What Lies Beneath: Chapter Twelve

Sunday, September 8, 2002

4:25 PM

‘Put one foot in front of the other…’

For some bizarre reason the song from that old Santa Claus movie kept looping through Jenna’s head. She watched her sneakers as they moved down the sidewalk. There were the familiar cracks in the sidewalk—uneven places—bits where grass and weeds had sprouted through.

“My bike is faster than yours, Jenna”

“You wish!” Jenna pedaled even harder then, standing up on the pedals as they seemed to sail down the street…

*Brrrinngg!*

Jolted from her thoughts by the sound, Jenna looked up to see a blond girl on a pink ten-speed bike. The girl gave Jenna and Christy a curious glance as she passed, disappearing rapidly down the street.

“Hey that almost looked like you,” Christy said. “Remember that pink and grey ten-speed you had?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Everyone at school called it ‘the midget bike’ because of how small it was,” Christy smiled as she spoke. “But after you won that downhill race with Brant Cornish no one laughed at it again.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Jenna said. “That was when I ran into Mr. Marcher’s brand-new car and scraped up my whole left side—Dad nearly called 911 when I came limping through the door and bleeding all over the carpet.”

“You did win, though.”

“Yeah,” Jenna said. “I did win.”

Christy’s house was directly across the street now. An ordinary looking house—one Jenna knew as well as her own, but now—she swallowed hard.

Ordinary. But of course Gary Johnston’s house had looked ordinary too—no one ever would’ve guessed what was happening behind those walls. Jenna forced those thoughts away—Gary Johnston was then. This was now.

Dad had told her the most important thing was keeping calm. But as hard as Jenna tried she couldn’t stop the rapid beat of her heart—betraying her growing fear.

“This can’t be happening, Jenna,” Christy said—her feelings mirroring Jenna’s own. “I keep hoping that I’ll wake up and it’ll all be just a bad dream—but it isn’t.”

“No, it’s not a bad dream.” The metal of the pendant felt cool against Jenna’s skin and in a way it was comforting—reminding her that she wasn’t completely alone. “But everything should be okay if we stick to the plan.”

“So? I mean, even if the plan works how can things ever be okay?” Christy said. “What my Dad is—what he’s done to my Mom—to you—and I’m his daughter.”

“I don’t know.” Jenna said. “I wish I had an answer, but I don’t.”

“It’s all right—maybe there is no answer,” Christy took in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Together they crossed the street, opened the gate and went up the walk. Before they could open the door it was opened for them. Jenna stepped back as she looked up into Mr. Blakeney’s face. His smiling face—right above the barrel of the gun pointed in their direction. Jenna’s eyes focused on the metal barrel.

“That’s right…get back in the room, there’s a good girl…”

“Your name is Marcie Ann Johnston. Say it!”

‘Stop it,’ Jenna thought--focusing on her breathing, forcing herself to focus on something in the present. She looked over at Christy.

Her friend’s face had grown very pale, her dark eyes wide as she looked at the gun and then at her father.

“I’ve been expecting you two,” Mr. Blakeney said. “Won’t you come in?”

“I—” Christy hesitated, struggled to speak. Jenna could see tears on her friend’s cheeks. Mr. Blakeney grabbed his daughter’s arm, pulling it and then twisting until Christy cried out in pain. “I said, come inside,” he said. “Didn’t I, Christy? It’s not nice to disobey your father.”

“Christy,” Jenna started forward, but Mr. Blakeney cocked his pistol.

“Don’t you worry, Jenna,” he told her. “You’ll have your turn soon enough. Now will you both come in or not?”

Jenna followed Christy and Mr. Blakeney through the door. The first thing she saw was Mrs. Blakeney, lying face down on the sofa. Was she even alive? Jenna wasn’t sure.

“Mom!” Christy cried out.

“That’s right, darling—go say hi to your Mother.” Mr. Blakeney roughly shoved his daughter to the floor. Christy crawled over to the sofa.

