Chris stared at him, half scared, half defiant. He didn’t budge.
“Do as I say,” the man said patiently. “Don’t try to do anything brave, because that’s just going to get someone killed.”
Chris finally looped around him and came over to Molly’s side. He held on to her arm. She could feel his hand was shaking.
Jenna sighed. “Just because her husband worked for a drug company, it doesn’t mean there are any drugs in the house. You’re going to be disappointed.”
“We’ll see about that,” the man replied, the gun still trained on Erin.
Molly said nothing. She knew he hadn’t come there to rob them.
“You, stepmom,” he said, nodding toward the light switch on the wall. “Is that for the lights outside and down here in the hall?”
She nodded. “Yes, both.”
“Turn them off, please. I don’t want anyone to see me working down here.”
Molly reached over and switched off the lights. The upstairs hallway light and a lamp in Jeff’s study were still on. She stood in the shadows with Chris at her side — and Jenna Corson behind them. Molly knew he planned to turn on all the lights in the house — once his work was done.
“I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said in a calm voice. “Just do as I say, and I’ll be out of here in a half hour. Now, I’ll need all of you upstairs. . ”
For twenty minutes, they sat on the floor of the upstairs hallway: he, Molly, and Mrs. Corson. Just a few feet away, the man sat near the top of the stairs with his arm around Erin, occasionally tickling her ear with the barrel of his gun. She’d come out of her stupor, and seemed to realize what was happening. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she was trembling.
For long stretches of time, no one uttered a word. Erin whimpered behind the duct tape he’d pressed over her mouth again. The only other sound was the tearing of sheets. He’d had Molly pull some bedding from the linen closet, and they’d started ripping them into wide strips for their own restraints. Chris felt like one of those people in the horror movies, forced to dig their own grave. He couldn’t help thinking this was more than just a robbery.
Every few minutes, Mrs. Corson broke the silence and tried to bargain with the bogus cop — killer to killer. “Listen, there are four other houses on this block, all empty, all ripe for the picking,” she’d said. “I can tell you which houses offer the best merchandise. I don’t give a shit about these people. You can take what you want, and do whatever you want. Just don’t tie me up. Tie up the others. Leave them here with me, and I’ll make sure you get away with a good haul. I’ll make sure there are no witnesses.”
“Keep tearing those sheets, honey,” he’d replied. “And be quiet. Otherwise, I’ll have to tape up your mouth — like the little one here.”
That had been a few minutes ago, and Jenna Corson hadn’t uttered a word since.
Now the man had the gun pointed at Chris. “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said again. “It’s up to you to make sure no one tries anything foolish. Starting with your houseguest here, I want you to tie up her legs at the ankles. . ”
With several strips of the linen in his grasp, Chris obediently crawled over to Mrs. Corson. His hands shook as he tied her ankles together.
“No, don’t,” she murmured under her breath, squirming.
“Now roll her over on her stomach and tie her hands behind her,” the man commanded. “Make it good and tight, because I’m going to test it. Let’s see if you learned anything in the Boy Scouts about tying knots.”
“I wasn’t in the Boy Scouts,” Chris muttered. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the man had the gun pressed against Erin’s head once more. Chris knew his sister would be dead if he tried to lunge at the guy.
As he turned Mrs. Corson over on her stomach, she resisted and let out a pathetic cry. He struggled to tie her hands together. “No, no, no, no,” she whispered.
When he finally finished, Chris was out of breath. He glanced up at the stranger.
“Now, it’s your stepmom’s turn,” the man said, brushing the gun barrel against Erin’s nose. Trying to turn her head away, she whimpered in protest.
“Tie her up the same way you did the other one,” he said. “The quicker you do it, the quicker I’ll be out of here, and you folks can go back to doing whatever it was you were doing.”
