The Collector (Emergence Book 1)

by Kelly Lynn Colby

  “Shit,” I yelled as loud as I could. “Why are you doing this?”

  Phil’s eyes shown with madness. “Let me show you.”

  He flattened a hand just above the draining wound.

  My fingertips tingled with joy that washed over the pain, floating on top like an oil slick. Just like I couldn’t help yelling from the pain, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. My mind was on fire with the dichotomy of the two opposite emotions.

  Phil’s deeper laugh joined mine like we were at some sort of seriously sick comedy club. “That’s why.”

  He let me go to pull up a chair by the bed. The burning pain on my stomach flashed back with a vengeance, almost like he’d cut me again.

  “Goddammit.” My body tried to curl into a fetal position until the bindings did their job. My helplessness burst in the form of tears.

  Perched in his chair like a vulture waiting for his dinner to draw its last breath, Phil smeared blood across the brown, turning my stomach into a weird purplish hue. I wouldn’t be able to look at that color the same way again.

  Even with just the tip of his finger brushing my skin, I felt his happiness at my pain.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked.

  He cocked his head at me like it was the dumbest question anyone had ever asked. “We Americans are supposed to pursue happiness. I followed all the rules. I married the prom queen, and felt nothing. I built a real estate empire and became the fifth wealthiest man in Houston. Not a single genuine smile.”

  He wiped his fingers on a white towel.

  “When the legal things didn’t work, I tried all the other things. Alcohol, cocaine, mistresses. Not a single hit or single conquest did a thing to move my happiness meter.”

  I giggled again as he rubbed iodine on the top of my foot. Despite my horror at everything he confessed and the realization that he was about to carve up my foot, I couldn’t stop the absorption of his joy. The sick bastard really did feel happy as he caused me pain.

  I wanted to say something pithy to distract him or get him to change the topic, but between the pain and the fear and the glee, I couldn’t form any words. Too bad I hadn’t drained that bottle of bourbon.

  “Until one of those mistresses betrayed me. She was going to tell my wife. Some little whore, with no value in this world, thought she could take power from me.” He flashed the blade with the lighter again. This time I smelled copper as my blood burned with the alcohol.

  “I killed her in a rage. I sat at the kitchen table for an hour, watching her bleed out and I felt something new, something novel, but I didn’t know what it was.” Phil brought his gaze up to mine. Sharks looked like fuzzy bunny rabbits compared to the cold calculation in this psychopath’s eyes.

  Then a twinkle hit the corner, and the left side of his mouth angled up. “Let’s try something new.”

  He grabbed my ankle with one hand. Calm washed through me, like a coffee palate cleanser before sniffing more candles. As the knife blade approached the top of my foot, adrenaline fueled panic chased away the calm. This time as he sliced through me, I felt the unrelenting metal against my peeling skin. My breathing intensified in quick bursts which only aggravated the gash in my stomach.

  Yet, mingled within the torture was a sense of enjoyment, pure glee at his power over me. I sucked in a painful breath, then exhaled a laugh. And then did it again. Everything was so intense that I couldn’t tell where my emotions began and Phil’s ended.

  Then Phil let go and laughed with genuine joy.

  All confusion fled as every nerve in my body screamed. I could feel the still oozing cut on my stomach, the freely flowing new wound on my foot, the ropes squeezing my ankles and wrists, the pea under the damn mattress. My mind couldn’t separate one complaint from another and made them all urgent.

  “You see, the Collector tried to blackmail me for what happened to that woman.” He twirled the small knife in his hand, and I half expected him to lick the blood off. “Of course, I couldn’t allow it. Somehow, he read my emotions and laughed. That’s when I knew that weird thing I was feeling was happiness. I finally found happiness. And all I needed were people like you to show it to me.”

  I had to do something. Helpless was not a state I could tolerate. “Detective Flores is going to find you. You should just let me go now and run for it.”

  “Won’t happen. I’m very good at hiding, but just in case you think about running…” Without his prior dramatic anticipation, Phil jammed the knife into my foot.

