Jackson Deville fell to his knees with a knife in his hand. His eyes rolled back in his head. A scream rushed up Jeri’s throat, but she stopped it at her mouth. The chalice dropped to the floor with a metallic clatter. She stomped on Deville’s wrist and wrestled the knife from his grip with both her hands. His grip was so strong she had difficulty prying it loose. Every second seemed like an eternity.
How long would he be out?
She backed out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. With the knife in hand, she rushed to the closet. The woman lay on the floor in a heap. Her bleary eyes flashed with fear when she noticed the knife in Jeri’s hand.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Are you okay? Can you walk by yourself? Can you get out of here?”
She nicked the leather straps that bound the woman’s ankles and then released her wrists. Jeri dropped the knife and helped Bridget to her feet. With strength she didn’t know she had, she slipped her arm under the woman’s shoulders and pulled her to her feet.
“Come on, help me. We’ve got to get you out of here.”
Together, they stumbled toward the door. Jeri opened it and pushed the woman outside. Bridget tripped down the two front steps. Jeri would have been right behind her. She reached out to steady the woman, to keep her from falling. Bridget screamed just as strong fingers curled into Jeri’s hair.
Jackson yanked her back into the house and slammed the door. Her eyes riveted on the weapon she’d dropped, the loss of her advantage over him. As he dragged her into the house, she caught a glimpse of Bridget staggering toward a neighboring house. His latest victim had gotten away. The police would arrive soon.
He must know he didn’t have much time before he would be caught.
He whispered his horrible truth in her ear while holding the chalice in his other hand. “I didn’t want to kill you.”
Past tense. He’d changed his mind.
Her gaze darted back to the knife mocking her on the floor. Another yank sent pain ripping across her scalp and kept her from struggling too much. Every movement shot another sharp jab through her skull. The headache that had been forming pulsed into a throbbing torment.
He twisted her head to face him. “You brought them with you.” A smile was on his lips, but death was in his voice. “You’re going to show me how to use them.”
She shook her head. She could show him how to use them, but he would never know their power. Never would she utter the words that would give him the gift. He’d kill her before she would give the power over to his evil.
He dragged her into the closet and slammed her against the back wall. With an angry jerk, he yanked the backpack from the shelf. The other two pieces of silver clattered to the floor in front of her.
Jeri pointed toward the front door. “That woman… You know she isn’t me. Killing other women isn’t going to erase the guilt of what you did to me. You can’t kill guilt. It stays with you no matter what you do. You could kill me now, but the guilt is going to stay with you. I’ll haunt you, Jackson. I’ll haunt you every day of your life. You’ll never forget your guilt.”
It was an informed guess as to his motives, but apparently the right one.
He roared his disagreement. “I’m not the guilty one.”
“Yes, you are. You locked me in the closet for days. You didn’t give me water or food. You said horrible things to me…” She couldn’t remember the words, but the pain of not being wanted was coming back to her.
The ache of being rejected and made to feel utterly worthless flooded her sensibilities. This was what the man had done to her. This was where her lifelong insecurities and lack of self-esteem had come from. This was the psychological landscape that Jackson and Darlene had left behind, and that Connie and Lance Bowman had refused to address. No daughter of theirs was going to get psychiatric help. Bowmans didn’t need therapy.
“Darlene belonged to me.”
A flash of insight. “You hated me because I came between you and Darlene?”
It was no surprise that he hadn’t wanted her.
“She belonged to me.”
It wasn’t Jeri’s fault that she’d been born. “I was only a child.”
“She should have gotten rid of you.”
But she had. She’d called child protective services, and Jeri had been taken away from them.
“She did.”
“You should have never been born.” His hand touched her face, and she recoiled. “You look so much like her. That’s why…”
That’s why he didn’t want to kill her. Because she reminded him of Darlene.
He dropped the chalice on the floor next to the other pieces before dragging her into the living area. Before she could catch another breath he had swooped the knife from the floor. With the blade pushed into the skin over her carotid, she dared not struggle. Again, he hauled her into the closet.
The knife hovered over her. “You will do as I say.”
His angry demand raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Evil. Demented.
“Or what?”
Her taunt appeared to ramp up his mania. Deville jerked and twitched with unspent frantic energy. He grabbed her by the wrist, slammed her hand against the wall until her fist unclasped, and slashed across her fingertips. The blood seeped from the fresh cuts. His laughter beat against her psyche like kettledrums. Instead of dripping the blood into the bottoms of the pieces, he waved her hand over them so that her blood splattered everywhere.
She gazed into his demented eyes. “That’s not how it works.” Calm. Her voice never wavered. “You can never know their power.”
“You will give me the power. It’s mine. You will give it to me.”
“Or what? Are you going to kill me? Then, you will never know.”
It was in his mind to torture her for the knowledge. She could see the malice turning his face to gray. No light in his eyes. Only darkness.
The thought that this man had fathered her tore her soul to shreds. The pain of knowing her heritage tortured her more than any physical damage could contrive.
But he didn’t understand. He never would. Light would always overcome the dark. That’s how it worked.
