She had no air.
I'm going to suffocate.
Chapter Fourteen
WARDEN MCINTOSH STORMED INTO THE CHILDREN'S CENTER. All the kids had gone home. A lone inmate was clearing away the last of the toys.
"You alone here?"
"Yes, sir. I'm waiting for Sister Agnes to come back and lock up."
"There was a pickup scheduled for four P.M. today. Did that happen?"
"I think so, sir. Cora Budds was in the storeroom."
"What about Grace Brookstein? Have you seen her in here this afternoon?"
"No, sir. Cora tol' me she's in lockdown."
Warden McIntosh relaxed. Lisa Halliday had gotten it wrong. Grapevine information was often unreliable at Bedford. Still, protocols had to be followed. He picked up the phone on Sister Agnes's desk.
I'M GOING TO DIE!
Grace was already hyperventilating. As she felt the truck stop, her hopes soared. They must be at the checkpoint. She tried to scream.
"Help! Somebody help me!"
For weeks, she had dreaded this moment, terrified that the guards would discover her. Now she was terrified that they wouldn't. Without air, she would die in this box long before the truck reached the depot.
"Help!" She was yelling as loudly as she could, but her lungs didn't seem to be working properly. The words came out soft and breathy, muffled by the crates above and to the side of her. The guards heard nothing.
"What's this lot, then?"
The driver handed over his paperwork. "Modeling clay. About two tons of the stuff."
"All right. Let's take a look."
The two guards began opening the first row of boxes.
Please! I'm here!
Grace knew in that moment that she didn't want to die. Not yet. Not like this.
I have to find Lenny's murderer first. I have to make them pay.
She started to feel dizzy. Aware she was beginning to lose consciousness, she called out again.
One of the guards stopped. "Did you hear anything?"
His companion shook his head. "Only my teeth chattering. It's friggin' cold out here, man. Come on, man, let's get this over with." Pulling forward another crate, he dumped it on the ground, opened it and checked inside. He did the same with another. Then another. As he was opening the fourth, the driver pleaded, "Come on, you guys, give me a break, wouldya? You know how long this shit took to load? I got a six-hour drive ahead a me and I'm freezing my ass off."
The guards looked at each other. They could hear the distant ringing of a telephone, back inside their warm, comfortable surveillance tower.
"Okay. You're good to go." They signed the driver's papers and handed them back to him. "Drive safe."
Sixty seconds later, the truck was cruising out through the prison gates.
Grace Brookstein was still inside.
GRACE AWOKE TO THE SOUND OF the engine gaining speed. Relief overwhelmed her.
I can breathe! I'm alive.
One of the guards must have loosened the lid of her crate! Why didn't they find me? It's a miracle. Someone up there must be looking out for me. Maybe it's Lenny, come back as my guardian angel?
For a few seconds she felt euphoric. I made it out of Bedford. I did it! But reality soon reasserted itself. She was a long way from being home free. Uncurling herself slowly and painfully like an arthritic jack-in-the-box, Grace pushed up the lid and climbed out of her cramped hiding place. The rear of the truck was freezing and pitch-dark. It took a minute for the circulation to return to her legs. As soon as she felt strong enough, she began to stumble forward, hands stretched out in front of her like a zombie, feeling for the truck's rear door. After what felt like an eternity, her fingers stumbled upon a handle. It was stiff. She couldn't move it. Just as she was wondering whether the driver had double-locked the doors from the outside so she wouldn't be able to open them, the handle suddenly shifted.
It all happened in an instant. The rear door flew open with such force Grace was pulled along with it. Suddenly she was outside, clinging on for dear life, her shins banging agonizingly against the bumper as she dangled one-handed above the ground. They were on an empty, unlit road, moving at incredible speed. How fast? Fifty miles an hour? Sixty? Grace tried to calculate her chances of survival if she fell. Before she came up with an answer, the road forked into a hairpin turn. The driver swung a sharp left. Grace felt the door handle slip from her grasp, as if someone had dipped it in butter. Next thing she knew, she was flying through the air like a rag doll, hurtling toward the trees. The last thing she heard was the thud of her own skull hitting the ground.
Then nothing.
WARDEN MCINTOSH YELLED AT HANNAH DENZEL.
"Why the hell did you send her back to the center? Who gave you the authority?"
Denny bristled. If Grace Brookstein really had escaped, she was damned if she was going to take the blame. This was the warden's problem. "I have the authority, sir. Work details on A Wing are my responsibility. The delegation had left, and Grace had unfinished work. Who gave the Sisters authority to have A-Wing inmates supervise pickups?"
The two guards from the North Gate checkpoint were also in the warden's office. Warden McIntosh quizzed them. "You're certain Grace Brookstein wasn't on that truck? You checked every crate?"
From the look on McIntosh's face, the guards figured honesty was probably not the best policy. "Every crate. The truck was clean."
Warden McIntosh's head was throbbing. Then where the hell is she? He turned back to Hannah Denzel. "I want Cora Budds and Karen Willis in here right now. In the meantime, alert all police units. I want that truck found, stopped and searched." He looked at the two guards ominously. "If you guys have fucked up, I'll have both your heads on a plate."