Molly handed Chris some strips of linen as he crawled over to her. She rolled over on her stomach without any prompting. Chris tied her legs first, leaving a little slack. If she was able to pry her shoes off, she stood a good chance of slipping her feet out of the binds. Then he tied up her wrists. Chris couldn’t stop trembling. He was so scared he kept thinking he might throw up. He let out a grunt as he finished tying the knot — acting as if it was as tight as he could make it. But the linen restraints around her wrists were loose enough for Molly to wriggle her hands free — with a little effort.
He glanced over at the man again, who stood up. He held the gun down over the top of Erin’s head. He smiled at Chris. “Okay, your turn,” he said. “Tie yourself up at the ankles. . ”
On the other side of Molly, Chris started tying his own ankles with the strips of bedsheets. He figured the man would pay particular attention to the work he did on himself, so he made the restraints fairly tight.
When Chris looked up again, the man had Erin wiggling facedown on the floor. “Okay, roll over on your stomach,” he said to Chris. “Put your hands behind you.”
Chris was obedient. He kept thinking it was too late to take his chances and pounce on the guy. He should have done that before his ankles were bound. But the son of a bitch had had a gun on Erin the whole time. With the side of his face pressed against the carpeted floor, Chris could only see him from the waist down as he stepped over Mrs. Corson, and gave the sheets on her wrists a tug. “Good,” he murmured. “Nice job.” Then he tested the restraints on Molly’s wrists. “This could have been a little tighter. . ”
“I thought it was pretty tight. I—”
Chris didn’t finish. He felt a powerful blow to his side that knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t even cry out with pain. It took him a few moments to get a breath — and realize the man had kicked him. Doubled up in agony, he gasped for air. Suddenly the man was on top of him. His knee dug into Chris’s back as he pulled his hands together and tied up his wrists with the strips of linen. He made the restraints so tight, it almost cut off the circulation in Chris’s hands.
He stepped over to Molly and wrapped another linen strip around her hands. She winced as he tied up the knot.
“Now, not a peep out of anyone,” he announced, standing over them now. “I’m going to split you up. If you stay quiet and do what I tell you, no one will get hurt. You, you’re first. . ”
Chris glanced over and watched him put his gun in his police holster. Then he grabbed Mrs. Corson by the shoulders. “You’re the guest,” he said, hoisting her to her feet. “So you belong in the guest room. . ”
“Oh, God, no, please. . ” Jenna Corson cried.
But he had her by the arm and led her into the guest room. With her ankles bound, she was forced to take tiny hops.
“Here we go, here we go,” he cooed, holding her up. “Thattagirl. .” Once they were inside the guest room, he shut the door.
“Oh, Jesus, not the closet,” Mrs. Corson cried out. “You’re him, you’re him. . ”
Chris suddenly realized — along with Mrs. Corson — that this man was the Cul-de-sac Killer. He heard Jenna Corson’s muffled whimpering in the next room and wondered if the man was stabbing her in there right now.
“Chris, listen to me,” Molly whispered. He turned toward her so they were facing each other. He lifted his head off the carpet. “If he puts you in your bedroom closet, there’s a small knife in one of your brown shoes — the pair you never wear. I left it in there a few days ago. If he sticks you and your dad’s and my closet, I hid a knife just to the left of the door — underneath one of my slippers.
. ”
Chris remembered seeing Molly on Friday night with a steak knife in her hand as she’d come upstairs. That had been the night before they’d found out his dad was dead. He’d heard that cop tell Molly about how the Cul-de-sac Killer stashed his victims in closets and then killed them one by one.
Dazed, he just stared at Molly and blinked.
“If you can cut yourself loose,” she said, “grab your sister and get out of here. Don’t stop for me. I’ll take care of myself. Just keep running. Don’t try going to one of the neighbors, because no one else is home.”
Chris heard Mrs. Corson sobbing. A door slammed shut from within the guest room — and then there was silence. It must have been the closet door. He thought perhaps Mrs. Corson was dead, but he heard a pounding noise — like she was kicking at the door. It was just like the cop had said.
With a click, the guest room door opened, and the man strode out to the hallway. “Okay, your turn, kid,” he announced. Chris felt the killer grab him under the arms and lift him off the floor. He caught a glimpse of Molly, who shot him a look of encouragement and nodded.