  My adrenaline had run out leaving me with no buffer to the agony that flared and traveled up my leg. It felt like he’d severed the limb, as the warmth of my own blood gushed under my calf. He twisted the knife and my mind flashed white, then black.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  When I regained consciousness, it was dark; so I couldn’t tell how long I’d been out. My stomach was sore, but somehow tight. I looked down to see a suture Band-Aid closing the clotted wound. He hadn’t tended to any of his other victims. He really did want to take his time. How could I tolerate another torture session, let alone many?

  I had to get out of here. If I could even walk on my brick of a foot.

  The limb he stabbed was completely numb. I was afraid if I attempted to move it, the agony would return and I needed a clear head. The foot was wrapped in layers of gauze, maybe too tightly, which is why it was numb. Blood had soaked through some of the layers, for the top one looked pinkish brown.

  More surprisingly, my legs were no longer tied to the end of the bed. I guess Phil figured I wasn’t mobile enough to offer a threat of escape. Unfortunately, my hands were still fastened to the headboard. I worked on those ropes, but they held tight.

  I did, however, spot a cell phone sitting on the side table. As I stretched my fingers toward my hope of rescue, my foot shifted, and an involuntary gasp escaped my lips at the pain.

  “You’re awake.” Phil’s voice sounded chipper. It was creepy, especially when I didn’t know he was in the room. How did I not sense him?

  “You bound my wounds.” It was the only thing I could think of to say. I wanted to get that cell phone, but couldn’t see how if my hands were still tied.

  His body loomed before me, blocking the yellow light from the lamp in the corner. I couldn’t see his face. That was how he must have shadowed himself from his victims where I couldn’t get a good look at him. I could feel an undertone of anger surrounding him. At first, I was grateful that my empathic abilities still worked. I didn’t want to be treated like poor Amethyst. Then I thought of the anger emanating from the very air in her house.

  I didn’t want him angry at all if I could help it.

  Yet, opening and closing my mouth was all I could manage. Thirst became the next biggest demand of my body over the nerves shouting at me that I was injured. “Can I have some water?”

  Phil turned away. At first, I thought he was going for the table with the knives, but he stopped at a small fridge I hadn’t noticed earlier.

  I used the distraction to reach for the phone again. If I could only tuck it under the pillow, maybe he’d forget about it and I’d have a chance at calling 911. I jumped at the snap of a plastic water cap.

  “It won’t help you.”

  I turned on my side and immediately regretted it as my foot shouted its protest. Phil smirked at me with his “I’m smarter than you” look.

  Gritting my teeth through the pain, I asked as if I didn’t know what he was talking about. “What won’t work?”

  “The phone.” He held the back of my head like a nurse aiding a patient as he poured water gently into my mouth and waited for me to swallow before releasing me. Though I loathed his touch, I welcomed the relief of my parched mouth. “There’s no service on it. I just use it for photos.”

  I was glad my mouth was busy drinking so I couldn’t give myself away with a smile. Cell phones were programmed to put through 911 calls with or without service. Then the whole horror hit me. “Wait. You wer
e taking pictures of me?”

  “I have to plan ahead. How many like you can there be?” He wiped a bit of spittle from the side of my mouth. He was back to his cold base, and I felt no emotion from him at all. “I never understood the trophies that many of my ilk claim, until I found my joy. I can relive that spark of happiness in the photos on that phone.”

  “Can I see them?” I had no desire to see them, but I needed to get that phone in my hands.

  He rubbed his nose, seeming to consider my request. He reached across the bed and squeezed my bandaged foot.

  What had been a minor throbbing flared into a fierce burning. I yanked it away and screamed. “Why?”

  Phil grabbed a chef’s knife from his table of torture devices. Fear coursed through me and my mind scrambled to come up with a way to avoid the larger blade.

  Before I made a decision, Phil leaned over me and cut my hands free. “I had to make sure you couldn’t run away.”

