The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  The whole time she’s talking, I’m edging toward Jill’s body, trying to reach the knife. She finally notices and fires the gun at the floor, a few feet away from me. The bullet ricochets and slices across my upper arm, drawing a stream of blood that soaks my shirt and hoodie.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Hannah says.

  “Why?” I say angrily. “You’re just going to kill me anyway.”

  “Yes, I am. But if you try to fight it, I’m going to kill Alyssa too,” she says with a sneer. “I didn’t even want your cheerful little brat of a daughter. I was going to get rid of her, but my Izzy wants a friend. And it’s like you said to me earlier … Izzy is way more important.”

  Hearing her twist the words I spoke in kindness and spit them back at me is the last straw. Absolute rage explodes through every fiber of my being, and I lunge at her.

  She’s too surprised to bring the gun up fast enough. She pulls the trigger anyway, but the shot misses and I’m on her, knocking her to the ground. I grab a handful of platinum-blond hair and slam the back of her skull against the hard basement floor, again and again, until her struggles weaken and she stops moving.

  Then I wrench the gun from her stiff hand and start across the basement toward the stairs. I know this house like the back of my hand.

  And I’m going to find my daughter.

  Alyssa has to be here somewhere, her and Brad both. Hannah said that the police would never find them where she was going to stash them, which meant that she hadn’t stashed them yet. So they’re in the house, somewhere.

  I refuse to believe otherwise.

  I’m trying to hurry and keep it quiet at the same time. There’s still Julie to consider. She works for Hannah, and I can’t be sure that she isn’t on the side of the crazy lady who pays her. As for Izzy … I shudder to think of what’s happening to her right now. She’s only four, like Alyssa. She can’t possibly go along with this willingly.

  No wonder the poor child hates her mother. She probably senses that she’s psychotic.

  The basement stairs lead to an alcove-slash-pantry at the back of the smaller of the two kitchens on the ground floor. I know the door creaks slightly, so I grip the gun tight in one hand and slowly push the door open with the other. There’s no sound from the other side, and only a dim light shining from the kitchen, but it’s enough to reveal that no one’s standing in the pantry.

  My first instinct is to find a phone and call Ollie, or 911. But I know there’s no house phone here, and I didn’t have time to search Jill and find out whether she had mine on her.

  I’m not sure whether Hannah is dead, or just unconscious. In case she’s the latter, I have to find them before she wakes up.

  I step out of the basement and peer into the kitchen. Looks empty. This is the back of the house, so I’ll work my way to the front room by room, and if I don’t find anything, I’ll take the stairs near the front door to the second floor. There’s also a full attic. I’m hoping to find them before I have to go up there.

  No one is in the formal dining room, the big ultra-modern kitchen, the study, or the den. That leaves the living room and the parlor on the first floor. I check the parlor first, since the entrance is closer than the archway leading to the living room.

  And this time I find something. An indistinct shape lying on the floor by the Chesterfield where I’d stupidly tried to comfort poor, lying, viciously calculating Hannah. The light isn’t on in the room and I don’t dare turn it on. There’s just enough backlight from the foyer to make out the size of the shape — much too big to be a four-year-old. It’s an adult, possibly Brad.

  The shape doesn’t seem to be breathing.

  I creep-rush toward the shape and crouch down, trying to keep my body out of the dim patch of light from the foyer. This is definitely a person, but it’s not Brad. It’s Julie. She’s face-down on the carpet, her blonde hair sprawled messily around her head, but there’s something wrong with it. The shadows on her hair are all wrong.

  I shake her shoulder gently. It’s unpleasantly stiff. Swallowing a lump of nausea, I attempt to roll her over, and move her far enough to see the bloody hole in the center of her forehead, where she’d been shot.

  A startled cry surges through me, and I let go of the body to clap my hand over my mouth and muffle it. She’s the only one I was worried might hear me, but it feels wrong to scream here in the company of the dead. And Hannah might hear it, if she’s only unconscious and I’m loud enough.

