Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series)

by Kristine Mason

  “Shove your one-liners up your ass, you Bible-thumping—” Chloe dug her heels into the mattress, raised her head, then let out another long cry. Heather glanced at her cell phone. Less than a minute had passed. Her heart pounded hard. Sweat dripped from her forehead. Fear and panic had her hands trembling and her stomach knotting. She thought back to the Lamaze classes she’d taken and spread Chloe’s legs further apart. The girl’s knee blocked the light from the lantern. She moved the lantern closer, and half sobbed, half laughed. “I think I see something. Maybe you should try pushing.”

  “Maybe you should go and—” Chloe screamed and raised her head again.

  Heather quickly reached into her bag, then pulled out a pair of latex gloves. “Don’t hold your breath.” After putting on the gloves, she gently touched Chloe’s vagina. “Praise, Jesus, I feel the baby’s head.” Smiling, she looked up to Chloe, whose breathing had become alarmingly harder. “It won’t be long now. Be strong, Chloe. You can do this.”

  The girl’s face contorted again. She opened her mouth in a silent scream and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “That’s it,” she encouraged. “Push.” She looked between the girl’s thighs and saw the dark hair lining the top of the baby’s head. “Again.”

  Chloe grunted and groaned. “It hurts so bad.” She blew out several deep breaths. “It—”

  “I see his eyes and nose. Come on, Chloe. You can do this,” she encouraged, and placed her hand on the baby’s head. Tears filled her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. She’d never known such joy could exist. For the second time, she’d been the first to touch a new life, and she said a silent prayer to God, begging him to let this child live and promising that she would be a good mother to him.

  Chloe sobbed. “I’m so tired. I don’t think I can do it.” She closed her eyes and her head rolled against the blankets.

  “You have to,” she demanded. “Come on and give me one hard push.”

  Chloe lifted her head. Her face grew red and her lips twitched into a snarl as she pushed again.

  Heather kept one hand beneath the baby’s head, then when his shoulders passed through, she helped him slip free. When he let out a screeching wail, she laughed and cried. Using the soft, clean cloth she’d had in her diaper bag to wipe the mucus from his adorable, scrunched-up face and tiny little nose, she gazed down at her son in astonishment. “He’s beautiful,” she said. “Absolutely beautiful.”

  Chloe lifted her head. “Can I see him?”

  Although she appreciated Chloe’s efforts, this child was a gift that now belonged to her. The girl didn’t deserve to see the baby. Between the drug use and whoring, she’d been selfish and inconsiderate, and had no right to God’s miracle.

  She cut the umbilical cord with the dissecting kit’s scalpel, then placed a fresh piece of gauze over it. Once she was home, she’d clean the baby properly. For now, she wanted to take him away from the filthy storage unit as fast as possible. After she removed the gloves, she swaddled the baby in one of the blankets she’d been given at her baby shower thirteen years ago, then she held him close and kissed the top of his head. He stopped crying and looked up at her. Fresh tears sprang in her eyes and she praised the Lord for what he’d given her today.

  Another chance to be a mother.

  Chloe grunted. “Why do I feel like I need to push again?”

  She looked at the girl, at her eyes wide with fear, then remembered something else from her Lamaze classes. “I think you need to pass the placenta.”

  “I…I don’t know what that is. What do I— Wait, what are you doing?”

  Heather pulled the pile of blankets from beneath Chloe’s head and set them down on the floor near the mattress. After resting the baby there, she began tossing the dissecting kit and anything else she’d taken from the diaper bag, back inside. She placed the latex gloves in one of the empty, plastic grocery bags, along with the water bottles she’d touched with her bare hands, then looked around the unit. Her fingerprints would be on the cooler, the lanterns and the fans. She couldn’t carry everything back to the apartment while holding her child, so she would have to come back later tonight.

