by Karen Rose
She’d screamed and screamed until her throat was raw. And then, he’d abruptly stopped, backing away with a muttered oath. He’d left; she’d heard the door close. When had that been? She didn’t know. She could only see a bit of light through the edges of her blindfold. She thought she’d seen lights flashing overhead just before he stopped and swore.
He’ll be back. He always came back. At first she’d prayed that someone would save her. But no one had. Now she prayed for death to come quickly.
It didn’t seem like that was his plan. Whoever he was. He seemed intent on stretching this out. On making it last. He’d said so, several times. That he needed to make it last.
But worst of all, she didn’t know if he had Corinne too. The last thing she remembered was him shoving Corinne into the back of a van, but Arianna had heard no other screams since waking. Only her own.
Please let Corinne have gotten away. But she didn’t think her friend had escaped. Corinne had been limp when he threw her in the back of that van. Like she was dead already.
The door closed quietly and she tensed. Lemons. She smelled lemons. It was the girl. Again.
‘Help me,’ Arianna begged, her voice raspy and broken. ‘Please, help me.’
A damp towel patted her cheeks, cleaning up what was probably sweat and blood. And tears. Arianna had shed all three.
‘I’m sorry,’ the girl whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Arianna tugged the rope again. ‘Untie me. Please. I’ll get you out too. I promise.’
The girl drew in a slow breath, still blotting Arianna’s face. ‘I can’t ever leave.’
‘Who says? I’ll take you with me. Please. You’re my only hope.’
‘I’m sorry.’ The girl’s hands froze, and in the silence that followed, Arianna heard footsteps.
The door opened. Arianna heard the girl’s breathing accelerate. ‘I w-was only c-c-cleaning her,’ the girl stammered out. ‘Like you told me to.’
There was a loud crack, his hand slapping the girl’s face. ‘You’ve been talking to her. I told you not to talk to her. I told you not to talk to any of them, but you dare disobey me. Get an empty box from the kitchen and pack my things. Yours too.’
The girl didn’t say anything. Arianna didn’t breathe. He’s leaving? Why?
But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he’d have to cut her free from the table if he moved her. That’ll be my chance to escape.
The girl’s footsteps shuffled across the floor, then the door closed quietly. Arianna could hear him approaching. She braced herself, expecting the slap, but it still hurt when it came. Her jaw ached, her cheek burned. But she didn’t cry out.
‘Did you beg her for help?’ he asked silkily. ‘Did you ask her to untie you? She won’t help you, you know. She wouldn’t know how. You are stuck here. Forever. Or until I kill you.’
Gritting her teeth, Arianna waited for the next assault, but he moved away. A moment later she heard the sound of metal clanking. Knives, she thought. He’s packing up his knives, putting them into a box. There was a loud, flat clang. The lid of the box being slammed down? Yes. Like a toolbox.
The door slammed and he was gone. Arianna let the air seep out of her lungs. She didn’t know what had just happened, or why, but she knew she had a chance now. She’d survive, she vowed. She’d break free, find Corinne, and they’d get the hell out of this nightmare.
Mt Carmel, Ohio, Sunday 2 November, 10.25 P.M.
He slammed the door to his torture room, pissed as hell. ‘Roza! Where the fuck are you?’
The blanket that covered her doorway was pushed aside and the girl came out into the hall. ‘I’m here,’ she said quietly.
‘I told you to pack my things. What’re you doing back there?’
She hesitated. Dropped her gaze. ‘You told me to pack my things too.’
That he had, he had to admit. It wasn’t like it would take her long. She owned maybe four things. ‘Okay. Fine. Get back to it.’ But she didn’t move. ‘Well? What’s the problem now?’
She flinched. ‘Wh-wh-what about Mama?’
He stared down at her. She was skinny, but she’d grown taller. Rounder in places she hadn’t been round before. He’d noticed. ‘What about her?’
She glanced down the dark hall that led to her little room. ‘I can’t just . . . leave her here.’
