Shocked, Ashley said, “Listen to you two idiots. You’re acting like I’m the villain here. Look around. Like it or not, we’re stuck here until Mr. Ritter comes back to take one of us. And you know where he’s going to take us, right?”
The women swallowed in fear.
“Let me answer that question for you. Most likely to a whorehouse. You heard him, we’re bound to be someone’s, or a group of people’s, sex slave. If you want that to be your fate, fine, but I’m not going out without a fight. You can bet on that. So, if you want to blame me for this, go ahead, but don’t you dare make me out to be the bad guy.”
They turned away. It wasn’t Ashley’s fault, and they knew that, but they were starving, scared, and alone. They shouldn’t have felt alone, they had each other, but they might as well have been. The others would never fight for her or with her; they were scared. It was clear that Ashley was on her own.
WALTER WAS HEADED TO the track meet with Niki, aka Chase, as his target. He drove a van similar to the one Mr. Ritter’s other associates had stalked her from a few days prior.
He smiled thinking about the terror that would be on the young woman’s face as he lifted her into the van. He coveted that look of desperation. In fact, it was what he liked most. It wasn’t the hunt, like it is for some men like him; it was the capture. The helplessness he saw in the women’s eyes. He was deranged, and the beast inside came out on occasions like this.
A phone buzzed in the cup holder just below the radio. He lifted it to see who was calling, but it was a text with a photo, not a call. Walter swiped upward to get to the picture.
He chuckled to himself a sinister laugh. “We’ll meet tonight, won’t we?” He kissed his phone with the photo of Niki walking toward the van. It was blurry, but the next one that came across his display was not. This photo was taken from a news broadcast that was perfectly clear, capped with the name Chase Crane.
“Chase?” Walter said aloud and grinned. “I imagine you will be quite the catch after my pursuit.” He loved his own cheeky play on words.
As Walter drove north on I35, he pulled off at an exit before he reached the suburbs of Minneapolis. From the off ramp, he turned right and headed east. Not far from the highway, maybe five miles, he came to a small town with only one stoplight to guide traffic. Once through that lone light, Walter spun the wheel left to head north again. After five more miles, the road turned from pavement to dirt, but it was mostly packed down snow and ice at this point in the winter, so he proceeded slowly. He came to a solitary black mailbox with the name Jacoby painted on it. Walter pressed the brakes, and the van rolled to a halt. He peered down the long, winding drive. About two hundred yards from the dirt road was a barn, a silo, and a farmhouse. The farm was vacant, but he was familiar with it. This was his childhood home. So many painful memories remained fresh in his psyche. In fact, although both his mother and stepfather were deceased, it didn’t stifle the demons from his memories.
Walter spun the wheel and turned down the driveway. He followed the drive until he stopped the van directly in front of the barn door. He slammed the van into park and leaped out of the driver’s seat. The wind whipped on the open plains, blowing the snow up from the ground and swirling around him as he walked toward the barn. There was a padlock on the door. He slipped in the key and the lock disengaged. Then he gripped the handle of the barn door and slid the door across.
The smell of hay and feces wafted inside his nostrils. There were no remaining animals, but that smell brought back a flash of memory. One night, a cold bitter night much like that day, his mother and stepfather forced him out of the house and into the barn. Walter had made his stepfather mad by playing with his cars too close while he watched his favorite television program. The memory played on repeat, just as he walked past his horse’s stall. The exact stall his mother dragged him to when she made him sleep there for the night.
But he wasn’t there to reminisce on the fury of his youth; he was there for preparation. Inside the barn he kept a stockpile of chloroform, which he used once the women entered the van. Not during the fight; that was the part he enjoyed most.
