Wild Angel

by Shari Copell

  Stone was waiting for her on the small covered porch. The chef’s apron he wore was stained with dots and splashes of spaghetti sauce. “I thought you’d never get here,” he said, opening his arms to her. “Happy birthday, my love.”

  “Got here as fast as I could. I couldn’t wait for the day to end.” She ran up the steps and into his arms. “And thanks.”

  He held her tightly as a relieved sigh escaped him. “I don’t know what it is about seeing you that unlocks my chest. I barely took a breath all day.”

  “I couldn’t stop thinking of you either. I’m dying to see this clean apartment of yours.”

  He swept an arm toward the front door. “Come in then, and I’ll give you the tour.”

  It was a large apartment for one person—neat, but showing its age in the crushed and stained brown carpet and various black marks on the walls. The living room was just inside the door. A dark brown couch sat in front of a large, flat-screen TV. As expected, there was a lot of stereo equipment on black metal shelving along one wall. Beside the shelving, on the left, stood two oak bookcases full of CDs and DVDs.

  The back half of the apartment held two bedrooms, with the smaller bedroom used for storing guitars and band equipment. A small bathroom was situated off the kitchen. There was plenty of cupboard space in the gray-and-red kitchen, though the small glass-top dinette was crowded into one corner. It was more than adequate for a single guy.

  “This is nice, Stone. I don’t know why you didn’t want to show it to me the Saturday we played at the Point.” She bent to check out the titles of the thousands of CDs on the bookshelf. Led Zeppelin, Van Halen, Poison, Whitesnake, Rush.

  It was a shame that most guitarists, no matter how old they were, were trapped in the seventies and eighties, when the metal guitar gods reigned supreme. Everyone had their musical opinions of course, but she thought it was really the last time anyone made music worth listening to.

  “Because it was a pigsty. And I mean this apartment was on the verge of being incompatible with sustaining human life. Your room is so neat and clean. I didn’t want to ruin any favorable opinions you might’ve had of me.”

  “Not a chance. It was nice of you to care what I thought though. Are you going to show me your bedroom?” Nicks gestured toward the closed door at the end of the hallway.

  “Later. That’s a special surprise.”

  “I see. Well, you did a great job. The trick is to clean it before it gets that cruddy. Do a little bit on a weekly basis.”

  “I’m a guy. And a musician. I don’t have time to clean. Hey, are you hungry?”

  “Starving. And the lasagna smells delicious.”

  “A-ha! I didn’t make lasagna. I made meat-and-cheese stuffed shells instead.”

  “That sounds even better.”

  “We’ll eat first, if you don’t mind. I have wine chilling, salad, and fresh bread. All I have to do is set the table.”

  “Awesome.” Nicks held out her hand. “C’mon then. I’ll help you.”

  Nicks didn’t know it, but this was a momentous occasion for Stone. He rarely brought women to his apartment. He didn’t want any of his casual dates to see where he lived.

  She truly had been starving. He’d never seen such a small woman eat so much food at one sitting. And he had to admit, he’d done a pretty good job with the shells.

  They took their time eating, talking over the events of the past week. It was now fully dark, going on six o’clock. And he knew the best was yet to come.

  “This is delicious.” She scooped a pile of shells into the center of her plate. “I can already see which one of us will be the cook in this relationship.”

  This relationship. Those two words sent his heart soaring. That’s what it was. After many false starts, he’d finally found the real thing.

  “I like to cook, though I’m kind of a one-trick-pony with the few Italian dishes I’m good at. I’m a fast learner though. Do you have a favorite dish?” he asked.

  “Belgian waffles for breakfast, topped with strawberries and whipped cream, though I’ll occasionally use maple syrup. Had one for my birthday this morning, actually. Otherwise, I’d have to say home-made chicken noodle soup. And that’s not hard at all. Even I can make chicken soup.”

  He nodded. “We’ll have that the next time I cook for you then. And I’ll see about getting a waffle maker.”

  “You don’t have to buy anything special for me.”