Chris grimaced in pain as the man pulled up his bound hands in back and pushed him toward his room. He thought the guy was going to break both his arms. He frantically hopped down the corridor, and it was all he could do to keep from stumbling.
“See how you like it in here, shit head,” the man grumbled, steering him toward the closet. “Teach you to fuck with me.” He swung open the door, and then shoved Chris into the closet.
Chris knocked several hangers askew. Clothes fell on top of him and dropped to the closet floor. He helplessly stumbled onto the floor as well. Desperately glancing around, he caught sight of his brown shoes — just as the door slammed shut.
Then darkness swallowed him up.
Molly’s heart broke at the sound of Erin’s stifled screams. The killer carried her to her bedroom. “There, there, now, sweetie,” he murmured. “Be a good girl. . ”
His sweet, gentle manner was somehow even crueler than if he’d been rough with her. At least, it felt that way to Molly. He seemed so icy calm and deliberate. She was terrified that he’d kill Erin before he came back for her, before she even had a chance to help the kids escape.
Alone in the hallway, Molly rolled over on the carpet — two complete revolutions — until she was lying at the top of the stairs.
She could still hear Erin’s muffled crying as the man emerged from her bedroom. Molly turned on her side and gazed up at him. “Please, don’t hurt my little boy down in the basement,” she whispered. “He’s only six.”
His cold eyes narrowed at her. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Are you trying to tell me I missed one, stepmom?”
Molly twisted around until she was almost sitting up. “Bobby!” she screamed. “Bobby, honey, get out of the house! Run!”
He turned toward the stairs, his back to her for a moment. Molly leaned back, and then she kicked the backs of his legs with all her might.
He let out a loud yell and toppled down several steps. But he managed to grab hold of the banister halfway down. Wincing, he rubbed his elbow. “Goddamn bitch,” he muttered, shaking his head.
But then after a few moments, he chuckled and gazed up at her.
Reaching for the cuff of his navy blue trousers, he pulled it up to reveal a leather sheath strapped to his leg. He took a hunting knife out of that sheath.
Molly struggled to loosen the restraints on her wrists, but she knew it was in vain.
She watched him. He seemed to stare right into her. With the knife in his hand, he slowly came up the stairs.
“Nice try, bitch,” Chris heard the man growl.
He’d thought for sure Molly had kicked him down the stairs. Her ruse had been very convincing. If Chris hadn’t known better, he’d have thought for sure there was another kid in the house.
Now, he heard what sounded like a slap, and then a dull thud. Molly groaned in pain. Chris swallowed hard, and another wave of panic swept through him. He prayed to God that the guy hadn’t kicked her in the stomach. She was pregnant. Maybe she would live through this, but would the baby?
For some reason, it suddenly mattered to him very much that Molly was carrying his little brother or sister.
For the last few minutes, he’d blindly felt around behind his back for the shoe with the knife in it. At last he’d found it. But it took him several contortions to angle the knife correctly. He nicked his finger, and then the palm of his hand, and finally his wrist. With each little slice into his flesh, he grimaced. Tears rolled down his cheeks. The sheet strips around his wrists became damp with his blood — and even harder to cut.
He could hear Molly moaning in pain. “C’mon, stepmom,” the man grunted. “It’s your turn. Something tells me you know what’s coming up. . ”
There was a strange shuffling sound, which began to fade. Chris knew the killer was leading Molly to the master bedroom — and into the closet there. He heard him chuckling, and then silence.
Frantically, Chris kept pressing the knife blade against the blood-soaked restraint and poking the sharp end through the wet fabric. “Please, God,” he whispered. “C’mon. . ” He maneuvered the knife some more, and heard a tiny ripping sound. Finally, he tore through the tattered restraints and rubbed his sore wrists.
His shoulders ached, and the little cuts on his hands stung, but Chris didn’t care. Working in the dark, he quickly hacked through the linen strips around his ankles. He could hear a knocking sound. It might have been Mrs. Corson banging against the guest room closet, but he wasn’t sure.
