The shadows, shifting around in the semidarkness, grew scarier by the minute.
Seemed like the house had taken on a life of its own. The trees outside rustled and sighed. The moving shadows they made, crouched like animals ready to pounce.
A low rumble jolted her upright. Huhhh. Goddamn water cistern again!
She slumped down, huffing a sigh of relief.
But—what was that?
A faint click…
Her mouth went dry.
Her heart raced. Her breath came out in short, harsh bursts.
Then silence again.
It was so eerie.
Even the trees weren’t rustling.
She relaxed, switched on the TV.
Psycho was still on.
It’d reached the part where Norman Bates was talking to his dead mother in the attic.
The movie was almost finished…
What then?
Warren should be here by now…
The doorbell’s gonna ring any minute.
Maybe I should call. Something could’ve have gone wrong…
She heard movement, a faint rustle behind her.
She stiffened. Froze. Her mouth dried up again.
“Hey. Sugar. How ’bout a cuppa coffee for your uncle Mace?”
His voice was soft, warm, familiar.
She jerked around.
“You,” she gasped.
“Who else, darlin’?”
Mace grinned, friendly like. He opened his arms, palms held out. As if to say, Hey. Here I am! Like the night in her room. The night Warren came to dinner.
Mace. The bastard!
She’d handled him then. But she wasn’t too sure she could do it now.
Knowing what she did.
Remembering what Mom had told her.
Her legs felt shaky. Her breath jerked out in quick, shallow gulps. Trembling, trying to play it cool, she steadied herself.
“Coffee? Sure. Take a seat, Mace. I’ll go see to it right away.”
She got up, made a move to the kitchen, thinking, If I’m quick I could use the extension in there. Call Mom, the police, Mattie. Warren. Anybody.
Mace watched her go, chewing on seeds, a loose smile playing on his lips.
Deana clattered around in the kitchen. Fixing coffee. Setting mugs on a tray. An eye on the phone all the time.
Do it now do it now.
What if he’s watching?
Fuck that.
Just do it. She did it.
Lifted the phone.
Dead as dirt.
“Well now, sweetheart.” He was behind her, making a snipping motion with his fingers. “Them li’l ol’ wires are all cut. Uncle Mace couldn’t take no chances. Not with a smart young gal like you around.”
He moved forward, catlike. Grabbing her hand. Twisting it behind her back. Holding it there. Tight.
She was hurting, but no way would she let him see it.
He pulled her close, their bodies touching.
She winced, catching a whiff of mulchy breath.
Goddamn seeds…
He grinned.
Slammed his free hand across her mouth.
Kept it there.
She struggled, trying to come up for air. Beneath his hand, she tore open her mouth, trying to say, “Warren’ll be here any minute.”
Only it came out like some weird mumbo-jumbo.
“Really. You do surprise me,” he said with a curt, amused laugh.
He frog-marched her into the living room. Flung her facedown onto the sofa. Rammed a knee hard into her spine. Grabbing a handful of hair, he jerked her up and back, and wound a black silk scarf tight around her head. It cut into her eyes, across the bridge of her nose.
Leaving only a slight airway.
She panicked. Struggled. Barely able to breathe.
Pausing, he stepped back, watching her mumbling, kicking, gasping for air. Then, dragging a coil of twine from his jacket pocket, he began to wind it around her arms.
She still wore her blue top.
The one Warren had put his hand inside earlier.
The tie had worked loose; the soft cloth slipped from her shoulders.
He gaped at her for a moment, seeing the rise of her soft round breasts, a glimpse of dark nipples, feeling himself rise, jerk, and grow hard.
She looked so…good and sweet. Scared. Vulnerable.
He smiled tersely.
Later, he promised himself.
Plenty of time…
He spoke softly. “Take it easy, sweetheart. You should know better than to fight with Uncle Mace.”
Deana lay quiet. Wondering what in hell he planned to do next. Straining hard to hear his movements. Trying to guess what was happening.
