by Lisa Jackson
The Mercedes’s tires crunched on gravel as the car slowed, rolling to a stop. He cut the engine. It cooled and ticked, but there were other sounds as well … the low, mournful rush of the wind, Sarah’s whimpering and more … the muffled howl of dogs.
Sarah was shaking in the front seat, staring through the windshield. Obviously she’d been here for days, possibly a week, and whatever she’d seen in this building … Olivia trained her eyes on the tall structure. Dark and looming with a peaked gables, it rose from the ground, a barn with a sharply pitched roof. The baying was coming from inside and it was scaring the hell out of Sarah.
And why wouldn’t it? Think of what this man’s capable of
Olivia’s throat went dry with fear.
Whatever was inside the dark structure, it meant certain death.
He’d climbed out of the car, rounded it and opened one back door. “Come along, Bibiana … or do you prefer Vivian?” he asked, then answered, “No, I prefer Bibiana. You’re home now and Lucy is waiting.”
“I don’t know any Lucy,” she rasped out, but her heart chilled. She knew what was coming.
“Surely you do, Bibiana. You’re a clever one, aren’t you? With your visions and all. You know who Lucy is, there’s no reason for denial.”
“Kristi,” she whispered, sick inside. Though she’d expected it. Bentz’s daughter. But at least she was alive.
And probably tortured. Maybe disfigured …
“I knew you’d figure it out.” Remote control aimed at her throat, he yanked first Sarah, then Olivia from the car. “Make one false step and I’ll zap you. And your friend as well. If you try to escape, the other women will suffer. Horribly.”
Olivia bit her lip. She withered inside. She knew he meant every word. But it was all too horrible. To think that Bentz’s daughter was to be sacrificed as St. Lucy … but the feast day was over a week away, nearly two. Maybe Kristi could escape before she met her horrid end. Somehow Olivia would help her get free.
Olivia’s own death was imminent, within days, she remembered, but still there was time for Kristi.
“Hurry up, Bibiana, your fate awaits. You know what that is, don’t you?”
It came to Olivia in a horrid rush. She remembered studying the martyred saints for the coming months. St. Bibiana had died monstrously, flogged until she was bleeding and then … then fed to the dogs.
She heard the howling again, a deep, insidious rumbling that echoed through the night. Terror sliced through her. She didn’t have to be told that the dogs were hungry, probably half starved.
Sarah mewled and cowered as he herded them both toward the horrid, monstrous edifice.
There was no escape. The forest closed around them, the smell of the river musty and thick. A drizzle as dense as fog collected in patches. Each time Olivia took a misstep, he blasted her and she went weak. “Move it!” he snapped, his patience worn thin. She had to get the stun gun from him and turn the weapon on him. Somehow … when the time was right. He prodded them through the door, forcing them inside a long hallway without windows. At a door at the end of a hall, the dogs were scratching and snarling.
Olivia nearly threw up.
Take him—try and overpower him. Don’t let him lock you in here or you’re dead for sure!
Her heart pounded. Her chin throbbed. She was so weak, but if she could grab his weapon.
Ignoring the stairs leading upward, Sutter pushed them forward. “Hurry up.”
Try to take him, Olivia! You have no choice. Otherwise you, Sarah and Krisiti are as good as dead!
Sarah’s cries were louder. Tears ran down her face. “No … no … no …” She hung back and he shoved her hard as he opened the door and snapped on the lights.
Now!
Olivia lunged. Scratching and clawing, fighting for the control.
Sarah screamed and fell into the horrid room. “For God’s sake, Sarah, help me!” Olivia yelled.
With a yowl, Warren pushed on the remote and agony shrieked through Olivia’s body. She scratched at his eyes, her fingernails scraping skin from his cheek.
He backhanded her into the room. “You stupid, stupid cunt!”
She fell to the floor, scraping her knee. Though she didn’t move, he jolted her again. Pain ripped through her muscles. She screamed.
Again he pressed the horrid button. Her body flailed. Pain sizzled down her spine. She shrieked in agony.
Again!
“No—oooohhhhh!” She couldn’t breathe.
Again!
