by Lisa Jackson
If she weren’t such a stickler for hygiene, she might have forgone washing her hands and gotten the hell out of this poorly lit, spooky bathroom. But good habits took precedent over a case of nerves. Just as she turned on the faucet, she caught a glimpse of someone in her peripheral vision, someone just entering the ladies’ restroom.
“Hello, Lindsay,” the familiar voice said. “You look as beautiful tonight as you did the night Jake died.”
She whirled around to face the woman who stood only a few feet away, a pistol in her hand.
Dean drove like the proverbial bat out of hell on the trip from downtown to St. Elizabeth’s. On the drive over, Rachel had kept in contact with the patrolmen who had been sent to the site of the reunion. Only a few minutes before Dean screeched to a halt in front of the gymnasium, Officer Kyle Williams reported that a woman named Lindsay Farrell was missing and her boyfriend was on the verge of tearing the place apart, brick by brick.
Lindsay did as she was told, afraid not to, realizing that her would-be killer wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her.
“I’d prefer we did this in private, but if you force me to, I’ll shoot you right here, right now,” she said.
Lindsay realized she meant it and knew that the only way to buy herself some time—and keep herself alive—was to cooperate. But only up to a point. Her abductor was so involved in keeping them out of sight as she led her out a back door of the gym and through the covered open corridor leading into the school building that she didn’t notice as Lindsay opened her evening bag and began dropping items. Items that wouldn’t make any noise as they hit the ground.
Shades of Hansel and Gretel, Lindsay thought. But one does what one has to do when in the clutches of a wicked witch.
Where on earth is she taking me? Lindsay wondered as she was led down a flight of wooden stairs and into the basement.
Not wanting to create a panic that would complicate the situation, Rachel and Dean called for backup, including the SWAT team, then sent the patrol officers off to search for Lindsay while they spoke to Wyatt, Martina, Craig, Kristen, and Ross. Dean told his friends what he’d told the officers: “If you find them, do not try to confront her. Call me and let me handle it.”
They separated into groups so they could cover more ground twice as fast. After Dean handed flashlights to the men, Ross and Kristen went in one direction, while Wyatt, Craig, and Martina went in another. As they hunted for Lindsay, the reunion went on as if this unnerving drama weren’t happening simultaneously.
Rachel knew that if they didn’t find Lindsay soon, it would be too late. If only Marilyn Dewey could have discovered those photographs yesterday instead of today.
“Lindsay found Jake’s body inside the labyrinth that night,” Rachel said. “What if that’s where she’s taken Lindsay, back to the scene of the crime?”
“She’s just twisted enough to do something like that.” Dean aimed his flashlight toward the rows of tall hedges. “Let’s go.”
As Rachel and Dean started into the labyrinth, Ross and Kristen emerged from the pathway that led into the maze.
“Seems we had the same idea,” Dean said.
“Apparently,” Ross replied.
“We didn’t find anyone,” Kristen said. “Now what? I thought for sure that’s where she would take Lindsay.”
“Let’s separate again and continue searching.” Rachel did her best to keep her voice calm, despite the growing anxiety she felt.
Lindsay removed the last of the dollar bills—four in all—that she’d placed in her small evening bag. Before she could release the money and allow it to sail softly to the floor, the final clue to mark her trail, the madwoman at her side stopped abruptly in front of a stack of wooden crates and aimed her flashlight straight ahead.
She stuck the gun in Lindsay’s ribs. “Move behind the crates.”
Lindsay did as she was told.
Her abductor forced her forward as she shined her flashlight at an old wooden door half hidden behind the crates. When she reached around Lindsay and turned the doorknob, Lindsay considered putting up a fight. But the feel of the deadly weapon pressing painfully into her ribs made her think twice.
“Where are you taking me?” Lindsay managed to say, fear vibrating her voice.
“Somewhere no one will find you, not until after Rachel and Kristen join you.”
