Left to Fear (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Ten)

by Blake Pierce

  Adele frowned to herself. Slowly, she reached towards her holster—hesitated for a moment, but then withdrew her weapon. She kept it aimed low, at the ground, but could feel her spine still tingling. Could feel her anxiety mounting.

  She resisted the urge to call out again. She spotted wooden benches on either side of her, and porcelain bowls with flowing water splattering into the basins. One of the faucets had been left turned on.

  She spotted a wooden stand with coals—a metal mesh covering over the top, protecting it. Someone was standing by the coals. She frowned, drawing nearer, but then went still. A young man in an employee's uniform poured water on the coals and another gust of steam spewed into the room.

  Behind the benches, and the porcelain bowls, she spotted a length of hall, moving off to four separate rooms.

  Adele kept her gun low, eyes fixed on the first door down the hall. She stepped through this new burst of steam, wincing against the heat on her face, against the humidity and the way her clothing now seemed heavy and thick about her.

  Adele puffed a breath, and the vapor swirled in front of her lips.

  Come on... she thought to herself. She didn't call out, though she wanted too. Was Ms. Velz in here, with her? Where was that man with the expensive shoes? She couldn't seem him anymore. She winced at another hissing sound from behind her. More steam.

  Great. Less vision.

  She wished John had been there too, but no time to wait.

  She spotted movement—someone in a towel crossing from one room to another. She heard a soft swishing sound, like swirling water.

  Adele frowned, pausing for a moment. But the figure, like a ghost through mist, was gone again—into the furthest room in the corner. Adele walked up the wooden hall, beneath dull lights in waterproof glass casings above. She winced against the orange glow.

  Adele paused at the doorway and reached out, slowly, feeling her fingers tremor. For a moment, she felt another swirl of anxiety, even more acute than when she'd jumped from one boat to another. But then, her hand touched the cool, plastic doorknob, and twisted.

  Locked.

  She frowned. She tried again, harder, pushing her shoulder against the wood. Nothing.

  Now, she could feel her pulse quickening. Adele rapped her fingers against the wood, quickly. She spoke in nearly a whisper, “Ms. Velz, are you in there? This is the police! Let me in, please.”

  She knocked again.

  Nothing.

  Was Martha dead? Was the killer in there with her? Adele began to reach for her phone to call John, wondering now if she ought to shoot the lock.

  But just then, the door suddenly opened wide, and mist swirled and twirled around her.

  A young woman, wearing a towel, stood in the doorway frowning. Dark complexion, beautiful features, a nose gifted by a scalpel.

  “Martha Velz,” Adele said, suddenly, feeling a burst of relief. “Thank God.”

  The woman blinked, pulling her towel a bit tighter around her. “I—sorry, who are you?”

  “My name is Agent Sharp,” Adele said, quickly, not bothering to reach for her wallet. Guns usually did enough talking.

  Ms. Velz's eyes found the weapon a second later, widening above the swirling mist. “I—did you say agent?” she said, nervously. “I'm sorry—is this about my father?”

  “What? No... I don't think so, at least. Look, Ms. Velz, you need to come with me. Now! Do you have clothing nearby?”

  “I'm wearing my swimsuit under this,” she said, quickly, pulling the towel aside to reveal a modest one piece. “What's the matter, agent; you're scaring me.”

  Adele heard a creaking sound behind them all of a sudden. She felt her pulse race and cursed. She reached out, taking Ms. Velz gently by the hand and tugging insistently at the woman's wrist. Adele made sure to keep her gun angled off to the side.

  Martha's eyes were still round and wide, but slowly, she allowed herself to be coaxed back into the hall.

  Another creaking sound behind them. Adele felt a shiver up her back. “Come,” she said, firmly. “Please—hurry. We need to get you out of here.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Adele turned and, thankfully, Martha finally followed. One hand held her towel about her, the other bunched at her side in a defensive gesture. Fear emanated from her form, but she allowed Adele to guide her hurriedly back towards the room with the coals and benches.

  Fog and steam swirled. Another hiss from the room beyond. Another creaking sound. What was that?

  Adele neared the end of the hall, feeling her pulse racing. Almost there. Almost...