A blanket dropped over her head. She struggled, feeling the twine bite into her arms, sweat break out and stream down her body. She gagged against the coarse, prickly cloth as he bound it around her.
More twine. Then he was hoisting her onto his shoulder.
Bumping along, she felt his biceps, flexed and hard, beneath her, the jolts and sickening thuds to her stomach and breasts…Heard the click of his cowboy boots on the tiled hallway…Felt a draft of air on her legs and feet. Her mules had gotten lost in the struggle.
They were outside now, the cool night air flowing fresh around them.
She found herself swooping as he swung her down, setting her upright on the gravel.
OUCH!! Shit!!!
Jagged stones jabbed and bit the soles of her feet…
She heard the click of the trunk opening. Felt herself lifted, tossed into it. Rammed inside it. He was tucking in the blanket. The sharp edges of a toolbox or something jabbed her chest.
She gave a sharp gasp of pain.
The lid slammed down, cutting off whatever air there’d been. She found herself inhaling coarse, prickly fibers. They caught in her throat. She began coughing.
Christ, I’m gonna choke to death…
Suddenly, she was panicking, spluttering.
She swallowed hard.
Again. And again.
Soon, her throat muscles were under control…
Thank God!
But it’s so hot…
“I’m gonna suffocate in here. I’m gonna DIE. Nobody’ll find me till it’s too late…”
She felt vibrating throbs as the engine turned over. Heard it slip into gear, move up the driveway. Mace made a left and she slid a little, her foot tensing against metal…Jesus, she thought, I’m suffocating…
Panic welled up again.
Don’t scream…
I do, and I could start choking all over again.
Her hands strained against the twine.
No way would it give…Desperate, gulping sobs rose in her throat.
She began to gag, choke…
Streams of sweat drenched her body.
Lie still. Save what air there is…He can’t drive all night. He has to stop. Please God make it soon!
They were traveling over rough ground.
Bumping over ruts and rocks, her body shaking, jolting up and down.
Nauseous waves swept up from her stomach…
The scarf bit into her face.
Sweat, slick and hot, oozed from every pore.
My God. WHERE ARE WE?
Don’t tell me. Mt. Tam. I know it—sense it. Goddamn fuckin’ place. I HATE it. I get outa here, I’ll NEVER, EVER come back to this freakin’ place again…
More bumping. More ruts.
The car pulled to a halt.
Her heart lurched.
What now? Is this where I get it? Right where Allan got his?
The trunk lid swung up.
Thank God.
Cool air streamed in.
He was pushing her, then rolling her forward. Feeling around for something. A weapon?
Christ! He’s gonna kill me!
He picked her up.
Hoisted her onto his shoulder.
She was bouncing and flopping arou
nd again, like a sack of laundry.
He stopped.
He was fiddling with a door lock, stepping over a stoop, his boots stamping across a wooden floor. Then she went flying through the air, landing on a springy mattress. She heard, felt, the harsh metallic squeak of bedsprings…
He was loosening her ties now. Peeling off the blanket.
Thank God thank God.
Now I can breathe.
Get this thing off so I can see, maybe I can talk him out of killing me.
The scarf stayed put.
So did the twine around her wrists.
Oh, the goddamn heat!
Her skin felt slick. Slimy.
Uggh…
If only I could see!
In her mind, though, she could see the headlines:
GIRL, CAPTURED BY MANIAC UNCLE!
Lost for weeks out in the wilderness, the eighteen-year-old’s emaciated body was found by hikers today. Looked like she’d starved to death. Slowly.
Or maybe hacked to death, quickly.
What’s it to be, folks?
“Gonna leave ya now, sugar. Uncle Mace has gotta ride. Places to go. Things to do.”
She felt his lips on her forehead.
And his kiss.
Light, soft.
She caught his sour breath.
“Back soon, honey,” he whispered.
She heard the click, click of boots as he walked away, a door snap to, a key turn in the lock.
The car engine revved, then raced. It moved away. She listened till the sound faded.
