Each man must grant himself the emotions that he needs and the morality that suits him.
Western Wyoming
One day earlier
Deep down, Elina Gutierrez knew she was going to die. But she also knew she wasn’t going down without a fight.
She dashed through the woods clutching her Browning .40-caliber pistol as the rain beat down on her in waves, drenching her short dark hair and clothes. Her feet slipped on the muddy slope and she stumbled across the uneven terrain, slamming into a tree trunk. She slumped to the ground, groaning and sucking in the thin mountain air with agonizing breaths.
Somewhere in the woods behind her, she could hear the voices.
They were getting closer.
She pushed herself to her feet and continued on, weaving between tree trunks, ducking beneath some branches and cursing as others slapped across her face, slicing off bits of flesh. She fought to keep her balance over rain-slicked rocks and gnarled tree roots. Then she spotted something through the mist and trees ahead: a smooth, flat strip of asphalt cutting laterally across the slope.
The road!
Heart pounding, head spinning, and ribs throbbing, Elina could feel herself on the verge of losing consciousness. But she couldn’t now. Not here. She had to keep moving.
She had to get off this mountain.
She’d arrived in Wyoming two days earlier looking for answers but had only found more questions. For the last eight hours she’d camped out on the wooded bluff, peering through a telephoto lens into the windows of a massive, rustic lodge some 250 yards away.
The brooding mansion jutted out of the mountainside like a great diadem of log and stone. Perched in the shadow of the jagged peak, its weathered timbers appeared to have borne the brunt of many winters. The central hall extended out to the edge of a cliff, where its huge windows overlooked the little town huddled at the base of the mountain and the rough, rolling countryside beyond.
But what Elina hadn’t known was that while she had been busy watching the occupants of the lodge, they had been watching her.
It was just after noon when she heard the first echoes of voices over the rain and knew she had been found out. She jammed her gear into her backpack, abandoned her makeshift rain shelter, and scurried down the mountainside.
Now she could hear the voices echoing in the woods behind her, barking out orders to each other. They were hunting her.
But if she could reach the highway, she’d be able to get to her car.
The sound of heavy footsteps came pounding through the mud directly behind her, and a husky voice called out, “Here she is!”
Elina turned and raised her Browning as a large silhouette burst through the trees. He came into focus: a big man wearing a dark-green nylon jacket and a black cap, with a short-barrel shotgun in his grasp. Elina gritted her teeth and squeezed off two shots.
Her pursuer lurched backward with a look of surprise on his face. His shotgun fired wide, and Elina heard the pellets crack through the branches beside her head. His feet slipped into the air, and he landed on his back in the mud.
Time seemed to slow as Elina stared at the man writhing on the ground. He groaned and wheezed, pushing his feet against the mud. Then his body shuddered and went limp. Elina knew she had hit him square in the chest. Both shots. He wouldn’t be getting up.
It was the second time in her life that she had killed a man.
She heard more yelling off in the woods and shook herself to her senses. The others had heard the gunshots and were converging on her location. She wasn’t out of danger yet—in fact, now she was in even deeper trouble. She pushed through the pine trees until suddenly the ground fell away beneath her and she tumbled down a rocky embankment onto the shoulder of the road. Sharp gravel bit into the palms of her hands, and the Browning skittered across the wet pavement.
Elina rolled to her feet as a rust-colored pickup swerved and skidded to a halt a few yards away. The doors opened, two men emerged, and Elina found herself staring into the barrel of another shotgun.
“Don’t even think about it,” the guy with the gun growled at her. He was a brawny ox of a man with a dark goatee on his jaw.
The driver was smaller and leaner with reddish hair and a thick red mustache. He snatched up her Browning from across the road and stuck it in his belt. Then he forced Elina to lie facedown on the wet asphalt while he checked her for additional weapons. After that he yanked her up to her knees, tore the pack off her shoulders, and riffled through it, pulling out her scope and digital camera.
“Well, look-a here,” he said. “Whatcha doin’ with all this? Some bird-watching, maybe?”
“That’s right.” Elina grimaced defiantly. “I’m an ornithologist.”
The guy with the shotgun frowned. “A what?”
The driver chuckled. “So you got a sense of humor. We’ll see how long that lasts.”
At that point two more men emerged from the woods, both clad in camouflage jackets and carrying rifles. They slid down the embankment onto the road.
“She shot Carson!” one of them yelled, pointing back into the brush. “I think… I think he might be dead.”
The driver swore and threw down the backpack. He grabbed Elina by the collar and pressed the barrel of her Browning against her forehead. The four of them surrounded her as she fought to stay focused.
Remember your training…. Stay calm and look for an opportunity.
The driver pulled her close, still pressing the gun to her head. “So you think you’re a tough little chica, huh? You can shoot a gun? Maybe we’ll have a little fun with you first.”
The others grunted in a primal chorus of approval. Like a clan of cavemen.
“Knock it off!”
The voice came from the woods. The men backed away, and Elina could see the man she had shot—the one they called Carson—standing at the top of the embankment, clutching his chest. He looked pale and like he was in a fair amount of pain, but he was alive nonetheless. Very much alive.