  The rope still clung to my wrists, making them feel swollen. He typed a code into his phone and handed it to me. Propped on the chair between the bed and the door, he watched me with his head cocked as if he were a doctor studying his patient.

  My fingers were numb so I couldn’t quite get them to obey. What could I do to distract him so I could call 911? As I tried to formulate a plan, I scrolled through the pics. The cut on my stomach throbbed as I saw it in picture form. A tear dropped down from my cheek as the full extent of my injured foot popped onto the screen. The bandage on my real foot covered a grotesque injury.

  Most guys begged for boob shots or full frontals. Phil wanted torn skin and oozing wounds. I didn’t want to know what he did with these images when he was on his own. He grabbed my ankle, and I flinched. His anger simmered close to the surface, but that tainted joy came along for the ride.

  “Some of us have work tomorrow.” He spoke like I was wasting his time. “Let’s get our full session in before I have to leave.”

  It was Sunday already? How long had I been out? “No, please. I think my abilities are drained. It won’t work right now anyway.” I couldn’t pretend to be tough. I was just too tired, and I had to pee.

  The nostrils of his perfectly shaped nose flared as he brandished the knife in one hand while still gripping my ankle with the other. A wave of anger thrashed through my exhaustion.

  It must have shown in my face, because Phil released me with a satisfied grunt. “I think it’s working just fine.”

  I used that bit of anger from him to fuel my inner badass. “Wait. Before we commence the torture of the empath, can I at least use the restroom?”

  He squinted at me as if he tried to read my mind.

  Even I didn’t have that power, asshole.

  Then, one corner of his lip rose into the smirk I was starting to hate. Without saying a word, he opened a door fifteen feet from the bed and bowed twirling the knife like a handkerchief inviting a lady to dance. Through the opening, I saw a stained toilet with no lid. Gross. Though not as gross as mixing my urine with my blood already on the mattress.

  As I swung my legs to the side of the bed, my injured foot felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Now I knew why he looked so happy. The anticipation of the pain I’d cause myself as I made it to the bathroom already upped his pleasure quotient.

  I squeezed the phone still in my hand as I balanced on my good foot. This damn thing was my only hope. I had to deal with the pain long enough to get to the bathroom and dial 911. With tentative pressure on the toes of my bandage foot, I hopped with the good one. The jarring motion sent agony through the foot that felt larger than the space it actually took up.

  Phil laughed and leaned against the door jamb, crossing his ankles and arms. Maybe this pain would fulfill whatever sick need he had, and he wouldn’t carve more holes in my body today.

  I hop-skipped my way to the bathroom threshold before taking a break against the moldy drywall. I felt like I’d just run a marathon in those fifteen feet. I wasn’t even sure I had to pee anymore, but I was going to attempt it. Salvation was just a phone call away.

  The last foot and a half to the toilet was the hardest of the whole trip. As I pivoted on my good foot while using the back of the toilet as a crutch, I gestured at Phil to close the door.

  He shrugged, but complied. “In the end, there will be no need for modesty. Intimate isn’t descriptive enough for what we will be.”

  The shiver that ran through my body had nothing to do with temperature. As soon as the door clicked, I scrolled up on the phone and dialed 911. I muted the speaker and tucked the phone behind the toilet. Hopefully, I could keep him distracted long enough for HPD to find me. The shiny triangle of the chef’s knife flashed through my mind. He certainly didn’t seem in a hurry to end it.

  Turns out I really did need to pee. Without any toilet paper, I tore the bandage from my stomach and used that. A scraping sound from the door made me jump and jam my foot hard on the dingy floor.

  “Dammit!” I yelled. “I’m coming. You don’t have to make creepy noises to scare me.”

  Phil flung the door open as I pulled my leggings up, careful to leave them below my belly button. The newly exposed cut burned in the air.

