Switch

By Sue Schmidt

Switch spins a tale of assault, murder and suicide as it details the motivation behind two separate kidnappings, one to settle a long-standing hunger for retribution and the other to satisfy the obsessive desire of a physically and psychically scarred madman. The ultimate solution is the result of women taking control of their destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sue Schmidt
• Release date: Jun 2, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458179098

Sue Schmidt

After retiring from a professional life filled with writing things for other people, I decided it was time to start writing for myself. The result is SWITCH, my first published work. I hope you enjoy it. If so, I'd appreciate any feedback you might like to share on my book's page.On a personal note, I am married with three daughters, who are also all married, and have blessed me and my husband with seven amazing grandchildren. I live most of the year in Naples, Florida, but spend the summers in New York. I enjoy traveling and consider a recent trip to Australia and New Zealand as one of the best experiences ever.

Book preview

Chapter One

Tuesday, 6:00 PM

The Farm

Pain shot through Allison’s ankle yanking her abruptly out of a hideous nightmare. Terrifying images of a lead pipe rising and falling made her cringe. A sob caught in the back of her throat. She struggled to sit up, but the effort made her head spin, and she fell back onto the gritty floor. Beads of sweat ran slowly down her face and dripped off her chin. She took a shuddering breath and tried opening her eyes, but a sticky substance glued them shut. She lifted her aching hand, and with stiff fingers, rubbed her right eye until she could raise her lashes halfway.

With her vision partially restored, she strained to make out her surroundings. She trailed her hand across the floor. Damn. A splinter tore the flesh of her little finger. She sucked at it and chewed at the small piece of wood until it came free. Turning her head from one side to the other, she heard her neck crack as she stretched her aching shoulders that had been lying on the hard wood floor.

Through the dim light, she saw that the planked flooring reached only two of the four walls. Beams with paper insulation crumbling between them made up the majority of the space, and grimy white sheets, crisscrossed with spider webs, covered pieces of forgotten furniture. She was in someone’s attic.

Tears wet her eyes as she continued looking around her gloomy quarters. How had she gotten here? She got on her knees and placed her hands on the floor in front of her and pushed herself upright. Being careful not to put too much weight on her right leg, she hobbled to the far end of the room. Even this simple act wore her out.

Weak light filtered through the solitary window, scattering jagged pools of illumination across the floor. Beneath the window, old boxes, filled to overflowing with yellowing newspapers, climbed nearly three-feet high beneath the remains of a lace curtain. A scarred bookcase, loaded with moldy books, stood against the wall opposite her. Several dolls, once elegantly attired in shiny satin petticoats, now perched precariously on a shelf above a child’s rusty sled. Pushed up against the wall was an old sofa.

Gingerly, she lowered her bruised body onto it, grateful she’d made it this far. Rusty springs squealed in protest - a welcome sound that broke the pervasive stillness. She spent the next few moments scrubbing her left eye and assessing the rest of the injuries she’d suffered.

Bloodstains made ugly red-brown patches on her green scrubs. The pants weren’t just filthy, they had holes torn in the knees. Her right ankle was tender, and she debated whether she should take off her shoe to check for broken bones. After a quick look, she decided to leave the sturdy shoe on to provide much-needed support. Her fingernails, usually well manicured, were ripped to the quick, and there were rope burns around her wrists. Tears welled in her eyes once more when she saw that her brand new wedding ring was missing. Craig, she thought. Oh, Craig, where are you? I need you. I need you right now.

The hot, dusty attic brought her back to stark reality. Her shoulders slumped and her chest hurt as she pulled the stale air into her lungs. The silence was palpable. She carefully plucked a sticky glob from her hair and saw that it was crusted blood. This was the junk that had interfered with her vision. Now, if she could just remember what had brought her to this place and left her in such a wretched state.

She wiped away her tears and willed herself to stay calm. Becoming hysterical wasn’t the course of action she needed to take. She took a deep breath. The best way to handle this situation was the way she was trained to deal with any emergency she encountered as a nurse: get the information, create a plan, and then execute it. She silenced her racing thoughts and said a prayer that this orderly approach wouldn’t fail her now.

Heavy footsteps outside the attic room interrupted her prayer. Frightened, she realized there wasn’t time to get back to her original position on the floor. She flopped to one side of the couch and feigned sleep, frantically hoping whoever was out there wouldn’t notice she’d moved. Much as she would have loved to arm herself with a weapon, she was way too weak to launch an attack.

The sound of jostling dishes came through the door. A key scraped as the door was unlocked, and the hinges complained as it was pushed ajar. Trembling, Allison cracked one eye open and peered toward the doorway.

A large creature, well over six-feet tall, loomed in the shadows. With a grunt, the figure bent down to retrieve the tray from the floor, then used an ample hip to nudge the door open. The faint light fell on large, coarse features and gunmetal hair in a short brush cut. Balancing the tray in one hand, her visitor kicked the door firmly shut, then stomped into the room.