“Mom?” she patted her mother’s face—Mrs. Blakeney gave a soft groan. “It’s Christy—I’ve come to help you.” Christy looked at her Dad. “You said you’d let us go if I brought you Jenna.”

“Oh I’m keeping my word,” Mr. Blakeney said. “You’re free to go –provided that you’re able.”

“Mom?” Christy knelt beside her and patted her cheek. “We’re getting out—can you walk?” Mrs. Blakeney groaned again—this time her eyes opened slightly—Jenna could see the dark bruising on the woman’s face.

“Chris?” Mrs. Blakeney said.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” Christy said. “I’ve got you.”

Jenna watched as slowly they rose—Mrs. Blakeney’s arm draped over Christy’s shoulder as Christy struggled to support her. Together they managed to walk out of the open door.

Mr. Blakeney closed the door with a final sounding thud and looked at Jenna. Still holding the gun, he walked towards her. Slowly Jenna backed away from him, her mouth dry.

“Alone at last,” he said. “And what are we to do with you, Jenna Stetson?”

“Mr. Blakeney.” Jenna’s back was against the fireplace—she could feel the rough stone through her clothing. “Please— my Dad will get you what you want.”

“What I want?” Mr. Blakeney raised his eyebrows. “And what do you know about what I want? What I want from you?” He was close now, close enough that Jenna could feel his breath on her skin.

Stay calm—don’t panic— be brave—have courage—those thoughts raced through her mind. Mr. Blakeney’s fingers brushed Jenna’s cheekbone.

“Your father will get me what I want,” he said. “And then you’re going to be my life insurance policy for getting out of the country. No one will touch the Scarecrow’s daughter, now will they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh I think you know good and well what I’m talking about.” Mr. Blakeney’s hand ran down her neck as he spoke. Jenna felt her legs trembling, threatening to buckle completely. His hand stopped at the necklace—without any warning he gave it a sharp yank.

“You won’t be needing this,” he dangled the object in front of her face. “You know, Jenna—if you’re a good girl and do what I say maybe I’ll let you go when this is all over.”

Again Jenna heard a familiar sound—the sound of a pistol being cocked—only this time it wasn’t Mr. Blakeney’s gun. She felt a rush of relief as she heard her father’s voice.

“If you know what’s good for you, Blakeney,” Dad said. “You’ll let her go—right now.”

Mr. Blakeney laughed. "I don't think so, Stetson." Before Jenna was
able to do anything else the man grabbed her, swinging her roughly
around to face her dad. Mr. Blakeney's arm was around Jenna's
shoulders, pulling her tightly against his body. The barrel of the
gun he held was now pressed against the side of her head.

"Ready to play, little girl?" Rudolpho Necci chuckled at Jenna's
futile struggles.

"You're no match for me. Don't you know that?" Jenna's eyes widened as
she saw a needle in Rudolpho's hand. The syringe was filled with a
clear liquid. Rudolpho's grip was bruising on her lower arm. As he
squeezed Jenna gasped with pain.

"Give me a vein, there you go—that's real good," Rudolpho said. "Now
the best thing is just to relax and let this happen."

Jenna threw back her head—there was a cracking sound as she hit something—Rudolpho howled in pain and Jenna dropped to the ground. Now was her chance—she started to crawl away when her ankle was grabbed and she was pulled backward, the carpet scraping at her bare legs. Rudolpho’s large shadow loomed over her—Jenna tried to move but there wasn’t anywhere to move to.

“I’ll teach you to mess with me,” Rudolpho growled, lifting his hand—

With a gasp Jenna pulled herself out of the flashback. Keeping her breathing even, she focused on her father's face. Dad wore a black jumpsuit. His gun was trained on Mr. Blakeney but Jenna could see that he was
hesitating—-holding back--

"Not an easy choice, is it?" Mr. Blakeney said. "Do you risk hurting
Jenna to get to me? In chess I believe this would be called a `check'."

"Look, I have the information you want," Dad said. "Let Jenna go,
Blakeney—she's no use to you."