He struggled to his feet and opened the closet door. It creaked on the hinges. His legs were a little wobbly, and his side ached from when the man had kicked him. Clutching the small steak knife, he glanced around his bedroom for something else he could use to defend himself. He was going up against a guy with two handguns. And if the newspaper stories were correct, the man carried a knife, too. Most of the Cul-de-sac Killer’s victims had been stabbed to death or strangled.
Chris spotted his Louisville Slugger in the corner of his bedroom. He slipped the knife in his pocket, and then grabbed the baseball bat. He crept toward his doorway.
Peering down the empty hall, he noticed the light on in the master bedroom. The killer was in there with Molly, but Chris couldn’t see them — only their shadows crawling across the bedroom wall.
With the bat resting on his shoulder, he quickly crept into Erin’s room. He took a deep breath, and braced himself for what he might find behind the closed closet door. He opened it, and let out a sigh. Curled up on the floor amid her shoes, Erin helplessly glanced at him. She tried to talk past the duct tape covering her mouth.
“You have to be quiet, and keep still, okay, peanut?” Chris said, under his breath. Taking the knife from his pocket, he cut the restraints around her ankles and wrists. The rope Mrs. Corson had used was harder to cut than the sheets, and it seemed to take forever. It was no help that Erin kept squirming, and he was afraid of nicking her. All the while, he could hear Mrs. Corson next door, banging at the closet door.
Finally, he cut through the ropes. “Leave the tape over your mouth for now, okay?” he whispered to his little sister. “It’ll hurt if I rip it off, and I don’t want you crying. We have to be really quiet. Now, let me give you a piggyback ride. C’mon, all aboard. . ”
Erin was trembling as she grabbed him by the shoulders and climbed on his back. Chris quietly moved to her door and checked the empty hallway.
“I’m saving you for last, bitch,” he heard the man say. His voice came from the master bedroom. “I want you to know how it feels to stay in there for a while. And then I’m going to take my sweet time with you.”
Chris crept across the hallway to the stairs. With her arms around his neck, Erin clung so tightly she was almost choking him. The steps creaked as he hurried down them, but Mrs. Corson was still kicking against the closet door — and that was louder. She star
ted to scream and cry. At the bottom of the stairs, Chris leaned the bat against the wall. With his free hand, he reached inside the pocket of his jacket, which hung on the newel post. He took out his cell phone and shoved it into his pocket with the knife. Skulking to the front door, he opened it, then went back and retrieved his bat.
The chilly night air felt good as he ducked outside. He closed the door, but made sure the lock didn’t click. He would be going back in there.
Chris carried his sister to the end of the driveway, and then lowered her down. He glanced up at the windows in the front of the house, but didn’t see any movement. He squatted down again to whisper to Erin. “I want you to run to the Hahns’. No one’s home, so you’ll have to hide in the playhouse in their backyard. Don’t come out until you hear the police sirens, and even then, make sure they’re here in front of the house before you let anyone see you. Okay?”
She touched the duct tape over her mouth, and nodded.
He gave his sister a kiss, and then tugged at the corner of the duct tape. “If you tear this off really fast, it might not hurt so much. But it’s still going to hurt, and you might cry — so wait until you’re in the playhouse. Be brave. You’re doing great so far, Erin. Now, go. . ” He turned her toward the Hahns’ house.
Chris watched his sister scurry toward Courtney’s place. The empty house was dark — except for one light on in the living-room window. He kept staring at Erin until she disappeared in the shadows.
He took out the cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. Waiting for an answer, he turned back toward the house. Molly and Mrs. Corson were still inside there with that maniac. He glanced up at the second-floor window and didn’t see anything.
Then he heard a loud, piercing scream.
“God, no, don’t!” Jenna Corson cried out behind the closed door of the guest room. “Please, no, wait. . wait. .”
A knife clutched in her hand, Molly paused in the hallway. Her head throbbed, and blood was smeared around her mouth. She had a cut lip from where he’d hit her.
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