So, you’re awake. The massive person spoke. But not in the low rumblings of a basso profundo that Allison expected, but in a nasally twang. Her captor was a woman. Allison shut her eyes tightly.

Nothing to say? Well, that’s okedoke with me. I don’t really want to talk to you neither. I’m just here to deliver your meal. Expect you’re pretty thirsty by now, and you haven’t eaten in a day or more. The woman carried the tray into the room and set it down on an old trunk in front of the couch. She pulled aluminum foil off one of the plates.

Let’s see what Sophie’s fixed for you. Hmm. Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, green beans. Looks pretty damn good to me. I guess you really are more valuable alive than dead. Come on now. Stop pretending. I saw you looking at me.

Allison didn’t know what she should do. If this person had caused her injuries, she might be better off keeping her mouth shut. But, if she didn’t answer, she might antagonize her and make matters worse. The decision was quickly taken out of her hands when the woman grabbed her by the chin and tipped her head back. Allison flinched, trying to pull away. Her stomach clenched in fear as the woman held fast.

Now just hold still. I need to take a look at you. Roy brought you up here without giving anyone a chance to check you out. I got to see what kind of damage he’s done. That man just can’t be trusted.

Allison squeezed her eyes shut, expecting the worst, but the woman’s hands were surprisingly gentle as they traced the tender places on her face. Her hair was slowly lifted from the dried blood that had come from a gash in her forehead.

She began to shiver. She folded her hands and placed them between her knees, pressing her legs together to stop the shaking. Drawing a deep breath, she forced herself to settle down. She didn’t want this woman to know how terrified she was.

Wow, Roy sure put the hurts on that pretty face of yours. The woman continued to examine Allison’s injuries. She shook her head in disgust. I hope he remembered to take pictures before he messed you up.

Allison could keep quiet no longer. What pictures are you talking about? Who’s Roy? What am I doing here? With each question, her voice rose till it was nearly a shriek.

Well, well. The little lady speaks. Sorry, sweet cheeks, I’m not, how do they say on the TV, the obese woman drew herself up like a ten cent lawyer, and with a sarcastic glint in her eye, recited, I’m not at liberty to share that information. She laughed at her poor attempt at humor. Now calm down, she continued in a normal tone, and eat this fine meal Sophie worked so hard on. We can’t have you losing that cute little figure.

Allison folded her arms protectively across her chest. Why should this woman care what she looked like? Why did she want her to eat? She needed answers, but what would be the best way to get what she needed? She figured her best bet was to get her jailer to sympathize with her.

Please, Allison begged, desperation causing her voice to quaver. You’re the only one who can help me. I promise you I’ll eat if you’ll just answer one question.

The woman stared at Allison for a moment, pursed her lips, then hitched up her voluminous pants. With considerable effort, she sat down on a faded tapestry-covered ottoman. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her massive thighs and uttered a single word, Shoot.

A loud buzz filled the room. Before Allison could get out a single syllable, the big woman grabbed a walkie-talkie from a holder on her belt and hit the button. Yeah, what is it, Sophie?

A plaintive voice came from the hand-held device. Hey, Minnie, how’s our girl enjoying her meal?

Well, that’s right hard to say since she hasn’t taken a bite yet. Seems she’s more interested in information than food.

You better keep your lip buttoned and get down here before Roy gets home.

All right, all right. I’ll be right there. Minnie punched the off button, hooked the walkie-talkie back on her belt, and heaved her bulk up from the ottoman. She lifted the fork from the tray and handed it to Allison, who took it without speaking.

Wish I could stay and shoot the breeze with you for a while, but it looks like I’m needed somewheres else. Now be a good girl and eat. You surely don’t want to antagonize old Roy. Once that boy’s in a bad mood, there’s no telling what he might do.

But what about my questions? Allison pulled herself up, crying at Minnie’s retreating back. You promised.

Sorry, sweet cheeks. Maybe some other time. Minnie passed through the doorway.

Allison heard the lock turn and Minnie’s heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs. Once again she was all alone and still had no idea why she was being held captive in this miserable house.

Chapter Two

Tuesday, 6:00 PM

Craig and Allison’s House

Moonlight shone brightly through the kitchen window of a small colonial home on Dawson Lane, but Craig McDermott was in no mood to notice the soft shadows it created on the hardwood floors – he was too busy slamming the phone down. He gripped his hair and shouted in frustration. What the hell is wrong with those idiots? I tell them Allison still hasn’t come home, and all they can say is since she hasn’t been missing forty-eight hours, there’s nothing they can do!