She would never give into the darkness in his soul. She didn’t belong to him. Did anyone ever belong to anyone else?
He backed out of the closet. She couldn’t rush him with the knife in his hand. That would be certain death. She could imagine the hole cut into her throat, just like he’d done to his other victims.
The cuts on her fingertips throbbed where she pressed the tail of her shirt against the wounds, reminding her of how much she feared being cut. The image of the steel slicing through flesh… Of all the ways to die, she feared being cut the most.
Did he sense that?
The closet door banged shut. The scrape and click of the padlock setting penetrated the heavy wood door. Her vision of being trapped in another closet had been fulfilled.
How long would it be before the police arrived? Shouldn’t they have already been beating down the door? Where was Nick?
She turned, and her gaze fell on the silver pieces. Could she use their power to defeat Jackson Deville? She feared using them again. With his evil so close…
She slid down the wood, and her butt landed on the floor.
Was Jackson still in the house, or had he left in order to elude capture once again? Jackson knew he didn’t have long to wait before the house would be surrounded by law enforcement. It was over. He just hadn’t acknowledged the truth yet.
****
The order had been given: no flashers or sirens. Even the EMT had pulled up one street over to tend to Deville’s latest victim.
Nick took one more moment to question the woman. “You told the officer that first arrived there was another woman in the house. Can you describe her to me?”
Bridget closed her eyes as if she wanted to block out the memories of what had happened in the house on Chippewa. She shook her head. “It was all a blur.”
; Isn’t that what they all said?
“Can you remember any little thing about her? Her eye color? Her clothes? Her hair color? Did the man seem to know her?”
Bridget blinked. “I think her hair used to be colored blue but most of it had grown out brown. But the ends were still blue.” She glanced up at Nick with apologetic eyes. “I know that isn’t much help.”
“I know who she is.” He nodded toward the EMT. “Go ahead.”
He jumped from the back of the ambulance and watched as it pulled away.
Petrie walked up and stood next to him. “There’s movement inside the house. Looks like a man’s shape. He’s still in there.”
“What about Jeri?”
“If she’s in there, she’s not moving.” Petrie obviously hated reporting that to Nick. “So how are we going to approach the house?”
Petrie wanted to go in with a SWAT team.
Nick thought that was the best way to get Jeri killed.
“Bridget told me the woman in the house used to have blue hair. She could tell because the ends were still blue.”
“I think we’d already guessed who she was.”
“I wanted to be sure.”
Petrie grabbed him by the elbow and pulled her further away from the rest of officers that had arrived to assist them in apprehending Jackson Deville.
“She might already—”
“No, she isn’t.”
“I know you gotta believe, Nick—”
He placed a hand over his beating heart. “I just know.”
Petrie released his elbow and smirked. “Now, you sound like her.”
No one sounded like her. Jeri was unique.
“One person should go in. Silently. Through the back.”
Petrie planted his hands on his hips. “And I guess you’re volunteering? Do you think that’s a good idea? Maybe someone not so personally involved should go in.”
His partner clearly believed going in alone was a suicide mission. It might be. Nick was supposed to get shot sometime. But he couldn’t leave Jeri to the mercies of a madman, and no one cared about her like Nick did.
He removed his jacket and handed it to Petrie. “Wait for my cue before you send in the troops, okay?”
“How you gonna cue me?”
“You’ll know it when you hear it. I’m going in the back. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
He handed Petrie his cell phone. Nick didn’t want to risk it making any noise at the wrong time.
“You’re crazy. You know how strong that guy is.”
Sure, they’d tackled Deville before, and he’d had the strength of a psychopath.
Nick loosened his tie. He didn’t want to take in anything that could be used as a weapon against him. Anything except his gun. He patted it to make sure it was still attached to his hip. More a psychological move than a real check.
“Let me have your lock kit.”
Petrie blinked at him and then sighed. “This is nuts.”
“I have to do this. You know I do.”
Petrie nodded and traded the tie for his lock picking tools. He wasn’t supposed to use them. He would have been formally reprimanded had Ed found out he owned them. Ed would have winked at him and failed to confiscate them. Nick had warned him to keep them on the sly, but he’d never suggested Petrie get rid of them. Now, he was glad he hadn’t. The younger cop never left home without them.
“I told you they’d come in handy one day.” Petrie’s light-hearted joke fell with a thud. He cleared his throat. “You good to go?”
Nick rolled his shoulders. “I’m going in now.” He motioned toward the nearest uniformed officer. “I want someone covering every possible exit.”
The officer nodded. “We’re on it.”
Nick slipped through the alley between two houses, looked both ways and crossed the street, and then cut through the narrow side yard between two houses on Chippewa. He inched his way until he was within a few yards of the back of the house.
He wasn’t much for prayer, but he offered a silent prayer for Jeri’s safety. In his heart, he hoped Jeri was still unharmed. She might be. Deville had been conflicted about killing her. Perhaps, he was still hesitating. Perhaps, that was why he was still in the house.
Crouching low, he waddled his way over to the back window. He rose just enough to peek through the sheer curtains. No one was in the back bedroom.