She was alone.
Hey, come back! Don’t leave me like this!
Save your breath, Deana.
Maybe he won’t be too long…
She waited.
And waited.
S’pose he never comes back. S’pose he just leaves me here to rot…
It was almost light when Mace returned.
FIFTY-FIVE
“Deana! Deana! Leigh! Open up!”
Warren thumped the door so hard, he thought he’d bust his knuckles.
“Christ, where are you, Deana?”
It’s like Sheena said…They’ve gone…
What had Deana meant by “Mom’s boyfriend’s on the run…and he’s gone apeshit?” And why did she emphasize “he knows about you?”
Sounded like anything could’ve happened…
Probably had.
They could both be dead.
“Oh my God. Not that…”
Sheena had arrived home early. A couple of minutes later and he’d have hit the road, driving over to Deana’s.
“Warren, maybe I won’t be goin’ back to Pacey’s no more,” Sheena said quietly. “He kinda objects when I leave him in the lurch.”
She seemed preoccupied. He knew that look.
Only too well.
His mouth went dry.
“Sheena! For chrissake, tell me what’s up? What was so important you left the club early?”
She said she was scared. Had had one of her feelings…
He saw beads of sweat on her upper lip. He’d never seen her this tense before.
“You’re not gonna like it, Warren, but this gal o’ yours, she’s in deep trouble. I feel she’s in a place that’s small—and dark. Yeah. It’s real dark in there, and she…”
She hesitated, knowing what this was doing to Warren.
His face went white. “For God’s sake, Sheena, she what?”
“Call the cops, Warren. Let them deal with it. It’s none a’ your business. Don’t want you getting yourself killed on account of some gal you only just met!”
But Warren was out the door. She heard the Porsche burst into life.
“Deana, if you’re in there, open up. PLEASE!”
Twin headbeams swooped down the driveway. Warren squinted, bringing up a hand to shield his eyes.
Leigh’s car screeched to a halt. The near-side door swung open and she jumped out.
“Warren!”
“Leigh! You’re safe…”
“Yeah. But what about Deana?”
“What d’ya mean, Leigh?” His heart lurched, and sank like a stone.
He was too late. He’d known it all along.
He stood aside while Leigh prodded the key into the lock. The door fell open. They rushed inside.
The hallway was dark.
They ran to the living room. Trembling light from the TV threw uneasy shadows into the darkness. A talk-show host laughed, holding a mike close to a grinning member of the audience…
“Deana! Deana, darling! You there?”
Leigh darted into each room, calling, her heart sinking, her legs all shaky.
When she returned to the living room, her shoulders were hunched. She looked drawn, defeated. Exhausted.
Oh my God, thought Warren. Sheena’s right. I shoulda called the cops.
Leigh caught his concern. “Did you only just get here?” she demanded, her face hostile.
“Yeah, Leigh, I’m sorry. I got held up…”
“My God, Warren. You got held up? Don’t you see? Mace arranged all this so he could take her…”
“What happened? And where were you, Leigh?”
Leigh broke down, sobbing. There’d been no fight at the Bayview. All had been quiet when she got there. Just another civilized night. Customers enjoying their meals, paying their checks, saying their goodnights. No “all hell breakin’ loose” as Tony said…Tony? It hadn’t been Tony who’d phoned her. It had been a hoax caller. And she’d bet her bottom dollar it’d been Mace who’d done the calling…
The phone rang.
Leigh sprang forward, grabbed it. “Yes?” Her voice was terse.
Mattie.
“Thank God you’re okay, Leigh. Have to report there was no emergency back here. Musta been a hoax call. Chief signed off early. Went home to his wife. She’d gotten sick. Nobody here’s aware of any emergency. Don’t ask me why…Leigh? You and Deana okay?”
Leigh met Warren’s eyes. Hot, frightened tears began to well up.
“Deana’s gone, Mattie. She’s not here.”