Elina frowned. Kevlar. He must’ve been wearing Kevlar.
“We gotta bring her to town,” he said. “Vale wants to talk to her.”
Elina winced as they forced her hands behind her back and secured her wrists with a set of plastic zip ties. Then they hauled her into the bed of the pickup and three of the men climbed up with her while Carson and the driver got inside the cab. They turned the truck around and headed up the road.
The plastic ties dug into her wrists, but Elina knew the pain was the least of her worries now. She was completely cut off with no backup. No one even knew exactly where she was. She closed her eyes and prayed silently. And as she did, the irony struck her. Four months ago, she wouldn’t have even thought about prayer. Four months ago, she was brash and hotheaded. Self-reliant and determined. Most people would have just called her angry. Four months ago, she’d had absolutely no use for God.
But that was then.
Now she sat in the back of the truck, flooded with fear and second guesses, praying desperately.
The road snaked through the pine forest. She could see patches of a jagged gray mountainside through the branches, and within half a mile they came into a clearing. The town ahead looked like little more than a clutch of ramshackle buildings hiding in the embrace of a looming mountain. A damp mist cloaked the shops and storefronts and houses, casting them in dreary silhouettes.
At the edge of town they passed a rough-hewn timber sign mounted to a pair of log posts along the side of the road. Elina shuddered as she saw the letters carved into the wood.
Welcome to Beckon. You’re not here by chance.
Midway through town, the pickup truck turned up a twisting gravel road that led to the massive stone-and-timber house. Elina tried to control her fear as they passed through a set of iron gates and pulled to a stop at the entrance, where an enormous log-beam portico loomed over a pair of ornate wooden doors.
Carson hauled her out of the truck and marched her through the front doors into a spacious, stone-tiled foyer. The decor was dark and rustic—sort of a Gothic Wild West, Elina thought—with a whole menagerie of stuffed animal heads and antlers populating nearly every wall. To one side of the foyer a wide log staircase curled up to the second-floor balcony above them.
A thin, hawk-nosed woman greeted them as they entered. Her fair complexion was surprisingly soft and unblemished—with the exception of the dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept in days. Elina guessed she was young, maybe in her twenties, but her burgundy hair was pulled back in a tight bun that made her look older. In fact, with a little mascara and lipstick—and of course a whole different hairstyle—the woman might have actually been attractive.
She looked at Elina for a long moment, and Elina could see some trace of emotion in her pale-blue eyes but couldn’t quite make out what it was. Surprise? Anger? Fear? Or maybe disgust?
“This is her?” the woman asked at length.
“Yeah.” Carson handed her the backpack. “He said he wanted her alive. Said he wanted to talk to her.”
The woman took the pack and gestured to the hallway behind her. “He’s just sitting down to lunch. Give me five minutes.”
She turned and slipped down the hall while Carson yanked Elina over to a bench near the staircase.
“Sit down and keep quiet,” he said.
Elina tried to get a better look at his chest. She spotted the holes in the jacket where the bullets had penetrated, but she couldn’t see much of what he was wearing underneath. A black shirt of some sort. She wondered if maybe it was some kind of new ultrathin Kevlar design. After a few minutes she gathered her courage and ventured a question.
“So what happened to you? You should be dead.”
“Shut up.”
“Y’know, you really freaked me out.”
“I said, shut up.”
“All right, all right… I’m just saying… I shot you nearly point blank. I thought I watched you die.”
“Well, you were mistaken.”
“So… what? You got some kind of special Kevlar vest or something?”
“Something like that.” Carson snatched a fistful of her black hair and yanked her head backward. “Now shut up.”
Elina decided to cooperate for the time being. She wasn’t going to get any more information out of Carson anyway. He was obviously pretty high up in whatever organizational structure they had in this town, but he was still subservient to this Vale character, whoever he was.
After several minutes the burgundy-haired woman peeked her head back into the foyer and waved them in. Carson nodded, pulled Elina to her feet, and shoved her along the hallway. They passed an enormous great room with a massive stone fireplace and a wide bank of windows. Next they came to the formal dining hall, which held a long, medieval-looking table. Several chairs were lined up along each side with the largest chair situated at the head of the table. The only seat that was occupied.
The man seated at the head was clearly engrossed in his meal. Elina could see it consisted of a thick red steak—very red—with a baked potato and what looked like asparagus. He had a bottle of red wine and a half-filled glass on his right; on his left was a brown folder.
Elina had gotten only fleeting glimpses of Vale through her scope, but now she saw he was a rather pale, sharp-featured man. And his complexion looked all the more pallid contrasted against his shoulder-length, jet-black hair. He was clean-shaven except for the narrow black tuft of well-groomed fuzz beneath his lower lip.
But Elina quickly noticed that his most striking feature was his eyes. When he looked at her, she could see they held a pale-green hue—nearly yellow. They were haunting eyes, like an animal’s. And Elina felt almost as if a wolf were staring at her.