  As Chloe writhed along the mattress, she remembered the padlocks and Wayne’s safety harness. She couldn’t remove those just yet. She’d originally planned to give Chloe a C-section, and based on what had happened with Missy, Chloe would have likely died during childbirth or shortly thereafter. Now the girl would have to suffer and die from heat and dehydration. Although she wished Chloe’s death could have been quick, she wouldn’t question God’s plan. When the time was right, He would take the girl and she would no longer suffer.

  “Answer me,” Chloe demanded.

  She turned off the fans, then all of the lanterns but one. “I need to take my baby home.”

  Chloe craned her neck toward the floor, where the baby lay on the blankets. “Let me see him.”

  “There’s no point.”

  “No point? You crazy bitch.” She winced and pressed her heels into the mattress. “I just gave birth and—”

  “I’m tired of your foul mouth. You’re obviously exhausted. Close your eyes and try to get some sleep.”

  “Sleep?” Chloe tried to rise, but fell back against the mattress, closing her knees, she let out a soft sob. “Are you coming back?”

  Heather slung her purse and the diaper bag over her shoulder, then carefully lifted her baby. He yawned, then closed his eyes. Love poured from the depths of her soul. From the moment she’d touched his head, she’d fallen in love with her son and she swore she would love him, no matter what, unconditionally. She no longer cared if the baby wound up being another race. He was hers, and that was all that mattered.

  “Answer me,” Chloe shouted.

  Remembering the gag, she set the baby back down, then reached for the cloth around Chloe’s neck. “I think you already know the answer,” she said. Before the girl could respond, she silenced her with the gag. Chloe’s narrowed eyes welled with tears as she stared at her with hatred. “Since you gave me my son, I will pray that God takes you quickly. I suggest you pray, as well.”

  She picked up her baby, turned off the last lantern, then using her free hand, lifted the steel garage door. After she slammed it shut, she secured the padlock and began walking toward home.

  Her son let out a quiet sigh. She looked down at him and grinned. “Wait until your daddy meets you,” she whispered, then kissed his perfect, little nose. “He’s going to fall in love, too.”

  *

  The gag muffled Chloe’s cries as she gave one last push. The placenta, or whatever had been inside of her, fell onto the mattress with a squishy plop. She closed her legs and curled onto her side, her outer thigh sinking against what she’d just expelled. The blankets beneath her were soaked with what she assumed was her blood and the other fluids that went along with giving birth.

  Surrounded by blackness, the stench of her body and the thick, hot air, she didn’t care. Without her baby inside her, without his little kicks, for the first time in her life she now understood true loneliness. She had no idea what her son looked like, or what it felt like to hold him, but she already missed him. Heather had taken the best part of her. She’d also robbed her of the chance to be a mom. To prove to her son that despite her mistakes, she loved him. She’d had no idea it was possible to love someone who hadn’t been born, or that she’d never seen or met. But she simply did.

  She squeezed her eyes and sobbed. Now her son was in the arms of a woman who needed to be locked inside a padded room. The vulnerability she’d been dealing with since she’d awoken, handcuffed and bound to the heavy dresser, became unlike anything she’d ever experienced. The powerlessness, the inability to not be able to protect herself, let alone her son, left her hollow inside. Even if she was miraculously saved, without her baby, she didn’t want to live. It might have taken her being ganged raped to realize it, but her son had given her a reason to change and want to become a better person. She might
have given him life, but he’d resuscitated hers.

  The gag soaked up the tears burning a path down her cheeks. Because of the handcuffs, her shoulders and arms had grown numb long ago. Below the waist she ached everywhere. But nothing hurt worse than knowing she’d die here, without ever kissing her baby, without telling her mom, dad and brother she was sorry. Without proving to herself that she could be a better person.

  Heather had taken so much from her. Sobs racked her body. And she needed to pay.