He didn’t stop until she was gasping and crying, her throat raw from screaming, every nerve in her body jangled as she flopped on the filth-encrusted floor. Lying on patches of straw she saw the dogs … chained but pacing near their kennels.
“Now, Bibiana, obey, or I’ll set the dogs on you,” he snarled and Olivia didn’t have any strength left to fight him. She could barely lift her head to study the cavernous room. Red illumination offered a dim view of a filthy lair, where the two dogs paced near their metal cages and a girl, naked, was chained to the opposing wall.
Kristi.
Olivia retched.
How could she possibly save them? How?
This windowless room was a grotesque torture chamber. And a horrid shrine. Mounted between hideous whips and chains and swords, in stark, blasphemous contrast, were intricate crosses, crucifixes and religious symbols, including a picture of St. Mary. As if that wasn’t enough, the room had dozens of mirrors tacked to the wall, glittering in the red light, reflecting every inch of the grotesque den. The mirrors gave her a view of herself and what was happening behind her while she watched the others … sick, oh, so twisted …
Terror, the like of which she’d never known, turned her insides to jelly. Whatever was to happen here would be horrendous.
“Where is Brian, Sutter?” Kristi demanded, straining at her shackles, her lean, athletic body tense. She was as furious as Sarah was docile. “You son of a goddamned bitch, what the hell did you do with Brian?”
“Tut, tut, Lucy, such language.” Sutter’s eyes sparked cruelly. ”Never take the Lord’s name in vain,” he warned.
Oh, no—
“I’m not fuckin’ Lucy, okay—and oh!” Her body arced as he aimed a remote control at her. She fell onto dirty hay. “You bastard!” Another jolt and she jumped, screaming, “You’re an animal! Worse than an animal! Worse that your ugly dogs. You get your jollies torturing women, don’t you? Well, listen up! My dad is going to fucking kill you. Whatever you do to me is gonna be nothing compared to what he’ll do to you! It’ll be a million times worse when he gets ahold of you, you son of a bitch.”
He blasted her with the stun gun, then pressed the remote for good measure. Kristi screamed and flailed in wild agony, the dogs howled and snarled and Sarah wailed piteously.
“Shut up,” Sutter screamed. He slapped Sarah against the wall. “I’ve had it with your whining!” He pounced on her, gagged her with a piece of tape hanging on the wall and snapped a chain to her collar. His alb was now dirty and he was sweating, his skin glowing red in the light. Olivia edged toward the stairs and was rewarded with another blast from the stun gun. “Strip,” he ordered and then tore off Sarah’s clothes, literally ripping them from her body. She was terrified, screaming, and he jolted her into submission as her limbs jerked like a marionette.
Olivia didn’t move.
“I said ‘strip',” he repeated and his gaze narrowed on her. “Or would you rather me do it for you, sister?” Pure evil twisted his lips. Pinpoints of lust shined red in his eyes.
She had to do his bidding.
For now.
But only for now. She already felt her strength returning a bit … she just needed time to recover.
“Now!” he bellowed.
Quivering with fear, her mind racing to find a means of escape she began to unbutton her shirt. She pretended not to notice his erection, stiff and protruding against his vestment. Dirty, sick pervert, she thought, pulling her arms fr
ee of her sleeves.
She swallowed back her disgust. I’ll get out of here and I’ll take them with me, even if I have to kill you myself, she silently vowed. She couldn’t allow fear to get the better of her. She had to be sane. Think straight. Find a way to get free.
Chapter Thirty-seven
“I’ll kill him with my bare hands,” Bentz muttered as his Jeep barreled off the freeway to this godforsaken strip of brushy farmland. Flat and dark with thickets of scrub oak and pine. “If he touches so much as one hair on Kristi or Olivia’s head, I swear to God, I’ll rip his fuckin’ head off.”
Montoya glowered into the foggy night, smoking a cigarette, listening to the police band. “You won’t get the chance. I’ll blow him away, man.” He patted his sidearm. Was it enough? As smoke drifted from Montoya’s nostrils, Bentz silently prayed they could save them.
