Too Pretty For The Hills Page 12

  Then suddenly, a door opened. It was the children - they must have heard her and woken up. How much noise had she been making? Anne, Thomas and Emil all looked slightly funny. They were peeking out into the hallway, looking at their nanny with fear in their eyes.

  ''You’re ... You’re really bad kids. And the spider ... The big hairy spider, she comes to ...'' The three squealed and slammed the door, but she kept reciting the nursery ryme. ''She comes to eat you all up and - eat you all up and - eat you all up and ...''

  Feeling dizzy, she leaned against the door and threw up.

  ''Eat you all up and ... Eat you all up and ...''

  As much as the bizzare state that she was in scared her, it also blunted her emotions just enough to prevent a complete meltdown. Finally reaching the stairs, she started feeling faint again and lay down flat on the floor.

  Through the rustling of blood in her ears she heard someone walking close by. Maybe someone was coming up the stairs? No, false alarm. It was just someone answering the front door. Dora was able to make out two voices, one of which belonged to Greta.

  ''... Half gone ...''

  ''... Keeps pouring ...''

  ''... Flooded my basement and ...''

  ''... He wasn’t happy ...''

  ''... It’s bad things got out of hand like this ...''

  ''... She found out ...''

  ''... Wait and see ...''

  The voices swirled and fluttered, sometimes sounding as if they were right next to her, other times as if they were being carried to her over a great distance by the wind.

  She felt sicker and sicker. Afraid she might throw up again, she closed her eyes and squeezed her eyelids so hard it made her ears buzz. The floor beneath her was heaving like the stern of a ship in the middle of a hurricane.

  ''Fuck ... Mallek ...''

  ''Do you think she ...''

  ''Drugged her?''

  ''Yes, we drugged her ...''

  The conversation downstairs moved to another room and she could no longer make out words. But at least now she knew for a fact why she felt like this. She had indeed been drugged.

  The realisation did not, however, change anything, including her plan. Grabbing onto the railing at the top of the stairway she slowly pulled herself up. Knowing she would be easy pickings if she tried to exit through the main gate, she set her course for the kids’ room again, which offered access to the roof. Her options from there were unknown, but as a first step it was the only possibility.

  When she entered the children's room, the boys screeched and hid under the bed, but Anne - an entirely different Anne than the timid and shy little girl Dora knew - ran towards her and started hitting her with the little sword made from taped up crayons.

  Dora looked at her for a moment with a blank expression, then threw up on her pretty little blonde head.

  ''Ewww!''

  ''Back off, you little shit,'' she mumbled as she pushed Anne out of the way and opened the window, ''before I put those crayons where you'll never lose them.''

  It was cold outside but the cool air soothed her burning throat as she clambered onto the window sill and out onto the pitch-black roof.

  Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the scene for a moment. Feeling her way around, Dora scrambled to the edge of the roof and looked down into the darkness. She tried to identify a suitable place for a soft landing, but there wasn't enough light. It would have to be a leap in the dark, literally.

  The doorbell rang – or at least she thought it did - and then some muted arguing ensued.

  Another flash of lightning and Dora glimpsed the kids' inflatable castle. She took a deep breath and jumped, and against all odds, actually managed to hit it. It broke her fall nicely but suffered the ultimate fate itself, bursting at the seams from the impact.

  ''Shut up! I told you I didn’t want to see you here again!''

  ''And I told you to look after the girl! But you didn’t!''

  It was dark in the yard, but there was light coming through the living room window. Dora pondered her next step for a moment, then cautiously crept over to the house and pressed up against the wall. Very slowly, she peeked into the living room.

  Inside she saw several people: Greta and Errol, assuming those were even their real names; a muscular, blond, very handsome man with a bundesliga haircut who she recognized but couldn’t say where from; and a few strangers, a couple of whom were watching TV, all male except for one. Also present was a tall figure with long, grey hair combed behind his ears and an annoying voice she vaguely recognized as the sheriff. He was wearing his usual worn-out leather jacket and he appeared inebriated, his nose Rudolph red, and a skinny young man was standing beside him, arms crossed and nodding to something a muscular man in a blue jumpsuit was saying to him.