He chewed his steak slowly as he looked her over. Elina stood just inside the doorway with Carson right behind her; the woman had taken up a position behind Vale’s right shoulder.
Vale chewed a mouthful of meat without saying a word and motioned her to come closer. She took a few hesitant steps into the room until she stood at the foot of the table.
“Did you know,” Vale said through a mouthful of steak, “it was Wyoming that first gave women the right to vote?”
He sipped some wine, swirled it in his mouth, and swallowed. His voice was considerably deeper than Elina had expected. She glanced back at Carson, wondering what exactly Vale meant by the comment.
Vale sliced another piece of steak and stuck it in his mouth. “And we were the first state to elect a woman governor. Did you know that?”
Elina shook her head. “I’m… not exactly following your train of thought here.”
Vale shrugged. “I’m simply saying that the people of Wyoming have always been at the forefront of societal evolution. We’re very progressive, forward-thinking people.”
“Okay?” Elina made no effort to hide her confusion.
“My point being—” Vale set down his utensils and dabbed his lips with a napkin—“that despite how rustic and remote our town might appear to you, don’t mistake us for bucolic simpletons. Okay, Miss Gutierrez?”
“Fine.”
Vale glanced at the folder beside him. “Should I call you Officer Gutierrez?” He flipped open the folder and browsed the top sheet. “Or… is it ex-officer? I’m not sure how this whole administrative leave thing works. You did turn in your badge, yes?”
“Wow, so you guys know how to google,” Elina muttered. “I’m impressed.”
Vale looked mildly amused. “You know, for what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing. I really do. Even though this kid didn’t have a gun… and wasn’t technically committing a crime. I’m sure he would’ve gotten around to it sooner or later. It was just a matter of time. He had all the classic stats going for him, right? Single mom, no real father to speak of. The kid was just a crime waiting to happen.”
Elina’s jaw tightened. Obviously Vale’s burgundy lady had gone through her bag and run some sort of background check while Elina was waiting out in the foyer. It wouldn’t have taken much to find her recent history with the LAPD. The shooting incident four months earlier had been highly publicized and commented on by all the local news outlets—even a national program had picked up the story. Elina never imagined she’d become the center of such a media circus in only her second year on the force.
She never thought her dream of becoming a cop would turn into a nightmare so fast.
“Whatever,” she grunted.
Vale leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “Though it appears you’ve not quite come to terms with the incident, hmm? Not made peace with yourself yet?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Well, regardless, I’m certain the people of LA are safer with one less potential criminal on the streets. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it if I were you. Some people the world is just better off without.”
Elina snorted. “So is that your thing? You’re some kind of therapist?”
“Hardly.” Vale swirled the wine in his glass. “I just wanted to put our conversation into context for you.” He took a sip. “I’m actually far more interested in what brings you from the big city to our little town. And what possessed you to trespass on my property and spy on my home.”
Elina forced a tone of confidence. “Oh, I think we both know why I’m here.”
Vale spread his palms. “I’m afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage, Officer Gutierrez. Apparently only one of us knows.”
“I’m looking for my cousin. He disappeared last month, and his family hasn’t heard from him since.”
“Ah, a missing persons case,” Vale said.
“He had come here to find work. His sister said she saw him getting into a van with Nevada plates four weeks ago. A plain white van. She said it comes around every few weeks promising work in Las Vegas.”
“So it would seem this cousin of yours is—what’s the politically correct term?—an undocumented worker?”
“He was just looking for work. He was trying to—”
“So why aren’t you looking in Las Vegas?”
“Because I followed that van the next time it came around. And you want to hear something funny? It didn’t go to Las Vegas. But I’ll give you one guess where it did go.”
Vale shook his head. “Well, Miss Former Officer Gutierrez, Wyoming is a little out of your jurisdiction, isn’t it?”
“It’s a personal investigation.”
“I’m sure the taxpayers of Los Angeles would be happy to know you’re making productive use of your free time. But please forgive me if I don’t feel compelled to cooperate with your personal investigation.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to.”
Vale downed the last of his wine. “And I don’t appreciate strangers who trespass on my property, invade my privacy, and accuse me of sordid activities.”
“I just want to know where my cousin is.”
“Then I suggest you start with the FBI. Or better yet, the INS.”
“Look…” Elina decided to try a less confrontational approach and softened her voice. “I’m not trying to… to turn this into a federal investigation. I just want to find my cousin. To make sure he’s safe. And let him know his family is worried about him.”
“I already told you I can’t help you with—”
“Javier.”
Vale blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Javier Sanchez. That’s his name.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Gutierrez, but we really have nothing further to talk about.”
“What did you do with them? There were four other men who got into that van, and I know it brought them here.”
Vale’s gaze grew cold. “My patience is wearing thin. I suggest you forget these ridiculous accusations and—”
“The van’s plates are registered to a dummy corporation in Nevada that pays all the fees and insurance.” Elina was through playing this game. It was time to lay her cards on the table. “But guess who owns that corporation? Vale Corp International. That’s your company, isn’t it? That was your van. Now what did you do with those people?”