He shook his head. He’d known she was stupid, but she’d really surprised him. ‘You can’t take her with you. That’s just disgusting. She’s not prepared or anything. She’s probably a pile of rotting goo by now.’ The kid’s mother had died when he’d been away last year, and by the time he’d returned she’d buried the bitch all by herself. The body had already started to rot, so he’d left it alone. No matter. Time had not been kind to the woman. He wouldn’t have wanted to preserve her face anyway.
He knew that the kid was attached to her mother’s grave. She talked to it, slept next to it. That he could understand. But taking the remains with her? The child was not right.
‘I left a takeout bag in the kitchen.’ It had grown cold as he’d driven around town, looking for Faith’s red Jeep. ‘Warm it for me. If you eat even one bite, I’ll know. I weighed it.’
‘All right,’ she whispered.
That was better. He’d let her have too much freedom. She’d been talking to his captives when he wasn’t around. He’d been too easy on her since her mother’s death. He’d have to clamp down, show her the meaning of respect. ‘When you’re done with my dinner, I want everything washed down with bleach. Every wall, every inch of the floor. If I see one dry surface . . .’
He’d beat the tar out of her. He was in the mood to do some major violence. God help the child if she got in his way. It was handy that he had Arianna Escobar. She would take the full brunt of his frustration tonight. Arianna thought she was so tough. She thought she’d had the worst of him. She hadn’t seen anything yet.
He hadn’t been able to find Faith. He’d looked everywhere that she’d ever gone while visiting the old bag who’d left this place to her, but he hadn’t seen her red Jeep in any of the places he’d looked. I should have followed her. I should have shot her tires out and stopped her from leaving. He was a damn good shot. If only he’d had his rifle loaded.
But he hadn’t. And had he stopped her, she might have called 911 before he could get to her. That was all he needed.
As long as she was alive, that she’d enter the house was a given. She’d explore it and then she’d sell it. He’d have realtors underfoot all day long, poking around. Touching my things. He had to find her before she got the opportunity to enter. He wanted her dead, but on his own terms, because once she was gone, he’d buy the house himself.
He’d already set the plan in motion, goddammit, so she needed to be gone soon.
He went to his office, closed the door, pulled the desk away from the wall, and pried off the cover to his hidey-hole. He had dozens of these hiding places. Some he’d built, but most had come with the house. These old Victorian houses had nooks and crannies galore and he had made good use of them.
He pulled a lockbox from the wall and set it carefully on his desk. It had grown heavy over the years. It held his most treasured collection. This would be the one thing he’d take if he had to make a quick escape.
It was the one thing that could bury him were it found. He unlocked the box and lifted the lid. It was filled with memories – cell phones and wallets and driver’s licenses. Hair bows and earrings, necklaces and rings. Photographs, car keys, and cans of pepper spray never used by their owners because he’d been far too quick. He even had a deputy sheriff’s badge.
Deputy Susan Simpson had been her name. She’d been a feisty one. Tall and buxom and much stronger than she’d looked. But she’d bent to his will eventually, just like the rest. She’d been a real treat, had lasted weeks before she’d finally given up and died. He’d been able to work out an amazing amount of rage and stress on that one.
He was under a
far greater strain now than he’d been when he took Deputy Simpson. It had been worse when he’d targeted Corinne Longstreet on Friday night. He’d been watching her for weeks, waiting for just the right time. Friday had been that time. All because of Faith.
On Friday night, he’d been completely wound up. He’d driven straight to King’s College. He’d been tired and hadn’t been thinking properly and had nearly made a mistake that might have cost him everything.
He’d waited for the two women to separate at the fork in the path. Arianna had gone off to her dorm, leaving Corinne alone and vulnerable. Nabbing her had been a piece of cake. But he hadn’t been expecting Arianna to return, to leap to Corinne’s defense. That he’d managed to take Arianna before she’d had a chance to call 911 had been a bit of cosmic good fortune.
He didn’t want to have to kill either of them now. He wasn’t done with them, not by a long shot. He wanted to stay put. Wanted to have his fun. To work out his frustration. He needed to vent somehow. He was on edge.
