Kris quickly fit the sweatshirt over the t-shirt she slept in, grateful for the cool rain that necessitated such bulky clothing. The sweatshirt would hide the gun, if she could just get to it. No way to use it now, but it could come in handy to save Nick. If she could only smuggle it out of the bedroom.
“My tennis shoes are in the closet, would you mind getting them?” She asked politely, her voice barely above a whisper. If he turned his back, this was her chance. She could have the gun tucked neatly in the back of her jeans quickly, if he would just look away.
“Certainly.” Damien was pleased with Kris’s demeanor and her behavior. He walked across the room and opened the closet door without ever taking his eyes off of her.
“The blue ones, please.” Kris said, hoping to make him look down at the shoes, even though there was only one pair in the closet. It worked. In the few seconds it took him to lean down for the shoes, Kris slid the gun inside the back pocket of her jeans and quickly covered it with the t-shirt and the sweatshirt. As he stood to bring her the shoes, she asked for her rain coat. He obliged her. That was one more layer to cover the outline of the gun.
Damien took Kris’s hand and led her through the bedroom door and the upstairs hallway, down the stairs and through the back door, barely making a sound.
Chapter Sixteen
“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” Cassandra gazed into blue eyes as deep as the navy frock coat he wore and she believed she could drown in the love reflected there. She felt him slide the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. Never had she felt so cherished.
He helped her kneel down as he did the same, neither releasing the other’s gaze. As the minister began to pray, Cassandra unwillingly broke the connection by closing her eyes. The tears she had been holding back fell freely now, beneath sheltered lids. She was his, and he was hers. Forever and always.
Cassie woke up crying, as she often did when she dreamed of the phantom lover who haunted her memories. No matter which time period or under what circumstances, the act of breaking away from him left her bereft with sorrow. She allowed a few minutes to readjust to her current life, then threw back the covers and rose from the bed. Tea, she thought, and something sweet.
Walking down the hall, she noticed that Kris’s bedroom door was open. “That’s odd,” she said softly as she peeked into the room. Kris wasn’t in the bed, the bathroom door was open, but the light was off. Both rooms were obviously empty. Curious, but not concerned, she continued down the stairs to the kitchen. Company will be nice, she thought. Tea for two.
Kris wasn’t in the kitchen, and as Cassie began the room-by-room search for her friend she felt concern start to blossom. After checking the front and back porch—no Kris in sight—she raced up the stairs to alert Jerry.
Jerry awoke to Cassie screaming as she ran up the stairs. She met her at the doorway.
“I can’t find Kris. She’s not anywhere in the house, or outside.”
Jerry didn’t even ask if Cassie was sure, she pulled her gun with one hand and her cell phone with the other. “Go to your room, lock the door and don’t come out until I say it’s safe.” She spoke hurriedly to Cassie as she dialed Kris’s cell. Dylan answered.
“Kris is missing,” Jerry told him as she searched Kris’s room, finding her cell phone on the bedside table. “Her phone is here, purse is here, clothes are gone.” She gave him the rundown as she hurried down the stairs to search the house for clues.
“Damn, how did...” Dylan began, then “I’m on my way.”
The rain was like a sheet in front of him as Dylan sped towards Cassie’s house. Fear gnawed at his gut like a bulldog attacking a fresh bone. He gave Jerry a few minutes to check the house, and then called her back.
“What did you find?” He barked as soon as she answered.
“The back door is unlocked, but closed. I locked it myself before we went to bed. There’s no way Kris left on her own in this weather and under these circumstances, with no purse or phone.”
“What about the guard?”
“I’m on my way to him now, I’ll call you right back.” Jerry disconnected the call.
Dylan swore even as his mind raced to find answers. The scenario fit his M.O. perfectly; slip in during the dead of night and take the woman. No muss, no fuss. But how did he know where to find her? “And how are we going to get her back?” he said aloud.
The radio squawked his name; Jerry calling from the guard’s car. “Dylan, come in.”
“Anything?” He waited.
“Rikers never saw anyone. No pedestrians, and no cars on the street for the past three hours. He did see headlights and then a car cross the street in front of him, two blocks up, about 30 minutes ago. The car was heading north on East Bay.”
“That’s better than nothing, but what are the odds that it’s him? What time did you all go to bed?”
“About three hours ago. But Cassie planned to read. I’ll go ask what time she turned off the lights.”
“Do that, call me on my cell. I’ll notify Stark to get the search going.” Dylan grabbed his cell and punch in Stark’s number as he topped the Cooper River Bridge. She answered on the first ring.
“Damien took Kris. It’s possible he went north on East Bay, but that’s just a guess. I need you to call tech, find out how they’re coming with the web trace. Also tell them to add Bay Street to the previous search parameters for a possible hostage location.” He took a breath and continued, “You stay put, but I want everyone else out searching. Just don’t ask me for what right now, but I want the entire warehouse district along the bay area covered. Maybe we’ll get lucky and spot something out of place.”
“Right, I’m on it.” She paused, “Dylan, I’m really sorry it turned out like this.”
“Me too, but it’s not over yet.” He clicked off. Two seconds later, his phone rang again. He was almost to Cassie’s house.