  A form suddenly emerged in front of them, blocking the exit.

  “Hello, Martha,” said the voice in a strained tone. “It's good to see you.” The form was cut in shadow and steam. Nearly impossible to determine features.

  Was he holding something? A weapon?

  “Get down!” Adele yelled, suddenly, yanking firmly at Martha, and pulling her back. At the same time, she aimed her gun towards the man. “Don't move!” she yelled.

  She heard a sound of rapid footfalls, and the figure disappeared around the mouth of the doorway, now, vanishing in the steam.

  Adele winced, staring. Had he moved back out into the main area? Or had he stepped into one of the doorways in the hall in front of them? She couldn't tell through all this fog.

  “Come,” Adele whispered, fiercely, pulling Martha along with her, back towards the far end of the hall, away from the exit—at least for now.

  They hurried quickly, disappearing into the steam. Adele guided Ms. Velz towards the same room she'd found her in.

  She pushed Ms. Velz into the room and stood in the door, waiting. Adele held up a finger to her lips, though she wasn't sure if the gesture was visible in the mist. Then, standing in the doorway, gun in hand, she waited, eyes wide in the humid air, watching, seeking any motion at all.

  She winced against the glare of the orange lights above, her back braced against the wooden frame. Her own breathing sounded like an echo in her ears and the steam danced in rhythm with her exhalations.

  No sign of movement, or motion.

  She could only hope the man with the watch was having a similarly difficult time navigating in the steam.

  Adele could hear Ms. Velz hyperventilating in the room behind her. She risked a glance back, and wanted to offer something in the way of encouragement, or comfort, but any sound could attract the attention of the man in the mist.

  As she stood, waiting, hoping he'd left, she felt a buzz in her pocket.

  Adele frowned, briefly, and then her eyes widened in horror.

  Her phone. It would ring on the third buzz.

  Damn it. Shit. Adele frantically reached for the device, her fingers scrambling. She yanked the phone from her pocket by the second buzz, her fingers fumbling for the volume buttons. But the phone emitted a loud, chirping noise for a brief moment, a split second before she muted it.

  Adele cursed beneath her breath, holding her silenced phone against her damp suit.

  The sound had peeled out in the steam rooms, echoing along the hall, like a flare of sound.

  And then, a figure suddenly burst from one of the rooms up the hallway.

  Adele yelled—gun rising. The figure barreled into her, moving fast and Martha Velz screamed.

  Adele went down with a shout, her gun—miraculously--still gripped tight. The figure on top of her, though, seemed to realize the threat. He was snarling now, his body weight pressed against her, smothering her. She tried to kick, but his legs pinned hers. He smelled of alcohol and sweat and he cursed beneath his breath, desperately grabbing at her wrist. Fingernails gouged into her wrist, and a hand clamped over her face, fingers pushing against her eyes as if trying to pluck them out.

  She yelled, shaking her head and dislodging his hand; she couldn't push the man off—he was too strong, but every man had a weakness.

  Instead of trying to rise, instead she twisted and launched her knee up. She caught him in
the fork of his legs, and the man let out a wheeze like a whoopie cushion.

  His grip on her wrist slackened somewhat, and Adele kneed him again, in the same spot. The man gagged, rolling to the side, desperately scrambling to avoid her weapon. Adele cursed, trying to aim from the ground, but he kicked at her hand, stumbling back at the same time, regaining his feet.

  She sat up now, aiming once more, but the man ignored her now, looking around the steam room like a wolf searching for prey. Martha Velz screamed again.

  “Get back!” Adele yelled, trying to fire, but the man with the watch shoved her to the side, sending her tumbling. She struck the opposite door, hard, her shoulder aching.

  The man emitted a snarling sound, like a wounded animal. “I'll tell them they'll miss you!” he screamed, his voice peeling out. And then he football-tackled Ms. Velz, bringing her to the ground beneath his weight. There was a sickening crunch of flesh and bone against hard floor.

  Martha let out a gasping whimper. The killer's finger scrambled towards her throat, her mouth, something in his hand. Was that a rose? He seemed to be trying to shove the thorny stem past Martha Velz's lips.

