The Coffin Maker

Chapter 17

Ailsa parted a bamboo curtain to an adjoining room. A bathroom in an old house, she thought. Wainscoting bordered the walls, an oval shag rug lay on the floor before a cast iron bathtub with claw feet and brass fixtures with porcelain handles labeled hot and cold. Above a pedestal sink was an old medicine cabinet. There were dark splotches where the mirror was missing some of its reflective material. The taps on the sink matched the lever handles on the bathtub. She turned one with her hand but no water flowed from the spout. A hand held showerhead with a rubber hose rested on a wire soap dish with a bar of unopened Ivory. Towels hung neatly on an antique freestanding rack. Ailsa flicked the switch to a vintage dual light wall sconce above the sink but it did not come on. All the lighting came from modern pot lights in the ceiling. In one corner, there was a chemical toilet on a raised platform and a dehumidifier enclosed in a wire cage anchored to the wall. Everything was white, the room, the rug, the tub, the towels, with the exception of the black and white checkerboard floor tile and the wooden door, which was green. The door had an antique glass knob and a brass back plate with a keyhole. Ailsa stooped to peer through the keyhole, but something blocked it on the opposite side. She tried the handle but the knob was only decorative, the door permanently recessed into the wall without hinges. She gazed upwards and confirmed her suspicion. There were tiny cameras in every corner. It was impossible to avoid the chilling realization that the room was a reproduction from an earlier era. Her skin crawled. This was much more than a bathroom. It was an arena, a stage...a place for watching. A chime sounded like the kind that informs a store clerk that someone has entered.

Her heart sank when she ran her hand along the wall and realized it was concrete block of the type normally used below grade in basement foundations. At the far end of the room, there was an exercise pole. She walked over to it and grasped the bar. Suddenly, a brushed nickel track light came on illuminating the area in colored light. Near the pole, beneath a switch on the wall, a plastic strip made from a hand held label maker read 'Music'. Ailsa flicked the switch. Immediately, the colored lights danced in the strobe-like manner used in clubs and music emanated from hidden speakers. Ailsa turned it off. So this is how it is, thought Ailsa. Dance for your supper, girl.

She returned to join Riley and sat in the armchair. The young woman lifted her head and asked, "I heard music. Can we go now?"

Ailsa told her the truth. "No, we are prisoners."

"What do you mean?" pleaded Riley. "You said you were a detective. Are you saying that he caught you too?"

"Yes, I'm sorry," said Ailsa.

Riley immediately burst into tears and fell back onto the cot. Ailsa consoled her and waited until she stopped crying. "What hope do we have?" asked the young woman.

"The FBI and a very good investigator are looking for us," said Ailsa. "In the meantime, we wait and we can do that together." Ailsa changed the subject. "I need to ask you a question. Have you danced at the pole or used the bath?"

"No, I was afraid he would come," said the sobbing girl. "When I did think about having a bath, no water came out the tap. Now, I'm too weak."

"Have you heard the chime before?" asked Ailsa.

"Yes. It goes off periodically, but I haven't heard it for a while."

"He left you some food via the dumbwaiter?"

"A little bit on the first day, only a bottle of water since," said Riley.

Play his game and be rewarded with food, thought Ailsa. The chilling reality helped explain why the first victim, Amber Kailta lasted only a week, and the second, Morgan McMahon, a month. Do I have the same strength and courage as Morgan, she wondered. Riley must eat soon or she will die. I can't imagine how she feels. I'm hungry and I ate yesterday.