  “Yes, I do.” He paused, took a big gulp of wine, and set the glass down. “I dream of waking up next to you in the morning. Of looking into that beautiful face of yours all the time. I want to serve you Belgian waffles for breakfast. I don’t know what your plans for the future are, but I’ve been wondering if you’d want to move in—”

  Her phone went off on the table. She winced and picked it up. “Sorry.” She glanced at the screen. “It’s my mom. She promised not to call unless it was important. I have to take this.”

  “Not a problem.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin as she walked into the next room. Though disappointed to be interrupted just as he was going to ask if she wanted to move in with him, he couldn’t be mad if the call truly was important.

  He could hear enough of the conversation to know something serious had happened. “No way. Really?” she said.

  He frowned as a large clap of thunder rattled the windows, hoping it wasn’t a bad omen. He had awesome plans for the rest of the night.

  She came back after a few minutes and flopped into the chair with a sigh. He got the feeling those plans would have to wait.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Oh God, you’re not going to believe this. Mom was planning to take T.J. and Lindsay trick-or-treating tonight. But there’s a storm bearing down on Pittsburgh as we speak—complete with tornado warnings—and T.J. is terrified of thunderstorms. Lindsay called Mom freaking out because it’s storming at the house, and T.J. is downstairs screaming his head off. Lindsay’s afraid to go down and check on him. Honestly, he puts a fire siren to shame when he gets started. Mom and Dad tried to leave Tapestries early and go home, but all four tires on the Avalanche are flat. Dad only had one spare. It wouldn’t matter if he had four anyway, because Mom wouldn’t let him put them on in the storms that are coming. Long story, short: flatbed tow truck and Marybeth are on the way to the bar. Tow truck for the Avalanche. Marybeth to drive my parents home.”

  “All four tires on that big truck are flat? How did that happen?”

  “They don’t know yet. They tried to pull out of the parking lot and couldn’t. It was too dark to see, and Daddy couldn’t find a flashlight that worked. Mom said he was extremely unhappy. I could hear him swearing in the background.”

  “What does that mean for us tonight then?” He knew what it meant but thought he’d ask anyway.

  “She asked if I would go home and stay with T.J. until they could get there. I told her I would. He’s really terrified of storms, and he usually wants me to hold him when we have one. Since my car is functional, it makes sense for me to run home while they sort out the issues they’re having with the truck. I’m sorry. I was really looking forward to tonight.”

  “I’m coming with you.” He rose from the table. “May I have your keys?”

  “I’m perfectly capable of—”

  “I understand that, but I’m coming with you anyway. If we can get the situation with T.J. under control until they get home, maybe you can come back here tonight.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  They drove right into the storm that was barreling through Pittsburgh. The sky had darkened ominously. Lightning seemed to be all around them, the thunder so loud Nicks could feel it in her chest. All she could think of was how terrified T.J. must be.

  “I know you’re going as fast as you can, but T.J. is probably shitting his pants right now. And I’m shitting my pants because I know he’s scared. Can you go faster?” She leaned forward and peered out the windshield just in time to see a jagged fork of
lightning split the sky. A boom of thunder sounded a split second later.

  Stone had the windshield wipers of her Mustang going as fast as they would go, but the rain was coming down in wind-blown torrents, blurring everything in front of them. She could barely see past the hood of the car.

  “I’m doing my best. Can you call Lindsay and tell her we’re coming? Maybe if T.J. knows we’re on our way, he’ll calm down.”

  “Good idea.” She searched for the home icon on her phone and pushed send. The phone sounded as though it were going to connect then shut off with a click. She tried several more times, to no avail.

  “No good. Either the towers are down, or the rain is blocking the signal.” She leaned forward and looked out the windshield again. It was raining so hard it looked like they were under water.

  The Emergency Broadcast System tones came across the radio. She gave Stone a distressed look. Could things possibly get any worse? When she heard the tornado warning for Allegheny County, she realized they just had.

  “I can’t see three feet in front of my face,” growled Stone. “I don’t want to wreck your new car.”