"Actually she's very useful to me—with her I'll be able to sell the
information at auction and get out of the country safely." Mr. Blakeney's hand
cupped the side of Jenna's face. "No one will risk bringing harm to
this pretty little thing—though she won't look so cute if I'm forced
to knock her around a little. You get my meaning, Stetson?"

Jenna watched as a cold anger flashed briefly in her dad's eyes—a
muscle in his jaw twitching slightly. "Using people is all you do,
isn't it, Gambit? My child, your wife--even your own daughter. When
does it end?"

"It ends when I say it ends," Mr. Blakeney said. "My game—my rules."

Several things seemed to happen all at once. The family room window
shattered as a black object landed on the carpet. Thick black smoke poured
from the object, quickly filling the room. At that moment her Dad
kicked his foot out—making contact with the gun Mr. Blakeney held and
knocking it from his grasp. Jenna tried to move away but Mr. Blakeney held her even more tightly, his forearm pressing against her throat.

"No, you're not getting away from me that easily," Mr. Blakeney told her.
"Not like before."

Without thinking Jenna twisted her body sideways, kicking out towards
Mr. Blakeney's kneecap with the heel of her foot. There was a
satisfying crack as Jenna's foot made contact. The man howled,
releasing his grip. Through stinging and watery eyes Jenna saw Mr.
Blakeney bend over, clutching his kneecap.

The door flew open and the room filled with people dressed in black
jumpsuits just like the one Dad wore—the TAC team.

"Jenna!"

It was her mom's voice. Jenna tried to focus on where the voice was coming
from but it was hard for some reason—maybe it was the smoke or all the
noise but she was starting to feel a little queasy.

Suddenly a hand grabbed her arm, throwing Jenna to the ground. She fell hard, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Mr. Blakeney seemed to tower over her, walking slowly forward with measured strides. Jenna tried to back away but she seemed to be moving in slow motion--like swimming through mud.

"You really thought you'd gotten rid of me—didn't you, Jenna?" Mr.
Blakeney knelt beside her. "Now you'll pay." Jenna closed her eyes as
his hands slowly reached for her—

"No," a man's voice said. Dad's voice. ""Now you're the one who
pays." Jenna opened her eyes. She watched as Dad grabbed Mr. Blakeney’s shirt, jerking him sharply upwards.

"How does it feel to fight someone who can fight back, Blakeney? Does it feel good?” Dad's teeth were gritted as he spoke. Jenna watched as he rammed his fist into the other man's stomach—once, twice—Mr. Blakeney gasped and doubled over, clutching his midsection. . "Do you enjoy this? Huh?" Once again Dad pulled Mr. Blakeney up.

“Say goodnight.” Dad’s uppercut hit the other man squarely in the jaw, knocking his head back. A kick slammed Mr. Blakeney against the wall, where he slid slowly to the ground and stayed there, his head hanging limply forward.

"Jenna?" Dad knelt down beside her. “Everything’s going to be okay now—you’re safe.”

“Where’s Mom?” Jenna asked. Her tongue felt too thick for her mouth. “Is she—”

"I’m right here, sweetheart." Mom’s hand smoothed Jenna’s hair back from her
face. Jenna tried to sit up but Mom gently pushed her back down. “Not right now—just take it easy.”

“—‘kay—feel sort of sick.” Jenna’s words slurred together.

"That's the zap gas," Mom said.

"Zap gas?" Jenna repeated.

"We only used it as a precaution, munchkin," Dad said. "When it
takes effect completely you won't be able to move—but don’t worry—it only lasts
for a few minutes."

"You’re moving."

"Well we've been neutralized," Carefully Dad lifted Jenna into his arms, his arm sliding under her knees, positioning her so that her head rested against his shoulder.
"Let's get you out of here. Some fresh air should help you feel better.”

“I—I did good—huh?” Jenna tried to smile but she wasn’t sure if she actually had.

“You were very brave,” Dad told her. “You showed a lot of courage, Jenna—Emily would be proud—and so are we.”

TBC