He angrily crossed the kitchen into the living room and threw himself down onto the overstuffed cushions of the new couch. Allison’s gray cashmere sweater lay in a small pile next to him. He picked it up and held the fabric to his face burying his nose in it. The lingering scent of her favorite perfume still clung to the soft wool. He moaned, the pain catching him in the back of his throat. This couldn’t be happening to him – this couldn't be happening to Allison. Hadn’t he stood just three short months ago in front of two hundred guests and promised to love, honor and protect her for the rest of their lives?

His shoulders sagged. Terrible images flooded his mind with what Allison might be going through. The realization that he wasn’t there for her, that it was his fault she wasn’t home where she belonged, cut through him like a surgeon’s blade. Fear had taken on a life of its own; he could smell it on his body, and it sickened him. As far back as he could remember, he had always been the one in charge, the one people turned to in times of crisis, and now, even after alluding to his father’s considerable influence in Somerset to the officer on desk duty, it appeared no one was in any hurry to help him find his wife.

The doorbell rang, reaching through his scattered thoughts. Hoping it might be news about Allison, he jumped to his feet, lost his balance and fell heavily onto the glass-top coffee table. Shit, he yelled, as the glass shattered across the rug.

Trying to stay away from the sharp pieces, he slowly freed himself from the ruined table. A shard of glass stabbed him in his left calf. What next, he thought as he leaned down and yanked the piece out of his leg. He rolled up his pant leg to inspect the damage. A sharp sliver had gone deep into his flesh, just below his knee.

Blood welled up and out of the gash, running down over his loafer onto the beige carpet. He pulled a linen handkerchief out of his back pocket, wiped away most of the blood, then tied the cloth tightly above the cut.

The doorbell continued its strident ringing.

Hang on, hang on! I’ll be right there! He hobbled down the hallway.

His visitor gave up ringing the bell and started pounding on the heavy wooden door.

Can’t you wait just a damn minute? He grabbed the knob and yanked the door open to reveal his sister-in-law, MaryJane.

She threw her arms around him. Craig! she blurted, then pressed her head against his chest. She kept her arms tightly wrapped around him, then lifted her face. Have you heard anything? Have you heard from Allison? Tell me, Craig. Please. What have you heard?

Overwhelmed, Craig looked down at the lovely woman who was so much the spitting image of her twin that they had even fooled their parents at times. He gently separated himself from her and pulled her into the house. He closed the door behind them, then guided her past the shattered glass to sit on the couch.

MaryJane took a deep breath then noticed the broken glass and blood-spattered carpet. What in the world happened here?

I broke the table, he replied simply.

How?

I guess I was in kind of a fog when you were ringing the bell, and I fell on top of it and the glass broke. It must have had a weak spot or something, or else I landed on it just right.

MaryJane eyed his bloody pant leg. Are you okay?

Yeah, it probably needs stitches. He reached for the ends of the handkerchief and pulled them tighter against his calf. I’m not leaving the house though. I’ve got to make sure I’m here when Allison calls. He rubbed his hand through his hair. I’ve been sitting here racking my brain trying to imagine where she might have gone.

What did the police have to say?

Nothing new since I spoke to you this morning. But they did tell me they’ll take a missing person’s report tomorrow. Craig pulled up his pant leg to check the wound. It appeared to have stopped bleeding, so he untied the makeshift tourniquet. Do you think you could stay here while I go to the police station?

Of course, she said. I’ll do anything I can to help. Just let me know when.

I decided to write down everything I can remember about the last hours I spent with Allison. He wadded the bloodstained handkerchief into a ball and placed it on the end table. I figure that kind of information might help the cops find her sooner.

MaryJane nodded. Good idea. Why don’t you read what you’ve written, and I’ll see if there’s anything I can add?

Craig got to his feet. He looked around the newly furnished living room. His eyes lingered on the club chair that had been delivered the week before. He shook his head as he recalled in detail the tedious hours he and Allison had spent with the interior designer going through endless yards of fabric before finally settling on the print material.

He smiled recalling Allison’s earthy enthusiasm as they christened that chair just three nights ago, the way they had made every new piece of furniture uniquely their own. He could still feel the silkiness of her skin, the heat that burned below the surface of her slender limbs.

What if he never again held his new bride? Never experienced the heights of passion they’d only just begun to discover? What if the promises they’d made to each other only three months ago were never to come true? He shook his head to rid himself of the negative thoughts. One way or another, he was going to find his wife.

Thanks, MaryJane. I’ll get my notes. He looked down at his leg. Dammnit. Just what I need. Blood was streaming down his leg again. He made his way into the kitchen, leaving small drops on the porcelain tile as he hopped over to the sink. He grabbed a kitchen towel and tied it tightly. He grabbed his notes off the counter then began looking through the cabinets, one after the next for a magazine he wanted to show MaryJane.

