Web of Lies

by Brandilyn Collins

  God, maybe I heard You wrong. There has to be some other way . . .

  She closed her eyes. Waited.

  Please . . .

  The knowledge deep within her didn’t budge.

  Psalm 56 rose in her mind: “When I am afraid, I will trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid . . .”

  She swallowed down the fear. “Jenna, how much farther?”

  “About three miles.”

  “Okay.” Chelsea’s mouth spoke as if from someone else’s body. Memories of her visions, the closing walls of the dim spider room, snatched at her breath.

  “For You have delivered me from death and my feet from stumbling, that I may walk before God in the light of life . . .”

  “There it is. The turn for Tory Road.” Jenna pulled the car over. Milt parked behind them.

  Chelsea pressed her palms together, brought them to her lips. “When I am afraid, I will trust in You . . .”

  Dave surveyed her. “This isn’t right. I can’t let you do it.”

  Yes, Dave, Chelsea wanted to scream, please don’t let me! Annie’s words from last Saturday — was that only two days ago? — echoed in her head. “If we knew everything up front, we’d be too scared to walk off that cliff . . .”

  Now she knew it all. Far more than she would tell them.

  But she would walk off that cliff.

  Chelsea forced herself to look Dave in the eye. “God wants me to do this. He’ll be with me. I know it’s frightening, but I’m going to trust Him. I will be safe. We have our plans. I’ll be back with that key in no time. And if for some reason I’m not . . . you know what to do.”

  They argued . . . and argued some more. But Chelsea knew one thing — if God truly wanted her to place herself at the mercy of this man, He’d smooth the way so it could happen. Hadn’t He brought them through everything else so far?

  She won the argument.

  Chelsea pushed her cell phone beneath the driver’s seat. She was supposed to call Annie as soon as she was driving away with the key.

  If only she could make the call.

  They took a precious minute to pray. Another to gather sturdy pieces of wood from the surrounding area. These they threw into the trunk of Milt’s car, beside Bill’s camera.

  Then with a final hug to Annie, Chelsea climbed into the driver’s seat of the SUV.

  Alone.

  Chapter 63

  There she comes.

  His body tensed as the SUV came in sight around a curve. About time; she was almost ten minutes late. He lay on his belly, uphill from the narrow road, scanning the countryside through binoculars. Sweating bullets in the sweatshirt. As if his walk in the heat hadn’t been bad enough. After all this trouble, he’d better pull this thing off.

  Chill, man, you want the dirt ants to start? Think about . . . something else.

  Yeah, like wasn’t this kind of whacked out? The woman had visions, said they were from God. So where was her God now? How come He was letting her walk into a trap?

  The car pulled even with the old red barn. Stopped. Chelsea Adams got out. He fixed the binoculars upon her.

  Wow. Pictures didn’t do her justice. This woman was fine.

  She left her door ajar. One by one opened all the others, plus the hatchback. She backed away from the car, head bent, focused on the road.

  He peered at the front seat. Check. At the rear. Empty. In the back. He moved his head right, left, making sure he saw no still form. Then scanned the countryside once more. All clear.

  Pum, pum, chaka-laka-laka. Here goes.

  Chapter 64

  I perched in the backseat of Milt’s car, half on top of Dave. Jenna and Stephen were squeezed in with us. Milt sat in the front passenger seat, his cameraman, Bill, driving. I could barely breathe. My brain lay buried in rubble, dazed and bewildered. Stephen, Jenna, and Milt all insisted the close proximity of Tory Road and Scander Lane was no coincidence. I knew Kelly could not be in Ryan Burns’s house, but I had no energy to argue.

  Wherever she was, I just wanted her back.

  Milt bristled with energy. Every word he spoke was clipped. “It’s been five minutes.”

  Five minutes — the planned time for Chelsea to be starting her drive up the south end of Tory Road. And soon we should see the turn onto its north end.

  “There it is!” Milt jabbed his finger toward the window.

  Please, God, let everything work.

  Now the next step. In about three minutes Chelsea should reach the barn. An estimated three more to receive the key, climb back in the car . . .

  Stephen checked his watch. “Okay, I’m counting down the six minutes.”

