance, the fresh air hit him, and