  A vigorous dispute was in progress, but it came to an abrupt end when the blond man addressed Greta as ‘Vera’ and instructed her to calm down. Then he turned to the sheriff.

  ''You’re drunk,'' he growled. ''Fucking wasted!''

  ''Ah, don’t give me that shit, don’t even give me that shit!'' Sheriff Felix snorted clumsily. ''I’m not even tipsy! As a matter of fact, I think I’ll help myself to a little brandy. I know damn well Vera's not gonna offer any.''

  He stumbled towards the liquor cabinet, but Greta, Vera, or whoever she was stepped in front of him. ''One more step and I’ll drop you,'' she seethed.

  ''God I wish we were alone right now, woman! I’d show you some manners! With my belt over your mouth till it was too swollen to yap!''

  ''Now that’s enough, both of you! And keep your voices down!'' the blond man said sternly. ''Do you want her to hear us?''

  The sheriff frowned. ''I don’t think it even matters at this point,'' he said. ''She already knows, doesn’t she?''

  ''Does she, Vera?''

  Dora winced at the question and only then spotted the person who had asked it - Erica Ziegler. She was leaning on the kitchen doorframe and quietly observing the company, but her presumptive husband was nowhere to be seen.

  ''... Suspects. And I did some damage control,'' Greta nee Vera said. ''I sedated her with something Mallek gave me. She won't be waking up for a while and when she does, I’ll just give her some more. I told her that the missing girls were on an expedition that went wrong. As for the pictures, me and Gunter acted as though we didn't know what she was talking about.''

  ''Oh, you got it all figured out, don’t you?'' the sheriff growled. ''Because everyone but you is a retard! Of course she figured it out, all of it - don’t shush me, Bruno - and you can bet your ass that she’ll only try to escape from now on, constantly! So so much for that!''

  ''No, it’s going to be fine,'' Errol said, piping up for the first time from one of the sofas, his hands clamped together and his gaze riveted to the floor in front of him, as if there was something more than just a yellow rug there. ''We’ll just have to medicate her for the remainder of her stay,'' he said in a strong, determined voice, that was highly uncharacteristic of him. ''You all remember what happened to that last girl. I said we needed to drug her too when she copped on, but no-one backed me up and I think we all know how it went from there. Now I suspect it’s going to be a little bit different. Don’t think anyone wants another Julija Manfred.''

  A few people nodded in agreement and silence fell across the room. Then the young man standing next to the sheriff took out and attempted to light a cigarette.

  ‘‘Step outside to smoke that, please,’’ Greta said. ‘‘Otherwise we’ll suffocate in here.’’

  ''You’re right, sorry. I’ll be right back.''

  ''No you won’t,'' the drunk sheriff said and physically grabbed the man. ''This woman isn’t in charge of anything. You can light up here if you want. If fact, you know what? Give me one as well.''

  He and Greta were already looking at each other as if the bell for round two of their prize fight was about to be rung.

  ''How are we looking for chow?'' one of the men watching
TV asked.

  ''The frankfurters will be ready any second now but the stew needs another twenty minutes,'' Erica answered.

  ''I’m gonna go check up on Dora,'' the bundesliga fellow said.

  ''Any more beer in the fridge, Erica?''

  Right then, the door bell rang, but by this time Dora had heard more then enough. The legs she had ordered to take her out of this place what seemed like hours ago finally obliged. But as she headed back the way she'd come, trying to navigate in the darkness, something suddenly froze her in her tracks and made her wince.

  A loud bang had come from inside the house.

  It was a gun shot.

  22

  Dora turned around in shock. And then, in a matter of moments, a full-on gunpowder orchestra erupted in a shooting spree that shook the windows.

  She screamed and threw herself on the wet grass. One of the windows shattered, an apple hanging from a tree nearby exploded, and time seemed to stand still.

  And then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, and all was silent again. Terrified, Dora got to her feet and began running away from the house. It was quiet now, and so very still.