  She didn’t want that either. Nor did she want to be picked up in a whirling vortex they couldn’t see and launched into the air. She wanted to be home. “I know. Do the best you can.”

  “There’s the Dairy Queen, so we aren’t more than a half mile away,” Stone said. “Try your phone again.”

  The rain was now mixed with marble-sized hail. She did as he asked though she knew she’d get nothing. It was worse than nothing—she couldn’t even get a dial tone now. “Nope. Sorry.”

  “Goddamnit.” Stone blew out a breath of frustration.

  She jumped when her phone rang once. It was a call from home, disconnected before she could answer. “Oh, God. That poor little guy.”

  “Turning onto Torvil Street right now. Hold on, baby. Almost there…”

  Nicks felt nothing but relief when the stone façade of 948 Torvil Street in Oakland, Pennsylvania came into view.

  Chelsea tried to fight the dread that was growing inside her. Tage sat in the front seat of Marybeth’s car, soaked to the bone, and asking all the questions that swirled ominously through her mind. And swearing a blue streak, which was uncharacteristic of him.

  “All four fucking tires, Marybeth. Not one. Not two. The son-of-a-bitch who did this cut all four!” He held up four fingers in front of the woman’s face, though she was doing her best to concentrate on driving through the pounding rain.

  “I heard you the first nine times, boss. Getting louder and adding visuals isn’t going to help.” Marybeth hunched over and white-knuckled the steering wheel with both hands.

  “Who would’ve done that? Who? This is the last fucking straw, I can tell you that. I’m having surveillance cameras installed all over Tapestries. Inside and out. Nicks’s car and now my truck. Fucking assholes who don’t have anything better to do than destroy someone else’s property.”

  Chelsea’s cell phone rang once. It disconnected so fast she didn’t have time to see who it was.

  Checking “Missed Calls” indicated it’d been from home. She sat forward and glanced at Marybeth in the rearview mirror. “I don’t want to make this day worse for you by wrecking your car, but can you speed it up a bit?”

  “Doing my best, Chels.”

  Call it a woman’s intuition, call it whatever you wanted. Something was wrong.

  Chelsea had given Nicks the garage door opener from her Lexus until they could get a replacement for the one that had burnt in the Cobalt. Her mother and father did most things together anyway. The Lexus usually sat in the garage from one week to the next without moving.

  Nicks had to push the button a couple of times before the garage door began to open. The rain had abated somewhat, but was still coming down in wind-blown sheets. Stone didn’t wait for the door to go all the way up. He leapt from the car and charged into the garage toward the kitchen door.

  “Hold your horses, Jensen,” she grumbled as she watched him sprint across the driveway. She hated rain. She was going to be soaked, but the sooner she had T.J. in her arms, the better she’d feel.

  She saw the garage door into the kitchen open and close. Good. Stone was in. Truthfully, T.J. liked him just as well.

  Time to go, chicken shit. She threw the car door open and dashed toward the open garage, getting thoroughly soaked on the way in.

  Skirting along the side of the Lexus, she called out to T.J. “Hold on, buddy! I’m coming.” She was moving fast when she hit the door, so fast she found herself standing in the middle of the kitchen…

  …staring at Stone lying face down on the floor.

  “Stone?” She blinked several times then lifted her gaze to a number of things that shouldn’t have been in the Sorenson house.

  Someone—tall, though she couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman—in a long, black trench coat and a Bozo-the-Clown mask faced her from in front of the stove.

  Lindsay was handcuffed and gagged, on her knees in front of the door to the basement. She was wearing the sexy fairy costume, but the bra was missing, leaving her exposed. She was hunched over and sobbing pitifully beneath the gag.

  Her first thought was Emily, but why would she hurt Stone?

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  The clown just stared.

  “What are you doing here? Why did you hurt Stone? And what the hell are you planning to do with my sister?”

  Nothing but silence.

  “Answer me, you fucker!” Nicks curled her hands into fists and took a step forward.