  I straighten and head for the living room. At first I think there’s no one in here either, but then I see the curve of a head at the top of a wingback chair that faces the fireplace. Whoever it is has dark hair, and I hope it’s Brad. I hope he’s alive.

  Not wanting to give myself away in case it’s not Brad, I approach the chair as quietly as I can, with the gun extended in front of me. When I’m close enough that I shouldn’t miss if I have to shoot, I step quickly around the side of the chair and aim the gun.

  It is Brad. His head is bowed, and it looks like he’s fallen asleep sitting up.

  “Brad?” I whisper loudly, praying he doesn’t have the same hole in his forehead that Julie did.

  He shivers, raises his head slowly, and then flinches with a startled half-cry. “Celine! How … why do you have a gun?”

  “Damn. I’m sorry,” I say quickly, lowering the gun to my side. “I took it from Hannah. She’s dead or unconscious, I’m not sure which. But we have to hurry.”

  He pales suddenly. “Hannah’s dead?” he whispers.

  “Like I said, I don’t know. That’s why we have to hurry,” I say. “Do you know where Alyssa is?”

  Brad looks confused. “Alyssa?” he repeats.

  “Yes. My daughter. Your daughter.” I try not to get too frustrated with him. He’s been kidnapped from the hospital, and he looks off, somehow. Maybe they drugged him. “Do you know where she is?”

  “I … don’t,” he says slowly. “What about Jill?”

  “She’s definitely dead. Hannah shot her.” I can’t waste any more time with this. If he’s not drugged, he has a head injury or something. I’ll have to get him on the way out. “Listen, I’ve got to find Alyssa,” I say. “Just stay here. If you have a phone, call 911. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  As I turn to leave, Brad’s arm shoots out and his hand wraps around my wrist. There’s surprising strength in his grip. “Are you sure Hannah’s dead?” he says.

  “No, I’m not!” I wrench away from him. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

  I start away from the chair, toward the arched living room entrance. And that’s when Hannah lurches into view—her hair matted and bloody, her smeared red lips pulled back from her clenched teeth.

  “Where is my daughter?” I scream as I bring the gun up, fully intending to shoot her.

  Something solid bumps my back, and a pair of strong arms wrap around me from behind, pinning my own arms to my sides.

  Brad.

  Chapter 32

  “Let go of me!” I cry out, lunging futilely against the grip. “Brad what the hell are you doing? Can’t you see her? She’s right there!”

  The low, burbling laugh that comes from Hannah’s throat chills my blood, and I stop moving.

  “Oh, he can see me,” she says, sauntering slowly toward me. She stops and plucks the gun easily from my straining fingers. “He’s mine, Celine. He’s always been mine.”

  I can’t speak. I can’t even breathe.

  “Poor little Celine,” Hannah drawls, laughing again. “You really thought he loved you, didn’t you? That’s my baby. I taught him how to sell it, and he delivered.”

  “Alyssa,” I whisper. She’s all I can think of now. “Please …”

  “Don’t beg me. It’s disgusting,” Hannah sneers. “None of this had to happen, you know. We were going to be together, filthy rich and happy, with all of my parents’ money. All he had to do was break it off with you — but he chickened out.” For an instant she glares pa
st me at Brad. “And then he couldn’t keep it in his pants, and managed to smash his stupid drunk ass into a concrete wall. But I went ahead with the plan. I killed them, and I waited. I knew he’d come back to me.” Her smeared lips pull into a rictus of a smile. “And here he is.”

  “Hey. It’s kind of a good thing I didn’t keep it in my pants, isn’t it?” Brad’s voice rumbles through my back as he crushes me against him, keeping me from moving. “I mean, Jill did end up being useful.”

  “That’s true,” Hannah muses, striking a thoughtful pose. “I had no idea how crazy she was, how obsessed with Brad. But when I found out she’d killed Rosalie, I knew she’d fit in perfectly with my plans. So I recruited her.” She tilts her head and smirks. “Staging a suicide had already worked out so well for me before, I thought I’d keep going.”

  Staged suicide … before Rosalie? “You mean Joan Carpenter,” I rasp. “Don’t you?”

