Eyes wide and now fully alert, she stared up, her heart and mind racing. Dan. “Oh my God,” she whispered, and pulled against the handcuffs fastened to a hook on the wall.
She looked to her legs with increasing horror. He’d duct taped her ankles to the cot, leaving her lying spread eagle, her body stretched and vulnerable.
Craning her neck, she scanned the small, dank room. A battery-powered lamp sat on the floor casting eerie shadows along the supplies—canned food, bottled water—lining the wall. Her gaze stopped on a small window. No sunlight filtered inside, not even the shadows of dusk. How long had she been here? One day? Two? And where was here?
Wherever here was, she’d rather run free, into the unknown, than lie on a musty cot waiting for Dan to come back and kill her. Based on her visions, her trances, she knew he would do just that.
She looked up at her cuffed hands and yanked with all of her strength. Metal bit into her wrists. If she was going to die, she’d die fighting. And if she survived, she swore, no matter what happened with John, she’d start living for herself, not everyone else.
Her muscles burned and sweat coated her skin as she strained her body at odd angles, trying to either unhook the metal chain, or force it from the wall. Breathing hard, she stopped, gave her arms a moment’s respite, then went at it again.
“Yes,” she hissed when the hook wiggled. Tears of relief streamed down the side of her face, tickling her skin.
A motor revved outside. She froze, wondering once again where Dan had taken her. If she screamed, would there be neighbors nearby to hear her? No. He would have gagged her if that were the case. Not willing to risk allowing Dan to know she was awake and trying to escape, she ignored the ache in her shoulders and yanked against the hook. Small splinters of wood fell behind her head as the hook moved again. Another tug and she...
The motor died. She held her breath, then jumped when the door slammed against the wall.
“Hey, sleepy head. How was your nap?” Dan asked as he loomed over her, raking his eyes across her body.
She remained silent. Biding her time, and praying he’d leave the room again. If she had a few more moments alone, she could possibly free herself.
“What, no small talk? Okay then, maybe you just want to get at it.”
He unsheathed a knife. A very long, very scary knife. Her skin crawled as the dim light gleamed off the blade. “What...what are you doing?”
He raised a red brow. “With this?” He fingered the knife’s sharp edge. “Fulfilling my ultimate fantasy,” he said, then sat on the edge of the cot.
Placing a hand on her leg, he ran the knife along the column of her throat. “You sure are pretty.” He dipped the tip at the collar of her shirt, then ripped through the material.
She squeezed her eyes shut as the smooth side of the cold blade rested against her skin. Tears streamed down the sides of her face. She held her breath as he tore the shirt in half and cool air rushed over her exposed chest. He pushed the material aside, baring her cotton bra and stomach.
“So soft,” he said, and ran the flat edge of the knife along her belly while he rubbed her breasts with his free hand.
She jerked with disgust and loathing.
“You like that?” He began unbuttoning her jeans. “Well, there’s more where that came from.”
Hysteria, terror and unnerving fright tore through her. “Why are you doing this?”
He unzipped her jeans. “C’mon, you’re the psychic, you know why.”
The visions. “You read the visions I gave to Roy.”
“Yep,” he said as he forced her jeans over her hips until they drooped around her calves. “I heard about your trances, too. And well, I honestly hadn’t had you on my list of loose ends until then.” He shook his head as he stared between her thighs. “But I should have. You’re sexy, and hot, and so much better than those whores Garrett would bring me.”
“You don’t have to do this,” she implored, careful not to tug too hard against the hook above her. She needed to be certain it would wrench loose. If that meant waiting until he raped her, at least she’d have the element of surprise on her side. “I’d never seen you in any of my visions.”
“But you did see me. As the masked man,” he finished with a wag of his brows as he played with the elastic of her panties.
“I didn’t know it was you.”
He dropped the knife on her stomach, then ripped her underwear in half with both of his hands. Panting, he retrieved the knife, then focused on her crotch. “Maybe not, but it was only a matter of time.”