  That one step revealed T.J. lying on the other side of the dinette table, his head and shoulders squarely in the middle of a puddle of bright red blood.

  “Oh my God! T.J.!” She ran toward her brother, but the clown stepped in front of her, blocking her path just as Seth had done in the school parking lot. He held a knife in one hand and a club in the other.

  Nicks started to shake. Seth had come to finish what he’d started on Friday. Only he wasn’t taking no for an answer this time.

  “Please, Seth. They’re just little kids.” Her mind churned, trying to think of something to say. She had to persuade him to drop the weapons so she could call an ambulance. “You don’t want to hurt them.”

  Seth took one step forward, tightening his grip on the knife and club. “Close the door,” he said gruffly.

  If it was Seth, he had one hell of a cold. She turned slowly and did as he commanded. “There. Closed.” She raised her hands in the air, trying to come across as submissive until she figured out what to do.

  “This isn’t necessary, Seth. Let me make sure Stone and T.J. are okay, then we can talk about this. Yes?” She arched her eyebrows hopefully.

  The clown’s head cocked to one side. “Seth? Is that another one of your lovers, Miss Sorenson?”

  Horror stole every coherent thought. “Oh. My. God,” she whispered slowly. “You.”

  Locking her knees in an attempt to stay upright, she allowed a name cross her lips, praying to God it wasn’t...

  “Mr.…Marius?”

  “Did you think I’d let you get away with your bad behavior, Miss Sorenson? Did your father think he scared me with his little display of temper that day in my office?” He laughed. “Oh my, no. There are things far more frightening out there than your father, my dear. You will see and feel some of them tonight.”

  She held her breath and stared at that horrific clown mask. He’d come to punish her, but what the hell was he planning to do with Lindsay?

  Marius reached up and pulled the mask off. “I didn’t realize you had such a lovely sister, Miss Sorenson. Just budding into womanhood. Sweet little thing. Soft all over. Pretty blond hair. I like the blondes.”

  Bile rose up in the back of Nicks’s throat. “You wouldn’t…you can’t…”

  He gave her a sinister smile. “Who’s going to stop me? Not your parents. I’m afraid they’re dealing with the tires on your
father’s truck as we speak. I’ve killed your brother and your boyfriend, so no help there. Mr. Jensen’s head made the most wonderful crunching noise when I smashed it with the club. I do love killing worthless people by bashing them in the head like that.”

  She shook her head slowly as she stared at him. The tires. He’d cut the fucking tires on the Avalanche.

  And it sounded as though he’d killed before.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to take you away and teach you a lesson, Miss Sorenson.”

  She swallowed hard. “Okay, fine. Let me call an ambulance first. And you’ll leave my sister here, right?”

  “Of course not. Not now that I’ve seen her.” Marius bent over and snatched the car keys that lay near Stone’s left hand. “We’re going to have so much fun tonight. I’m going to take both of you to a special place, the place where I take them all for punishment. You will drop to your knees, Miss Sorenson, and put your hands behind your back.” He unzipped the trench coat and sheathed the knife. Reaching into another coat pocket, he withdrew a pair of handcuffs and jangled them in front of her.

  Yeah, going to her knees and letting him handcuff her was a shitty idea. She wouldn’t be able to fight then, wouldn’t be able to call someone to help Stone and T.J. She and Lindsay would be completely at his mercy. But how would she ever get away with refusing him?

  “Knees, Miss Sorenson, and not a sound, or I will cave your sister’s head in as well. It will pain me to do it, but I will.”

  A small trickle of blood had begun to seep from beneath Stone’s head. T.J.’s hair and T- shirt were soaked with it. She was sure they were dead. And if she resisted, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Lindsay right in front of her.

  Reality began to penetrate into her muddled brain. None of them could’ve foreseen this. Marius’s goal had been to punish her, but the confrontation he’d had with her father had pushed him over the edge into madness. Her death would be the exclamation point to a run-on sentence of torture tonight. But what would he do with Lindsay after he killed her?