Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher

by Cynthia Eden

  He’d handcuffed her. The cabin was stocked with duct tape, handcuffs, and knives. Walker had planned out this moment, and now she knew he was going to kill her.

  He’d thrust her into a chair, yanked her handcuffed hands behind her, and duct-taped her ankles to the wobbly chair legs. The only light in the old cabin came from a lantern near his feet. His shirt had a dark shadow sweeping over it—his blood, not that he seemed to care he was bleeding.

  He barely seemed to notice his wound. He was too fixated on her.

  “I want to take my time with you.” His words were whispered and made the goose bumps on her arms rise even more. “I thought about you…” He picked up a knife. The guy had a whole set of knives, just waiting. “Thought all about what I’d do to you…”

  “The cops are searching for me now!” Lauren yelled. She wasn’t going to beg him. Wouldn’t give him that pleasure. “You’re about to find yourself tossed back into a cage again, only you won’t ever escape this time! You’ll be in for life, you’ll—”

  He pressed the tip of the knife against her cheek. It sliced into her, and she felt the wet roll of blood on her skin, heavier and warmer than a teardrop could ever be.

  “Do I want to start with your face?” Walker asked musingly. “Or your body?”

  Don’t beg. Don’t cry. She wouldn’t, no matter what happened. “What the hell happened to you, Walker? How did you wind up this way? You had a normal home, good parents…” She’d done her research. He’d had a great home life, even parents who’d sent him to therapy once they’re realized their boy was…different. The therapist had signed off on Jon after awhile, saying the guy was fine. Perfect mental health. Bullshit. The guy had just been a good actor, perfect at pretending there wasn’t a monster inside of him. “Why the hell are you like this?”

  He smiled at her, and the sight nearly stopped her heartbeat. Jon Walker was a handsome man, almost boyish in appearance. He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like any southern boy—a guy who spent his time chasing women and cheering for his football team.

  The guy had even played quarterback in his high school days. Been the freaking prom king.

  Now he was…this?

  “I had to be shown my true calling,” he said. The tip of the knife lifted from her cheek but she didn’t take a relieved breath. She was too worried about where that knife would go next. “I was lost, until he found me.”

  He?

  Walker’s eyes narrowed on her and even through the shadows, she could see the hate that hardened the faint lines on his face. “You sent me away.”

  “Because you killed! You cut up women—you tossed their bodies away like garbage! You deserved to be in jail!” She actually thought the guy deserved to rot in hell, but she managed to bite that part back. The knife was far too close for that kind of outburst.

  “You took me away…” Now the knife was on her arm, and this time, the slice was deep. She bit into her lower lip, sinking her teeth into it even as the blade sliced into her arm. The blood wasn’t like a teardrop this time. Instead, it pulsed out, hot and heavy. “You took me away from what I needed most.”

  “You did that to yourself when you…” Oh, it hurt… “Decided to…kill…”

  The blade came out of her arm on a slow, bloody, painful glide.

  “I stared at your picture. Thought of all the things I was going to do to you…” The bloody knife’s tip slid over her shirt, just above her breast. “Before I’m through, you’re gonna look like a jigsaw puzzle.”

  She nearly vomited.

  He was bent over her. So close. She let her head sag forward as if she were afraid. He came even closer, laughing at her fear.

  She jerked up her head, catching him in the chin. Ramming into him. Swearing, he stumbled back. She twisted her body, and the chair crashed to the floor.

  “Fuckin’ bitch!”

  She’d hoped the chair would break when she fell. It hadn’t. And now the knife was at her throat.

  Lauren froze.

  “You think you’re so fuckin’ brave, don’t you?”

  No, she didn’t. She was so scared she couldn’t even speak. One slice, and he’d cut open her jugular. She’d be dead. She’d bleed out on the dirty floor, and every dream she’d ever had would be over.

  “Do you think…” The blade nicked her throat. Just a nick. He was taunting her. “Do you think your sister was so brave?”

  Lauren’s gaze flew up to him.