All because of Faith Frye. Why hadn’t she died like a normal person any of the times he’d tried to kill her? He could feel the agitation growing inside him, spreading into his brain. If he let it go too far, he’d do something inadvisable. Spontaneous. And then he’d get caught. It was inevitable. So he never allowed the agitation to go too far.
By the time he’d finished with Arianna, he’d be calm, cool and collected once again.
He’d find Faith Frye and he’d kill her. His troubles would be far from over, but at least they would be less immediate.
He picked a hotel key card from the lockbox and frowned. He couldn’t remember who’d brought this keycard, but it didn’t really matter right now. What mattered was that Faith possessed one of these. She’d be in a hotel somewhere. It might take a while, but he’d find her, even if he had to call every hotel in the tri-state area.
On his cell phone, he searched for the hotel chain that Faith always used. Such a creature of habit. He dialed the first location. ‘I’d like Faith Frye’s room, please.’
‘Could you spell that?’ the hotel clerk asked pleasantly.
‘Frye. F-R-Y-E.’
‘Are you sure she’s staying here? We don’t have her in our computer.’
It would have been too easy for him to find her on the first try. ‘I could have sworn she said she was staying at this hotel. I’m sorry to have troubled you. Thank you.’
He repeated the call with every location in that hotel chain in the tri-state area, with no luck. He was becoming frustrated again when the girl knocked softly. He flung open the door with a silent snarl to find her standing with a tray in her hands. His supper. He’d nearly forgotten.
Her eyes were down, her arms trembling from the weight of the tray, and probably fear. He grabbed the tray. ‘Do not spy on me, girl.’
She kept her eyes down. ‘I wasn’t. I’m sorry.’
‘Go to your room. You can wash my tray tomorrow. Go. Now. I’m busy.’ He slammed the door and ate his dinner while he looked up more hotels. He’d have to take a break soon. He was becoming too snippy with the desk clerks. He’d be too memorable if he called them the names that were hovering on the tip of his tongue.
He pushed his empty plate away and went back to his torture room. He’d vent some of his rage on Arianna before his next set of calls. He’d keep at it all night if he had to, calling every hotel in town until her found her.
Cincinnati, Ohio, Monday 3 November, 2.45 A.M.
No, no, no, don’t make me! Please don’t make me! Faith screamed as she had a million times before, but no one ever heard. No one ever helped. She stood on the very edge, staring down into the blackness that filled her with dread. She knew what was down there. She wouldn’t go there again.
It was always her own treacherous feet that moved, hovering over the blackness . . . Lowering until . . . they hit a step. One. She grabbed the banister, wrapped her arms around it and held on for dear life, but still her feet moved, dragging her down another step. Two.
Crazy. Three. I’m crazy. Four. I’m losing my mind. Five. Six. No, no, no. Please. She moaned now, but it never made any difference. Her feet kept going down. Seven, eight. Nine.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve. That was all. Now run! But she was always frozen.
Don’t look. She clenched her eyes shut as her body pivoted against her will. Don’t. Look. She knew what she’d see. Don’t open your eyes. But her eyes always opened.
One red Ked. Just one, swaying gently, bright white shoelaces dragging lazily through the dirt. Don’t look up. Do. Not. Look. Up. But her chin lifted and—
Faith bolted upright in bed, the air sawing in and out of her lungs, her ears ringing with her own scream. One hand reached for the lamp on the nightstand, the other for the gun under her pillow. She squinted at the light, her mind desperately scrambling to establish her location.
She was in a hotel. In Cincinnati. Surrounded by boxes and suitcases. She was all right. She was all alone. The breath shuddered out of her body, now violently trembling.
The shrill ring of the hotel phone broke the silence and numbly she reached for it. ‘Yes?’ she asked, her voice raspy and raw from the screaming.
‘Dr Corcoran, are you all right? One of the guests on your floor reported hearing a scream.’