  “I can’t wait forever. We’re on my schedule, not yours.” He draped my arm over his shoulder and guided me to the bed much faster than I could have managed on my own. The handle of the knife scraped my side as we walked. I wished I was a martial arts expert and knew how to perform some sort of fancy twist to disarm him. As it were, even if I did know how, I didn’t think I could have mustered enough energy to pull it off.

  He set me on the bed and swung my legs delicately up. The tenderness was surreal since he intended to carve me like a Thanksgiving turkey.

  With a new rope in his hand, he motioned for me to lay back down. I wanted to run, but my pierced foot would only let me stumble. For now, it was best for me to play along until the police found me. I wasn’t really the wait in a tower for my prince kind of girl, but I didn’t see any other option.

  Phil stretched my arms over my head re-opening the cut on my stomach. My body curled up as a gasp escaped my lips.

  He straightened me out to examine his handy work. “Where did your bandage go?”

  “Typical man seems to have forgotten the toilet paper. I had to improvise.”

  He cocked his head at the bathroom, then shot his gaze back to me. “Where’s the phone?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  My face burned as my exhausted brain tried to come up with something clever. “I gave it back to you.”

  His forehead crinkled. “No, you didn’t,” he said, even though he checked his pockets anyway.

  He forced my chin up with the tip of the blade. “Don’t move.”

  I whimpered as the tip cut my skin. I couldn’t answer without moving my jaw. My vision blurred as I pictured the blade piercing my face like the smaller one had my foot. There wasn’t enough adrenaline left in my abused body to mask any of the pain. Tears flowed down the side of my face and pooled at my ears. Maybe I should have fought harder.

  My weakness seemed to satisfy him as he relieved the pressure and moved to the bathroom. He would find the phone and see it dialed to 911. He would know I called. I would experience his rage firsthand. Would Flores employ another empath to sense it secondhand?

  As my chance of rescue evaporated, I had to escape on my own. But how? What power did I have to get out of his grasp?

  Biting my tongue to keep my mouth shut, I flung my feet over the side of the bed and sat up in one swift movement. The pain was minor compared to my level of panic. I had to get out of there.

  “What have you done?” His voice echoed from the bathroom, a demon shouting from the depths of hell.

  I fell to my knees as my foot refused to hold my weight. Maybe I could scoot to the hallway and barricade the door from the outside? Please, oh please, I had to get away. Part of me decided to attack Phil outright, make him so angry he would kill me quickly, and the
pain would end.

  My head shot backward as Phil yanked my hair. He had to have flown across the room, because I didn’t hear any footsteps.

  He stomped on my foot. I screamed and collapsed. The thunk of my head on the floor seemed to happen to someone else, because all I could feel was the agony emanating from my foot. It overrode any other sensation, blocked any other thought.

  He flipped me on my back and straddled my stomach. His blue eyes shown in the dim room like spotlights. For a moment, I thought I was experiencing the Collector’s last moment again.

  My arms flew up to protect my face. Then a sharp pain ripped through my right forearm.

  My confused senses couldn’t tell where my sensations ended and where Phil’s emotions began. Is this what the Collector felt? The first empath to meet this fate, to feed this psychopath his own selfish emotions.

  “You’ve ruined our time together, but don’t think you have a bit of power over me.” Phil held my uninjured wrist and sliced my forearm in three quick strokes.

  I screamed. My emotions swam from agony to joy to anger to desperation. Which ones were mine and which were his? I had avoided touching people my whole life, so I wouldn’t have to separate these feelings, so I wouldn’t have to empathize.

  So, I wouldn’t lose myself.

  I’ll be damned if this cold son of a bitch would be the one to push me over the edge. It was time to take back control. If I was going to die today, it would be with my own emotions flowing through my veins, my own psyche in control.

  I squirmed as my will kicked back in. Though he was much stronger, I wasn’t going down without a fight. His hand on mine radiated anger through my being. I took advantage of it and claimed the fierce emotion as my own.

  The rage gave me strength. With his knife wielding hand posed over my chest, I punched him in the stomach with both hands, knocking the wind out of him.