by Lisa Jackson
Kristi blinked again, tried to scream, made one last attempt to kick out at the two girls dragging her down the alley, but she was helpless as a kitten. Her limbs refused to move, her voice was mute, the world distorted, blackness threatening to overtake her.
She thought they’d shoved her into a car…but she didn’t know if that was right.
She was lying across a backseat, headlights flashing on the ceiling of the car, Marnie and Grace in the front seat. Was Trudie dressed as the character of Death, with her in the back? Or, was it Bethany?
Her mind spun and, try as she might, Kristi couldn’t find reality. Jay…oh, God…she thought of Jay. Where was he? Had she told him she loved him? And her father…was he alive? Hadn’t she seen Rick Bentz’s face in black and white?
Where the hell was she?
She blinked and realized the car ride, if that’s what it was, was over. She was being half dragged again.
Where were they taking her?
What did they have planned?
The chapel bells tolled loudly…so close she knew they were on campus…. She blacked out for a second—or was it longer?—only to realize that she was alone.
And she was naked.
Lying on a couch of some kind.
A mist rising all around her.
How the hell had this happened? Her mind began to clear a bit, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t open her mouth to speak. There was a red light, basking everything in an eerie, reddish glow. She searched the area she could see, but aside from the ever-growing fog, she could make out nothing above or beyond this velvet-feeling couch upon which she rested.
How had she lost her clothes?
Was this a dream?
Vaguely she remembered being in a bar, sipping blood red drinks, talking and laughing with girls from her classes…who were they? Grace, yes, Grace with the spiky hair and…and oh, right, Marnie, the blonde. She thought she’d been so clever, trying to win their confidence and now…oh, God now…how was she going to get out of this?
Think, Kristi, think! Don’t give up!
Closing her eyes, she strained, attempted to move her muscles, but nothing happened. No response. She was trapped here.
She heard the scrape of a shoe, a little sniff.
She wasn’t alone?
Where? Where were they? She tried her best to see, but beyond the veil of the fog, there was nothing…not a damned thing.
Panic shot through her. Her mind, clearing, began to think. Obviously she’d been drugged, but certainly it would wear off. This paralysis couldn’t be permanent.
Or could it?
New horror shot through her.
With supreme effort, she tried to raise her arm and though she strained, willed her heavy limb to move, it remained still and lifeless.
A tiny cough.
Reminding her that she was being viewed.
Laughed at.
Goddamn it, Kristi, move your damned arm!
Again she tried, pushing so hard inside she thought she might explode.
Nothing happened.
Oh, God, help me. Help me!
Her heart pounded erratically, spurred by adrenaline, echoing in her ears. This is what had happened to the missing girls, she was sure of it, just as she now believed for certain that they were dead.
And, she, too, would soon be.
Unless…
With all her might, she strained to move her muscles but nothing happened. The footsteps were louder now, echoing through her brain.
Slow.
Steady.
Approaching.
She tried to turn her head as the red light pulsed, a visual interpretation of her heartbeat.
What was this?
Again, she attempted to look over her shoulder, to force her immovable head to turn. She felt the slightest response, as if her shoulders had shifted minutely. Or was it her imagination? A hair’s breadth shimmer in the cool air. Digging down, she tried again.
Nothing happened.
But she wouldn’t give up. Damn it, she would fight as long as there was a whisper of life in her.
“This is Sister Kristi,” a deep, male voice intoned.
She knew him! The voice was familiar. She just had to think, to place it. Why was he introducing her? To whom? She forced her gaze to the blackness beyond the shifting veil of smoke and fog but saw nothing. She sensed that there were more than one person hiding in the shadows, as if there were onlookers, an audience.
Her blood ran cold as death.
Audience! Dear God, that was it!
This was part of some macabre show!
Sweet Jesus, she had to get out and get out now. He was so close. So familiar, yet her mind couldn’t grasp his name. She felt him stand behind her and a hand slid onto her bare shoulder.
She experienced a tingle.
Oh, how sick!
Strong fingers trailed along her skin.
What was this? A seduction? Onstage with who knew how many people staring on? Or maybe he was just the first of many…. Kristi’s guts revolted at the thought and she tried to cringe, to draw away.
“Sister Kristi joins us tonight willingly,” he said with conviction.
Willingly? What?
Couldn’t they see that everything he was saying was a lie, that she was a prisoner in her own paralyzed body?
Of course not, Kristi. Remember: they want to believe.
“She is ready to make the final, ultimate sacrifice.”
Her mind flew to all kinds of torture, of rape, of death. Ultimate? As in final? Jesus, was he going to “sacrifice” her right here? Slit her throat like a sacrificial lamb? She struggled with all her might.
To no avail.
His fingers moved sensually against her skin and she felt her body responding. Oh, God, this was so sick, so damned sick! He had the gall to touch her breasts, to watch her nipples respond and she knew in that second, if given the chance, she would kill him. Despite the desire starting to pulse through her body. She would. She would kill the sick bastard!
He was leaning downward now, his breath ruffling her hair as his hands slid lower and harder.
If she could kick. Could bite. Could spit in his face. Who was he? Who?