He’d heard the replay of James’s call, and police from several jurisdictions were converging on a piece of property near the river not fifteen miles from Baton Rouge. The Baton Rouge Police had been called and they’d gotten into Sutter’s home where they’d searched and come up with an address for another piece of property … one that was located on the river, an old farm that had once been owned by Tom and Freda, Sutter’s adoptive parents. But they were behind Bentz. Because of the homing device he’d surreptitiously mounted behind the rear bumper of James’s car, he was closer to the farm. He heard the other sirens, but they wailed in the distance.
He prayed that he wasn’t too late as the miles of old asphalt rolled under the Jeep’s tires.
If only Kristi and Olivia were still alive. His daughter meant everything to him … everything. If he lost her … his throat clogged. He’d never forgive himself. Why hadn’t he saved her when he’d had the chance? Why had he let her go back in that dormitory alone? Why, why, why? He beat on the steering wheel and Montoya flipped his cigarette through a crack in the window. Bentz told himself not to think the worst. Kristi was alive. She had to be. And Olivia. He ached when he thought that she, too, was in the monster’s clutches, maybe even dead. He’d been so cold to her earlier. Not just detached, but ruthless and mean. He’d seen the pleading in her eyes, the silent need to connect with him and he’d cut her loose. Because he was scared for his daughter. Because he was pissed that she’d been with James.
And now … now he might have already lost her. His jaw clenched so hard it ached. His throat burned. Olivia—why hadn’t he trusted her? Forgiven her? Told her he loved her before it was too late? Now, the two women he cared about were in horrid peril. Because he’d failed to save them.
And what about James? According to the homing device James had followed the Mercedes to the Stutter farm. His life too was in serious danger. Everyone Bentz held dear was caught up in this vile mess … their lives in jeopardy. Bentz tried not to think about the horrors the killer had committed … the photographs that he’d mounted on his bulletin board and committed to memory, the bloody crime scenes.
“The bastard’s goin’ down,” Montoya said as they spun around a corner and a skunk, caught in the Jeep’s headlights, waddled quickly into a ditch. “And if he’s got Marta, he’ll wish he’d never set eyes on her. Or me.” Montoya glanced at Bentz and for once there wasn’t the hint of the younger man’s usual cockiness. In the dark car, his face illuminated by the glow of the dash lights, Montoya was sober as death, his face hard with conviction. “He’s goin’ down,” Montoya vowed again. “Even if I have to go with him.”
“I’m with ya,” Bentz said and eased off the throttle as he glimpsed the turn-off for the lane leading to Sutter’s farm. His headlights flashed on a rusted, listing mailbox, its door gaping open in the rising mist. Bentz’s heart clenched as he cranked on the steering wheel.
God help him if he was too late.
“Help me, Father,” James whispered, sneaking through the wet grass and overgrown bushes that surrounded the building. Mist was his cover, fear his companion. Dogs were baying from within the tall, gloomy building. Despair congealed in James’s heart, but he forced himself toward the door, his footsteps muffled by wet leaves and bent grass. This was a test, surely. The Father was challenging his courage.
James would have the element of surprise on his side but he had no real weapon, nothing to use in a battle aside from the useless cell phone in his pocket and a bottle of wiper cleaner that he hoped to squirt in the killer’s eyes. Stupid. Another TV cop trick. But all he had.
Remember Daniel and the lion’s den.
Maybe he would find something inside to help him … a shotgun or a knife or … Could he do it? Could he take another life? It was a sin … He’d reached the door and he pushed all of his vows out of his mind. He had to save Olivia … nothing else mattered. He made a quick sign of the cross, then grabbed the door handle and pushed.
No lock held him back. The door creaked open. His muscles ached from the tension as he crept into a darkened hallway at the end of which he saw a faint red glow … a shimmering scarlet line at the level of the floor, reddish light seeping beneath another door. Noises, the dogs and voices came from within. He scanned the dark walls with the hint of visibility. He saw nothing to use as a weapon here, but there was a stairway leading upward into quiet murky darkness … Did he have time to search? Did he dare risk a few precious moments to race up the stairs and try to find something to arm himself? He had to. Otherwise he didn’t have a chance.