Jerry started talking before Dylan even said hello. “Cassie read for about an hour. Assuming he waited for everyone to fall asleep and assuming that the car Rikers saw was him, the window for abduction is likely between 1:30 and 2:30 a.m., which means he may have had her for almost two hours.” She and Cassie were waiting in the kitchen; Cassie was making coffee to keep from going crazy. She started trembling when she heard Jerry’s assumption, but kept up a calm façade.
“I’m here, let me in.” Dylan punched off the phone, bolted from the car and raced up the front steps. Jerry met him at the door.
“I’ve triple checked the house. He definitely came in through the back door; the rug is damp there, but no mud or visible footprints. I didn’t want to leave Cassie alone inside, but we need to check out the back of the house.”
“I’m on it.” Jerry was leading Dylan to the back porch as she spoke; he walked past Cassie without even a look. The fierce determination that she saw on his face both frightened her and comforted her. He seemed focused and capable.
Ten minutes passed before Dylan came back inside, soaking wet. He walked straight into the Kitchen where Cassie and Jerry waited. “He was definitely here, in the back. He made himself comfortable in a lawn chair between the garage and the tree line. Forensics may be able to get something, but I doubt it because of the rain. There’s two easy access points to the street from there; he could have been parked on either one. If the car Rikers saw was his, then he was parked on Broad, which is a one way street running into East Bay. It fits.”
Cassie silently handed Dylan a cup of coffee. He noticed her for the first time, but barely, acknowledging the coffee with a nod. His focus
was totally on finding Kris. Just then, his phone rang again. It was Stark.
“Tech is sending a list of abandoned warehouses along Bay Street that fit the parameters you gave them before. No guarantees, but it’s a place to start. You should have them on your phone in a few minutes. Everyone else is heading that way, planning to canvas unless you say differently.”
“Good, that’s all we can do. What about the web trace, anything?”
“Tech says that it’s a world-wide maze, but they are working on it. They advised that you pursue other leads.”
“Yeah, right. What leads? The son of a bitch did it again, this time right under our noses. Jerry and I are heading out, stay where you are to liaison. Call me on the car radio or my cell if you hear anything.” Dylan disconnected the phone and looked at Jerry. “Let’s go.”
“I’m coming too,” Cassie spoke up.
“No, you’re not. I’m sorry, but there’s no time to argue. I’m sending Rikers inside to wait with you.” As an afterthought, he said “thanks for the coffee” as he headed for the door.
“I’ll call you the minute we find her,” Jerry promised Cassie. “Don’t worry; he probably thinks he has all the time in the world. He has no way of knowing we have a clue where he might be or that he’s even taken her.” She tried to smile reassuringly as she followed Dylan to the door. Cassie didn’t buy it for a second.
Damien drove around for half an hour before finally pulling into a parking lot near the water. Kris could smell the industrial odor of the paper mill, even through the torrential rain. This area of Charleston was not unfamiliar, but it was definitely not on any tourist map. She had no idea why he didn’t just drive straight here, they could have arrived 15 minutes ago.
He’d tied her hands in her lap when they got in the car. Kris was grateful he didn’t tie them behind her back. The gun in her back pocket was digging into her right butt cheek, but she tried not to appear lopsided as she sat demurely beside him.
He hadn’t said a word since they left the house, neither had she. Her mind was focused on how she would get both herself and Nick out of this mess. She prayed that he was taking her to Nick, otherwise how would she find him? He had to still be alive; she would not allow herself to think otherwise.
Kris waited patiently for Damien to come around to her side of the car, open the door and help her out. Walking casually through the downpour, he held her arm and guided her the few steps to the side door of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. Taking the key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and ushered her inside.
The long, narrow hallway resembled the one in her nightmare only in that there were doorways leading off to both sides. Concrete blocks reaching to ceilings that were at least 15 feet high flanked the broken concrete floor that led into the belly of the building. Near the end of the hall, light spilled from underneath one of the doors, illuminating the cracks in the floor.
The smell of mildew and rotting fish assaulted her senses as Damien escorted her towards the light. The vision of Nick flashed through her mind as she faced the long hallway. She was confident that this building was the same one in her vision, the smells were almost identical. A sigh of relief almost escaped her lips. Scurrying sounds of what she assumed were disturbed rodents caught her attention as they passed the open doorways. Seeing only darkness inside the rooms, Kris wondered if Nick was in one.
“Are you taking me to Nick?” she asked quietly.
“Mr. Evans is here, yes. But I am not ‘taking’ you to him. His role in our date is that of an interested observer.”
So he was alive, she thought and felt an instant of giddy elation. “Where are we going on our date?” She tried not to choke on the word.
“Ah, but we’re here, my Beauty. I hope the accommodations are to your liking.”
Kris was at a loss, should she play along or challenge his idea of a date? The ropes were chaffing her hands as they moved; she had to convince him to untie her if she had a prayer of reaching her gun. His formal, almost respectful demeanor gave her a small ounce of hope. Maybe she could kill him with kindness. “I must admit that I’ve never had a date in a warehouse before. How clever of you to think of it.” She tried to sound appreciative and intrigued.
