Heaven's Prey

by Janet Sketchley

  Ruth struggled to breathe. Her lungs felt like they had turned to stone. A cold, heavy stone. “You could let me go,” she whispered through numb lips. “By the time the police found me, you’d be miles away.”

  “And ruin my reputation? Not a chance.” Steel blue eyes raked over her.

  Ruth clasped her arms across her chest, as if to reinforce the thin blue raincoat. His narrow lips curved at the gesture.

  “Don’t worry, you can leave it on—for now. But take that stupid plastic thing off your head.”

  What? Ruth’s hand touched wet plastic. As soon as she remembered the hated hat, sweat prickled at the roots of her hair. She didn’t want to obey him, but this had to come off her head—now. A simple bow tied the strings, but she couldn’t work her fingers to unfasten it.

  Her breathing hitched. Harry watched her with a mocking smile, as if her helplessness proved his power. She grabbed the crown of the hat and dragged it over her face. It hurt her ears and pulled her hair, but the horrid thing was off.

  Harry tossed it into the back seat, then turned to study her. One finger traced the laugh lines that fanned from her left eye. His touch burned.

  She willed herself to keep still, to maintain eye contact.

  “How old are you?”

  Ruth’s eyes widened. “Forty-six.” Would he want to check her teeth? She ground them together against a wave of hysteria. She had to keep control, keep looking for a chance.

  “Too old.” He tweaked her chin. “Still, it’s been a long time. You’ll have to do.”

  He pulled back onto the road. Ruth leaned against the headrest and tried to pray, but she couldn’t focus. Her thoughts flailed for a way out, mimicking the windshield wipers’ rapid dance.

  Slowly a new problem forced itself into her consciousness. She squirmed in her seat. Her captor spared her one brief glance from the road.

  “I need to use the washroom.”

  His smile was barely visible in the dim glow from the dashboard. “I’ll bet you do. No little jaunts off into to the forest for you. You might get lost. Cross your legs or something. Besides, it’s not my car. I don’t care what happens to the upholstery.”

  Ruth tried not to think about the coffee she’d finished before leaving the prayer meeting. She checked the glowing readout of her watch. Was it only an hour ago?

  Harry had turned off again, and they were following the old Number Three highway as it snaked southward along the Atlantic coastline. Through his window, the ocean glowed pale in the darkness. No whitecaps tonight. The rain had beaten the waves into a heavy swell.

  She and Tony sometimes took this drive on lazy summer days. They liked to browse in the craft shops and stop for lunch in one of the small communities that dotted the coast. But tonight...

  Oh, Tony. And Lorna, Alden, and Ian—Susan’s family. How much is too much, God? How could this happen? I did my part and prayed for Harry. I wasn’t supposed to meet him... to be his next victim.

  Harry drove slower now. With more buildings around, he probably didn’t want to raise suspicion. If they were stopped on this stretch of road, he wouldn’t have much chance of escape. The sea was inhospitable, and searchers would have the advantage if he took to the unfamiliar woods in the darkness.

  After what seemed hours, the road veered inland. Soon they passed another signpost. Harry grunted. “About time.” He turned left onto a dark lane leading into the trees.

  Ruth frowned. So he wasn’t fleeing blind. “You know where you’re going.”

  “When we get there, the fun begins.”

  It wasn’t enough he wanted to kill her. Harry had to mess with her head first? Ruth bit her lip. When he stopped the car, she’d run. Hide in the forest.

  Harry doused the headlights and edged the car along by the muted glow of the parking lights. A few minutes later he turned left again, and then right onto a half-hidden track. It looked like an old driveway, winding and narrow in the darkness. The dim lights picked out a strip of grass growing along the hump in the middle. Wet branches groped at the car as it forged ahead.

  The car lurched to the right. Trees clawed the passenger door as Harry swerved around a large rock in the road, missing it by inches.

  Ruth’s scream brought a bark of laughter. “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me. In the car, that is.”

  He rubbed his knuckles down the side of her face. Ruth jerked away and clung to the door. A long branch, bent at an impossible angle by the storm, slapped wet green leaves into the windshield.