She had to act fast, had to keep him talking. Fighting her tears, her revulsion, she asked, “What about the fourth vision?”
He stopped and wrinkled his forehead. The menacing knife hung over her stomach. “What are you talking about?”
“I had four visions,” she said, eyeing the jagged blade, and exerting her arms.
“Oh,” he chuckled. “That’s right. I almost forgot about that. You know, I thought it was odd at the time, but now...” He laughed, his entire body trembling and shaking. He wiped away a tear and smiled. “This is too funny not to share. See, there were only three.”
She flinched, and her mind raced. She’d had four visions. Seen four women die.
“Okay. I see you’re not gettin’ it. Since it won’t matter, I’ll let you in on a little secret. My brother and I have been killing whores for years. Garrett would scrape up these disgusting lot lizards. Now, don’t get me wrong.” He ran the blade along her inner thigh. “They served their purpose, but I got tired of slutty, trailer trash.”
“You didn’t seem to have a problem killing those four women they found in the woods,” she said, hoping her tone didn’t come off as taunting. She just wanted to keep him talking, distracted from her naked body.
“That was all Garrett, that piece of shit. I didn’t know about them. But the other three? The girl in the cranberry bog, she was all mine.”
“The other two?”
“We did them together.”
“And the fourth?”
He shook his head. “There wasn’t a fourth.”
“I had—”
“I know Miz Psychic,” he said, and rolled his eyes as if she were obtuse. “I get it. You had four visions, but here’s the deal. I killed one, Garrett and I killed two. Do the math. One plus two equals three. Not four.”
“But I saw four,” she insisted.
“Take a look at yourself and remember the little diary you wrote to Roy,” he said with a sarcastic chuckle. “You are the fourth vision.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered, and tasted a new kind of fear as the images of the victims from her visions flashed through her mind.
“God ain’t going to help you now.” He rose from the cot and began unbuckling his pants. “When I was snooping through Roy’s files and came across your visions, I’ll admit, I got a little worried. When I found the fourth one and knew I had nothing to do with it, well, I hoped that I wouldn’t have to hurt you. I like you Celeste, always have. You were always so sweet and friendly. Plus you made those kalachkis for the missus.” He grinned. “You have no idea how them tasty pastries helped me. Mixing rat poison with powdered sugar kept my Randa’s symptoms where I needed them.”
She ignored the guilt, that she had somehow played a part in his wife’s poisoning. While he was busy shoving his pants over his hips, she looked up at the hook and tugged as hard as possible.
Nothing happened. The defeat that ripped through her heightened her fear. All of her efforts had been for nothing.
When he settled himself between her outstretched thighs, she averted her gaze from his erection.
This was it.
He was going to rape and kill her.
She didn’t bother to cry or struggle. He’d said he liked when they fought. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, she lay still, accepting her fate, and praying for strength and a quick death.
When his flesh made contact with h
ers, rubbing against her inner thighs, she closed her eyes and sought a safe place in her mind and hid there. A place where happily-ever-after was real and sadistic killers didn’t exist.
He slammed his fist into her jaw. Her head dangled, as stars shot through her skull.
“Bitch,” he gritted, then hit her again. “Fight me.”
Squeezing her eyes, she fought the bile rising in her throat, and forced herself to remain still even as her heart pounded. Even as the cold metal of the knife pressed against her stomach, even as he stabbed his erection against her thigh.
“Fine,” he grunted, his breath labored. “No foreplay. We’ll just get right to the good stuff.”
With her eyes still closed, she brought John’s strong, handsome image to mind. She remembered his soothing touch, how it had always calmed her and given her strength. She honed in on that memory now as Dan licked a sloppy, wet path from below her bra, to her stomach. His mustache chafed, grated against her skin. Biting her lip to keep from screaming, she squeezed her eyes tighter.
“Look at me,” he ordered, then ran the serrated edge of the blade along her torso.