Vale stared at her for a long moment. Then he leaned back in his chair and puffed out his cheeks in a long sigh. “Very well, then. You know, when they first brought you here, there was actually a small chance that I could let you go. But only a very small chance.”
“I’d be careful about threatening me if I were you.”
Vale was silent for several seconds, but his cold, yellow-green gaze never wavered. “Elina,” he said at length. “Do you know what your name means?”
“What?”
“It means ‘shining light.’ Ironic, since that’s exactly what you’ll need where you’re going.”
“Careful, Mr. Vale,” Elina said, concentrating on keeping her voice from quivering. “People know I’m here. They… they know what I found—”
“Yes, yes, people know where you are.” Vale drummed his fingers on the table. “And I’m sure they’ll come looking for you. They’ll probably search for months. And it’ll be a big story for a while—they’ll have your picture on all the networks. They may even find your abandoned car on a remote highway somewhere in a neighboring state. But in the end they won’t find you. Not even a trace.” He shook his head. “They never do.”
Elina felt Carson’s hand clench like a vise around her upper arm. He hauled her out of the room at Vale’s command, then shoved her down the hallway until they came to a security door that opened on a flight of stairs into the basement of the mansion.
Seeing the stairs, Elina tried to twist loose of his grip, but he jerked her back. Then he snapped her around to face him and she felt the jarring sting of the back of his hand across her jaw.
“Try that again and I’ll break your neck!”
Elina teetered on the brink of consciousness, but she could see Carson was looking paler than he had earlier and the skin under his eyes had darkened.
She could taste blood in her mouth but grimaced at him, refusing to let her fear show. “You don’t look so good. What’s the matter? Not feeling very well?”
Carson only spun her around and forced her down the wooden steps into the basement.
Elina’s mind was spinning out of control. All her worst fears when she first decided to follow the mysterious van from LA to Wyoming were apparently coming true. She tried to remain rational. And she tried to reason with Carson to let her go.
At the bottom of the stairs he led her down a narrow corridor to a large supply closet at the far end. Inside were shelves of cleaning supplies and chemicals with mops hanging from a row of hooks on the far wall. He twisted one of the hooks to the side and Elina heard something click. Then he pushed against the wall and a small section of it swung out into darkness beyond.
Elina felt cool, damp air brush against her face. “Where are you taking me?”
He didn’t reply but pushed her through the door and closed the panel behind them.
Elina could see they were in some sort of tunnel dug right into the mountainside. Crude lighting fixtures had been mounted into the rock overhead and cast a dim, pale-green glow. They climbed down a set of rough, uneven stairs carved into the rock, which went on for what seemed like more than a hundred yards deeper underground.
“Where are we going?” Elina whimpered again.
Still Carson didn’t say anything, only forced her forward, down the steps. She could hear his breathing in the darkness, growing more labored as they walked. He didn’t appear to be bleeding, but Elina guessed the gunshot had hurt him more than she had initially thought.
After several minutes they arrived at yet another door, only this one was made of solid wood. Thick, rough timbers that were fastened together with rusted iron bands and bolts. It looked like a door to some kind of dungeon.
Carson pushed the door open and ushered her into another tunnel. More dim light fixtures illuminated patches of the tunnel in the same green hue.
Now Elina could hear sounds ahead. Voices, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying. She quickly discovered that they weren’t speaking so much as moaning. It was as if she had descended right into hell itself.
Carson steered her into a secondary tunnel, far narrower than the first. Darkness fell around her as though someone had put a blanket over her head. After several paces he pulled her to a stop. She tried to tear away from his grasp once more, but despite his wheezing, his grip felt almost like claws digging into her flesh.
She heard a rusty metallic clank followed by the dull creaking of another door. Then came a soft snapping sound, and Elina felt the plastic ties fall away from her wrists right before she was shoved forward. She tumbled blindly onto the cold stone ground as the door creaked and slammed shut behind her, followed again by the metallic clank like some kind of lock sliding into place.
Elina flailed around in the darkness as terror welled up inside her. She felt along the floor until her palms slapped against the rough, wooden surface of the door. She balled her fists and pounded against the door, shrieking in anger at Carson. But her cries were met with silence. She screamed and raged until her voice was gone and she collapsed again on the ground, weeping softly.
Then from somewhere out in the darkness a voice called, “Quién es usted?”
Elina caught her breath. It was a young male voice, maybe no older than a teenager. She felt her way up the surface of the door until her fingers came across a small opening with metal bars, like the window in a prison-cell door. Outside, she could see the soft-green glow of the lights in the main corridor.
“Soy Elina. Dónde estás?”
He replied in Spanish with trembling in his voice, “I think I’m in the cell right across from you.”
“What’s your name?”
“Miguel,” came the reply.
Elina pressed her face to the bars. As her eyes grew accustomed to the low light, she saw wooden doors across the passage from her, built right into the rock wall. Each had a small window opening with bars just like hers. There were three doors on the other side of the tunnel, and she assumed there were additional cells on either side of hers. She couldn’t tell which door Miguel was behind.
He spoke again. “Where are we? What’s happening to us?”