After grabbing the drug, he moved over to a workbench, which happened to be his trophy case. Pictures of women were taped all around the area. Out in the open and on full display. Every time he went to retrieve another victim, he would come here, to his shrine, and stare at each of their pictures. Every woman had her own personality, her own distinguishing characteristics, even though most looked similar at first glance. Then Walter reached down to a drawer of the workbench and ripped it open. Over a hundred charms were inside. And since Mr. Ritter alerted him his next victim was another runner, he lifted a running woman charm from the drawer and slid it into his pocket.
He took one more look at the memorial, then headed back outside. He slid the door across on its rail and clicked the padlock in place before entering the van and heading north again, on his way to Minneapolis. On his way to find his next victim.
11
Minneapolis, Minnesota
HUNDREDS, IF NOT OVER a thousand, people were in attendance for the track meet. Niki sat in the middle of the indoor facility as dozens of athletes ran around her while she stretched on the floor. Beyond the athletes, Niki gazed at the crowd, who were standing and cheering, and couldn’t help but smile. Some of the spectators were more vibrant and exuberant than others, waving banners in the air while they cheered from the bleachers for their son, or daughter, or brother, or sister, or friend.
She pulled on her toe to stretch her right hamstring, then switched legs. As she lunged, Coach Braxton bent down to her.
“You ready, Crane?”
Niki looked up to catch his gaze. She nodded.
He grabbed her shoulder and said, “Good! Go out there and show me—no, this team and this conference—what you’re made of.”
“Yes, sir.”
His encouragement spurned her on. She didn’t want to let him or the team down. But as she looked around, this time to the other athletes, she felt overwhelmed. And this time, she couldn’t use her wits to gain the upper hand on the competition. This would take pure athletic talent, skill she didn’t have, not to compete at this level. Sure, with the right amount of practice and training, she could train to hold her own, but she hadn’t competed in an event like this in years. Nowadays, her competition was much different. Now in her life, competition could mean life or death, but somehow this . . . this seemed harder.
She rose from her seated position and stood to stretch her quads. Rory moved over toward her. He wasn’t dressed in running gear; he still wore his practice apparel.
“What? Not competing today?”
“No. I’m a redshirt.” His noncompetition year. “Didn’t I tell you that?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yeah, I . . .”
Niki nodded, and her hand went up as if she’d just figured it out. “That’s why you’re coach’s gopher.”
Rory dropped his head. “I’m not a gopher.”
Niki lowered her chin and peered out of the tops of her eyes, staring through his line of bullshit.
“Fine, fine. I’m his gopher, but never mind that. I just came over here to wish you luck.”
“Thank you, Rory. I appreciate it. And from the looks of it I think I’m going to need all the luck I can get.”
“What are you talking about? You don’t need luck, you destroyed Poppy in your race.”
Destroyed? That was an overstatement.
Then Rory corrected himself. “Okay, maybe you didn’t destroy her, but you did beat her.”
“She pulled a hamstring and came up lame. She could’ve just as easily beaten me.”
“But she didn’t, and now here you are.” Rory searched around the room as a loud burst of noise echoed amongst the crowd. “Besides, this meet is ours to win.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we’re heavily favored. If we don’t win your event, I’ll be surprised,
and Coach will be pissed.” He turned back to Niki and slapped her on the shoulder. “So, no pressure.” He grinned and walked away.
“Oh, yeah, none.” She smiled back sarcastically.
When she began to practice her breathing, the three other members of the relay team came over and stood in front of her with their hands on their hips. “What is it?” Niki asked.
“Are you ready for this?” the one in the middle asked.
“I am.”
“Good. Then after we build a huge lead, don’t screw this up,” the same girl said. They walked away in unison toward the starting line.
As Niki watched them, she couldn’t catch her breath. Nerves tightened her belly, and they wouldn’t loosen. The announcer came over the loudspeaker. “Would the women’s relay teams report to the starting line?” This was it. Time to put up or shut up. Time to prove her worth, her value on the team—and, for the sake of the mission, come out on top.
Niki followed behind her three teammates and watched the first member take her stance in the starting blocks. Niki shook out her arms and legs, and forced herself to breathe.
