Page 35 of Her Final Hours (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #3)

I t was a hellish nightmare. Mia jolted awake, her heart pounding as she became aware of her surroundings. The first thing she felt was her head, it was throbbing hard, and there was a nauseating sensation in her throat that signaled the effects of whatever had been used to render her unconscious.

Blinking against the dim fluorescent lighting that hurt her sensitive eyes, she realized she was trapped in an unfinished basement, its walls made of cold cement blocks.

The flickering of one of the lights only added to her discomfort.

Confusion and fear flooded her mind as she tried to piece together what had happened.

She remembered being forcefully taken and thrown into a van against her will.

She briefly remembered hearing her fathers voice and responding but maybe that was a dream?

Who could have taken her? Was this some twisted prank?

A thought crossed her mind, briefly, questioning whether her boyfriend could have been involved.

But she quickly dismissed it, refusing to believe he would ever betray her like this.

This had to be a sick act of vengeance against her or her family. Or perhaps she had become another statistic, another missing girl who would fade away, forgotten by the world.

No. That wasn’t happening. Not to her. Not like this.

As Mia scanned her surroundings, she noticed the windows were covered in thick black paint, denying her any glimpse of the outside world. The gloomy atmosphere closed in on her, accentuated by the presence of the dirty mattress upon which she found herself.

She glanced down, feeling the restraint. Her leg was handcuffed to a chain, which in turn was wrapped tightly around a nearby pole. A piss pot, and a sandwich on a plate were within reach, all indicating the harsh reality of her captivity.

Desperation set in, panic driving her chest up and down. Okay. Okay. Remain calm. What did Dad tell you? He’d told her to be mindful of her surroundings and that in the event of an abduction, she should soak in everything and search for a way out.

Mia tugged on the chain, causing it to rattle, but the tight cuff prevented any chance of escape.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she spotted a furnace in the corner of the room, emanating a flickering glow.

Rusty pipes snaked away into the darkness and disappeared through the floorboards.

A washing machine and dryer stood nearby, silent witnesses to the horrors unfolding.

In addition to this, her eyes fell upon a workbench situated against one of the basement walls. Tools hung neatly on hooks, displaying an array of possibilities for both creation and destruction .

She could make out wrenches, screwdrivers in various sizes, a pair of pliers, and a hammer among the many tools.

Their metallic gleam caught the faint light, hinting at their potential usefulness or malevolence, depending on who was wielding them.

She couldn’t help but wonder if any of these tools could aid in her escape or be turned into a weapon for self-defense.

She squinted, noticing a collection of rusty nails, screws, and bolts in jars, suggesting the basement had been a place of practicality and handiwork.

Small metal parts, springs, and gears were scattered across the workbench, remnants of past projects and repairs.

A frayed measuring tape and a tattered manual were also present, hinting at the meticulous nature of the person who had taken her.

However, her attention was diverted to something else that caught her eye: a weathered leather-bound journal on a chair in the middle of the room.

Whose was it? What was inside?

It didn’t matter; all that mattered was escaping.

Suddenly, her attention was drawn to stairs that led up to a closed door.

Hope flickered within her as she realized there might be a way out, but it was quickly replaced by trepidation.

She couldn’t trust what awaited her on the other side.

However, her determination pushed her forward and showed her how far she could stretch.

The cuff bit into her ankle, and she cried out in pain.

Turning, she reached for the chair, knocking it with the tip of her finger, trying to shift it toward her. She felt the metal teeth biting her skin each time she extended herself. Finally, she knocked over the chair, and the journal landed near her.

She scooped it up and opened the worn and yellowed pages, each telling the tale of countless thoughts, plans, and the despair of those who had been confined within these walls before her.

As she scurried back to the mattress, her elbow brushed against the rough concrete wall.

It was then she noticed faint etchings upon it.

Names. Under the feeble light, they were difficult to discern, but soon enough, one caught her eye — Payton Scott.

It was a name she had heard her mother mention before, a name that held significance to her father’s past and the reason he had become a police officer.

A shiver ran down her spine as she saw another name, then another, and another. It was a list, a memorial to those who had been there before her in that place. They had shared the same fate, and now they were gone, leaving only their names etched into the stone-like prison behind.

Overwhelmed by fear and despair, Mia cried out, her voice echoing through the basement.

“Hello! Hello! Can anyone hear me?” she pleaded, hoping against hope that someone would come to her rescue.