  “I know,” he whispered and he was smiling. “All those secrets you carry…I know.”

  She tried to jerk her legs free of the duct tape. Her shoulders were burning because her arms were pinned behind her, but she had to get free.

  “Jennifer Chandler…they never found her, did they?” She’d broken his nose with her head butt and blood dripped down into his grin. “Not that there was much left to find of dear Jenny…”

  “Shut up!” The scream tore from her, making her throat feel raw. She ignored the pain. Rage was pumping through her blood and pushing every other feeling away. “Stop!”

  “That’s what Jenny said, too. She was crying, begging…”

  No, it wasn’t possible. He was just trying to make her break. Trying to hurt her more. There was no way Walker had killed her sister.

  Was there?

  Walker’s first victim had been Beth Loxley, a freshman at LSU. She’d been the first reported missing, the first they’d tied to the Bayou Butcher.

  The first…

  “I watched Jenny. At first, she had hope. Then the knife sliced her…” He touched Lauren’s cheek. “This was the first cut for her, too.”

  No.

  She didn’t realize she’d screamed the word.

  “It took her awhile to die. We didn’t know what we were doing then…”

  Lauren stopped screaming. We. She stared at him with horror, a sick knot in her gut.

  He leaned his head toward hers as if confiding a secret. “Bet I could find what’s left of her. Just bones now. We buried her…cut her up and buried her…” He gave a nod. “Just like we’ll do to you.”

  Lauren couldn’t breathe. Walker was behind her sister’s murder? But Walker would have just been a kid then…

  Just like Jenny had been a kid. Sixteen years old.

  Lauren stared up into his eyes and saw madness.

  “It’s so funny. She kept mentioning you at the end, saying that she had to pick you up. ‘Laurie’s gonna be late for piano…Laurie’s gonna be late for piano…’” He mimicked. “Like the bitch didn’t have more to worry about.”

  There was no more pain. Even the rage was gone. Lauren was too numb, her whole body encased in ice. This couldn’t be happening. Her sister?

  She started to hear a faint ringing.

  Only the ringing wasn’t coming from her and her dulled senses.

  Walker swore and jumped back. As she watched, he rummaged in a backpack near him. She tried to twist her head so that she could see him better, but he was too far away. He’d grabbed a phone and scurried back.

  She couldn’t see him clearly. If she couldn’t see him…then he can’t see me.

  She yanked her legs up and down, again and again, trying to break the chair legs.

  “What? What the hell are you saying? I’ve got her!” Walker was yelling at someone on the phone.

  She felt the wood begin to crack. Yes. She kicked again. Again.

  “I want to kill her! We were going to kill her!”

  Her legs were free. Her heart slammed into her chest.

  “Fuck!” Walker’s roar. It was the sound of a man who’d just lost control.

  This was her chance. If she didn’t get away now, Lauren knew she was dead. She threw her body to the side, her shoulder popped, but the numbness stopped any pain. So much numbness. Then she was on her feet. Her hands were still cuffed behind her, but she ran for the door.

  He was screaming. Yelling. So was she.

  Lauren had to get the door open. Had to get her f
reedom. But her hands were behind her, and it was so hard to twist the knob.

  He grabbed her. Shoved her against the wall. “I’m not finished with you.”

  The one image that flashed through her mind, obliterating the sight of Walker’s bloody visage—it wasn’t Jenny’s face. The face that had haunted her for so long.

  It was Anthony’s.

  Her chance at life, and it had passed her by. Anthony would find her, she knew that. Eventually, he’d find what was left of her body. He wouldn’t leave her in the swamp.

  As she’d left Jenny?

  “We’re not even close to finished…” His breath heaved. “But playtime has to wait until he can join us.”

  Hope nearly broke her heart.

  “I’ve got to get the fuck out of here.” He locked his fingers around her chin. “See you again real soon…” Then he slammed her head back into the wood behind her, slammed it so hard that she saw nothing but darkness and never even felt the floor as she fell.