“We’re in Wyoming,” Elina said. “Do you remember how you got here?”
“Wyoming? They told us they had work in Las Vegas. Good-paying work. They picked us up in a van, and then… then I don’t remember anything else. I woke up here… inside this dungeon.”
“You don’t remember anything about the trip?” Elina said.
“No… only that the van smelled funny when we got in it.”
“How many others were with you?”
“Four others, I think. There were five of us altogether.”
Elina pressed her face to the window and called out, “Javier? Javier Sanchez? Has anyone seen Javier Sanchez?”
Then another voice called out—a gravelly, hollow voice. “Elina? Elina, is that you?”
“Javier!” Elina’s heart surged with emotion. Despite the darkness she suddenly felt a spark of hope.
“Elina, what… what are you doing here?”
“I came looking for you,” Elina said. “Carmelita told me you had disappeared. She was worried sick. She said you had gotten in a van with Nevada plates.”
“They said they needed five workers. They lied to us. I think they sprayed something inside the van to make us fall asleep.”
“Carmelita said the van had been coming by every four weeks or so.” She related how Javier’s sister had called her in a panic after he had disappeared. Elina had not seen either of her cousins since they were all children. When she was a child, Elina’s family would spend Christmas in Mexico every year. But after her father’s death the tradition had stopped.
Then a few weeks ago she had gotten Carmelita’s frantic phone call with the story of Javier’s disappearance and the mysterious white van with Nevada plates. Carmelita said her family had come looking for work. Elina could guess that they had not come legally, but regardless of the circumstances, she knew she couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. She had to at least find out what had happened to her cousin. And since she had been on leave from the LAPD, she had nothing but time on her hands.
Elina explained how she had been watching for the van to return for a new group of victims and how she had followed it here to Wyoming. It had arrived late the day before, and she snuck into the woods to spy on the house, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone inside. She had spent the night in the cold, watching intently, and had seen fleeting images of Vale and a couple of others. But no Hispanics. And now she had gotten captured herself.
“How long has it been? How long have I been here?” Javier asked.
“Just over four weeks, I think.”
“Four weeks?” Javier groaned. “Is that all it’s been? I haven’t seen the sun since I’ve been here, and they only come down to bring us food or to take one of us away.”
“Do you know where they took the others?”
“I don’t know where. But everyone else I came here with is gone. Do you know?”
A frantic, high-pitched voice called out, “They are cannibals! These people eat human flesh!”
That comment got the others wailing and arguing with each other and pounding on the cell doors. The racket continued for several long minutes. Or maybe longer; Elina had no way to keep track of time anymore. She tried to calm them down but to no avail. She finally gave up, sank against the door, and put her head in her hands.
Despair turned her to memories of her father. His strong arms and gentle eyes. And his simple faith. As a girl she would always grow so nervous before a test at school, and he would pull her close to his side.
“Why are you so anxious, Little Bean? Do you think God has gotten so busy that He’s forgotten about you?” he would whisper to her. “He knew you before you were even born.”
Her father had immigrated to Los Angeles as a young man, newly married. He had worked hard to give his wife and children a better life, putting himself through night school to get a job repairing and maintaining commercial HVAC systems. In doing so, he had taught Elina and her younger brother, Paulo, the value of an education. He showed them the example of his genuine faith in God. He gave them the stern but loving discipline that only a father can give. He taught Elina what she should look for in a husband someday by the way he treated her mother. And in the same way he taught Paulo how he should treat his future wife. That a man should be willing to sacrifice everything for his family. And that such a man could be strong and wise and loving at the same time.
How she missed him now, and her memories only made her heart ache all the more as she longed to hear his voice again. She had been thirteen when he was killed. And in many ways his murder had been the catalyst for her joining the police department. It was a senseless, violent murder by some useless thug who killed him for the fifty dollars in his wallet. Fifty dollars. That had been the value of her father’s life.
She recalled the anger that had burned inside her heart. A spark that grew out of her sorrow but soon hardened and coalesced into a steady, smoldering rage against the young black man who had pulled the trigger. A murderous punk with no job, no father, and a drug-addled mother, he’d turned to violence as a way to make himself into a man.
But her anger didn’t stop there. It soon burned against all the young black men she encountered. Every one of them she saw, everywhere in the city. None of them seemed to have fathers to teach them how to be real men. How to act responsibly and do an honest day’s work. They were all arrogant, misogynistic, lazy, and stupid. And violent.
So she had joined the police force to put them in jail, where they belonged.
Vale had been more accurate about her than he had probably realized. Some people the world was just better off without. Or so she’d believed.
Miguel’s voice drew her out of her thoughts. He sounded weak and obviously terrified. “It makes sense, you know?”
“What?” Elina stood and looked through the opening in her door. “What does?”
“Why they choose us. Whatever’s going on here, it makes sense why they choose us.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Think about it. We don’t have any real identification. No driver’s licenses or Social Security numbers. And most of us have no families here, at least none who would ever report us missing. We’re the perfect victims. No one cares what happens to us. No one will ever come looking for us.”