But all she received in response was the scuttling sound of an unknown presence moving across the floor, causing her to pull her feet back and curl into herself, tears streaming down her face.

Then, the door at the top of the stairs creaked open, revealing a figure hidden by the shadows. The darkness obscured their features, leaving Mia trembling with uncertainty and dread, unsure of what awaited her next.

Tommy sat behind the wheel of his truck, feeling pleased with himself.

The increased power outages sweeping the east coast due to the storm presented the perfect opportunity.

He couldn’t have timed it better himself — snowed in, closed off from help.

No one would be coming to her aid. The media had all but announced that everyone was on their own, riding out the storm for at least three days .

Three days.

Oh, what he could do in that time.

There was a good chance he wouldn’t even have to use a cell phone blocker.

Tommy was still basking in the glow of having already broken into Maddie’s home and gotten away with it.

Sure, her punk brother thought he would swoop in and throw a wrench in his plans, but he was too bright for him.

What an asshole to believe he could follow him, and Tommy wouldn’t notice.

He chuckled at the thought of him being read the riot act by his brothers in blue.

What an embarrassment that was. He’d been longing to do that for ages.

The ideal situation was he would let Ray attack him and then turn around and have his badge taken and him tossed in jail.

They would chew him up inside. Cops were despised, even more so if he called in a favor to a friend.

There were still those inside that owed him.

Folks he’d covered for, helped, and gone the extra mile for.

Oh, the ripple effect of that one would be beautiful.

The Sutherlands’ reputation in town would go down in flames.

He laughed hard, thinking of the talk in the city.

Her old man would probably keel over and have a heart attack.

Wouldn’t that be a gift that kept on giving?

Then there would be Noah. One more thorn in his side, an easy one to handle.

He never wanted to be in High Peaks, the last he heard.

Maybe he could convince him to quietly leave with his tail between his legs and hold on to whatever little reputation he had left.

It was good to dream.

But first, he had to reconnect with Maddie.

Help her see the light. Three days might not change her mind, but it could surely dent her psyche.

Solitary had taught him that. Throw a man in a 6 x 9 cell for days; even the hardest would break.

And that’s all she needed, a little convincing, a little time alone to chew things over — the mistakes, the missed opportunities, and the real jewel to be found.

But that meant taking care of one little hurdle in the road.

Her boyfriend.

He could wait till evening, but why bother? The gloom of snow had already darkened the sky, and raids by U.S. Marshals were always conducted in the early hours. People were tired, off guard, and not expecting someone to bust down their door.

And these two lovebirds were still resting.

He got out of the truck, clutching a bag in his hands.

Tools rattled inside, items that would come in handy to make his point.

He abandoned his vehicle on a side street and trudged through the snow, cutting around the back of a house and across another road until he had her home in sight.

Confidently, he marched up the driveway without a care in the world, relishing what he was about to do.

He glanced off to his right and left. Most neighbors were dead to the world.

Others were awake but busy funneling their generators with gas to keep things ticking.

Hidden by a curtain of snow, he sidled up the side of Maddie’s home and made it to the back.

He approached the window he’d jimmied open the day before when he broke in.

It was still not fixed. Typical. They bought the whole front door busted open but never thought about the purpose of his visit.

Indeed, he got a kick from destroying her photos and laying her lingerie on the bed before jerking off. But that was just for kicks and giggles. No, he was pre-planning, setting the home up for his entry today.

He shifted up the window that fed into the mudroom and listened quietly for voices.

Nothing. No dog. No cat. No TV. No conversation. Just the way he had imagined it. Tommy stuck his bag of tricks through the window and crawled in, his heart rate picking up with excitement.

Inside, he removed his boots so he wouldn’t be heard and worked his way into the house, eyeing the empty living room and open-concept kitchen. He smiled at the absence of framed photos. Good girl. You don’t want to upset me today, he thought.

Without hesitation, he ascended the staircase, careful to tread only on the steps that didn’t creak. Another reason why he visited the house before. To become familiar with the layout and every sound.

Tommy turned onto the landing and eyed the main bedroom. The door was ajar. He set his bag down, took out some zip ties and a rubber mallet, and slowly pushed the door wide. There, in the bed, were two mounds.

He entered and stood at the foot of the bed, breathing in the warmth, allowing his fury to rise like a flame creeping higher. Then, without mercy, he made his way around to the side where the boyfriend was and raised the mallet.