  The man was crazed, completely ignoring Adele now, as if she wasn't even there.

  “Get off her!” Adele yelled, aiming.

  But he ignored the call. No choice. She couldn't risk hurting Martha, so she aimed towards one of his upraised hands, which he'd braced against the wall, while using the other to attack.

  The blast of gunfire jolted through the steam rooms. The man on top of Martha yelped, his arm slamming against the wall like a slab of beef. A spurt of red splattered the wood grain.

  Martha's lips were sealed, but she was breathing wildly through her nose, nostrils flaring.

  The killer had dropped his rose and was now clutching at his arm, moaning in pain.

  “Get down!” Adele screamed.

  But the man wasn't done. He rolled off of Martha, but then grabbed her, dragging her to her feet with him. She hung limply in his grasp, trying to make herself as small as possible, sobbing now and pleading with incoherent words.

  “Let her go!” Adele shouted.

  “You don't understand,” he gasped. “Go away! Go!”

  “No—not until you let her go. Then we can talk. I can get you some help for that arm.”

  For a moment, the man almost seemed to smile in the mist, a bout of sanity falling over him. “Wound me, then offer help? You're like a mechanic.” He chuckled. But then his features morphed in pain again, and the steam around him fell about, swirling and making his features hazy.

  “I mean it!” Adele yelled, “let her go.”

  He set his teeth and gripped Martha hard by the shoulder. “Don't you get it—this is just desserts. That's all! It's my right!”

  “Your right?” Adele said, quietly, trying to engage, looking for a clear shot. As long as he was talking, he wasn't attacking. She needed an angle, some opportunity. But nothing yet, so she pressed, buying time, “What gives you that right?”

  “Her own parents!” he snapped, shaking Martha, roughly. The young heiress squeaked and played possum, limp in the man's arms.

  “They killed my sister as sure as if they'd put the cancer in her kidneys themselves! They did it!” He was shaking now, white, trembling like a leaf. “It spread... I donated a kidney. I tried. But it spread. There were complications...” he spoke now as if narrating a movie in his mind, his eyes wide, vacant, gasping to himself as he stuttered.

  “Your sister died?” Adele said, softly. “Is that what this is about.” She tried to take a step forward, but he snapped at her, and squeezed Martha's neck.

  Adele went still. Hastily, she said, “I'm sorry for your loss. But how is that Ms. Velz's fault?”

  The killer spat off to the side. “Her parents—I worked for them. Once upon a time. You get all sorts of interesting work as an electrician. Worked for their production company—oh, don't try to speak, I know all about little Martha Velz.”

  He spat, now, still bleeding, haggard, pale. “Why should she live, when my sister died? Why? Hmm? Why's that fair? You tell me! Why!”

  Adele gritted her teeth. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry your sister—”

  “Choking on her own vomit. Dying in the most horrible way—it took months. She didn't deserve that! She didn't!” He screamed now, shaking Ms. Velz by the throat. But the anger was like a flash of lightning, appearing once, then vanishing a second later. He didn't seem to be able to keep his fury kindling, as if it took all his energy just to remain standing upright.

  “And the others,” Adele said, still stalling. Still no angle—wait, there! His shoulder... No. He moved, shifting again. Damn it. “What about the others?” she said, trying not to let her frustration show. “You killed Zeynep Akbulut, Anika Everett, and Abigail Havertz. Why? What did they do to you?”

  “I didn't kill them. I killed an idea,” he spat. “The haves and the have-nots, a tale as old as time. I worked for the Akbuluts, and the Everetts. Worked on motors and worked on runway lighting. The Havertz' too—while I was freelancing, needed help with wiring their restaurants. It's amazing how much you can do for them. And how little they do in return!”

  Adele could feel her pulse racing; she forced herself to listen to the man if for nothing more than forestalling the inevitable, like watching a hangman's hand gripped on the hatch lever. She swallowed and, in a ghost of a voice, managed to eke out, “I don't understand.”

  “They knew my sister was dying! I told them! Begged them for help. It wouldn't have cost them anything. It bankrupted me—bankrupted my sister. But for them—they spend more on their seventeenth car than it would have taken to save my sister's damn life! Don't you understand?”