“Nervous?” one of her team members asked her.
“Not at all, you?”
The girl was stone-faced, cool under the pressure, but her response surprised Niki. “Shitting bricks.” She grinned.
The fact that she looked like that on the outside, but inside felt the same as Niki, somehow calmed Niki’s nerves, made the knot loosen a bit. The sound of the starter’s pistol shook her back to reality.
She felt the wind as the women passed by in a blur. She watched her teammate, the first leg of the relay, who jumped out to an early lead. On the two-hundred-meter track, they would each wrap around twice before handing off the baton to the next runner on the relay team.
Her teammate next to her moved from Niki’s side and took her position as the first wave of lap one breezed by. The first leg of the relay team had built a substantial lead; it was clear she was far superior than the rest of the competition. When she handed off the baton, Niki’s team had built almost a quarter-lap lead. But Niki wasn’t interested in the size of the lead; she was concerned how the baton handoff worked. Unaccustomed to relay races in high school, she would need to study, in detail, when to make her break so she wouldn’t cause confusion or a fumble.
Once the third member of her team received the handoff, her team had increased the lead to almost half a lap. And the third runner on the team was the most powerful. Niki watched as her long legs pushed into the track in long strides, her muscles tightening, like a well-oiled machine. Niki hardly noticed when she finished her first lap, almost forgetting to get into position herself. Niki shook from her trance and jogged to her lane. She followed the swift movements of her teammate, and when she got close, Niki began to jog. It was a rough handoff, her teammate nearly colliding with her, but Niki held her ground and held onto the baton for dear life, sprinting harder than she ever had in her life.
For motivation, Niki’s mind went to a dark place. Instead of the track in front of her, or her competition, she pictured Winter. Mitch Winter. Her ZULU teammate who had been vaporized by an RPG a few weeks prior. She hadn’t reached him, or Lara, their other teammate, fast enough. As she pictured him, her legs churned, and soon she had lapped one of the other runners in the race. Then another. She was so focused on her task that when she completed her second lap, she continued running because she thought she still had others to beat since other teams continued to run. It wasn’t until loud applause and a chant of “Crane! Crane! Crane!” bounced off the walls that her teammates cut off her path from completing a third lap, one more than she needed. All three had wide smiles and open arms. They wrapped her into a warm embrace and yelled into her ear. “You did it! We won!” But they didn’t just win, they shattered their best time that year, by over five seconds, destroying the competition.
Niki spun in a circle, taking in the moment. She had had success at the high school level, but this was different, this was special. In that moment she thanked Collar for giving her the opportunity for being there. To compete with the best, to win in overwhelming fashion.
BUT THERE WAS SOMEONE else at the event. Someone who saw everything. He too couldn’t get enough of the victory. Walter hugged the wall like a wallflower, staring on at the victorious women as they danced together in a circle holding onto each other, celebrating in joy. He too grinned, but not out of joy. He focused on only one in the group, Niki. He salivated over her, wanted her even. He wished he could walk into the middle of the crowd and take her then, but that would have to wait. There could be no witnesses. And she could not expect it. Not now, not until the very moment he decided to act. And that moment was going to come soon.
Very soon.
12
IT WAS DARK INSIDE the cabin of the van as Walter peered out the windshield. He parked facing the field house doors, watching, waiting to see his prey exit. With each opening, Walter perked up and strained to see who would come out next. Even after an hour, he remained patient. Not one time did he take his eye away.
The door flung open again, and more athletes poured out. Beneath the streetlights, a group of about fifteen congregated. All seemed to focus on one athlete in particular, the athlete and Walter’s prize.
They fell all over her. It was as if she’d just accomplished some great feat, something no athlete had ever dared. Sure, she’d won the race in deciding fashion, but the way they doted over her made Walter sick to his stomach.