A moment’s silence, then:
“It’s Mace. Y’know that, Leigh, don’t ya?” Mattie’s voice rose. “Goddamn fuckin’ asshole Mace. Jesus! Our friendly master mimic Mace. The shit fooled us all.”
FIFTY-SIX
Almost sunup.
Mace eyed his wristwatch. “Maybe a half hour till it gets light,” he muttered.
Gotta move it. Though I shouldn’t worry, he told himself, I got nothin’ but time. He set his holdall down on the stoop and pushed the key in the doorlock.
He grinned. This was a real good place for his “other activities.” Nobody, but nobody’d come this way in weeks.
The air was cool and clear, the dew still heavy on the rough grass humps along the track. He scanned the terrain. Mountains on one side, well-wooded with dark, impenetrable pines. The cabin, hidden in rocky territory, was almost impossible to access. He’d used the dirt path, betting not many others would attempt it—wouldn’t want to. You could wreck a vehicle driving over the rough tracks hereabouts.
He glanced over to his right. Into the wide misty space beyond. Before that, though, came a sheer drop to the valley below. In the growing light, he heard the distant sound of roaring water. The river. He’d done some whitewater rafting down there a coupla years back. When he first discovered the cabin…
Yessir. One lonesome place. But, like the trooper he was, he always covered his tracks, so nobody’d ever discover his “other activities.” He’d been fortunate to find such an isolated spot.
He went inside the cabin.
“Hi, honey. I’m home!” he sang out.
Silence…
Then a muffled sob from the bed.
“Well now, Deana darlin’, how ya doin’?”
He set down his holdall and went over to Deana. Humming a little to himself, he untied and peeled off the silk scarf. He released her wrists from the twine.
Dea
na gasped, scrunching her eyes, peering into the half-light.
Saw him standing over her.
Giving her one of his twisted smiles.
“PLEASE, MACE. TAKE ME HOME!” she blurted.
“Why, sure enough, y’are home, sugar.” Mace looked a little surprised, hurt she was thinking otherwise.
“Where am I?”
She rubbed at her wrist, wincing as she went over the burn marks. Her hands still felt dead.
“You’re tucked away nice ’n’ safe where nobody can find ya, honey.”
Deana looked around at the cabin. A tin bucket stood in the corner. Coulda done with that hours ago, she thought, aware of the dark patch, now cold and uncomfortable, between her legs. She saw packs of bottled water, an open cardboard box, a rickety hardback chair—and Mace’s holdall, directly in front of her.
Shuffling till her back was against the wall, she took in the gray tick mattress. Old brown stains made big patchy patterns across it.
Blood?
There were more stains than mattress.
She stifled a gulp of fear.
“Mace, what are you going to do to me?” she asked, despising the tremor in her voice.
“Haven’t decided yet, sugar. But take my advice, don’t you worry your pretty li’l head about it.” He walked over to the cardboard box, took out a wrapped bread roll, and handed it to her. “Here. You must be hungry. Some time since you last ate, huh?”
She took the roll, peeled off the wrapper, opened up the top layer, and peered inside.
“Won’t hurt you none.” He watched her closely, an amused grin on his face. “Can’t guarantee it’ll be Bayview quality, but it’s as good as you’re gonna get.”
He picked up a bottle of water, twisted off the top, and passed the bottle to her. “There,” he said. “Salami on rye and a swig a’ water and you’ll be fightin’ fit in no time at all. Mmmm…Looks good,” he said, and nodded at the sandwich. “Don’t mind if I have one a’ those myself.”
Helping himself to a roll and fresh water, he sat facing her, astride the hardback chair. He broke off a wad of bread and shoved it in his mouth. “Guess you must be wonderin’ why you’re here,” he said, chewing around on the food. “Why I’m taking such a special interest in my pretty li’l niece?”
“You could say that,” Deana said slowly, not taking her eyes off his face. How could she ever have fancied him? He looked like an over-the-hill biker with his leather jacket, bleached hair, and crumbs falling down his front.
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