  She opened her eyes and stared into the darkness. Without the lanterns, the room had become a black abyss. The darkness suffocated her almost as much as the heat, but it didn’t scare her like she thought it would. Death did, though. She didn’t want to die, and was terrified of the unknown. Heather claimed God was watching over them, and had designed a plan for each of them. She didn’t know if that was true, but considering that she’d given birth under horrible circumstances, she honestly believed there had to be some sort of high power. Whether that was God or not, she didn’t know. She prayed to that high power anyway. Thanked the Universe for giving her a son, asked that her child would be strong, find his way in the world and not be corrupted by Heather. She begged for forgiveness and the strength to face the afterlife without fear.

  Her tears slowly subsided. Peace and exhaustion consumed her almost as much as the darkness. And as she drifted off to sleep, she sent out one last prayer.

  She prayed that Heather would know what it was like to truly suffer.

  *

  Wayne jerked awake to the wail of a crying baby. He rubbed his eyes, then looked to the TV, where a rerun of one of his favorite true crime shows played. The cry wasn’t coming from there.

  His entire body tensed.

  The cry came from his apartment.

  He shoved off the couch and rushed to the bedroom he had yet to share with Dimples, then turned the door knob. Locked. He pounded on the door. The crying grew louder. “Dimples,” he yelled. Oh, God, what have you done? “Open the door or I’ll break it down.”

  When he heard a soft click, he turned the knob and pushed open the door. Dimples stood near the bed holding the tiniest baby he’d ever seen. Betrayal speared him in the heart. His knees buckled as the image of the dog breeder’s bloody body shook him to the core. He staggered into the room, then fell against the dresser and used it for support.

  “What did you do?”

  Dimples looked down at the screaming baby she rocked, and smiled. “Before you get mad, come meet Elton.” She looked up at him. “He’s absolutely perfect. Do you want to hold him?”

  Acid burned his chest and rose in his throat. He glanced from the baby to Dimples. “Where’s the mother?” he asked, shoving off the dresser. “Where is she?”

  “Ssh,” she cooed, and kissed the baby’s head. “Calm down, Mama’s going to get you something to eat.”

  She had formula? They’d only been in Chicago for a week. She’d promised never to take another baby, and he’d stupidly believed her. He clenched his jaw. “How long have you been planning this?”

  “Oh, hon, stop with all the questions.” Still rocking the baby, she moved toward the door. “Let me get Elton a bottle and—”

  “No.” He reached over and slammed the door shut. “I want answers. Now, damn it.”

  She blinked several times before narrowing her eyes. “Wayne Cooke, there’s no reason to cuss in front of me or the baby. Our son needs a bottle, so if you’ll let us—”

  “No,” he shouted again. “Not until you tell me where he came from and what’s happened to his mother.”

  She had the nerve to give him a haughty toss of her head. “God gave him to me.”

  “Bullshit. God didn’t give you anything. You took what you wanted.”

  “No, it’s true. His angels led me to a pregnant woman who wouldn’t be able to care for her baby. He shined a ray of light down on her to let me know—”

  “He did no such thing. In your warped mind you might have seen a light, but it sure as hell wasn’t God telling you to kill a woman for her kid.” He shoved his hands through his hair and gripped it by the roots. “I have listened to you use God as an excuse for too long. It ends tonight.”

  Her face hardened. “What does that mean?”

  “Where’s the mother?” he asked instead. If the woman was still alive, he could return the baby to her, then make an anonymous call to the authorities. Afterward, he’d come home, grab what they could carry to the truck in one trip, then leave. He wasn’t sure what he’d do with Dimples once they left, he only knew they needed to put serious distance between them and Chicago.

  “I’m Elton’s mother now,” she said, cradling the crying baby close to her chest. “The woman who carried him is with God.”

  “You…killed her?”

  “No. She was alive when I left.”

  A small amount of relief broke past his anger. “Good. Then there’s still a chance,” he said, stepping aside and opening the door. “Get the baby a bottle to quiet him, then you’re going to show me where his mother is.”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” she said, moving past him and out the door.

  He caught up with her in the kitchen. “Yes, you will.” Because she read the Bible constantly and took the passages literally, he’d hit her where she placed all of her screwed up morals and values. “Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands, as to the Lord,” he quoted Ephesians 5:22.