Elina heard footsteps approaching. Multiple footsteps that echoed through the tunnels. The voices of the other prisoners began wailing, pleading for mercy in Spanish. A few seconds later the footsteps approached Elina’s door and a shadow appeared at her window.
A light blinked on and flooded the tiny room.
Elina winced and shielded her eyes. She could tell it was just a flashlight, but the brightness was still painful.
“Now we can do this the easy way,” came Carson’s distinct voice, “or we can do it the fun way.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just do what I say,” Carson said. “Turn around, face the wall, and lie down on your stomach with your hands behind you. And don’t move.”
While Elina’s initial impulse was defiance, she decided it would be more prudent, given her situation, to comply with the orders. They were pretty standard directions to get a suspect safely handcuffed. Besides, if they had wanted to shoot her, they could have done that through the window bars. She turned and lay down as Carson had directed.
A moment later Elina could hear them unlocking the door and a dull creak as it moaned open. Carson spoke again; this time she could tell he was inside the room.
“Keep your hands behind your back where I can see them.”
Elina felt cold steel bite down around her wrists and click. Then a pair of hands hoisted her to her feet. They turned her around, and Elina could see there was another man accompanying Carson. He stood in the doorway holding the light, and all she could tell was that he was very tall and burly.
Carson pulled her roughly out of her cell and shoved her along in front of him, up the dark passage the way they had come. Elina could hear the other captives cursing and issuing warnings, but Carson ignored them for what they were. Impotent threats.
“Where are we going?” Elina said.
Carson poked her in the back. “Just walk.”
At length they arrived at the supply closet entrance and marched through it back into the basement of Vale’s house. They walked down the corridor and stopped at one of the doors. Here, Carson pulled out his set of keys, unlocked the door, and shoved Elina through.
The room looked like an armory, with gun racks and ammo cabinets lining three of the walls. Whoever these people were, they were well armed. In the center of the room was a wooden chair with some kind of strap system rigged up, obviously to restrain whoever happened to be sitting in the chair.
Elina knew what was coming.
Carson pushed her toward the chair as his partner, the big man, took her by her bound wrists and spun her around. He was enormous—at least six foot nine, Elina guessed—with a shaved head and a thick black goatee on his jaw. She remembered him from the road. He’d been one of the guys in the pickup truck. She struggled against his force, but the man was just too overpowering. He sat her down like a rag doll and draped her arms over the backrest while Carson proceeded to strap her feet and legs to the chair’s restraints. Lastly they pulled her jacket down over her shoulders and Carson tore open her shirt halfway to her waist.
At that point two other men entered the room. Elina recognized the tall man with reddish hair and a beefy mustache as the driver of the pickup truck, the guy who’d nearly shot her with her own gun. The second man she hadn’t seen before. He was small and clean-shaven with short brown hair parted to the side, and he carried a leather satchel. These two didn’t say anything but stood off along the perimeter of the room with the big man while Carson paced in front of Elina. He carried something that looked like a nightstick but which Elina recognized immediately as a stun baton.
“So you’re a police officer, eh?”
Elina blinked, taken aback by the question. “Um, yeah… I thought we had estab—”
She felt a sharp jolt and sting on her cheek as Carson backhanded her again. Elina swooned for a moment, gathering her wits. She could feel her lip swelling and her cheek throbbing.
“What?” she said. “I’m answering your question!”
Carson chortled. “I know. That was for spying on Mr. Vale.” He held up the baton. “This is for shooting me.”
He plunged the stun stick against her chest, and Elina felt every muscle in her body seize as though a thousand needles had been jabbed into her at once. Her spine arched, and the room dissolved into darkness.
Elina heard herself groaning as she regained consciousness. Shadows swirled around her, and a sharp odor stung in her nostrils like razors. She opened her eyes to see the small man bending over her, smelling salts in his hand. He lifted her eyelids and checked her eyes with a penlight.
“She’s awake,” he said to Carson. Then he took Elina by the chin and whispered, “Just tell him what he wants to know.”
Carson swatted him out of the way. “Okay, chica, let’s see how smart you are. You said you followed the van. That’s how you found us. Is that right? You followed it here?”
Through her pain, Elina felt a flicker of hope. She had them nervous. For all of Vale’s arrogance, he was worried about being discovered. And he’d sent Carson down to pry information from her. That meant she had some leverage. She had something they wanted.
But she would need to proceed with caution. As soon as they got what they wanted, she would no longer be of use to them. “Yes. Actually it wasn’t that hard.”
“Why did you follow us?”
“Us?” Elina grinned. She could taste blood in her mouth. “So you were the one driving the van?”
Carson leaned close. “Why were you following us?”
“I told you already. I was looking for my cousin. I wanted to find out what happened to him.”
“Who else knows you’re here?”
“Why?” Elina almost smiled. “Does that worry you? Are you afraid other people will come looking for me? Well, you better be.”
The next thing she knew, she was waking up from a second jolt. The little guy—Elina thought he must be the medic or doctor—was leaning over her again with the smelling salts.
“Stop antagonizing him,” he whispered.