Apparently, it was the right tactic. He fairly beamed as he stopped in front of the lit doorway and swung open the door with a flourish. “I’ve arranged this room with you in mind, Beauty.”
Kris’s eyes were immediately drawn to Nick, slumped in an iron chair, rings of duct tape surrounding his body, arms and legs, just like in her vision. She swallowed her gasp. As Damien pressured her forward with a light grip on her arm, she saw the ‘arrangements’ he had made for her. This time, her gasp was audible.
Directly opposite Nick’s seemingly lifeless body was a single threadbare mattress atop a row of wooden crates. Surrounded by unlit candles, the makeshift bed had four wooden planks attached to the crates at each corner of the mattress, mimicking bed posts. Handcuffs attached to each post waited on top of the stained mattress. Kris felt a trail of icy fear race up her spine.
Another crate stood beside the bed. The top was covered in what was once a white cloth. Blood stains were obvious and covered most of the fabric, separated by slivers of almost white threads. Another crate stood at the foot of the bed, a vase of blood-red roses sat square in the center. The absence of the scent of roses was a testament to the vile odors that infused the space.
“The roses are lovely.” Kris barely managed to speak. “Thank you.”
Damien was pleased with her response and led her to the bed, inviting her to sit. “May I take your coat?” he asked, still evoking a formal manner.
Even though the room was chilled, Kris knew that the coat would only prohibit her access to the gun. She had to give it up. Not that I have much choice, she thought, and he’ll have to untie my hands to take it off. “Please,” she said and held up her wrists.
Damien assessed the look on her face, did not yet see fear and felt challenged by her lack of the desired response. There were no tears, no screaming and no threats. She hadn’t even begged once. Ignoring her outstretched wrists, he turned to the covered crate and carefully peeled away the bloody shield.
Brightly polished and precisely sharpened implements lay on a velvet covered tray. Scalpels, butcher knives and serrated blades lay in a row next to a miniature hacksaw, a rotary drill and a small axe. Damien monitored Kris’s expression as he reverently folded the blood-soaked fabric. Her pupils widened at the sight of the finely honed instruments, but she didn’t say a word. Selecting one of the butcher knives, Damien walked over to where her hands were still outstretched. Looking deeply into her eyes, he began to saw the ropes.
Kris could barely breathe, but she somehow knew that her reaction to his toys would make a difference in her life span. Without a word, she met his gaze, trying not to shiver from the black emptiness she saw there.
When her hands were free, he held onto the knife almost lovingly while stepping back to give her room to stand. She did so slowly, removing her coat and handing it to him. She immediately sat back down, crushing the gun into the lumpy mattress. “Thank you,” She said politely, folding her hands in her lap and looking at Damien calmly.
Her unexpected behavior gave Damien pause, but not for long. Though certain he could eventually arouse the fear that so moved him, her attitude was still a puzzle. He decided to test her resolve. Replacing the knife, he picked up a scalpel, the point of the blade gleaming in the stark overhead light. Returning to stand in front of Kris, he slowly slid the edge of the blade down the side of her face. Kris felt the warm wetness of her own blood trickle along her cheek. She didn’t flinch, just looked into the black abyss that passe
d for his eyes.
“My brave Beauty,” he crooned. “Perhaps you will enjoy our date more than the others. Regardless, I am delighted to show you the wonders of pain combined with pleasure.” He let the scalpel slide off her chin. His eyes never left hers as he wiped the bloody blade on the folded fabric sheath. “Perhaps we should wake our guest.” He said as he gripped her left wrist roughly before clamping it between the metal cuffs attached to the nearest plank-post. “I trust you’ll stay seated for me.” She nodded, resisting the urge to wipe at the blood still trickling down her face.
“First, we’ll set the mood.” He took his time lighting all of the candles, and then turned off the overhead light. More candles surrounded Nick’s chair and lined the walls. After several minutes, the dank, concrete room was aglow with soft light. With the stark overhead light gone, the scurrying noises Kris heard coming from the other dark rooms came alive here.
Kris took this opportunity to slowly reach her free hand behind her back. As soon as Damien turned his back to her, she retrieved the gun from her jeans. He turned to face her before she could get a good grip on it, so it now lay on the bed directly behind her. She had no doubt that when he came to stand over her, he would see it.
“What are you doing?” He asked sharply as he saw that one hand had disappeared.
“Nothing, just adjusting my shirt to be more comfortable,” Kris quickly shoved the gun beneath her sweatshirt and held her hand up so he could see before placing back in her lap.
Without another word, Damien walked over to the table and picked up another scalpel.
Dylan and Jerry cruised Bay Street, passing dive bars, closed for the night, and the occasional drifter who defied the weather out of spite or necessity. As they neared the warehouse district, Dylan slowed the car to a crawl as they peered into parking lots and between buildings. They had no idea what they were looking for, but they hoped they would know it when they saw it.
“Over there,” Jerry pointed at a late model BMW parked just outside an abandoned warehouse door. “That’s a pretty nice car to be parked here at this time of night.”
Timeless Trilogy, Book One: Fate Page 17