  Harry put both hands on the wheel. “I had a crash course on how to get here before I escaped. They left out that boulder.”

  “So you did have help breaking out.”

  “What’s the matter? Think I don’t have any friends? They were happy to help. Planned the whole thing. Even gave me the choice of east coast or west.”

  “But the police are following you west.”

  He laughed. “My stunt double. If I’d gone that way, he’d be here. And you’d have never known how close you came.”

  The forest closed in around the car, suffocating Ruth, mocking her fate. She moistened her lips. “I—Your friends didn’t plan for me. Why don’t you let me go?”

  “Forget it.” He was silent for a moment. “You weren’t in anybody’s plans. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Tears welled in Ruth’s eyes. God, I’m in Your plans. Somewhere. Stop him... and show me how to get out of here.

  Chapter 4

  Tony shut off the lights in his basement woodworking shop and climbed the stairs. There’d been no sounds overhead, so Ruth must have gone to her prayer meeting after all. Despite his ultimatum.

  He opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. He shouldn’t have blown up like that, even if she did deserve it. Calling that butcher by name like a friend—praying for him. No god worth following would listen after what Silver had done.

  Tony glanced around the room. Ruth had cleaned up the shattered bowl before she left. What had he expected, that she’d bail on her friend and quit her precious meeting? Because of him?

  Yes, he had, but maybe it wasn’t realistic. He couldn’t order her to stop going to church. But this fixation with Silver had to end. It wasn’t healthy, for her or for their marriage.

  He checked the time. These meetings never went late. He’d make her a pot of tea, watch the game until she came home, then talk some sense into her. If she wouldn’t listen, he’d phone her pastor tomorrow. John Linton had meant well, advising Ruth to pray, and her grief had eased. Even the suggestion to pray for Silver, though offensive, was about forgiveness.

  Forgiving the offender didn’t mean endorsing the act, it meant letting go of the anger. Tony understood. He hadn’t done it himself in this case, but at least he wasn’t rehearsing the tragedy to keep the hatred alive like Ruth had been.

  Still, Ruth’s pastor could never have meant for her to take it this far. Once Tony told him what was going on, he’d set Ruth straight. Tony smirked, remembering some of her pastor’s straight-shooting comments the night they met. Tony-the-husband had overruled Tony-the-agnostic and taken Ruth for counselling with John. Privately, he’d thought of it as an intervention.

  Now Ruth needed another one.

  Tony filled the kettle and plugged it in, rinsed the teapot, and unwrapped a couple of Earl Grey teabags—Ruth’s favourite. While he waited for the water to boil, he walked into the living room and turned on the ball game.

  The Red Sox were playing in Baltimore. By the end of the third inning, they were down 6 – 2, he’d made the tea, fixed himself a snack, finished the snack, and started fuming.

  What had he shouted at her before he stormed off to his workshop? “Me or him. You choose”?

  A Red Sox player grounded out to first, but the runner on third got home. Score: 6 – 3. Tony tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. Ruth wouldn’t have taken him seriously—not enough to leave him. Not after all they’d been through in twenty-three years
of marriage.

  He would not check her closet. He shook away the crazy thought. Ruth loved him. No way did Silver mean that much to her. She probably had a right to be mad after their scene tonight, but staying out late to punish him was a cheap shot.

  A commercial came on, so Tony flipped channels to see what he could find. Maybe he was overreacting. What if her friend Norma needed to pick something up? They could have stopped for an errand. Or her pastor could have called some kind of impromptu meeting after they prayed.

  Really, how long did these people pray anyhow?

  He could phone, but she’d think he was checking up on her. Or had given in to her little game, if she’d really gone that juvenile.

  A game show distracted him for a few minutes. He flipped back to the ball game in time to see the Orioles hit into a double play to end the inning. Finally a bit of luck. The Red Sox loaded the bases, but the next two batters struck out. Their power hitter, Hugo Green, took the plate. Tony groaned. Green had been off his game so far this season. Why hadn’t they traded him yet?