Carson loomed in the background, grinning. “No, we’re not worried, chica. We’ll just get a new van. And now, thanks to you, we’ll make good and sure it can’t be traced back to us.”
Elina could barely keep her head upright. Her limbs throbbed from the jolts, but she forced a bloody smile. “It doesn’t matter. They already know about the van, and they know about Vale Corp. So it’s just a matter of time before they come looking.”
Of course, she had not told anyone about the information she’d gathered on the vehicle. She wasn’t officially part of the police department at the time and therefore not supposed to be accessing the database. Furthermore, since she didn’t want Javier to get in trouble with the INS, she had truly pursued her investigation as a lone wolf. But Vale didn’t know that, so at least she had some leverage, even if it was a bluff.
“Who did you tell?”
“You’ll find out when they show up… in force.”
Carson backhanded her across the other cheek. “They won’t find anything. No one ever does.”
The room spun and Elina’s jaw throbbed. She blinked back her sweat and tears, clenching her teeth against the pain.
“That’s… what Vale said.” She struggled to get her words out. “But still, here you are… asking me about it. So maybe he’s not as unconcerned as he pretended to be.”
“He’s not going to let you go. You know that, don’t you?”
Elina shrugged as best she could. “Then there’s not much incentive to tell you anything more… is there?”
Carson’s grin faded, and he held the stun stick in front of Elina’s face. And that was the last thing she remembered seeing.
Elina awoke in the dark, back in what she assumed was her prison cell. Her jaw and muscles ached from the beating she’d taken and from lying on the cold rock floor. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious.
She explored her cell again and found no way of escape. There was a large clay pot in the corner that reeked of human waste but otherwise nothing else inside the cell. No other bit of furnishing. Like in some squalid medieval dungeon, she half expected there to be a rotting corpse chained to the wall.
Elina found she was losing all track of time. She spent her waking hours talking either to Javier and Miguel or to God. And when she slept, it was in fitful spurts on the cold, damp ground. She struggled to keep her thoughts focused on finding a way out. She had to keep her terror at bay. Terror would lead to despair, which would cause her to give up hope.
At one point she was huddled on the floor praying for her life when she heard a voice outside her door.
“What’re you doing?”
Elina looked up, startled. “Praying.”
She peered through the window in her door and could see the vague features of the man with the smelling salts.
“Praying? Why?”
“Because it’s all I can do at this point. And I happen to think God is listening.”
“Well, it won’t do any good, you know,” he said. His voice held little emotion, as if he had shut himself off to it. “God abandoned this place a long time ago.”
“Not my God. He doesn’t just abandon people.”
“You think so? You think He can save you? Because I’ve never seen Him save anyone from here.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate Him if I were you.” Elina moved closer to the door. “What do you want?”
He held up a ladle to the window. “I brought you breakfast.”
“Is it morning already?”
He tapped the door. “You want it or not?”
“Yes.”
Elina heard something rattle and creak, and a small slat at the bottom of the door snapped open. A bowl slid through the opening, and the slat snapped shut again. Elina picked up the bowl and sniffed it. It was half-filled with what smelled like oatmeal. He’d given her no utensil and nothing to drink.
She sat down and ate the meal, scooping it into her mouth with her fingers. She was desperately hungry, and the bland, lumpy oatmeal paste did little to satisfy her appetite. She could see the guy still looking in through the bars in her door, so she decided to venture a question.
“Who are you?”
After a moment he replied, “No one. Nobody important.”
“You were part of the inquisition, right?”
“I… I was there to make sure you could still answer him.”
“So you’re a medic… or a doctor or something?”
Another pause. “I’m a doctor.”
“A doctor.” Elina stood and moved to the door. “Then can you… can you at least tell me what’s going on here?”
“Sorry, I can’t give you any information.”
“Why not? Just tell me why you’re keeping us prisoners here.”
“No.”
“At least tell me your name.” Elina moved to the window and peered through.
He hesitated, shifting his weight and avoiding eye contact.
Elina persisted gently. “Mr. Vale didn’t say you couldn’t tell me your name, did he?”
“Dwight,” he said finally.
“Dwight.” Elina tried to offer a pleasant smile. “I like that. Not many parents name their kids Dwight anymore.”
Dwight shrugged, still avoiding her eyes. “I guess.”
Elina probed further. “What do you do here? I mean besides overseeing the torture.”
“I do whatever he needs me to do.”
“So Mr. Vale… he’s the big boss man in town. Does everyone in Beckon do what he tells them to do?”
Dwight shook his head. “It’s not what you think. You don’t know what it’s like here. We have to do what he tells us or… or we’ll die.”
“Really,” Elina said. “He has that much power? He’s keeping you here against your will?”
“Well… not exactly.”
“So then you could leave if you wanted to?”
“Not exactly.”
Elina sighed. “Dwight, you’re not making any sense.”
“It’s complicated.”
Just then Miguel’s voice came from across the passage. “Son todos caníbales.”
“Vamos, cómeme!” another voice yelled defiantly from down the corridor.
Dwight’s face puckered in a quizzical frown. “Cannibals? Is that what you think we are?”