Pain sliced through her. Snapping her eyes open, she screamed.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he said. “Fight me.”
She clenched her jaw. “Not much of a fight when I’m tied down, is it?”
Laughing, he punched her square in the stomach, then stilled.
She did, too, as the room began to rumble and shake.
Then she heard the unmistakable hum of helicopter blades. The sound, a beautiful symphony, as it thumped and hummed.
John.
“Mother fucker,” Dan shouted, as he raised the knife high, his eyes wild with hate and anger.
She tensed, and cried out at the cruel twist of fate. With rescue in sight, she’d die anyway.
He brought the knife down with a hard stab, catching the skin along the side of her waist, then shoved off the cot. “Don’t fucking move,” he said as he righted his pants. He withdrew his gun, gave her one last glance, then left the cabin.
The moment the door slammed shut, she strained the handcuffs against the hook. Hoping the helicopter meant they were looking for her, she fought with renewed determination.
Pulling. Tugging.
The skin around her wrists broke against the metal cuffs. A thin stream of blood trickled down her arms as she continued to exert herself.
Something snapped, popped in her left shoulder. She bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain. Sweat soaked her skin, and she put her weight into her good arm. Small shards of wood fell against her forehead as the hook moved against the old plank.
Despite the pain, she pushed herself. The hum of the helicopter retreated. Dan could storm into the cabin at any second. Kill her and—
The hook fell, and bounced off her nose. She didn’t give herself a moment to savor the small victory. Moving quickly, despite the cuffs, she wrenched the knife imbedded in the cot, cut through the duct tape surrounding her ankles, then hiked her jeans to her waist.
Free. But now what? She glanced around the room. Moving toward the door, she stopped and looked through the window. Other than empty cobwebs, the only thing she saw was her reflection in the dirty glass.
Giving up on the window, which was too small to crawl through, she moved to the door. She pressed her ear against it and listened.
Nothing, but the pounding of her own heart.
She clutched the knife in one hand. Her fingers tingled as she touched the rusted metal door handle with her other hand. She drew in a deep breath.
Dan had a gun.
She had a knife.
John—hopefully—was on his way.
And if he wasn’t? She knew how the fourth vision ended.
As the memory of it ran through her mind, she whipped open the door, then ran into the darkness.
Fuck fate. She’d change hers tonight.
*
Dan lost sight of the helicopter’s search light as it flew east, back toward the county road and where he’d hidden Celeste’s car. While there wasn’t enough room for a helicopter to land there, or even on the highway a half mile west of the cabin, he knew he’d just run out of time.
They could block him in, which would force him to run north or south through over a thousand acres of dense forest. If that were the case, he’d have to leave the motorcycle behind, then steal a car later.
He sprinted for the cabin, mulling his options, then decided he would not deviate from his plan. The bike was packed, gassed and ready to go. Even pushing the bike, he could reach the highway in ten minutes.
Fuming over how fucked up the night had become, he ran faster. First he’d been denied Ugly Evie, now he’d be denied Celeste. His ultimate fantasy would have to wait until he started a new life.
Still, he considered as he slowed when a cramp seized his side, it would only take maybe a minute, two at the most to kill her. Not enough time to fuck and gut, but plenty of time to wrap a cord around her neck until he squeezed the life out of her. And what a fitting tribute using the cord would make. A kickass, fuck you farewell to Garrett, a way of coming full circle, if he believed in that shit. He bet Celeste did, and maybe he’d tell her about this whole full circle thing as he circled the cord around her neck.
Grinning at the prospect, that the night wasn’t completely lost, he approached the cabin. Stopped. Drew his gun, then quickly crouched.
The door stood slightly ajar. He crept toward the cabin, and when he was certain an ambush wasn’t awaiting him, he moved to the window.
Empty.
He raced inside. She was gone, and so was his precious knife.
“Fuck,” he shouted and flipped the empty cot. Reining in his anger and disappointment, he rushed outside. Not having time to kill her infuriated him, but there’d be others. And they’d pay for what she’d denied him tonight.