  Strike. Ball. Another strike. Tony slouched in his chair. Just get it over with, Green, or get in the game. At least this one wouldn’t be hard to turn off when Ruth arrived.

  Outside, a car engine purred into the driveway and stopped. Tension Tony hadn’t noticed until now melted from his shoulders. At last. She’d better have a good excuse for being so late.

  They still had a major issue to work through. He’d have to stay calm and explain his concern. Help Ruth see the truth. Not lose his cool this time.

  With a full count on Hugo Green, this next pitch would either end the Red Sox players’ turn at bat or it would walk in a run. The pitcher wound up, released. The doorbell rang just as Green’s bat connected with a mighty crack.

  Tony pushed out of his chair, one eye on the television. Grand slam—that ball was gone. The camera panned clusters of Boston fans, jumping and cheering.

  Ruth had her keys. Why ring the bell? Unless her hands were full. Had she picked him up a pizza or something, to apologize? That would explain what took so long.

  And here he’d been accusing her of mind games. Shaking his head, Tony hurried to the door. He pulled it open to see a uniformed police officer, hat and overcoat dripping rain, eyes serious, mouth set in a hard line.

  Not Ruth’s car at all. Tony’s lungs went hollow. He sucked air. Ruth? Please, just some kind of neighbourhood issue. “What’s the trouble, officer?”

  The policeman’s lips compressed, then parted. “Are you Tony Warner?”

  “Yes. What’s this about?”

  “Mr. Warner, I’m Constable Charlton Emery. May I step in, please?”

  “Is my wife all right?”

  The wind howled around the corner of the house and snatched at the officer’s hat. He jammed it back onto his head. “Mr. Warner, let’s talk about this inside.”

  Tony stepped back and Const. Emery followed him into the house. The officer stepped out of his rubber overshoes and draped his coat over the doorknob. Water drops splashed to the floor beneath the coat. Tony led him into the living room and muted the ball game. The storm swelled to fill the silence.

  Why had he let Ruth go out in this? He remembered their argument. As if he could have stopped her.

  The officer gestured to the couch. “May I sit down?”

  Tony nodded, throat dry, and edged into his recliner. “My wife should have been home over an hour ago. The weather—has she been in an accident?”

  Const. Emery took off his hat and rotated it in his hands, staring at the brim. The hat stilled, and he looked up at Tony. “Mr. Warner, we have reason to believe that your wife has been abducted by Harry Silver.”

  Tony shot from his chair. “Is this some kind of sick stunt? A hidden camera in your hat or something, and she’s parked around the corner waiting for the signal to come home and yell ‘surprise’?”

  Tremors rocked him. It couldn’t be true—never. Everyone knew the manhunt was tracking Silver west across the country. No way could the killer be here on the east coast. Tony fought to slow his breathing, get control. This was not happening. He was making an idiot of himself in front of whatever twisted audience followed acts like this.

  Const. Emery watched him as if Tony were the performer, and as if the next act might go too far. Finally the officer held out his hat. “Genuine police issue. Would you like to see my badge?”

  Tony studied the crest on the hat. Halifax Regional Police. He eyed the details of the man’s uniform, remembered the battle-ready way he’d walked into the house, arms wide of his gun-belts despite the lack of an obvious threat.

  This was a real cop. Tony deflated into his chair. But what Emery had said—“I don’t understand.”

  “Mr. Warner, I’m sorry. We responded to a 9-1-1 call at an area convenience store. According to the cashier and a woman named—” he pulled a notepad from his shirt pocket and consulted it “—Norma Martell, who says she was travelling with your wife, Harry Silver was present at the store with the intent to commit robbery and to abduct the cashier, who matches his victim profile. There was a power failure and Silver fled—with your wife.”

  Tony dropped his head in his hands and muttered every curse he knew. Without looking up, he said, “But the power hasn’t even flickered in hours.”

  “Your street is on a different grid, Mr. Warner. The winds have caused outages in half a dozen spots across the city. Her car is still at the scene. If you have a spare set of keys, one of us will bring it home.”

  Tony stared at the floor. He had to think, make sense of this horror, but his brain—and his heart—had shut down.