  She tried to force down her fear, her worry. Tried to swallow the terror swirling through her. She tried to listen—to really listen to the man's ravings. In a way, for a glimpse of a moment, she felt a flicker of sympathy. But the emotion was drowned out by an even greater bout of sympathy for Ms. Velz. “I understand that's frustrating. Let Martha go. We can talk later.”

  “It's not about the money,” he said, which wasn't a direct answer to anything she'd said, and Adele wondered, vaguely, if he was even listening to her. “I had a settlement from the company she worked for. The cleaning fluids caused the cancer. Ha!” he shook his wrist with the watch, then winced at his arm. “Money, money, money. Gave me some nice clothes, gave me a watch. Didn't give me my bloody sister!”

  Martha Velz was crying now, shaking in the killer's tight grip.

  Adele felt another pang of fear at the look on Martha's face. Her own body was prickling and buzzing from adrenaline and nerves. If she wasn't gripping her hand so tightly around her weapon, she was nearly certain her fingers would start trembling. Still, she kept her face placid, her tone even, “This isn't going to help your sister either. It won't. Let her go, please.” The final word cost her even more, but she needed to de-escalate emotions.

  “You don't get it! They sent me flowers! Roses. They sent me a note, giving their condolences. That's all they did! They could have saved her life, but instead they taunted me. They mocked her death.”

  Adele felt another jolt of sympathy, a stronger one this time. She looked at the man and felt a flash of compassion. An odd thing to feel for a serial killer. But he'd started as human once upon a time. Before grief had consumed him. To her surprise, she meant her next words, “That's sounds horrible, and I'm sorry. But I don't—”

  “A month after she died! That's when I got the flowers. A month after! That's when I knew. Four roses. That's what they thought my sister's life was worth. Meanwhile, they're buying cars and boats and their tenth house. Going on vacations that could have saved my sister's life! And they sent me four measly damn flowers! And so yes, damn it, yes I killed them! So what! Hmm? I killed them! I'd do it again! Happily. Four flowers for four flowers. Isn't that right? I sent a note too. My own condolences. I'm sure that'll make them feel better.”

 
; Adele gritted her teeth, wincing against the barrage of words. She didn't blame the man for his grief, or even his anger. But none of it justified his actions. Not even his anger.

  “Look—you're not getting out of here. Give me Ms. Velz. I'll tell the judge you were cooperative.”

  He breathed heavily, his eyes darting side to side, his face pale from blood loss and fear. At last, though, he seemed to make a decision. His tongue darted out, briefly, licking his lips. “You want her so bad? Take her!” He shoved Martha towards Adele, hard, sending the young woman stumbling.

  Adele grunted against the sudden impact, her gun jarring off to the side. At the same time, as Adele tried to catch Ms. Velz before she fell, the killer bolted back through the door and up the hall. Adele didn't risk another shot—remembering the employee from earlier at the end of that hall, and the deck full of passengers outside.

  Still, she yelled, “Are you okay?”

  Martha was shaking horribly, one hand pressed to her lips. There were bloody marks across the lower portion of her face, where the thorns of the rose had been dragged like cat claws. But other than that, she seemed well enough. Shock, no doubt. But she'd make it.

  The killer, on the other hand, couldn't be allowed to escape.

  “Hang tight,” Adele said, patting the woman firmly on the shoulder. “You're going to be okay. I'll send help. Don't move!”

  And then, she broke into a sprint, moving back after the killer's retreating form. He'd already made it to the door in the main hub of the steam room and slipped back out into the swimming area.

  Adele spotted the employee glued to one of the walls, frozen, as if trying to hide. His eyes were as wide as saucers, staring over the metal container of coals.

  “Go help her,” Adele snapped, pointing at the man. “Back there—a passenger. Help her! Now!”

  The young man snapped out of his panic, and nodded dumbly, hurrying towards where Ms. Velz was still sitting. Adele raced towards the door and burst back out onto the deck as well.

  Her eyes flicked about. Then she spotted him. The killer, with his expensive watch and shoes was hastening towards the edge of the deck, gasping, blood spilling down his arm.