She felt her head rotate a bit, almost of its own accord, and in that moment her eyes met his, and she stared into the dark eyes of Dr. Dominic Grotto.
Grotto…
Kristi fought to scream and flail, to hit or recoil, but she remained motionless.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Sorry? For what? Let me go, you miserable son of a bitch!
He leaned closer, his breath as hot as all the fires of hell, his lips curling back to show off his fangs, bright and glistening in the thin red light.
She screamed, but no sound passed her lips as he bit into her flesh. Her skin was punctured by the awful fangs and then…oh, God…then, her blood pumped to the surface.
And he began to feed.
CHAPTER 27
Vlad had his work cut out for him.
No doubt about it.
And Elizabeth was nervous as a cat, watching over his shoulder, certain that any second they would be “found out.” Not that she didn’t have some cause for concern, he thought as he slipped through the shadows of the campus, but he was handling everything. Didn’t he always? It irritated the living hell out of him that she, the one whom he adored, couldn’t, or wouldn’t, trust him.
He’d been working on the details for a very long while. It was time she had some faith in him.
Control freak, he thought as he felt the shift in the atmosphere, the calmness of the night slipping away with a gust of wind. Wispy clouds rolled over the moon, becoming thicker and moving more quickly as the minutes passed. The promise of a storm was heavy in the air, and it sent his blood singing through his veins.
He crept close to Adam’s Hall, hiding in the shrubbery as he made his way to the chapel. As he slipped quietly through the night-soaked umbra, he thought of Kris
ti Bentz…beautiful, frightened, supple Kristi…she’d had just a little taste of what was to come. He licked his lips at the thought of her blood, how sweet she would taste, and couldn’t help imagining what he would do to her. The images in his mind caused an immediate response between his legs and he had to tamp down the lust that boiled through his veins.
But first, there was work to be done.
He couldn’t be distracted.
Afterward he would savor her, all of her…alive and dead.
The storm picked up, gusts chasing across the campus, bending the grass and weeds, threatening rain and more…thunder perhaps. The bells began to chime and clouds swirled over the moon as he slipped into the chapel. Inside, the rush of the wind was muted and row upon row of candles, their tiny flames flickering in the vestibule, greeted him. He smelled their burning scent, noticed the wax turned liquid.
Yes, he thought, padding silently up the stairs that curved off the vestibule, he would take care of everything. As he had since he’d been a child. Elizabeth should calm herself and trust him. Had he not always provided and protected? Though often he’d been in the shadows, had she not been able to rely on him?
Yes, he thought, as he reached the balcony. Yes, he knew that four bodies had been discovered, and it pained him to think that the police were even now touching and cutting into the bodies of those he’d chosen so carefully. Yes, he realized that soon the authorities with their sophisticated equipment, trained detectives, dogs, and determination would eventually find their way here. They could no longer linger.
They had to leave.
But not until he tied up a few little loose ends. It wouldn’t take long, but those that knew the truth, or suspected it, would have to perish.
To sacrifice themselves, little though they might be.
Now, he slipped between the folds of the heavy velvet curtain and waited. The final performance of the morality play was over and the priest would soon come to pray at the altar before taking the back path to his private residence, where he would pray for forgiveness, absolution, and mercy.
Vlad smiled in the darkness.
Mercy.
He kept his gaze trained on the door. As soon as Vlad was certain Father Mathias wasn’t altering his routine, he would follow him and ensure that the priest’s tormented soul was released.
Father Mathias would no longer suffer.
Jay whistled to the dog, opened the door of his truck, and once Bruno was inside, slid behind the wheel. He kicked himself up one side and down the other for being such a fool and tried to keep from panicking.
Checking the glove box, he found his Glock and shoved it into a pocket of his jacket, all the while thinking of Kristi—beautiful, athletic, sassy, and stubborn Kristi. How had he let her talk him into leaving her alone in Baton Rouge?
He switched on the ignition and, grinding the gears, threw the old Toyota into reverse, squealing onto the street. Then he rammed the truck into drive, hit the accelerator, sped out of the cul-de-sac onto the main street, and headed for the freeway.
He’d been delayed at the lab with the discovery of four bodies—the missing girls from All Saints. The evidence found with the bodies had taken quite a while to collect and process. And as he’d worked he’d tried, over and over again, to call Kristi, to no avail.
Where the hell was she?
One more time, he hit her speed dial number.
One more time he was thrown to her voice mail.
“Hell!” He nearly tossed the phone across the seat as he kept one eye on the road, skirting around a tractor trailer. Why wasn’t she answering the damned phone? Had she forgotten it? Had it run out of battery life? Or had something happened to her?
In his mind’s eye he saw the bloodless bodies of the girls in the morgue and sent up a prayer that she hadn’t become a victim of the psycho who was behind the killings. Why hadn’t he insisted she go to the police when they found the damned vial of blood? What kind of an idiot was he to allow her to stay in Baton Rouge, alone, when they both suspected that a serial killer was stalking coeds. And that someone was videotaping her apartment!
Like you could have stopped her! No way. Not that bull-headed woman.