  She lowered her eyes. “You’ve never spoken the Lord’s word before, and never in that demeaning tone.”

  “I should have a long time ago.” He’d been more than an accomplice, he’d been enabling his wife to kidnap and kill. That realization smothered him with guilt. Had he taken her to the doctor the moment she’d suggested they kidnap the first baby, none of this would be happening. But he’d wanted her happy, and a baby was all that seemed to make her happy.

  “I see,” she said, her tone quiet. “Here. Hold Elton while I fix him a bottle.”

  He didn’t want to touch the baby. In his mind, the child was a murder weapon and he wanted nothing to do with it. “Go set him on the bed, or on the floor in the living room.”

  “Please, hon,” she said, her eyes imploring. “Be mad at me all you want, but don’t punish our son.” She gently pressed the baby against his crossed arms. “Once you hold him and look at him, I know you’ll fall in love.”

  The baby wouldn’t be around long enough for that to happen. He took him from Dimples anyway, hoping the bottle would calm him down long enough for his wife to tell him where the child’s mother was located. Once in his arms, he finally looked at the infant and felt nothing but sympathy for his mother. “Why is he so small?”

  “All babies are small.”

  Not like this. He wasn’t sure how much he weighed, but with the way he could hold the baby in one hand, he guessed he was less than five pounds. Otherwise, she was right. Even though his face was red from crying, he was a pretty baby. He removed the tiny knit cap from the baby’s head. The boy had a head full of dark, curly hair, and when he noticed the dried mucus on it, he swallowed his disgust. “How long ago did you take the baby from his mother?”

  “I didn’t take him. It was nothing like what happened with Missy.”

  He glanced down at the newborn. “You delivered him?”

  She grinned and tested the temperature of the bottle. “It was the most beautiful experience of my life. I wish you could have been there with me.” She set the bottle on the counter. “Let me have him. He’s been screaming his little head off and needs to eat. Then I need to give him a sponge bath and put fresh gauze over his belly button.” After she took the baby, then rubbed the bottle’s nipple along his mouth, she let out a gusty sigh. “I wish you could have cut the cord. I think if you could have been part of the experience, you wouldn’t be so mad.”

  “Mad doesn’t describe what I’m feeling.” He leaned against the counter and watched the baby struggle to take the nipple into his mouth. �
�I need you to think about this rationally.”

  “I’ve never been clearer in my life.” She moved to the living room sofa. “Come on, Elton, drink your bottle for Mama,” she said in a syrupy-sweet voice.

  “The nipple’s too big. How far along was his mother?”

  “The nipple isn’t the problem. He just needs to learn how to suck.”

  “How far along, Dimples?”

  “Thirty five or so weeks.”

  He rubbed a hand over his mouth and tried to control his temper. “He came too early and is going to need to be seen by a pediatrician.”

  “I realize that.”

  “A pediatrician’s office is going to expect a copy of his birth certificate and or his social security number. How do you plan to explain that?”

  “Why won’t he take the bottle?” she asked as the baby bawled.

  “How, Dimples?”

  Frowning, she looked at him and shrugged. “We didn’t have to worry about that with the other Eltons.”

  “You also never intended to keep them.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She shook her head. “I guess I didn’t think that far ahead. Right now, I can’t think much with all of Elton’s fussing.”

  The baby’s cries became hoarse. He’d likely exhaust himself and fall asleep, but he’d need to eat soon. If he continued to refuse the bottle, whether Dimples wanted to admit it or not, the baby would need medical attention.

  She gasped and grinned. “Look, he’s taking his bottle. What a good boy.”

  After he took a seat next to her, he looked to the baby, who couldn’t have been ingesting too much of the formula since most of it was running down his chin. But at least he was quiet for now. “Do you remember what you asked me before dinner?”

  Still smiling she looked at him. “I’m having a hard time remembering anything but how wonderful and exciting it was to deliver our baby.”

  “You asked me if I thought you were a killer,” he said, trying desperately to hang on to the last shreds of his patience.