  “Of course I mean Joan. That stupid, simpering bitch.” She snorts and rolls her eyes. “I knew you’d told Brad about her silly little website, so I pushed him to humiliate her. And he did — but she wouldn’t take the hint. She was going to try twice as hard to land Brad. I had to kill her.” Hannah gives me a sweet smile. “See, Celine, I’ve given you something to die with. Now you can let go of all that guilt over pushing poor little Joan to suicide. Jill told me how terrible you felt about it.”

  My anger is growing again, but I need to hold it for the right moment. If I’m going to get away from these two, I’ll have to make it count the first time. “I thought Brad was all yours,” I say with mocking concern. “Why would you have to worry about Joan going after him?”

  Hannah shakes her head sympathetically. “I’ll admit, she might have tempted Brad eventually,” she says. “She was his type, and he can be quite the naughty boy on occasion. Sometimes he strays, and I have to punish him, but my man loves me.” Her eyes narrow on her ‘man.’ “In fact, he’s going to prove it right now by killing you.”

  “I am?” Brad says, but it’s more surprise than reluctance.

  “Yes, you are. Let go of her and take this.” Hannah steps around me, wiggling the gun at him, and leans toward my ear. “Try to run, Celine, and I’ll make him kill your daughter,” she whispers. “I’d like to see you try and live with that.”

  I slump in place, demonstrating that I won’t try to run.

  Brad’s arms fall away, and I stagger a few steps across the carpet. I won’t turn to look at them. Hannah is a cold, horrible, lying deceitful creature who managed to fool me … but I’m about to return the favor. I only have to do it long enough to get out.

  I hear the faint slap of flesh against metal as the gun exchanges hands. Despite everything that’s happened, part of me still can’t believe that Brad is going to kill me. Thinking about the truth of it makes my head ache.

  After a moment, Brad says, “Do I have to shoot her? I’ve never killed anyone you know. That’s your job.”

  “Idiot!” There’s a sharp sound that must be Hannah slapping him. “It’s your job this time. Then we’ll both be killers.” I hear something slide and rustle, and Hannah whispers, “Murder is hot, baby. You have no idea how much it’ll turn you on. Remember that time I came to your room, the night Joan died?”

  Brad lets out a guttural moan, and thick bile surges up in my throat.

  “Fine,” he says. “But, Hannah … what if we get caught?”

  “I swear to God, Brad! If you don’t pull that trigger —”

  As they argue, I tune them out slowly and shuffle away inch by inch, narrowing my focus to the living room entrance. All I have to do is run out, dash across the foyer and get through the front door. If I get a big enough head start, I can crawl through the hedges between this property and the Valentinos’ house next door, which I sold them four years ago.

  “—why you have to be such a baby! Just give it to me.”

  Go now.

  I run.

  Hannah lets out a scream of rage, just as I heave myself through the archway and pivot toward the door. A gunshot goes off behind me. I’m not hit, so I keep running, throwing a hand out to catch the door knob. The metal is cold as frost against my hot hand as I turn it and shove the front door open, crossing the porch in two leaps and diving down the steps.

  I hit the ground, roll once and stand. I hear running footsteps pounding through the house.

  And the wail of sirens closing in.

  Oh God. Please be Ollie, I think desperately as I sprint down the front walk toward the street. Just as I shove through the gated iron fence separating the lawn from the curb, a squad car screams to a stop.

  At the same time, a gun goes off from the house, and a patch of ground explodes a foot away from me.

  Ollie is already out of the car, racing around the front. I wave my hands over my head. “She has a gun!” I scream.

  There’s another pop of gunfire, and I dive for the sidewalk. I feel the bullet pass over me. Answering fire thunders from the street, and I count at least four gunshots before loud silence settles over the world.

  Something goes thud.

  I pray it’s Hannah.

  Chapter 33

  He got my message. I can’t believe it. That was the worst attempt at a secret message in the history of secret messages, and Detective Oliver Chambers understood me.

  Or maybe it was just one of his hunches.