  How she got over the garden fence was beyond her, and she would later have no memory of leaving the neighborhood. Her only recollection would be the distant sound of a few more gun shots.

  Stumbling through a long downhill pasture, the bottom of her borrowed nightgown flapped around her ankles. She didn’t think it possible, but the horror of Graufirst had actually escalated to yet another level. She was so deeply in shock that she just ran mindlessly towards a farmyard that stood out from the surrounding darkness like an old, dilapidated lighthouse.

  The smell of chicken feces was overwhelming, but she stopped anyway, got down on all fours and looked back in the direction she had come from. Lights were flashing in the distance. The town seemed to be waking up.

  Quickly, she crawled into an enormous wooden barn, leaving the squeaky door behind her ajar. A couple of large black cows and a much greater number of sheep were sleeping in their stables.

  Before Dora could evaluate the situation and think of her next move, she heard a growl. It was a thin-legged, frayed-looking dog with a look in its eyes that suggested rabies.

  She just barely managed to scramble up an old ladder and into a hay loft as the dog lunged at her and barely missed her heal. The higher she climbed up, the more its deranged fury seemed to intensify.

  She reached the upper deck and dug herself into the hay. Then she waited, shaking all over, hoping the animal would run out of steam before morning. Pretty soon the door squeaked again and a shrill voice whose gender was hard to determine, spoke up:

  ''All right, now listen up whoever’s up there! I’ll give you to the count of three to come down! Then I start blasting away and I don’t care who I hit! You got that? One ...''

  Dora raised her head out of the ocean of itchy straw, looking for a way out. But all she could see through the dusky yellow were wooden boards all around her, preventing escape.

  ''... Two ...''

  She feverishly began looking for something to throw at whoever was down there, but unless that person was severely allergic to hay, there was nothing available that could be used as weapon.

  ''... Three.''

  A shot rang out that shook the entire barn.

  ''Stop! Stop, please!''

  ''What? Whose there? A girl?''

  ''Don’t shoot!''

  The dog let out a howl. Clearly, it was not a fan of loud noises.

  ''Sorry! Heck, I wasn’t really gonna shot anyone, never mind a girl. It was just a warning shot. Now who are you and why the heck are you hiding up there?''

  ''I’m ...''

  ''Come down here, will you?''

  ''Please,'' Dora wailed, still stuck up in the hay. ''No more! Just let me leave! I don’t want any more of this ... I just want to go back home!''

  ''Hold on,'' the voice said, becoming even shriller. ''Don’t tell me. You’re that new girl everyone keeps talking about, aren't you? The outsider? Well gosh darn, Miss, I can’t think of a single worse place in the world you could have ended up in, honestly. I mean Graufirst in general, not here - you stumbling into my barn just now is a little stroke of luck, to tell you the truth. I’m on your side.''

  Dora laughed out loud at the thought of taking anyone from around here at their word. She was so preoccupied with her current predicament, in fact, that it completely escaped her that she was apparently no longer under the influence of the drug.

  ''You’re just one of them, you motherfucker!''

  ''Miss, I may be a motherfucker, but I’m not one of them bad guys, no sir! Mitzi and I are a couple of straight arrows. Wouldn’t bend a hair on your pretty head, I promise. Ain’t that right, Mitzi?''

  The dog was hardly in a position to offer any confirmation, but Dora didn’t have much of a choice either way. She carefully peeked over the edge of the loft.

  Standing there was a lanky man with a shotgun wearing nothing but washed-out violet long johns and hiking boots and looking as if someone had just pulled him out from under one of his cows. He was wearing a baseball cap, as if he were afraid he’d get a sunburn in the middle of the night. He appeared to have been on bad terms with his toothbrush for some time and seemed to be smiling, not from amusement, but from some uncouth type of bewilderment.

  ''Well I’ll be a bull’s testicle,'' he said and needled the growling dog with his boot. ''It’s always the pretty ones. Now listen here, Miss, you have my word that nothing bad's gonna happen to you, not if I can help it.''