  The doorbell rang again. Tony didn’t move.

  “Would you like me to get the door, Mr. Warner?” When Tony didn’t answer, the officer stood. “I’ll see who it is.” His polished black boots rapped the floor as they crossed the edge of Tony’s field of vision.

  Tony couldn’t see the door from his seat, but he knew when the officer opened it. The wind shrieked and a damp draft swooped past his ankles. Footsteps. The door banged shut. Constable Emery spoke. “Please step inside and identify yourself.”

  “Thank you, Officer.” Tony recognized the Australian accent as John Linton introduced himself. “I’m a friend of the family, and Ruth’s pastor. Norma Martell phoned me as soon as the officer dropped her at home. I thought Tony might want some support.”

  Tony’s fingers dug into his scalp. Support. What good could that do? But the familiar voice drew him from his chair to join Const. Emery at the door. The officer retreated to the living room, leaving Tony and John to stare at one another.

  John looked like he’d run out of his house the minute he heard the news. His wet coat flapped open and rain plastered his hair to his scalp. His eyes looked huge, as if his face had tightened and shrunk. Even the acne scars had paled and flattened. Harsh lines bracketed his mouth. “Tony, I can’t believe this.”

  Tony didn’t bother trying to find words. Didn’t invite John in or ask him to go. Didn’t care.

  John spread his hands. “Can I do anything for you, mate? Phone calls? Listen while you vent? Pray with you?”

  “Pray? That’s what got Ruth into this mess!” Tony stepped toward the pastor. His voice dropped to a hiss. “You’ve caused enough trouble already. Get out—just go.”

  A sad smile twisted John’s lips and he gave a slow nod. “Call someone else, then, Tony. Don’t face this alone. And... for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  Tony watched the door close. Face this alone? How could he face it at all?

  Chapter 5

  Harry glared through the windshield as the car edged along the dark path, wheels slithering in the muddy ruts.

  His instructions had been to head for the rendezvous point and keep out of sight. He’d been handed the car keys, a phone, a change of clothes, a wad of twenty-dollar bills and a road map. With his hat pulled low over his eyes and a bushy false beard, he’d been able to stop for food a
nd gas. At night, he chose sleazy-looking motels where bored desk clerks barely glanced at him.

  Running out of cigarettes this evening had been no big deal. A quick detour into the outskirts of Halifax, and he should have been back on the road within minutes.

  His fist crashed against the rim of the steering wheel and he swore. “So nobody wins this round. I lose out on the hot blonde at the store, and you lose your life.”

  His captive’s lips quivered, and she turned her face away.

  Harry’s fingers stiffened on the wheel. All the effort that had gone into setting up this escape plan, and he’d blown his cover—for nothing. The girl had been worth the risk, but he didn’t have the girl.

  His jaw tightened. This woman had cost him. He’d make her pay. Desire or no desire, she would at least satisfy his anger before he left. And she’d learn the meaning of fear.

  Before he left... He wouldn’t be completely sure of his escape until he was finally on the ship and outside of Canadian waters, heading for a new home, with a new identity. Then he’d tell his rescuers where to collect payment.

  A snort of laughter escaped him, and his hostage jumped. It was their cash financing his escape. To use what the creeps paid him would have been to endorse them, so he’d hidden it. Just in case.

  An involuntary prickling climbed his spine at the memory of meeting the drug king. Sinclare wore the sophisticated patina of a corporate executive or politician, but Harry had seen his eyes. The man was a killer. Not a hands-on, rush-of-passion murderer like Harry. Cold, ruthless. Soulless.

  Harry stroked his reluctant companion’s cheek. “If you don’t appreciate my company, you should meet the guy who arranged my escape. He’d hook his own mother on heroin if it would turn a profit. And he’d enjoy it.”

  “And your mother’s proud of you?”

  ~~~

  Ruth clapped both hands over her mouth. How could she say something so stupid? She was in enough danger already.

  Harry kicked the brake and spun to face her. The dim glow from the dashboard illuminated his tight jaw and flaring eyes.