Shiver

by Suzanne Wright

  Time started to slow down. Each time the car crashed to the ground, there was excruciatingly loud crunching and grinding. Glass shattered and blew inward. My head snapped from side to side. My body bashed into the door over and over. Items sailed in front of my vision. At some point, a white cloud exploded outward, thrusting me backward. Airbag.

  Then everything went still, even my heartbeat.

  Silence.

  Except for the ringing in my ears.

  Stunned, I just sat there. I didn’t know what the hell had just happened. Like there was a fog in my mind. I felt as if I was floating. Completely detached from whatever happened.

  Darkness crept around the edges of my vision, and I thought I’d black out. I didn’t.

  Numb and dazed, I could only stare dumbly at the absolute mess around me. Bits of glass, an empty coffee cup, my purse, the air freshener, and the documents from the glovebox—all of it was scattered all over the place.

  Where had the windows gone? Why was warm water dripping down my head?

  I couldn’t think. Couldn’t make sense of anything. Couldn’t process any of it.

  I thought I could hear a hiss of smoke, but the ringing in my ears was too loud for me to be sure. The gas didn’t smell anywhere near as nice when mixed with burned rubber. I pushed at the airbag, grimacing at the chalky feel of it, and watched dazedly as it deflated.

  Why did my head hurt like a bitch? I touched the burn on my temple, and my fingers came back with blood.

  Blood.

  I started to shake. Badly. Couldn’t seem to get enough air as the fog around my thoughts abruptly dissipated, and a wave of sheer panic hit me. The car had flipped, I remembered. Some motherfucker in a red truck had driven us off the road.

  The realization sent my heart racing. I could hear it thrashing in my ears. Could feel the adrenaline pumping through me. My breaths turned quick, uneven, and shallow. Little flares of pain now made themselves known all over my body.

  Fuck, I wanted to get out. Get help. Get—

  Rossi.

  Pain streaked up my neck as I tried to quickly turn my head to look at him. Spitting a curse, I squeezed my eyes shut. That had been a bad idea. Slowly, I twisted to look at him. My stomach sank. His body had slumped forward, and there was blood all over his face. I couldn’t tell if he was alive or not.

  As I unbuckled my seat belt, white-hot pain lanced through my wrist, and I froze with a sharp intake of breath. Jesus Christ. Breathing through the agony only brought me new pain, since my chest felt like it had been battered—no doubt thanks to the seat belt. I tried reaching over to test his pulse with my good hand, but my fingers were shaking too hard.

  “Rossi, wake the fuck up. We have to get out.” I struggled with the door handle, leaving smears of blood. That was when I heard it: the sound of shoes scuffing over gravel. My heart jumped. “Rossi, we have to get out.”

  Choking back a sob, I again wrestled with the door handle. Tremors were running through me, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold, shock, or both. I also didn’t care. I just needed to get this damn door open. Come on, come on, come on!

  Glass crackled beneath boots, and my heartbeat stuttered. Finally, the door burst open. I felt a moment of victory … until I saw him standing there, and I realized that it was him who’d opened the door, not me.

  Ricky Tate smiled. “Not looking so pretty now.”

  I recoiled and kicked out at him, but he moved fast. He dodged my leg, grabbed my arm, and yanked me out of the car. As he dumped me on the ground, my sore wrist hit it hard and took the impact of my body weight. Pain exploded from my wrist to my shoulder, and stars burst behind my eyes. I gagged, sure I’d be sick, but then something slammed into my back. A boot. The pain distracted me even as it made me hitch in a breath.

  I’d kill him. I would. I’d kill the little fucker.

  With that uplifting thought in mind, I tried to get to my feet. The moment I got to my knees, a boot slammed into my aching chest and sent me sprawling backward. I hit my head on something. A rock? I didn’t know. But it hurt like a motherfucker and made my vision swim.

  Hands slid under my armpits and began dragging me backward. The long, shimmering wet grass slapped at me just as the sheet of rain fell on me, drenching my hair and clothes. I weakly squirmed and writhed, trying to get free, but all it did was make my shirt ride up. The wet, ridged pavement chafed the skin of my back, making it burn.