  ''If I had a nickle for every time someone said that!''

  ''Maybe so, but you don’t stand a chance alone, you do know that, right? They won’t let you leave. No way you’re getting out without help - and I reckon I’m just crazy enough to ...''

  He suddenly paused, the muscles in his wrinkly face tensing.

  Dora didn’t have to ask what was wrong; she heard it too. The sound of car engines closing in on the barn made her heart sink.

  23

  Two old cars, both covered in mud, pulled up one after another, the rubble grinding under their tires as they came to a stop in the yard.

  A big man with his hair parted down the middle and a pock-marked face, jumped out and began looking over the grounds, assisted by several others. There were six of them in all.

  ''Fuck, it stinks here,'' he said matter-of-factly.

  One man walked around the barn with a flashlight in his hand and two others began breaking into the house. But the big guy himself headed straight toward the entrance to the barn, accompanied by a woman and another man.

  There were prints of bare feet and hands in the mud, leading inside.

  Just as they were about to step in, the door opened with a loud creak, and the trio stood looking down the long barrel of the farmer's shotgun.

  ''What the hell’s going on here?''

  ''I think you know what’s going on,'' the man said in a cold voice, measuring the farmer distrustfully with his eyes.

  ''I’ll be the son of a cow’s uncle if I do! This is private property, now all of you get off my land!''

  Suddenly they heard a window shatter. Apparently the two men charged with breaking into the house hadn’t had much luck with the doors.

  ''Hey! What the hell!''

  ''Where is she?''

  ''Where’s who? All right, that’s it, I’m calling the sheriff ...''

  ''Where’s the girl, Kasimir,'' the man said, spitting the farmer’s name out like a burned piece of toast.

  ''I’m warning you,'' the farmer replied, his voice shaking slightly. ''See this shotgun here? It leaves a big hole in whatever I point it at and click ...''

  ''Yeah? Well so does this,'' the man said, procuring a revolver from his belt. The farmer winced. The other two were armed as well and before he knew it, he was trapped in a Mexican standoff. ''There’s six of us and one of you. So unless you have a death wish, you’re going to hand us
that thing now and I do mean now. This ain’t about you.''

  The dog was snarling.

  ''And make that fucking thing shut up before I do it myself!''

  The farmer went pale and slowly handed his shotgun over, then crouched down to restrain the dog. He watched helplessly as the trio stepped passed him and into the barn, the animals eyeing the intruders as they turned on their flashlights.

  ''Check up there on the hayloft, and ... Hey shut that fucking thing up already, Kasimir! I’m not telling you again!''

  The farmer scooped the dog up, carried it out of the barn and put it into an old rust-eaten car with no wheels, slamming the door. He then returned to find his unwelcome guests rummaging through the stables.

  ''Why can’t you just leave the poor girl alone?''

  The intruders were combing through every inch of the barn while the forlorn farmer helplessly looked on.

  ''I’ll go tell sheriff!''

  ''You go do that. Go tell your little sheriff about how we’re harassing you.''

  ''You think I’m bluffing? I will!''

  ''No-one’s stopping you, old timer.''

  The farmer nodded, as if gathering courage, and then went outside and started up his tractor. But no one was taken in by his bluff. He knew he wasn't going anywhere, and so did everyone else.

  He came back into the barn and paced back and forth, lamenting and saying something about the scourge of God. No-one paid any attention to him, however, and in a few minutes he left again, this time actually taking off into the night on his tractor.

  The search party were getting more and more frustrated as the only thing they turned up in the long minutes that followed was a baby lamb hiding under a sheet of plastic.

  ''Over here! Hey!'' suddenly someone yelled.

  One of the men had discovered a spot on the part of the wall jutting out at the far end of the barn that was made of slightly brighter boards. It was hard to spot, particularly in the dim light, but a close look revealed two little holes in one of the boards. It looked to be the door to some kind of a compartment or chamber.

  The pock-marked man put his fingers in the holes and yanked. The door had apparently been blocked from the inside and didn't give, but it didn't prevent Dora's muffled shriek from being heard.