  Anthony ran even faster when he finally caught sight of the cabin just up ahead. They’d lost the blood trail, and Wesley had taken them down the wrong path as they tried to find the cabin in the dark. Every lost second had been like a knife slicing into Anthony’s skin.

  He’s hurting her. She could be dying.

  While Anthony dicked around in the dark.

  “Hell, yes!” Wesley shouted out. He’d been briefly separated from Wesley as they both frantically tried to find the old path that would lead them to this place, but now both men ran forward, coming from two different angles.

  The cabin was dark. It looked abandoned. Don’t be. Lauren had to be inside.

  Anthony reached the door first. He threw it open and hurried inside with his flashlight positioned above his gun so that he could take the shot he needed.

  A shot that would kill the Bayou Butcher.

  The light fell on a broken chair. Some pieces of duct tape. A row of knives.

  A groan came from behind the door. He yanked the door back, nearly hitting Wesley with it, and there she was. Slumped on the floor, her hair a heavy curtain around her face, blood soaking her clothes.

  “Lauren?” His voice was a stark whisper. He fell to his knees next to her. With shaking hands, Anthony pulled her into his arms. Her blood smeared over him, and he just held her tighter. “An ambulance!” he barked over his shoulder to Wesley. “She needs to get to a hospital, now!” He lifted her into his arms, not about to let her go. Her head sagged back, her eyes were still closed. There was a cut on her cheek. A long, thin slice.

  And so much more blood on her arm and shirt.

  “I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered as he pressed a kiss to her head. “I’ve got you.” She wasn’t ever going to get away from him again.

  Wesley was calling for the ambulance, demanding that they get some EMTs or a chopper out there freaking yesterday as Anthony carried Lauren out of that cabin.

  “Baby?” His hold tightened on her. “Please, open your eyes, look at me.”

  But she wasn’t looking at him. Lauren was out cold, and the fear in his gut was just getting worse with every second that passed.

  Jon ran through the woods as fast as he could. His side ached where the bitch had stabbed him. He’d wanted to pay her back for that.

  He’d wanted to pay her back for so much.

  But the marshal had been closing in. The phone call had come just in time.

  I won’t go back in a cage again.

  His feet pounded over the earth. He knew how to hide his trail, but there wasn’t time for that now. Blood would be dripping from his wound—dogs would follow the blood. If the marshal didn’t already have a dog tracking after him, he would soon.

  He knew how men like Ross worked. They didn’t stop. Not until they’d run down their prey. Jon knew, because he was just like that, too.

  He raced onto the old dock. The wood trembled beneath his feet. The boat was there. A motorboat, but he wouldn’t use the motor, not yet. Sound traveled easily in the woods. He jumped into the boat, untied it, and grabbed for the oars.

  Going out on the water would buy him time. The dogs would lose him at the water, and if he got to the meeting point, his ride would be waiting. He’d get out of there, and the marshal wouldn’t know what the hell was happening.

  Then he’d have another chance with Lauren Chandler. Lauren would finish the circle, a perfect ending to a new life that had begun twenty years ago. He’d just have to be more careful. They would have to be more careful. Lauren couldn’t be protected, not always, and there would come a time when the marshal slipped up, when the uniformed cops weren’t watching.

  Lauren would be his chance to prove he was the one in charge. The one with all the power.

  Lauren would have nothing but death.

  It was dawn. Cadence stood on the small dock at Rattlesnake Bayou, her gaze on the body that had been dumped like garbage.

  Helen Lynch, Steve’s ex-wife.

  “She’s been dead awhile,” the ME said as he bent near the body. “Lividity has set in.”

  “Give us a time frame,” Kyle McKenzie said as he waited near Cadence’s side. She could feel the tension rolling off her partner’s body.

  He’d thought they would find Helen alive. Kyle, always the hopeful one.

  She’d known better.

  If the Bayou Butcher had really taken her, as he’d told Steve, she’d known Helen was dead. The Butcher didn’t trade. He just killed. And after being locked away from his preferred prey for so long…

  Walker knew he’d kill her from the moment he took her.