  The watch, I thought. I needed to push the fucking button! My mind had been so consumed by first shock and then panic that I hadn’t even thought of—

  He dropped me, and my head hit the pavement with a horrible crack that seemed to reverberate in my skull.

  “I can’t have you giving me any trouble now.” His fist slammed into my temple, making the world spin, and then everything went dark.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  God, I hurt. My entire body seemed to ache and throb, like it was one giant bruise. My muscles felt stiff and cramped, and it didn’t help that I was lying on something hard.

  My neck hurt most. No, my head. Definitely my head; not only was it pounding like a bitch, a long trail of fire blazed from my temple right along the side of my head. There was also a deep, dull ache in my wrist. Weirdly, the fingers of that hand tingled and felt numb at the tips. As if all that weren’t bad enough, I felt groggy. Shaky. Nauseous. Like—

  The crash.

  I tensed, resisting the urge to open my eyes. Ricky had taken me, the fucker. Where? How long had I been unconscious? Was he close?

  Wherever I was, someone had been burning candles recently because I could smell wax. I could also smell dirt, dust, and something … rank. Rotten. And that didn’t help my churning stomach at all.

  It was little wonder that Ricky was using candles, since the place was so damn chilly. I might not have shivered, though, if my skin wasn’t almost as wet as the clothes that clung to my body. Some of my damp hair was stuck to my forehead while another chunk was matted by the warm, sticky wetness on the side of my head—blood.

  Fuck, I needed to contact Blake using the watch. First, I needed to be sure I was alone. I listened hard, but all I could detect was the sound of my own breathing. I couldn’t even hear any street or traffic noise. Nothing. Which wasn’t good, because it meant the place was isolated.

  Certain that I was alone for the moment, I opened my eyes. High stained windows. An old baptistry tank. A faceless religious statue.

  A church, I realized. I was in a church, lying on a front wooden pew. Going by the debris littering the floor and the cracks and dents in the walls, it had long ago been abandoned. Tilting my head just a little, I noticed the altar on the dais. It wasn’t covered in dust. It was smooth and polished, and surrounded by ceremonial candles.

  Well, fuck.

  Getting a brief look at my wrist, I winced. It was swollen and grotesquely bruised. Definitely broken. On the upside, my watch was on my other wrist—apart from a little friction burn courtesy of the airbag, it was unhurt—and it was working just fine. On the downside, I’d need to use one of my tingling fingers to press the SOS button on the side.

  Calling Blake would be a bad idea, considering Ricky had to be here somewhere. If he realized that I’d contacted Blake and that people would soon be here, Ricky would kill me fast and be on his way. That wasn’t going to happen. No, it was best to use the SOS button.

  Moving my uninjured hand as close to the other as possible, I managed to lift my index finger—fuck, that hurt—and then I pushed hard on the button. I clenched my teeth to bite back a cry of pain as I kept my finger pressed there, silently counting to five. With that done, I let out a shaky breath. Blake would receive the alert. He’d know I needed him. He’d come.

  Just in case he thought about calling me in a blind panic, I quickly put the watch on silent mode with a single tap to the menu bar at the top of the screen. The fact that he hadn’t already called meant he wasn’t concerned about me yet, so I couldn’t have been unconsci
ous too long, right? Oh shit, it also meant that Rossi hadn’t been able to reach him. It wasn’t yet dark outside, but it was certainly dull—though that could simply be thanks to the shit weather—so I truly couldn’t even guess how long he’d been out there all alone.

  Praying—no, the irony of that didn’t escape me, considering where I was—that Rossi was okay, I stiffly sat upright. The world spun. Damn. It was an absolute marvel that I didn’t vomit. I felt something crusty agitating the side of my face and, guessing it was ribbons of dry blood, rubbed at it gently. Sure enough, my fingers came away with reddish brown specks. Great.

  Catching something in my peripheral vision, I glanced to my right. My heart stopped. Then it was pounding like a drum. Someone was sat at the end of the pew, covered from head to toe in a scraggly black cloak like a leper from olden times. Their head was bowed as if in prayer, and they weren’t moving. Not even a tiny bit. And I knew as sure as I knew my own name that this was the source of the rank smell. I was looking at a dead body.