He moved to the bike, knocked the kickstand back, ready to walk it to the highway, then froze. The bitch had taken the key. He’d locked his passports, IDs, credit cards, and cash in the side compartment. He needed that key.
He ran back into the cabin and grabbed the flashlight and cord.
The bitch was now as good as dead.
Chapter 30
Celeste prayed the night’s shadows concealed and worked in her favor as she dashed between the trees. It had grown eerily darker the deeper she moved into the forest, but without knowing which direction she was heading she worried she might accidentally circle back to the cabin. To Dan.
She held onto a sliver of hope, though. With the helicopter still flying over the area, she assured herself that John and a search party were looking for her. Until they found her, though, she was on her own, continuing this fight alone.
She gripped the knife, wishing she’d spared a few minutes to search for the key to the handcuffs. She’d hoped it was on the key chain she’d swiped from the motorcycle, but apparently today wasn’t her lucky day.
As she fumbled through a thicket of trees and thorny brush, a branch snapped across her swollen cheek. The sharp sting a lover’s caress compared to Dan’s ruthless fists.
She broke through the overgrowth of small spiky pines and entered a small clearing. Heavy clouds moved in the night sky. The moon’s strong beam infiltrated through the trees and gleamed off the steel edge of the knife. The weapon gave her confidence. The moon’s luster gave her light. The openness of the clearing gave her vulnerability.
Twigs snapped behind her, heavy footfall crunched through layers of brittle leaves. She held her breath, and glanced over her shoulder. The high beam of a flashlight danced and zigzagged.
Deep fear centered in her core. Had to be Dan. If it were someone searching for her, they’d call out, right? Not willing to take the chance, she fled from the clearing and moved for cover among the trees.
The beam of light grew stronger. The crackling twigs grew louder. She panicked and changed directions, then hesitated, twisted her body. If sh
e went left, would it lead her back to the cabin? Or was it right...?
Damn it, she couldn’t remember. No time to think, she ran straight ahead.
As she dodged trees and brush, she looked over her shoulder. The flashlight faded and diminished. Out of breath, she paused, crouched behind an immense pine and ran the back of her cuffed hands over her sweaty forehead, then stilled.
Her fourth vision filtered through her memory. Now that she thought about it, the clearing she’d run through had been similar to the one in her vision. The chirping crickets, the hollering of owls, the fluttering of bats as they whooshed amongst the treetops. These sounds were similar, too, only she swore she’d heard something else, something different from what she’d dreamed.
She crawled to the neighboring pine, and then the next. Flattening her back against the bark, she closed her eyes and concentrated, listened.
In her vision she thought she’d heard the hum of cars along a highway, and had even caught the scent of rubber and tar. The noises she thought she heard a moment ago didn’t sound like traffic. They sounded like—there it was again.
Tears of relief streamed down her cheeks as the muffled shouts of men grew louder, the baying of a dog grew closer and more distinct. Spurred by hope, she took off toward the barking.
A hard crack smashed against her skull, jarring and fracturing her vision and equilibrium. She tripped over a large rock. Tumbling and unable to flail her arms, she threw her cuffed hands in front of her. Her efforts did little to help cushion the fall. Her chest hit the hard ground knocking the air from of her lungs. She panicked, gasping and wheezing, trying desperately to fill her lungs with air.
Blood oozed from her scalp and dripped into her eyes. Catching her breath, she wiped her face with the back of her hands, then gasped.
She stared at a pair of muddied, black boots. Fear broke and shattered. She gripped the knife as strong hands gripped her ankles.
With a sudden, hard yank, Dan dragged her. Her torn shirt flapped around her sides. The rugged ground scratched against the thin knife wound on her stomach. She tried to scream, from the pain, from the fear and outrage, but her jaw remained snapped shut as it scrapped the dirt.
CORE Shadow [1] Shadow of Danger Page 38