Nick leaned his back against the wall, inhaled and exhaled several times, trying desperately to regulate his ragged breathing. He slid along the back wall until he came to a door. Holding his breath, he tested the knob. Locked, of course.
He stretched until he could peek through the high window on the back door. It appeared to open out from a utility room. He’d never been much good at picking locks, but necessity was about to make him an expert. Nick wiggled the tools in the lock, grunted with frustration, and then shook off his nerves when the lock clicked. Once again, he twisted the knob. This time it turned.
Would the hinges squeal as soon as he pulled open the door? He tested them, pulling the door open ever so slightly. No sound. As if they’d recently been lubricated. Maybe they had. If Deville had wanted to maneuver in silence.
Within seconds, he had slipped inside the utility room and closed the door behind him, leaving it unlocked. He moved to the edge of the door that led into the main part of the house and leaned against the frame. The muted thuds of footsteps retreated and returned, back and forth. Deville was pacing. Like a caged animal. That made him even more dangerous.
Nick swore at himself. Why hadn’t he planned his attack a little more thoroughly and a little less impulsively? He’d been trained better than that.
He needed a diversion to get Deville to move toward the front of the house.
As if Jeri had heard him or sensed his presence, she began calling Deville’s name.
“Jackson? Are you out there? Come back here. You can’t leave me in here like this. Why are you doing this to me?” Her voice was muted. Had he locked her in a closet?
Fear for her shuttled through him. She’d had a vision about being locked in a closet, hadn’t she?
Jacked fumed with annoyance. “Shut up.”
The anger in Deville’s voice sent shimmers of dread down Nick’s body.
“You’re trapped, you know. Bridget has already called the police. They’re out there.”
What was she doing? Her taunting was going drive the man into a psychotic rage. Did she want to get herself killed?
The thuds of his pacing footfalls increased in speed. Her words had pushed his buttons.
A banging and bumping shook the house. Then, the pounding of a fist on a wood door. “Stop that. You want me to kill you?”
Nick couldn’t hear her muted reply.
The house was organized in a straight line like most houses in the area. No central hallway. One room led into another. He peeked into the next room. Deville had his back turned, glaring at a closed door. Nick slipped into the room. Raised his weapon.
“Get your hands up, Deville.”
Deville froze.
“The house is surrounded. You have nowhere to go. You might as well give it up.”
Deville turned on a slow pivot.
Was it Nick’s imagination? The man’s eyes glowed bright red. Nick shook his head. That wasn’t possible.
The strange occurrence distracted him just long enough. Deville charged him, but Nick was ready for the move. The man had used it on him once before. He sidestepped the attack and swirled around to face the man’s back.
“I’m warning you, Deville. You move again, and I’d just as soon shoot you. Who’s gonna argue when I say I shot you in self-defense?”
From behind him, a calm voice argued with him. “Nick, don’t do it. You won’t be able to live with yourself if you do.”
Deville lifted his hands with his back still to Nick. “Are you gonna listen to her, or go with your gut?”
The man’s voice scraped across his psyche. His
conscience ran for cover. The urge to kill the man overwhelmed his soul.
“Petrie.” He yelled his partner’s name at the top of his voice. Would Petrie hear him? Would his partner stop him before he did something he would regret?
“Listen to my voice, Nick. You can’t do this.” Jeri’s even tones quenched the raging fire in him.
Deville slowly turned to face him. “Sure, you can. You can do whatever you want.”
The man’s words tugged at the baser desires in Nick’s heart, those things in himself that he always had to push down to be a decent human being. He felt his humanity slipping from him. The urge to kill swelled inside him.
If he killed this animal, who would care?
Jeri’s voice penetrated the miasma muddling his thoughts. “I would care.”
“Petrie.” He called again.
Did he hear rushing footsteps headed for the door?
Deville twitched, and Nick pulled the trigger. The killer fell to the ground on his knees. Liquid seeped through the cloth of his black shirt. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his face planted on the torn vinyl flooring.
Time seemed to suspend.
Through the fog on his brain, he could hear Jeri yelling at him. He fumbled through Deville’s pockets until he found his keys. One of them opened the padlock. His numb fingers wouldn’t cooperate. Like in a nightmare. The kind where you have to escape from certain death, but your body won’t work with you. The kind of nightmare that leaves you trembling and afraid even after you awake.
Finally, the lock came open. The door swung out. Nick caught a glimpse of Jeri’s face before her relief dissolved into horror. Nick swiveled right before Jackson raised a knife over his head. Jeri screamed. Someone was pounding on the front door, and voices came at them from the back door. Nick fired again. At close range. The man didn’t fall. Was he made of pure evil? How could he still be upright? Mania blazed from his eyes. He fell into Nick, and the two of them stumbled into the closet, pushing Jeri back inside.
Deville’s white knuckles gripped the knife as he advanced on Nick. Surely, Deville knew he would lose this fight. A knife was no match for a gun. The thought rattled around in his brain. Bullets had no effect on Jackson Deville.
Second Sight (Prescience Series Book 1) Page 27