  Cringing, I scrambled further down the pew and slapped a hand over my mouth—maybe to stop a scream, maybe to fight the urge to throw up. Maybe both. I would have run my ass off if my legs weren’t like jelly.

  Chest heaving, I panted. Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God.

  My gaze darted around, taking in everything. My chest tightened as I saw that, oh no, there were more of them. Behind me were rows upon rows of pews separated only by a single aisle. Hooded bodies were sporadically placed on the wooden benches. Some were even seated together.

  Inside my head, I screamed. My ribs suddenly felt as tight as the wet jeans clinging to my skin. Out, I had to get out.

  “You should see how wide your eyes are.”

  My gaze snapped to the altar as Ricky came strolling onto the podium, the image of amusement.

  “Shit, you look close to hyperventilating. Okay, I’ll admit, this place is eerie.” He glanced at the bodies. “Sometimes, I half-expect them to start moving around. Don’t worry, Kensey. They can’t hurt you. They’re very much dead. But there’ll be no burial for them. They need to repent their sins. Need to witness as others are punished.” His nostrils flared. “Soon, they’ll witness you being punished. Then you’ll join them in repenting.”

  My skin tightened and prickled, like something was crawling over me. He’d always been creepy, but now? Now there was something spine-chilling about him. Who could honestly look at a bunch of dead people and smile? I shivered again, feeling as cold on the inside as I did on the outside.

  He sighed. “I was really hoping the crash would kill you.”

  Yeah, and I was betting that he hadn’t planned to take me anywhere. If he had, he’d have brought rope to tie me up before dumping me in his truck. I swallowed. “Why not just kill me at the crash site and drive away?”

  “If it was your fate to die there, the crash would’ve done the job,” he said simply. “But maybe it’s better this way. Murder by car collision is so … impersonal.”

  Resisting the urge to snarl, I asked, “Where’s your friend?”

  Ricky squinted just a little. “He’ll be here soon. My mother found my letters, did she?”

  “No. A cop did.” I licked my dry lips. “Your mom’s worried about you.”

  He shook his head, incredulous. “You know, I could shoot someone’s face off right in front of her, and she’d stick by me. She would. I’d love her if she wasn’t such a lying bitch, telling me that my father’s dead. Me and you both know that isn’t true, don’t we?”

  I didn’t answer, refusing to tell him what he wanted to hear.

  He snickered. “Well, at least you didn’t say ‘yes’ and act submissive. I wouldn’t have bought it.”

  “Why did you write the story?” I asked. Not because I cared, but because I needed to delay whatever he meant to do. Blake would come for me. I needed to do my part and stay alive until he got here.

  Ricky’s face set into a childlike, petulant frown. “I was supposed to leave you alone. I didn’t want to. Dad would rave about the stories you wrote for him. Yeah, well, I can write stories too, if I want.”

  Oh Jesus, he sounded like a kid struggling with sibling rivalry. And listening to a grown man talk that way made the knot in my stomach tighten. “You can also do a good job of vandalizing apartments and cars, can’t you?”

  He pursed his lips, gaze unfocused. “Yeah, I don’t remember all that very well. I was mad and not really thinking.” He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. But to him, it didn’t. Not much did. Not even the corpses around us.

  Supremely conscious of the body sitting not far from me, I was tempted to glimpse at it. I resisted. God, I wished I’d never looked in the first place. But it was too late to un-see it. I knew I’d never get that image out of my head. Never.

  A cruel smirk split his lips. “Would you like to see under the hoods of our parishioners? You might recognize one or two of them. It’ll add to the fun.”

  Terror gripped my insides. Who could he mean? My mother … I hadn’t spoken to her in over two days. No, he couldn’t have—

  A car engine.

  Ricky grinned. “Ah, here he is.”

  Every muscle in my body went tight. Please be Blake. Please be Blake. Please be Blake. But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t, because the footsteps that soon began heading our way were even and leisurely—a person who was in no rush at all. The tread was nothing like Blake’s.