  Bill turned on Tory Road and we headed south. Milt leaned toward Bill, neck straining. Aloud he noted each tenth of a mile. “Eight . . . nine . . . one mile. Slow down; we should see Scander Lane soon.” He peered ahead as we rounded a curve. “Whoa, there’s the lane. Back up, back up!”

  Bill stopped the vehicle, shoved into reverse. The car shot backward, then slowed. Milt had his door open before we stopped rolling. “Okay, I’m out of here.”

  I leaned forward, scanning through the windshield. “You sure we backed up enough?”

  “You can’t see the lane; nobody on the lane can see you.” Milt clambered outside.

  “Keep low!” Jenna called, but he was gone.

  Bill rolled down his window. Milt’s door remained open. Dave squeezed my hand. “You okay?”

  I’ll never be okay until Kelly’s safe. I nodded.

  Stephen held his watch close to his face. “Three and a half minutes left.”

  Maybe less, if things went faster than we thought. I shifted my legs. Heart rattling, I opened the hand that held my cell phone. Stared at it, waiting, pleading for it to ring. Jenna, Stephen, and Dave watched too, as if our singular focus would laser an urging force to Chelsea, enable her to make the call early.

  Come on, come on . . .

  Chapter 65

  Cautiously he pushed to his feet. His eyes flicked from Chelsea Adams to the road, left and right. Nobody around. He eased his way down the hill. Chelsea never moved. Brave woman. He hit the road about twenty feet behind her, cat-footing it up close enough to touch her shoulder. “Don’t turn around.”

  She jumped, her body going taut. Her head remained down. “Where’s the key?”

  He snarled at the steadiness in her tone. What, she wasn’t scared enough at his stealthy approach? The bad boy whisper? “Shut up.”

  Suddenly he felt a thousand eyes at his back. He whipped his head left, right, behind him. Saw nothing.

  Chill out.

  He pulled a small jar from his sweatshirt’s left pocket. Reached out to stick it in front of her face. She caught sight of the huge spider and her breath hitched. “See this? It’s one of the world’s deadliest. You don’t do what I say, this thing goes down your back.”

  Her head nodded.

  “Get in the car.”

  She hesitated.

  “Get in the car!” He shoved her spine. “You’re driving.”

  She moved, looking straight ahead. He veered off toward the passenger side. As he slid inside the SUV, he pulled the sweatshirt hood further over his face. Just to remind her, he raised the spider jar in his left hand.

  She put the car in gear. “What makes you think you can get away with this?”

  “Cut the comments!” He glared sideways at her. This woman was just a little too sure of herself. We’ll see how long that lasts. “Go down and turn on the only road you’ll see.”

  He turned to check behind them for cars. All clear. “How come Annie Kingston let you come out here all alone?”

  She firmed her mouth. “She wants her daughter back. Not something you would understand.”

  He snorted. Just wait till I get you in that room, Chelsea Adams. She could have all the visions she wanted there. Yeah, she could see herself die. That gave him a laugh.

  She turned right on Scander L
ane. After a mile, his long, graceful driveway beckoned up ahead. “Turn left there.” She made the turn, drove over and down a hill. The mansion swept into view. He pulled a remote from his right pocket and punched the button. The garage door slid up. “Drive in.”

  He pictured Kelly, shivering in the basement. Girl had better do like he’d told her.

  Chelsea parked, turned off the engine. It occurred to him he’d have to take the car for a middle-of-the-night drive, send it into Shasta Lake. Too bad. It was a fine automobile.

  He punched the garage door closed. Turned toward Chelsea Adams and slid off his hood. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  Chapter 66

  “Two minutes, fifteen seconds.”

  I could not stand this. My mouth had run dry, air scraping my throat.

  Jenna thumped her knee with a fist. “Bill, can you see Milt?”

  “Yeah. He’s lying down. Stretching his neck just enough to see around the corner, I think.”

  Chelsea had insisted that Milt watch Scander Lane, “just in case.” Not that we needed to. In a few minutes she would come barreling down the road . . .

  “One minute, thirty seconds.”

  Oh, Kelly, my beautiful daughter. I pressed fists to my mouth, felt the cut of teeth against my lips. Was she still safe? Could she feel how close we were to rescuing her?