“That’s what they all think,” Elina said. “Can you blame them? You kidnapped them. You brought them to your little town here and locked them up in your dungeon. You tell me what happens to them.”
Dwight shrugged. “Well, they get eaten, of course.”
“That’s what they just—”
“But not by us.”
Elina backed away from the door. “What are you talking about?”
Dwight sighed. “Look, I wish I could help you. I really do. If it were up to me… you don’t belong here. You don’t deserve this.”
“What do you mean, ‘they get eaten’? What’s going on here?”
Dwight stared at the ground for a moment. He looked over his shoulder and then leaned close. “There’s something in the caves. Something… terrible.”
“What are you talking about?” Elina hadn’t been prepared for this. Whatever was going on in this place, she was more concerned now that this Dwight fellow was mentally unstable.
“Believe me, the less you know, the better.”
“Please, just let us out.”
“I can’t.” Dwight shook his head. “He’ll kill me.”
“Please, Dwight. Please help us. You can’t just let us die down here.”
“I told you, I can’t help you…. I’ve said too much already.”
Elina was losing her patience. “You’re a doctor! How can you be involved in this? If you don’t help us, then you’re a murderer, too—you know that, don’t you?”
“No,” Dwight said. “I… I haven’t killed anyone.”
“Yes, you have. You know what’s going on here—you’re a part of it. And you could let us go, but you’re choosing not to. You’re just as guilty as Vale in all of this. Whatever’s going on here, you’re responsible for it.”
“No!” Dwight backed away from the door. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”
Elina stepped forward. “I think I do. You might’ve been a good person once. Before you came here.”
“Stop it.” Dwight moved farther away.
“So what happened to you? What turned you into a murderer?”
“I told you, I’m not a murderer.”
“It’s your choice, Dwight. You don’t have to do this.”
“No, it’s not. I can’t help you….”
Elina moved closer still, feeling a certain boldness despite her circumstances. “Do you really think no one will ever find out about this place? You think you’ll get away with this forever?”
Dwight stammered, “I… I have to leave.” He turned and disappeared up the tunnel.
“Dwight!” Elina called after him. “You choose what you are!”
Her voice echoed into the darkness, but Dwight didn’t return. The other captives were shouting after him as well. Some cursing. Others wailing.
Elina slumped against her door, fighting back tears. Praying desperately. A feeling of dread wrapped around her like the darkness of the prison. She felt utterly alone. Buried so deep that no one would ever find her. All she had left inside her was a faint sliver of hope, like a thread suspending her over a vast abyss.
She’d prayed for several minutes when she heard voices in the corridor. One of the prisoners was pleading for help. She lifted her head. Had the doctor returned?
She heard a male voice call out in English, “Where are you?”
Next she heard a woman’s voice. “Here, George. Help me open it.”
Elina stood and pressed her face against the bars of her door. She could hear someone rattling one of the door handles.
“They’re all locked,” the man said. “We have to try to find the key.”
They sounded close by.
“We’ll get you out…. Don’t be afraid,” came the woman again. “We’ll find the key.”
Elina called, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
She could see the beam of a flashlight swinging back and forth in the corridor.
Elina reached her hand through the window. “Who are you?”
She heard footsteps as someone approached her cell. It was the woman. She stopped right outside the door and clutched Elina’s fingers.
“Oh my… don’t worry. We’re going to get help.”
“How did you get down here?” Elina said.
The man arrived, carrying the flashlight. “We were snooping around the lodge and found this tunnel in the basement. It’s hidden. We’re… we’re just guests there.”
He sounded kind… and Elina knew it could be a trap, but she could barely keep her hopes in check. She had to try, anyway.
“Guests? You know Thomas Vale?”
“Yes, he invited us here,” the woman said.
“Then listen to me. You’re in danger too. You need to get out and call the FBI. You can’t trust him. You can’t trust any of them. None of the people in this town.”
“Who are you? Why did they lock you up down here?”
“I’m a police officer—from Los Angeles. My name is Elina Gutierrez. I was investigating a kidnapping. I followed the van here and they captured me.” Elina spoke quickly. “You need to contact the FBI. They’re engaged in some kind of human trafficking here. There’s something horrible going on.”
The man with the flashlight was searching the corridor. “We can’t get these doors open. We have to go back and find the keys.”
“Please help us,” Elina pleaded. “You have to get help right away. Don’t trust them. Don’t trust any of them.”
The woman squeezed Elina’s fingers. “We’ll get you out of here. Don’t worry. We’ll get you out.”
Elina couldn’t control her emotions any longer, and tears flooded her eyes. “I was praying that someone would find us. I was praying He would send someone to save us.”
The woman leaned in and said softly, “He heard you.” She was crying too. “God heard you.”
“We need to go—now.” The man’s voice sounded urgent.
“Listen to me,” Elina said. “Be careful. There’s something in the caves. They said there’s something terrible down there.”
“Don’t worry,” the man said as they started back up the tunnel. “We’ll contact the FBI as soon as we can.”
And just like that, they were gone.