Lindsay hazarded a glance at the woman she had known since they were teenagers, and wondered why she had never realized how unstable she was, how unstable she had probably always been.
While her captor concentrated on opening the door and at the same time keeping her gun against Lindsay’s side, Lindsay opened her palm and dropped the last dollar bill.
Please, dear God, let Wyatt realize I’m missing. Let him be searching for me.
What was that sound? Was that music she heard? Yes, it was. She couldn’t quite make out the tune, but there was music coming from behind the door.
Nudging the gun deep into Lindsay’s side, her captor ordered, “Move it. Now!”
Lindsay stepped over the concrete threshold and entered a brightly lit, dank-smelling room. So engrossed in the sight before her, Lindsay barely heard the door close behind her.
My God!
At least a dozen Coleman lanterns, lined up on the floor in front of a row of old lockers, illuminated the cavernous room.
Lockers? The senior lockers from St. Elizabeth’s? Was that possible?
“It took quite some effort to move the lockers in here,” she told Lindsay. “But it was well worth it, don’t you think?” She urged Lindsay forward, forcing her to walk past the lockers to the opposite side of the room.
Lindsay noticed her name on one locker. Rachel’s, Kristen’s, and Martina’s on three others. Those four lockers were open and empty. The others were closed.
“Only four more to go,” she said, smiling at Lindsay. “And then it will all be complete. Just in time for the wrecking ball.”
“Why? I—I don’t understand.”
Wyatt, you are searching for me, aren’t you? You’ve called Rachel and Dean. You’ve told the police that I’m missing.
“All you need to know is that you’re going to die.”
“Why? What did I ever do to you to make you hate me? What did any of us do?”
“Keep walking until you reach the far wall, then turn around slowly.”
Continuing to move toward the wall, her back to her abductor, Lindsay pleaded, “Tell me what we did to make you hate us.”
“You and the others were such little snots, excluding me from everything, shutting me out, making me feel worthless.”
“But we didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” Keep her talking. Buy yourself all the time you can. “I’m sorry. Truly I am. If I could do anything to make it up to you, I would.”
“Did you know that I hated you the most back then? And I still do. I want you to suffer before I kill you. I want you to know just a little of the pain I’ve felt all these years. Now, turn around and look at me. I want to watch your face when I shoot you.”
Lindsay paused, then turned and stared directly at the woman who intended to kill her.
“Will you tell me why you hate me the most?” Try not to think about her threat to make you suffer. You cannot give in to your fears.
“Because Jake wanted you more than he wanted me.”
Rushing forward, insane hatred marring her facial features, Bella Marcott shoved Lindsay up against the wall, the gun almost touching Lindsay’s belly. As her shoulder hit the concrete, Lindsay caught a glimpse of the huge red heart painted on the wall behind her. A morbid reminder of a long-ago St. Valentine Day’s dance.
And the music…The song coming from the portable CD player on the floor near the lockers was a familiar tune. “Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon. Once upon a time, it had been her and Jake’s song.
When her gaze connected to Bella’s, she saw malicious anger and sheer madness in her eyes. Eyes so very much l
ike Jake’s.
Kristen and Ross crossed paths with Wyatt twice during their frantic search. The first time he’d been with Martina and Craig, but now he was alone. Alone and angry and blaming himself for Lindsay’s abduction.
“You couldn’t have gone to the ladies’ room with her,” Kristen said, doing her best to comfort him.
“No, but I should have insisted that we find you so you could go with her.”
Kristen placed her hand on Wyatt’s shoulder and rubbed reassuringly. “We’re going to find her.”
Wyatt covered his mouth as he drew in a deep breath, barely holding his emotions in check. “If we don’t find her soon…”
Bella will kill her. Kristen knew what he was thinking, what they were all thinking. It seemed unbelievable that Jake’s own sister had been responsible for his death, even if she hadn’t actually released the arrow from the crossbow and nailed him through the heart.