“They don’t understand her. I do,” he said out loud. “How trivial they are. Pretending to be her friend.” He became almost angry at them. “I’ll show her what she’s truly worth.”
Walter thought the women he abducted wanted to be with him. Deep down he knew it to be true. They never showed it, but he knew.
Soon a collection of four white vans—not too dissimilar from his own—pulled over to the curb. Niki, along with the remainder of her teammates, loaded into the vans. He made a mental note as to which van Niki jumped into. She was in the third of the four. And just as the lead van pulled away from the building, Walter shifted into drive and followed behind.
The away meet wasn’t far from campus, maybe only twenty minutes. Walter could blend in easily enough because of van’s likeness. As he drove, he found his mind starting to wander as the passing glowing headlights began to hypnotize him.
Where will you go? What will you do, Chase? How will you celebrate your victory? Then he grinned slyly. With me, of course. You may not know it, yet, but you will end up with me. And you thought the race was the highlight of your night. I assure you it wasn’t.
“YOU KILLED THAT RACE.” Rory leaned in from behind Niki as they rode back to campus.
Niki smiled. She hadn’t been able to let go of her smile ever since the end of the race.
She looked over her shoulder and said, “Thanks.”
“And you didn’t think you had it in you,” Rory said.
Niki couldn’t believe it herself. In all her days of running track and field, she had never felt so alive. She created so much power, so much torque, in her legs.
“Tell me about it,” one girl from the relay team leaned in and said as she overheard Rory congratulate Niki. “With Chase as our anchor on the relay team, we’ll be unstoppable. Forget about the conference tournament. I’m talking regionals. Then nationals.”
Niki chuckled, getting caught up in the moment. “You never know.” She grinned, but then realized she was getting off task. Nationals would never come, at least not with her on the anchor leg. But she couldn’t break that news, not now, not after their unforgettable win.
“Hey, Chase?” An upperclassman spun around from the bench seat in front of her.
“Yeah?” Niki said.
He leaned closer to whisper, “I’m throwing a kegger over at my frat house tonight. You interested?”
Niki looked around as at least five people stared at her, hanging on her answer. She looked at each one
, then thought, Hell yes! This was exactly what she was searching for in Miami, a normal college experience. Parties. Competition. Beer. Coeds. Everything about this experience was exactly what she wanted.
“Hell yeah!” she yelped. All snickered. Then she leaned in and whispered, “I mean, yeah, sounds great.”
“Good. Give me your number and I’ll text you the address.”
Niki reached down and felt for her cell phone, but then she realized the cell was the burner Collar gave her. That wouldn’t work, because if he texted her, Collar could track it. “Why don’t you just tell me the address? I‘ve got a good memory.”
“You sure?” he said.
“Yeah, I don’t have my phone on me.”
“Okay, it’s 155 Oak Pointe Drive. It’s on campus, only a few minutes from the dorms. Party starts at eleven.”
“Got it. I’ll be there.”
As Coach Braxton pulled the van into campus, Niki stared out the windows. They were partially fogged over due to the heat permeating from the athletes’ bodies and the frigid air outside. Niki rubbed the condensation away to see the practice facility as they drove by. Once Coach Braxton made a turn, he came to a stop near the front door and threw the van into park, then turned on the interior lights, spun around, and looked to his team.
“Look, I know we had a huge victory tonight.”
The entire van erupted. Amongst the hollering he raised his hand to calm them down. “And I know you’ve got an extra bit of adrenaline coursing through your veins, but please.” He held his hands up. “Please don’t get into any trouble tonight. Think about me. And your teammates. Don’t do anything to jeopardize what we’ve accomplished so far and what we will continue to accomplish throughout the rest of the season.”
The van fell quiet as each listened to their coach. “Great job tonight! I’m proud of each of you.” Then he spun and exited.
The upperclassman smiled at Niki, spurning Coach’s words, and said, “So, I’ll see you tonight?”
Third Degree Page 6