Her cheeks heated in humiliation. ‘I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘I had a bad dream. I’m sorry I bothered the other guests.’
Faith replaced the phone in the cradle, then got out of bed and turned on the television, keeping the sound low while she found the box containing her Xbox, and unpacked its contents.
A few minutes later she was settling on the floor, controller in hand, picking up the game where she’d left off the last time she had the nightmare.
‘It’s time to kill us some zombies,’ she murmured, because trying to sleep after the nightmare was an exercise in futility. This she’d learned twenty-three very long years ago.
Chapter Two
Cincinnati, Ohio, Monday 3 November, 8.45 A.M.
She’d wised up, he thought, watching Faith take a ticket at the entrance to a parking garage near Fountain Square. All the attempts he’d made on her life had made her careful.
Good for her. Bad for me. He’d finally found her in a long-term-stay hotel with valet parking, which had kept her Jeep out of his sight. He’d waited all night until she reappeared. Once he caught her, she’d pay for the sleepless nights she’d caused.
She’d finally come through the hotel’s front door an hour ago, dressed to the nines in an emerald-green suit and matching heels. At first he’d assumed she was going to see her attorney, but she hadn’t. Instead she’d driven into the heart of downtown. Where she was still being careful. The parking garage she’d chosen had cameras at the entrance. Probably on every floor.
It was centrally located on one of the busiest blocks in the city, so she could walk to her destination, losing herself among the pedestrians. He was unlikely to catch her alone, but that was okay. He wasn’t going to kill her here anyway – it would be insanity to even consider it. He was biding his time until he could lure her to an isolated spot. One that was not near his basement.
He followed her into the garage, unconcerned with the camera that snapped his picture when he took a ticket from the machine. His face was disguised and no one could link him to the Tennessee license plates on his van. The plates had been taken off a car driven by a drifter who’d decided that because the O’Bannions had abandoned their house, he could use it as his personal hotel. That had been a bad decision. The drifter hadn’t lasted nearly as long as the woman currently tied to his table. He’d screamed like a little girl at the first slice of the knife.
The memory made him eager to return to Arianna. Patience. He’d be able to enjoy his newest guests once he took care of Faith. Now that he’d located her, he wouldn’t have to take the drastic step of evacuating the house.
He slowly rounded a corner in the garage, pretending to look for a space when he
was really looking for Faith’s red Jeep. Instead, he saw Faith’s red hair.
There she was in her vivid green suit, a dark coat draped over one arm, crossing the garage right in front of him. She dropped her keys and bent over to pick them up, and he had to stem the urge to gun his engine. She was the perfect target. End her. Now.
But that would be beyond stupid. The garage was busy this time of the morning. He probably wouldn’t make it to the street before the cops were on his tail. She couldn’t just disappear like the others. The cops would search all the places she’d recently been. Which included the cemetery, and the house. So stick to the plan. She wasn’t worth risking everything.
He parked the van and, getting out slowly, made a show of gripping his cane as he closed the door. Shuffling with his back hunched, he knew he looked every day of ninety. A full beard covered his face, spectacles covered his eyes, and a hat covered his head. And as always, gloves covered his hands. He’d never left a fingerprint he hadn’t meant to leave.
When he got to the Jeep, he dropped a pen so that it rolled under her fender. He lowered himself to one knee, pressing a hand to his back for the benefit of anyone who might be watching, now or later. As he picked up the pen, he took the tracking device he’d brought from his coat pocket and slipped it under the fender.
There. His phone would beep when she moved the Jeep. He didn’t care where she went while in the city. He wanted to know when she left the city to head his way. Because he had to kill her before she came back to the house.
Miami, Florida, Monday 3 November, 9.30 A.M.
Detective Catalina Vega placed the cup of colada on her boss’s desk and waited for the aroma to get his attention. The Cuban espresso was his weakness and the shop in Cat’s neighborhood made the very best.
Lieutenant Neil Davies drew a deep, appreciative breath before looking up from his computer screen, his expression wary. ‘What do you want, Vega?’