“Come on.” Kristen tugged on Wyatt’s arm. “Ross and I are going to search the side entrance into St. Elizabeth’s that connects to the gym. Why don’t you take a look at the back entrances? I know the police officers have already checked, but they could have overlooked something.”
Wyatt stared at her, a crazed expression on his face as if he were on the verge of unraveling, but he nodded, indicating he had understood her. Then he turned and headed for the back of the old school.
“He’s half out of his mind,” Kristen said.
“I would be, too, if you were the one missing.”
Kristen reached out and caressed her husband’s cheek. How close they’d come to losing each other, to letting their marriage and their love slip away from them.
“We’re going to find her—alive.” Kristen pointed the beam of her flashlight straight in front of her, aiming it toward the covered breezeway between the gymnasium and the school building.
Ross kept pace with her, slowing when she slowed, speeding up when she did. As they walked along the corridor between the two structures, Kristen stopped suddenly.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She shot a beam of light toward the concrete walkway where something white had caught her eye. “What’s that?” She bent over and picked up the Kleenex, then inspected it thoroughly. “Someone blotted their lipstick on this.”
“Anyone could have dropped it.”
“This is a pink lipstick. Lindsay was wearing pink.”
“Kristen, don’t—”
“She could have dropped it on purpose, as a clue.”
“Okay, maybe you’re right. But—”
“I’m calling Rachel.” Using her free hand, Kristen flipped open her cell phone.
“How does it feel knowing you’re going to die?” Bella pointed the gun directly at Lindsay’s heart.
“I’m afraid. Is that what you want to hear? I’m terrified. I don’t want to die.”
Bella smiled. “Jake didn’t have time to be scared, not until the very last minute when he realized I was going to kill him.”
“You killed Jake?” But how was that possible? Lindsay wondered. Hadn’t Rachel and Dean told her and Kris, in strictest confidence, that a man named Patrick Dewey had killed Jake?
“You couldn’t have killed Jake.” Lindsay spoke without thinking.
Bella glared at her. “What makes you say that?”
“He—he was your brother. You loved him.”
“And he loved me.”
What would Bella do if I rushed her? Would she shoot me? Could I jump her before she could fire? If I did, maybe I could wrestle the gun away from her. I have to do something. I can’t stand here against this big red heart and wait for her to kill me.
Holding the pistol in both hands, Bella kept it aimed at Lindsay. “You thought he loved you, but he didn’t. You were as big a fool as the others.”
“You’re right. I was a fool.” Agree with her. Say whatever you think she wants to hear. Lindsay clutched her small evening bag, holding it against her waist.
“Too bad you didn’t realize that twenty years ago.” Bella smiled, the tilt of her lips bordering on a snarl. “I think you should know that I plan to shoot you more than once. I’m going to start with your legs and then your arms and then…” Bella’s sick laughter echoed in the underground dungeon.
Sour, salty bile rose up into Lindsay’s throat. A rush of pure fear flooded her senses. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a horrible nightmare. She couldn’t die. Not now. Not when she and Wyatt had reconnected. Not when they had just found their son.
“What makes you think I’ll stand here and let you use me for target practice?”
Bella stared quizzically at Lindsay. “Because I have a weapon and you don’t.”
“If you’re going to kill me anyway, what do I have to lose?”
“It’s your choice.” Bella shrugged. “If you try anything, I’ll kill you now. Play by my rules and you might live another hour.”
Their tense gazes locked.
“You think maybe someone will find you if you can just buy enough time, don’t you? It’s not going to happen. No one knows about this part of the basement. It’s my little secret. Of course, once the building is leveled, it is possible they’ll find your bodies in the rubble. Yours and Kristen’s and Rachel’s.”
This basement hideaway, the row of old lockers, the music from the past all blurred together, the entire scene surreal. Lindsay’s mind whirled with thoughts and questions and silent prayers.
When Lindsay shut her eyes as she made a final plea to God—I don’t want to die!—Bella screamed, “Open your eyes and look at me!”
Shivering, fear clutching her fiercely, she looked at Bella.