  The car felt suffocating. I sucked in a breath, fingers gripping the phone.

  “Thirty seconds . . . twenty.” Stephen’s right leg jiggled. I closed my eyes. Please.

  “Time’s up,” Stephen snapped. “She should be calling.”

  I stared at the phone. Tension vibrated from Jenna’s body to mine. “Come on.” I shook my cell. “Ring.”

  Dave squeezed my knee. Apprehension rolled off him in waves. I knew he was thinking that he never should have let Chelsea go, that he’d never forgive himself if something happened.

  Stephen exhaled in frustration. “Now she’s over a minute late.”

  I prayed.

  The phone remained silent.

  God, why is this taking so long? What have we done?

  Bill slapped the dashboard. “Hey, Milt’s running back!”

  We jerked up our heads, pushed to our knees. Milt slid to his open door and threw himself in the car. Swiveled toward me, breathing hard. “I just saw your SUV turn up Scander Lane.”

  Chapter 67

  Chelsea’s legs jellied as he pushed her down the stairs. She could feel the black spider at her back, scrambling in its jar, waiting to be unleashed. What was she doing; why had she let him bring her here?

  God, where are You?

  She hit the bottom of the steps and stumbled. He grabbed her arm, jerked her up. She gasped at his touch.

  “Not so brave anymore, are you.” His guttural whisper grated her ears. Strong fingers dug into her skin. “See that door?”

  No. Not the door, not the room behind it. Terror clattered down Chelsea’s spine. Her ankles shook.

  “So much for talking to God, huh.” He laughed. “Looks like the Big Guy hung you out to dry this time.”

  She licked her lips, tried to swallow.

  He pushed her forward. Tipped back his head and yelled at the door. “Kelly!”

  Silence. Chelsea raked in a breath.

  A tear-filled voice muffled through the wood. “Please let me out.”

  Kelly! Chelsea’s shoulders convulsed. She pushed down a sob.

  The man rapped on the door. “Remember what I told you to do in there, girl?”

  “Y – Yes.”

  “Good. Do it.”

  “I don’t want to sit down, please.”

  “Shut up and do what I told you!”

  Chelsea cringed. Oh, Kelly. Having to sit on that floor. God, help her, protect her . . .

  He pointed to Chelsea’s feet. “Take your shoes and socks off.”

  Bare feet against a cold floor . . . Slowly she bent over and did as she was told.

  “There you go.” He smiled at her, a smile that cut to her soul. With a flourish he unlocked the door. Sank his fingers into Chelsea’s arm and yanked her into the dim room. There, on the floor. Kelly, shivering, knees drawn up, head down. Joy and terror shattered like glass in Chelsea’s brain. She fought to say something to Kelly, but her throat closed up.

  When we are afraid, we will put our trust in You. In God, whose word we praise. In God we trust . . .

  “All right, Chelsea Adams,” the man sneered. “Don’t try any two-against-one stupidity. She’s been warned. She sits like that without a word, or this spider goes down your shirt.” He held up the jar.

  Like some sleepwalker, Chelsea nodded. Her heart tremored. She dropped her jaw open, sucked in oxygen.

  A slow, vindictive smirk twisted his features. He closed the door and faced her with smug anticipation.

  Chapter 68

  In the backseat of Milt’s rented car, I hung on to Dave. My mind scattered in a thousand fragmented thoughts. Could Kelly’s captor really be Ryan Burns? How? Why? Had he posed as Orwin Neese over the phone all those times? Was the spider room in his house?

  God, I don’t understand!

  Beside me, Jenna held on to the back of the front passenger seat as Bill hit the accelerator. We surged forward. My sister looked dazed. “I never thought we’d need to do this,” she breathed. “It was just supposed to be a backup plan . . .”

  Milt flipped open his phone. “No reason now not to call 911.” He hit the numbers, then unleashed a string of explanations. “Yeah, I’ll stay on the line as long as I can, but we’re not waiting for you.” Pause. “I don’t care; there’s no time to wait. Maybe if somebody’d listened to us in the first place. Just get here!”