  Greg tilted his head as he studied the body. “I’d say at least twelve hours.”

  Long before Lynch had played willing sacrifice and brought Lauren into Walker’s web.

  “He didn’t kill her here,” Cadence murmured. That was obvious. There wasn’t enough blood at the scene. Not enough to match all of the deep, horrible cuts on Helen’s body. The Butcher. He’d earned that name for a reason.

  Killers seemed to be getting more twisted every day.

  To think, once upon a time, she’d lived without knowing about these monsters.

  Now she saw them everywhere.

  Cadence looked up and found Kyle’s hard stare on her.

  “He’s getting his payback. Lauren, the judge, Steve.” He expelled on a long sigh. “Hell, even Karen was part of the reason the guy ended up in jail. She was an investigator on the case.”

  The attacks weren’t going to stop, either. She knew that. Normally, a serial killer had a dormant period between his hunts. The kill itself almost calmed or controlled him. There was no control for the Butcher. What he was doing—hell, he was beyond anything she’d seen before. “We need to make sure all of the jurors have protection.” Those still in the immediate area would need a police watch. Those who’d moved away would need to be on guard.

  But the guy might not just be targeting jurors. He could be targeting cops who’d worked on his case years before. Witnesses. The families of his victims. Just how much revenge would he want?

  She had to learn more about him. Had to work up her own profile on him, and not just go by the work another agent had done five years ago.

  “How the hell is he doing this?” Kyle demanded as he jerked a hand through his hair. “He should have no resources. He should have been fighting to survive!”

  The ME was putting small plastic bags over Helen Lynch’s hands. Trying to preserve evidence. I hope you fought him, Helen. I hope you hurt the bastard before you died.

  “Walker grew up running through these swamps,” Cadence murmured. “He knows the area back and forth. He can use the land, the water—he can hide from us out here, and he knows it.”

  “But he had to go into the city to get Helen,” Kyle pointed out. “He went into the city for Karen, for the attack at the judge’s office…”

  That was a whole lot of back-and-forth activity. Too much for one man? The new profile she’d been working up
on this case said—yes, hell, yes. Cadence didn’t think they were just looking for one killer.

  She pulled out her phone and called Ross. He’d need to know about Helen’s death.

  He answered on the second ring, and she could hear a hospital intercom sounding behind him. “Ross.” He sounded distracted, worried.

  She turned away from the scene. “We found Helen Lynch.”

  “Hell.” He understood. Ross wasn’t new to the game. “How long ago did he kill her?”

  She took a few steps away, distancing herself from Greg and Kyle. “The ME says at least twelve hours.”

  “Dammit. I knew this would happen. Steve Lynch should have come to us. We could have helped him.”

  There would be no help now. Lynch was being held at the PD. Someone would have to give him the news about his ex-wife.

  “How’s your DA?” The wording was deliberate. She’d seen the way those two looked at each other. Lauren was definitely Ross’s, and the rage he had to be feeling after Lauren’s attack…

  “She’s gonna make it.” There was rage biting through his voice. “I am tired of this bastard screwing with us.”

  So was she. “I have to come and see Lauren. I need to talk to her.” There were questions only Lauren could answer. She’d see Lauren, then she’d pay a visit to Steve Lynch. But first, she ordered, “We need to up the guards on Judge Hamilton.” She’d talk to the police captain about that when she got back to the station. “Are you staying with Lauren?” She knew the answer, but asked anyway.

  “She won’t leave my sight.”

  The hospital’s intercom sounded in the background as a doctor was paged.

  “If I learn anything else, I’ll get back to you,” she said and ended the call.

  Helplessly, she turned back to the victim. Helen Lynch was in her early thirties, with dark-brown hair. Her eyes had been opened in death, a deliberate move, and her lips were pressed tightly closed. The neck bore the same morbid grin—a deep slice right across her throat. The blood had stained the skin there.

  She had to ask, “Did he leave us another message?”