  My panicked breaths sawed in and out of me. Dammit, I needed to get the fuck out of this place. There was a chance that Blake wouldn’t reach me in time. No fucking way was I going to die here. No way would I be propped on a pew, covered in a black cloak. But I didn’t know how the hell I was going to save myself.

  I needed to calm the fuck down. I needed to think. I took a deep, centering breath. And another. And another. But that calm left me when the heavy wooden doors opened, and I turned to watch as Ricky’s friend walked in. His mouth went as slack with shock as mine did.

  Whirling on Ricky, he stalked toward him. “What did you do, you stupid fuck?!”

  Ricky jutted out his chin. “I did what needed to be done!”

  “I told you to leave her alone! She’s covered in fucking bruises, and she’s got a gash on her head! What did you do?”

  Ricky shrugged one shoulder, smirking. “My truck might have plowed into her car.”

  Reed fisted Ricky’s shirt. Yes, Reed. Mother of fuck, I hadn’t once suspected that he could have anything to do with all this. Not. Once.

  “There’s something fucking amusing about this?” Reed demanded, upper lip curled as he glared at Ricky. “I told you that she’s no obstacle!”

  “She’s the biggest obstacle of all, Reed, and you know it! All Michael can see is her. She made him soft. When she and her mother are gone, he’ll go back to the way he was before. He’ll be the person he was meant to be! And we’ll be his sons.”

  Reed hissed through his teeth. “Michael wouldn’t want her harmed.”

  Ricky smirked again. “Doesn’t matter now, does it? She’s seen your work. You’ll have to kill her.”

  Reed turned to face me, cheeks red with fury, a glint of something wrong in those eyes that I’d never seen before. “I don’t want to have to kill you, Kensey.” I was sure he thought he sounded reassuring, but he didn’t. “Michael wouldn’t want that. You have him in your life. You’ve accepted him and what he did, even though you don’t like it. I need you to say you can understand and accept this just the same.”

  Rigid as the hooded body not far from me, I just stared at Reed. I wondered if my eyes were as cold and lifeless as I imagined. How fucking ironic was it that the one thing that might save me was my connection to Michael?

  “I don’t fit the profile of your average serial killer, do I? I’m not good looking. Not charming. Not in great shape. But that’s where my power lies, Kensey. No one sees me as a threat. People underestimate me. Even dismiss me. They never see me coming.”

  “You ki
lled all these people?” My voice came out low and warbled.

  The expression on Reed’s face was almost sympathetic. “You’ve never really understood Michael, have you? You’ve accepted his crimes, but you don’t understand. Some people just shouldn’t live, Kensey. They shouldn’t. Michael knows that. I know that. Ricky knows that. These people here don’t deserve your pity. They needed to be punished. They needed to pay. Every single one of them admitted it, right there on that altar.”

  I was betting they’d have said or done whatever he wanted if they thought it might end their suffering. Keep him talking, I told myself. “How haven’t the bodies completely decomposed?” Surely the place would smell a heck of a lot worse if they had.

  “I learned how to embalm the dead from my father—he’s a mortician, remember? I embalmed each of them, and then I mummified them too before dressing them in a cloak.”

  Well, he hadn’t gotten the mummification process totally right. Allegedly, mummies didn’t smell ‘dead,’ they smelled musty with, in some cases, a hint of incense. But here, there was a whiff of rot that I suspected would worsen over time. “What were their crimes?”

  Seeming pleased by my interest, Reed gestured at the body on the pew behind mine. “Mrs. Jenkins over there would offer to babysit the young children of her tenants. While their parents were gone, she’d strip them naked and encourage them to play in her outdoor pool. Then she’d invite her friends to come sit by the pool and watch. But they didn’t just watch, Kensey. And neither did she.”

  My stomach rolled, because the implication was utterly clear.

  He gestured at two figures huddled in a corner at the other side of the church. “Over there, you have Mina Best and Josie Hall. Lovers. Mina had five children; four daughters, one son. The women tortured the three-year-old boy. Burned him with cigarettes. Whipped him with a studded belt. Made him sleep in a dog crate and eat dog food. And that’s not even the worst of the things they did—I’ll spare you the rest, because I can see you’re close to losing whatever food is in your stomach. Let’s move on to Miss Thorpe …”