MaryJane followed him into the kitchen. She pulled out a wicker stool from under the breakfast bar and climbed onto the padded seat. The last time I spoke to Allison was Saturday. We were supposed to go shopping, but I wasn’t feeling very well. She paused, resting her chin in her hand. She told me she had to work Sunday and would give me a call to see if I needed anything. She shook her head, But she never called.

Yeah, the last time I talked with her was when she woke me to say goodbye before she left for the hospital. Craig stood still as he remembered the delicate aroma of Allison’s freshly washed hair; the gently beating pulse below her perfectly shaped ear. These recollections, as lovely as they were, now made his heart ache.

Suddenly, MaryJane looked up at him with a big smile on her face. Craig, I just thought of someone who might help us. My friend CJ. I’ll bet CJ would be willing to give us a hand!

Craig slammed the sink drawer shut, nearly catching his fingers in the act. Who’s CJ?

Don’t you remember? CJ Hunter. She’s the private investigator I apprenticed with last year. She’s one of the best in the business. Her success rate for finding missing people is amazing.

Do you think she’d have any better luck than the police? They have an entire department specially trained to find missing people.

"Absolutely. At the very least, I could be working

along with the police, and I’ll bet CJ would be willing to give me a hand if I need it. She once said she’d be glad to partner with someone as stubborn as I am."

MaryJane slid down from the stool and walked across the kitchen. She laid a hand on Craig’s arm. With you, me and CJ looking for Allison, we should be able to track her down before anything happens to her. After all, who knows Allison better than you and I do?

You’re right. It’s a great idea. Craig leaned down to check his leg, pulled off the bloodstained towel and threw it into the sink.

MaryJane gave his arm a squeeze. Come on, let’s get started right now.

Craig made his way back from the kitchen, carrying the magazine and flipping through the pages as he limped over to the couch.

MaryJane reached for his page of notes then rummaged around in her purse pulling out a pen and a small leather-bound notebook. Let’s go back over the events of Allison’s day before you realized she wasn’t coming home.

I’m way ahead of you.

Chapter Three

Tuesday, 6:30 PM

The Farm

A sudden wave of dizziness forced Allison to put her pounding head between her knees. She waited, praying she wouldn’t lose consciousness, until the feeling passed. Raising her head, she leaned back slowly onto the torn chintz cushion, her eyes shut tight as she let her body relax. She carefully pulled a lock of hair from the dried blood on her forehead and freed up what normally fell as a gentle curve against her right cheek. The gesture reminded her of Minnie’s recent, somewhat surprising concern for her well-being. Other than her huge size, and she was certainly the biggest woman Allison had ever seen, Minnie didn’t come close to what she thought a prison guard should look like, for without a doubt, Allison understood the attic room was her cell.

It felt as if there were a spring coiled tightly in her belly, and it was taking every ounce of her self-control not to hurl her dinner tray across the room. She eyed the tray nearly giving into the impulse, as she imagined what kind of pattern the meatloaf would leave on the attic wall. My God, she thought, I’m beginning to lose it - at least that’s what MaryJane would have said.

MaryJane. God, how she wished her gutsy sister were with her in this airless room. She’d have Minnie spilling her guts in a heartbeat. Allison wondered if her twin knew yet that she was missing. It had been a while since they’d experienced that twin thing, where each could sense what the other was feeling, even if they were miles apart. It made her think back to the last time it had happened.

The three of them, Craig, MaryJane and Allison, had been at a baseball game at Wrigley Field. MaryJane had gone to the bathroom, and while she was on her way back to their seats, lightning hit one of the power lines, causing the lights to go off in the corridor. Two guys appeared from below the darkened staircase and boxed her in. She quickly reached into her bag, ready to hand over her wallet, but that wasn’t what they were after.

As the men closed in on MaryJane, Allison experienced a mental image of the two guys and what they were about to do. She grabbed Craig’s arm and dragged him to the nearest cop. They quickly convinced him that MaryJane was in danger, and they raced down into the dark corridor. Just seconds before the perverts were about to tear MaryJane’s pants off, the cop drew his weapon.

Allison smiled as she recalled the stunned expression on the ugly faces of those morons. They’d had no idea how Allison had led the cop to them. It was a gift; a gift that many twins seemed to share. She hoped that wherever MaryJane was that somehow she just might sense where she was and come find her.

She knew she should focus on finding a way to get out of this room, but her energy was seeping out, along with the blood that continued leaking from the cuts on her hands. She raised her head from the seat cushion,

Reviews for Switch

[walnut242 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I neither loved or disliked this book. I really do not know how to describe my feelings. The whole time I was reading I continued to ask myself "would/could this really happen this way?" When I say this I am not refering to the switching of babys. I refer to interactions between individuals. Things they did or maybe the way they did things. Other books I have read by Ms. Kelly I have enjoyed, just not this one. I felt that the concept was good but could have been developed a little differently.