But he couldn’t shake the guilt. He should have stayed with her. Now…oh, God, now…
“Son of a bitch,” he bit out, driving like a madman, ignoring the speed limit, hitting the gas whenever a light turned amber. Bruno, unperturbed, stared out the window as Jay’s headlights cut through the night.
He’d left three messages for Rick Bentz, too, none of which had been returned, but then Bentz himself was up to his eyeballs in this case, the press, and the resulting chaos. As Jay understood it, the New Orleans Police Department, as well as the Baton Rouge PD, had issued statements to the press and general public that there was a serial killer on the loose. The university had been contacted, so hopefully a warning had already been issued to the students to stay indoors or in groups, and a curfew had been imposed.
Jay had finally connected again to Portia Laurent, who had given him all the information she had over the phone. The upshot was that Dominic Grotto had access to a navy blue van, one he borrowed from his brother-in-law upon occasion. Jay was convinced the vampire-loving professor was their man; Portia Laurent was reserving judgment. She was still doing background checks and Grotto, so far, was clean. She had another couple of leads she was following up, something that was bothering her, but before she could explain, another call had interrupted her and she cut him off, saying she’d phone him later.
So far, she hadn’t.
Jay was nearing Baton Rouge when his cell phone rang. He picked up before the second beep, his hand gripping the damned thing as if it were a lifeline. He hoped to God that Kristi was on the other end of the wireless call, that she was safe, that his worst fears were unfounded.
“McKnight,” he answered.
“Bentz. You called.” Rick Bentz’s voice. Tight. Hard. Seething with fury—and maybe repressed fear.
“Yeah. I’m on my way to Baton Rouge, but I haven’t been able to reach Kristi. I was hoping you had.”
“No.” The single, damning word echoed through Jay’s head and until that moment he hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped that Kristi had been in contact with her father. “I thought she might be with you,” Bentz went on. “She’s not picking up her goddamned phone and I’m on my way up there right now.”
“Me, too. I should be there in about forty minutes.”
“Good. I know the Baton Rouge PD is stretched to the limit, FBI’s been called in. The public’s being made aware, police working with the press to get the word out. I’m surprised you got out of the lab.”
“I worked it out. I’m officially in the field.” Jay had put in over forty hours in the crime lab this week and Inez Santiago had taken over for him. Inez had been insistent that he leave when she’d arrived and had assured him that she, Bonita Washington, and the other criminologists on staff could handle anything that came up.
Jay hadn’t needed any more encouragement. Not after finding bodies drained of blood, their necks showing evidence of bite marks measuring the size of an adult male human, the puncture wounds consistent with razor-sharp cuspids. Bruising on the necks of all four victims was identical and the hope was that the police could match the mark on the victims’ skin with the killer’s teeth.
The work of someone trying desperately to make them believe that there were blood-sucking creatures of the night attacking girls at All Saints.
Jay’s hand clenched over the wheel and he braked to avoid rear-ending a motorcycle that had cut into his lane. He said to Bentz, “You know that Kristi was in a class on vampires in society or some such crap.” Checking his side view and switching lanes, he tromped on the gas and sped around a sedan driven by an old guy in a hat.
“Yeah?”
“I think someone’s taken this vampire thing to another level.” Quickly, he explained to Bentz about Lucretia tipping Kristi off about a camp
us cult, and how he and Kristi had found a vial of blood in Kristi’s apartment—Tara Atwater’s previous home. While Bentz listened silently, Jay explained about discovering the video camera and setting a trap. He added that Kristi was convinced Father Mathias, the priest who staged the morality plays, was somehow involved in the coeds’ disappearances. Jay finished with, “Kristi believes that Wagner House is at the heart of the cult.”
“Someone might have told me,” Bentz stated grimly.
Jay didn’t respond. Let Kristi’s father make of it what he would.
“And you left her there?” Bentz charged quietly.
“My mistake.”
“You bet it was.”
Jay let it go. The exit sign for Baton Rouge caught in his headlights just as the first drops of rain pelted his windshield. He accelerated onto the ramp and decided he’d been the brunt of Bentz’s rage long enough. “So where are you?”
“A half hour from Baton Rouge. With Montoya.”
“Good. I’m already there. I’m going directly to Kristi’s apartment. I’ll call you when I get there.”
Pushing the speed limit, Jay cut through town, past neighborhoods that had become familiar since the first of the year. But all the while he was driving by rote, spurred on by images of the drained, bloodless corpses dragged out of the Mississippi.
His hope was that the killer had kept them alive for a long time before taking their lives. The delayed decomposition suggested as much.
Unless they’d been frozen.
He couldn’t forget Bonita Washington’s assertion of freezer burn on the severed arm, which, as it had turned out, belonged to Rylee Ames, the last victim.
Unless Ariel was the last one to go missing.
Until Kristi…
He took a shortcut to the campus. The rain was heavy now, coming down in sheets. News vans and cop cars were parked around the gates of the All Saints grounds, where, it seemed, every officer on the campus security force was visible. Students were far and few between, but klieg lights had been assembled by the news teams, and reporters dressed in rain gear stood with microphones at the ready.