  I start to push off the ground, struggling to see who was shot. Then a strong hand wraps around mine and pulls me to my feet.

  Ollie embraces me before I can take a breath.

  “Didn’t I tell you not to leave your house?” he says fiercely, but there’s a trembling relief in his tone. “Jesus, Celine. I think I just killed Hannah Byers. What the hell’s going on?”

  I shudder and step back. “She was in on it. Her and Jill, they planned this together,” I say. “And Brad. He’s here, too. I think … oh, God. Alyssa!”

  I’m sprinting back toward the house before he can react, but I hear his running footsteps hot on my heels. “Celine, wait! You just said someone else is here. Christ, will you let me go in first? I’m the one with the gun, here!”

  I slow just enough to let him catch up with me. “Fine,” I say through clenched teeth. “Just hurry.”

  “There’d better be a lot of explanation when this is over,” he grumbles as he sprints ahead. “And you stay behind me, damn it.”

  Ollie reaches the wide-open front door and pauses for just a fraction of a second, gun upraised, before he swings through and points the weapon forward. “Police!” he booms. “Show yourself, and I won’t shoot.”

  I’m only a few steps back. As much as I thought it wouldn’t bother me, the sight of Hannah sprawled bloody and motionless on the steps has started my stomach churning again. But I catch up fast.

  Ollie strides further into the house. “Police!” he yells again. “Is there anyone in here?”

  A loud groan answers from the direction of the living room.

  Ollie takes the time to glance sternly back at me. “Don’t. Me first,” he says.

  I nod and follow on his heels. But when I’m able to see into the living room, I realize there’s no need for concern. Brad is sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth, his bloody hands clamped across his equally bloody shin. “She shot me,” he says through clenched teeth, looking up into the barrel of Ollie’s gun. “That bitch shot me.”

  “Did she?” Ollie raises an eyebrow and glances at me.

  I shake my head. “Not me. Hannah.”

  “Oh, God, what a mess.” Ollie lifts a foot and plants it in the center of Brad’s chest, shoving him to the floor. Brad lets out a squawk of protest. “Zip it. I don’t know what you did, but you’re under arrest.”

  Brad starts babbling as Ollie kneels next to him, holsters his gun, and flips him onto his stomach. “I didn’t do anything!” he cries. “Look, you can’t do this. I’ve been shot. I’m supposed to be in the hospital, you know. I’m the victim
here! If you think —”

  “I said, shut up.” Ollie grinds a knee into the small of his back, pulls his wrists together and cuffs them neatly. “It’s a flesh wound. You’ll live.”

  “Ollie, I’m going,” I say suddenly.

  His head whips around, blue eyes blazing. “No, you’re not.”

  “Alyssa is here somewhere, in this house,” I tell him. “There’s no one else here, at least not alive, and —”

  “What do you mean, not alive?”

  I sigh. “Jill’s dead in the basement, and Julie’s in the parlor. She was Hannah’s live-in or something. She’s dead too,” I say. “And I’m going to find my daughter. The only way to stop me is to shoot me.”

  His eyes widen a fraction, and then he nods. “All right. If you’re sure it’s safe.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Go, then.” He pulls the radio from his belt. “I’m calling for backup.”

  I take a moment to smile at him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  With a quick nod, I sprint away and head up the stairs.

  I’ve already searched the first floor, so she’s got to be somewhere up here. Maybe Izzy is with her, wherever she is. But as awful as it seems, I’m not nearly as worried about Izzy as I am about my own daughter. She’s my priority — now, always.

  I check every bedroom, every closet and shower and bathtub, every hiding place big enough for a little girl. Nothing. Fear ripples through me as I climb the stairs to the stuffy attic and start searching around and under the furniture that’s stored up here. She’s got to be here.

  If Hannah stashed her somewhere else, I might never get her back.

  By the time I finish searching the attic and finding nothing, I’m furious all over again. I storm down the stairs, one flight and then the next, and run into the living room where Brad is sitting handcuffed in a chair, and Ollie is standing near the front window, watching for backup.