“Now, that’s better.” Bella glanced at the row of lockers. “I think I’ll put your evening bag and maybe your earrings in your locker.”
It’s now or never, Lindsay thought. While she’s not looking…
Lindsay lunged at Bella, who whipped around, aimed the gun and fired. The bullet barely missed Lindsay’s foot, hitting the floor and blasting shards of old concrete across Lindsay’s leg. As the pieces scattered, several nipped her foot and leg. Yelping in pain, she dropped her evening bag as she jumped and quickly backed into the wall behind her.
As her heartbeat thundered in her ears, Lindsay waited for the next shot—the one that could end her life.
Rachel stared at the brick school, dark and foreboding, looking exactly like what it was—an abandoned old building. Dean had sent the patrol officers in pairs to the front and back entrances but had heard nothing from them. It would take time to do a thorough search of every room, including the basement.
Rachel’s phone rang. She answered on the third ring.
“Rach, come to the side entrance of the school, the one closest to the gym,” Kristen said. “We’ve found something in the open corridor.”
Within minutes, Rachel held a lipstick-stained Kleenex in her hand.
“We found it right here,” Ross said, pointing to the exact spot, only a couple of feet from the side entrance. “We tried the door and it seems to be locked.”
Dean shined his flashlight through the panes of the half-glass double doors. “Rachel, come take a look.”
He kept the light pointing straight down on the floor inside the hallway. There lying on the floor was what looked like another tissue.
“We have to get in there right now.” Rachel’s instincts and training told her that time was of the essence.
Using the end of his flashlight, Dean broke the glass in a lower pane, carefully stuck his hand inside, and released the interior lock. “It was locked from the inside,” he said, “which means someone came through this way and locked it.”
When Kristen and Ross followed Dean and Rachel, Dean turned to them and said, “Wait here. And call Rachel if you see or hear anything unusual.”
The couple simultaneously nodded agreement.
“Where do we go from here?” Dean asked Rachel. “Up or down or f
orward?”
“You check the up stairs and I’ll check the down,” she said. “If we don’t find anything, we’ll move forward into the building.”
“I’ll contact Officer Williams while I’m checking out the stairs,” Dean said.
Rachel opened the door that led into the basement, shined her flashlight on the wooden staircase, and took several steps downward. There lying on the fifth step was what looked like a credit card. Rachel stooped to pick it up, took a good look at it, and hurried back up the stairs. After closing the door, she called out to Dean, who rushed down from the top of the upper staircase.
“Take a look. It’s Lindsay’s driver’s license.”
With her back against the wall and her foot and leg bleeding, Lindsay tried to think rationally. But how was that possible? She was in the clutches of a crazy person, someone who had already killed three other women.
“Bella, you don’t have to do this. You aren’t yourself,” Lindsay said. “You need help.”
Bella’s serene smile unnerved Lindsay.
“I needed help twenty years ago,” Bella said. “If someone had stopped Jake…if they had kept him from hurting me…”
“How did Jake hurt you?” Keep talking. Buy time. Pray that someone finds you before it’s too late.
“Patrick knew. He cared when no one else did.”
“Who was Patrick?”
Bella’s smile widened. Her eyes glazed over. “Patrick loved me. When I told him about Jake…I should have told Patrick first when I found out, not Jake. Patrick wouldn’t have made me do it. He would have let me keep my baby.”
“Baby? You were pregnant? You had a child by this man named Patrick?”
“I wanted my baby, but Jake said I couldn’t have it. He made me have an abortion. Patrick said that was wrong. That’s why he killed…no, that’s not right. Patrick wanted to kill Jake for what he did to me. But I wanted to kill Jake myself. I remember touching the bow, watching the arrow fly through the air. Jake couldn’t believe what I’d done. He just stared at me.”
“Bella, you didn’t kill Jake. You couldn’t have.”
Bella shook her head. “You’re wrong. Don’t try to confuse me.”
“You might have wanted to kill Jake, but you didn’t.”