The dogs were baying crazily from behind the door and he knew he was nearly out of time. “Help me,” he whispered and noiselessly took the stairs two at a time.
Olivia quaked with fear as she faced her brother.
“I’ve been saving this for you,” Warren said, and pulled a nasty-looking whip which had been mounted on brackets in the wall. It was small, made of leather and had nearly a dozen wicked tips. “Know what this is?” With a flick of his wrist it cracked abominably. Sarah jumped. Didn’t cry out. “It’s a cat o’ nine tails … a perfect little whip.” Warren handled the damned weapon almost lovingly, caressing the smooth handle. “Now,” he motioned with the whip to Olivia. The tails sizzled around his hand. “Turn around and don’t move. Yes, there in front of the dogs. But don’t try anything foolish. If you do, I’ll not only have to use my stun gun again, but I’ll sacrifice your friend here. You see, I have no saint yet picked for her and so she can be eliminated anytime.”
Sarah was screaming behind the tape on her mouth now, her eyes round with panic. “Shhh…. I’m sure St. Bibiana will be a good penitent.” He hit one of the buttons on the remote control and Sarah squealed before sliding down the wall and collapsing into tears.
“You merciless bastard,” Olivia charged, unable to hold her tongue. She felt stronger now, couldn’t pretend to be meek and weak. “How can you do all this in the name of God? This is blasphemy! Heresy. Sick, twisted tripe!”
“Blasphemy?” He seemed amused.
“You dress like a priest, you spout all kinds of religious quotes, you … you hang crosses with whips and you kill innocent women and boys, butcher them. These aren’t acts for God, they’re acts against Him.”
“I save the sinners,” he said, a tic beginning near his eye.
“You save them from nothing. Nothing. You’re so sick you’ve twisted it all around in your scrambled brain,” she said, wheeling to face him. “It’s an excuse. You like to kill. That’s it. You’re so sick you enjoy the pain and the power.” The tic was working overtime now and his lip twitched. “You’re a pathetic murdering coward, hiding in vestments you didn’t earn and somehow you try to justify your sickness.”
“I speak with God.”
“Bull.”
The tic was pounding now. “I’m The Chosen One.”
“You’re a lunatic.”
“The Father speaks to me.” A twitch was moving his eyebrow and eyelid.
“You’re a freak, that’s what you are!” Kristi cried.
“Shh! Don’t!” Olivia warned. It was one thing for her to bait this
monster, but she didn’t dare risk Kristi’s life.
“Protective, are you?” he asked her and she didn’t speak, afraid for Kristi’s life. Warren’s smile returned, the tic slowed. “I expected some fight in you, sister, but obviously you are smarter than I thought. Now, turn around and look at the dogs….”
She hesitated.
The Chosen One—Warren—moved a step closer to Kristi.
Quickly, Olivia did as she was told, but her mind was racing. No way would she allow herself to be filleted for some starving mutt’s meal. In the mirror, she saw him raise his whip. She braced herself.
Crack!
Pain ricocheted through her. Nine bites to her flesh. She flinched. Bit down so she wouldn’t cry out.
“Don’t move!” he ordered.
She caught his glare in one of the mirrors.
His eyes thinned in anticipation. Again he snapped his wrist.
The whip stung again. Scorching pain erupted on her back. She didn’t so much as wince and held his glare. In the mirror she saw the pink tip of his tongue as it ran over his lips. His gaze was fastened on her bare rump and red flesh. He was a sicko. A crazy. But maybe she could use that….
Snap!
Fire ripped through her. She sucked in air through her teeth. Tears sprang to her eyes. She had to stop this. She heard something. Footsteps? Her heart leapt at the thought, but it was crazy. The dogs were barking and turning toward the door. Warren looked over his shoulder but there was silence again. She couldn’t hope for outside help.
It was up to her.
She thought quickly. How? She couldn’t just turn and run at him. But … if she could endure the pain until the right moment, if, before she was exhausted from the flailing, she could summon the courage and energy to roll into a ball and somersault backward toward him while he had his weapon raised; she could knock him off his feet, grab the stun gun and aim it at him.