  Stephen pressed against the car door, his expression drawn. He caught my gaze, shook his head. “We’re getting Kelly out of there, Mom. We are.”

  Chelsea too. I tried to swallow, but my throat froze up. Chelsea too.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m still here.” Milt’s voice edged. “He doesn’t know we’re following. We’ve stayed back far enough. We know where he’s going anyway.” He gripped the dashboard. “No, we didn’t see his face! But it’s his house we’re headed to, and we know Orwin Neese doesn’t have Kelly.” He jerked the phone from his ear and cursed.

  “Did they hang up?” Steven’s eyes widened.

  “No, they just ask the dumbest questions to keep you on the line.” Milt smacked the phone against his head again. “Listen, if you — ” His words cut short. He leaned forward. “What?”

  The way his back tensed. Oh, God, what’s happening?

  “Have they been through the house?” Milt half turned in his seat, held up his index finger. “And?” He listened, frowning. “No kidding, tell us something new.” He yanked down the phone again. Looked at me. “She just got word they stormed the house on Boyle Road. Neese was shot. Kelly’s not there.”

  I sucked in a breath.

  “Look.” Bill pointed ahead. “I see a chimney over the hill.”

  “It’s got to be Burns’s house.” Milt spat words into the cell phone. “We’re almost there. We’re going in. You guys better get here fast. And keep your sirens off!”

  We parked and jumped out. My brain went on hold, hovering on some other plane. I could not believe what we were doing, even as Jenna and I pulled our guns from our purses, Stephen and the men snatched the pieces of wood from the trunk. “Take your camera,” I heard Milt tell Bill, but the reality of his words didn’t register.

  The next thing I knew, we were sneak-sprinting toward the massive estate owned by Ryan Burns.

  Chapter 69

  Chelsea’s eyes fought to adjust to the dim light. The room smelled of dust and thickness and terror. She pulled her gaze away from the man’s face — and locked on to a dirty oval pane of glass.

  The window in her vision.

  Air sputtered in Chelsea’s throat. She knew what was coming. Every word, every movement. Had known it since Annie received that last phone call. Th
e vision now become reality.

  Her reality.

  God, save us.

  “Little-known fact about spiders.” The man spoke in his raspy whisper. “Some can’t even bite humans. Their jaws are too weak. And then there are the deadly ones . . .” He chuckled. “The trick is telling them apart.”

  Kelly shuddered.

  “Hey, don’t be moving down there.” He poured sincerity into the words. “They’re all around you.”

  He snapped on the bulb, filtering red light into the darkened room. Chelsea’s gaze fixed on Kelly, the girl’s head on her knees, her feet bare. Chelsea raised her eyes, took in the crawling bodies — on the walls, the shelves, in the corner. Dizziness washed through her. Breathe.

  “They won’t hurt you if you leave them alone.” He stepped forward slowly, careful not to crush any of the spiders. “Most of ’em aren’t out to get you. In fact, some are pretty shy. But if you scare one, like put your hand down on him, well, what do you expect?”

  Chelsea focused on his shoe, air wheezing in her throat.

  “The harmless ones bite, and you may not even feel it.” He took another step. “Others sting like crazy, but their venom isn’t toxic. I have quite a few in here, though — ” he laughed — “whose bites are something else. After a while your skin swells and feels real tender. The wound fills with pus, and you end up with a gaping hole. You’ll need a doctor. Unfortunately, I won’t be bringing you one.”

  He reached down, stroked the back of a large brown spider. Chelsea shivered. “This is a hobo spider. Lots of people mistake them for the brown recluse.”

  Chelsea’s skin began to crinkle and crawl.

  “Only problem, the poor hobos get trapped in other spiders’ webs and are gobbled up, ’cause their own webs aren’t sticky. They can’t walk on that stuff. So I have to keep replacing them.”

  He pulled the bottle from his pocket. “Now this one —see that pile of sand in the corner? It belongs to him. Cool-looking dude, huh? Like I said, one of the world’s deadliest. The funnel web, from Australia. Atrax Robustus, if you want to get technical. When he bites, he rears way up on his hind legs ’cause his fangs only strike down. Things are seven millimeters long. Look at the venom oozing off of ’em.”