paused, feeling the sensations as they began to steal over her. Tracy â¦
Tracy, where are you?
It came to her, slowly, then more quickly. Then frantically.
Canât breathe, canât breathe, canât breathe â¦
What happened, where are you?
Canât breathe, canât breathe, Mommy, where are you, please, Iâm so scared â¦
Tracy â¦
And then Julie was with Tracy. She was with her as it had happened.
He was there. The kidnapper. And she was Tracy.
She was over his shoulder. He was panting, and they were climbing. Higher and higher. There were people around. No one could see Tracy, though. She was packed up like painting equipment. Lots of people sketched or painted here. They stopped, they milled around. They chatted, they saw things. Saw the rock, saw the water. Saw â¦
Tracy couldnât see, though. There was canvas over her head. She was still so dopey. She knew she needed to cry out. She couldnât. She felt him climbing. Sheâd been here before. It was so obvious.
And it was getting dark. Nearly dark. The people were gone, there were no lights. It was perfect. Such a perfect place to bury someone. And he had planned it all out. The hole was there, the box was there â¦
âDamnation!â McCoy shouted suddenly.
Julieâs eyes flew open. She had been talking out loud, she realized. Describing what she had seenâand what she hadnât seen.
âWhat?â she cried.
âCome on, hurry up, I know the place youâre talking about.â
He had the briefcase in his left hand, her fingers in his right. With her in tow, he began to plunge down the mountainside, running, balancing, running harder.
She stumbled. He paused to pick her up. He halfway carried her all the way to the car.
Then he was on his radio, calling Petty. Demanding that he get the cars to the cemetery, telling him to get people up there right away.
It took them at least ten minutes to drive into town and park the car among all the official cars already there.
Then there was the climb up the pathway to the old cemetery.
When they reached it, Petty already had search lights going. He saw them across the broken and angled tombstones as they arrived. âRobert, are you sure?â
McCoy said something. Julie stopped in her tracks. Yes, yes, this was it!
Tracy, where are you?
Canât ⦠breathe. Mommy, want Mommy, canât â¦
She could hear it. Julie could hear the awful, ragged, desperate sound as Tracy Nicholson struggled for the last of her air.
Julie spun around. She could hear it â¦
âThere, over there!â she cried.
McCoy was ahead of her. âThereâs dirt plowed up here!â he shouted. There was a man nearby with a shovel. Without a word McCoy snatched it up and began to dig. Julie was quickly by his side. âHurry, oh, hurry.â
Mommy, Mommy, Mommy ⦠canât breathe â¦
âPlease, dear God, hurry!â Julie cried frantically. A pick lay nearby. Men were running toward them, but she was so desperate. She grabbed the pick and slammed into the ground.
Someone else was there. She looked up. It was one of Pettyâs regular men. Joe Silver. He smiled at her. âJulie, Iâm stronger. Hand it over.â
She did.
Joe swung the pick while McCoy shoveled.
âEasy!â she cried suddenly to Joe. The shovel struck something hard. She was afraid that the pick might crash through wood and enter into delicate flesh.
âItâs some kind of a coffin, I think,â McCoy said.
âItâs a cemetery! Thereâs probably hundreds of coffins up here!â Petty roared.
But not like this coffin, Julie knew. Her chest hurt. She couldnât speak because she couldnât breathe.
Tracy Nicholson was in that coffin, in the square box deep down in the hole. This time, the kidnapper had employed a truly bizarre sense of the macabre. Had his victim died, there would be no need to move her. Had
Tracy, where are you?
It came to her, slowly, then more quickly. Then frantically.
Canât breathe, canât breathe, canât breathe â¦
What happened, where are you?
Canât breathe, canât breathe, Mommy, where are you, please, Iâm so scared â¦
Tracy â¦
And then Julie was with Tracy. She was with her as it had happened.
He was there. The kidnapper. And she was Tracy.
She was over his shoulder. He was panting, and they were climbing. Higher and higher. There were people around. No one could see Tracy, though. She was packed up like painting equipment. Lots of people sketched or painted here. They stopped, they milled around. They chatted, they saw things. Saw the rock, saw the water. Saw â¦
Tracy couldnât see, though. There was canvas over her head. She was still so dopey. She knew she needed to cry out. She couldnât. She felt him climbing. Sheâd been here before. It was so obvious.
And it was getting dark. Nearly dark. The people were gone, there were no lights. It was perfect. Such a perfect place to bury someone. And he had planned it all out. The hole was there, the box was there â¦
âDamnation!â McCoy shouted suddenly.
Julieâs eyes flew open. She had been talking out loud, she realized. Describing what she had seenâand what she hadnât seen.
âWhat?â she cried.
âCome on, hurry up, I know the place youâre talking about.â
He had the briefcase in his left hand, her fingers in his right. With her in tow, he began to plunge down the mountainside, running, balancing, running harder.
She stumbled. He paused to pick her up. He halfway carried her all the way to the car.
Then he was on his radio, calling Petty. Demanding that he get the cars to the cemetery, telling him to get people up there right away.
It took them at least ten minutes to drive into town and park the car among all the official cars already there.
Then there was the climb up the pathway to the old cemetery.
When they reached it, Petty already had search lights going. He saw them across the broken and angled tombstones as they arrived. âRobert, are you sure?â
McCoy said something. Julie stopped in her tracks. Yes, yes, this was it!
Tracy, where are you?
Canât ⦠breathe. Mommy, want Mommy, canât â¦
She could hear it. Julie could hear the awful, ragged, desperate sound as Tracy Nicholson struggled for the last of her air.
Julie spun around. She could hear it â¦
âThere, over there!â she cried.
McCoy was ahead of her. âThereâs dirt plowed up here!â he shouted. There was a man nearby with a shovel. Without a word McCoy snatched it up and began to dig. Julie was quickly by his side. âHurry, oh, hurry.â
Mommy, Mommy, Mommy ⦠canât breathe â¦
âPlease, dear God, hurry!â Julie cried frantically. A pick lay nearby. Men were running toward them, but she was so desperate. She grabbed the pick and slammed into the ground.
Someone else was there. She looked up. It was one of Pettyâs regular men. Joe Silver. He smiled at her. âJulie, Iâm stronger. Hand it over.â
She did.
Joe swung the pick while McCoy shoveled.
âEasy!â she cried suddenly to Joe. The shovel struck something hard. She was afraid that the pick might crash through wood and enter into delicate flesh.
âItâs some kind of a coffin, I think,â McCoy said.
âItâs a cemetery! Thereâs probably hundreds of coffins up here!â Petty roared.
But not like this coffin, Julie knew. Her chest hurt. She couldnât speak because she couldnât breathe.
Tracy Nicholson was in that coffin, in the square box deep down in the hole. This time, the kidnapper had employed a truly bizarre sense of the macabre. Had his victim died, there would be no need to move her. Had
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