Heaven's Prey

by Janet Sketchley

  ~~~

  Harry’s memories shifted without warning or reason, and the indefinable prison smell rose again in his nostrils. He sat in a solitary cell, waiting out the days until the trial that would bare the full extent of his depravity to the public.

  This was another type of grief, deeper than feelings, mourning the career that should have saved him, shattered and dead by his own hand. He supposed he should feel something. Fear, shame, remorse for his crimes, but he’d been there, done that and it hadn’t helped.

  He was numb, his emotions spent. He’d sold himself to desire, and now he had to pay. Hours blurred into weeks and the weight of his remaining years, cut off from his reason to live, left him barely able to function.

  The heavy door creaked open. “You have a visitor.”

  Harry stayed as he was, chin cupped in his hands, staring at the scuffed concrete floor between his feet.

  “Please follow me.”

  Without lifting his eyes, Harry muttered, “There’s nobody I want to see. Tell them to get lost.”

  The guard didn’t retreat. “He’s come a long way. Says he’s a friend of yours.”

  A friend? Who would make that claim now? Dully curious, Harry followed the guard along a windowless corridor and into a cramped visitation room.

  Sitting in a cold metal chair at a grey metal table, he waited. The wall clock ticked off five minutes before the door opened for an elderly man in a wheelchair. Harry frowned. He’d never seen this man before.

  The attendant positioned his charge with care and withdrew from the room. The guard remained.

  The man in the wheelchair was shrunken and frail, his laboured breathing unnaturally loud in the silence. He made no effort to speak, but Harry sensed an alert mind behind the piercing gaze.

  Harry refused to flinch under the assessment. Who was this old coot? If he’s some wacko preacher, there’ll be one more death to charge me with, guard or no guard.

  “Harry, my boy, are these accusations true?” The voice was a croak now, but the intonations hadn’t changed.

  Aaron Delaney. It was only a few years since their last meeting, but the man looked at least ten years older.

  Harry felt a twinge of concern at the change in his former mentor, but his strongest sensation was a terrible, sinking dread in the pit of his stomach. Why had the old man come? Couldn’t he have left him alone with his guilt?

  Delaney cleared his throat. “I asked you a question.”

  Harry had trouble finding his voice. This one simple question from his old sponsor humiliated him more than the whole court proceedings to date. At last, he mumbled, “Yes, sir, it’s true.”

  “Speak up, boy. I’m not hearing that well.”

  Hot with shame and angry because of it, Harry shot back, “Of course it’s true, you old fool. Do you think I’d let them do this to me if I could fight it? You must have heard their evidence on the news. What did you think I’d say?”

  He hated to hurt the old man, but it was too late now. Eight lives too late.

  Delaney’s eyes bored into his. Harry faltered, then looked down.

  “Of course I heard the news coverage. I was in hospital and forbidden to travel. I dare say my doctor will have my hide for being here today.” Delaney paused, gasping for breath. “I say this out of respect for your father, and for the person you used to be: If I can help you in any way—pay for counselling or anything—contact my lawyer. From here on, I want nothing more to do with you.”

  He turned to the guard at the door. “I’m finished. Please call my attendant.”

  With a stiff movement, he withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket and placed it on the table. “My lawyer’s card.”

  The attendant backed him away from the table. Delaney glanced at Harry. “For a kid who lived to race, this was a pretty drastic way to commit suicide. I expected better of you, my boy.” He raised a shaky hand to brush at his eyes. “The curse of being old—you get sentimental. Goodbye, Harry.”

  The door swung shut behind him. Harry remained seated, under the impassive gaze of the guard. At last, he stood and took the white card from the table.

  Help? He was beyond help.

  He crumpled Delaney’s card and tossed it into the dented metal trashcan to join his dreams.

  Chapter 26

  Ruth pushed upright in the kitchen chair and swung her feet down from the one they’d been resting on. She squinted at the clock on the microwave. Just after four in the morning. Time to go while the darkness would still hide her from the webcams. There might not be anyone awake at dawn to monitor the feed, but she wasn’t going to take that chance.

  A stiff neck rebuked her for spending the night in the chair by the door, but she hadn’t dared risk a bed. If Harry woke, he could have trapped her. This way, she would have had plenty of warning. Especially with the other two kitchen chairs strategically laid on their sides to trip him if he tried to sneak in without a light.

  Wincing, she kneaded the back of her neck with one hand. She’d slept with her boots on, knife under her chair and broom-crutch at her side in case she needed a quick exit. She’d even released the deadbolt for a faster getaway, but Harry hadn’t made a sound.

  Ruth eased to her feet, testing her weight on her knee. It hurt, but she could do this. She took a few cautious steps without the broom and peeked around the edge of the window blind. Still dark. A quick trip to the bathroom, and she’d be out of here before Harry stirred.

  She propped the broom by the door. If she could find the trail down to the water, she’d need some support. The worst non-human predator she was likely to meet would be a coyote, and the broom could help there too.

  For now, she gripped the knife and limped toward the living room, picking up the overturned chairs as she went. If she had to come back in a hurry, she wanted a clear path.

  Ruth paused in the doorway. Harry’s breathing rasped a slow and steady rhythm. She crept toward the couch and peered over the back. Harry sprawled on his back, sound asleep. The horrible grey colour had left his face. Good thing she’d be gone before he woke.

  As quietly as possible, she sneaked into the bathroom and closed and locked the door. Last night he’d been alert, but very weak. Just getting in here and back to the couch had exhausted him. Lord, I’ve said all I can say. Help Harry hear—and help me get safely to the police.

  He’d heard her words. But how would he respond? “Please, Father,” she whispered, “work in Harry’s heart. You want this man, and You’re the only one who can get the truth through to him.”

  Finishing in the bathroom, she ignored her stomach’s growls. No time for food now. She had to go. “When I get home, Tony’s taking me out for a huge brunch.”

  Imagining the lavish spread in her favourite restaurant, Ruth opened the door and started toward the kitchen.

  Steel fingers clamped her wrist and jerked her arm behind her back. Her knife clattered to the floor. The cold metal of Harry’s gun ground into her temple, and her breath fled in a gasp of pain.

  “Thought I was too weak to hurt you, didn’t you? Well, you forgot about my little friend here. There’ll be no more preaching.”

  His rancid breath came in gasps on the back of her neck and he swayed as he stood holding her. She might twist free, but he had a gun. Whether she ran or went for the knife, he’d shoot her.

  “I am going to kill you,” he whispered silkily in her ear, rough whiskers scratching her neck. “But first, you will know exactly what kind of man you and your pious friends have wasted your prayers on. You Christians use your faith like some sort of hedge against reality. Well, this is real.”

  Twisting Ruth’s arm even tighter, Harry pushed her ahead of him into the living room and shoved her sideways onto the couch. She jumped to her feet, knee throbbing. No way would she lie there and wait for his attack.

  No weakness. No surrender. Not now. She’d been too close to freedom and he was still weak. Wait for a chance. Make a chance. “Why do you need the gun?
I can’t get past you to the kitchen.” Would he remember the other door, the one they hadn’t opened?

  Harry sneered and stepped closer. “Why the change of clothes?”

  “I might as well be comfortable. And clean.” Her nose wrinkled at his sour smell of old vomit.

  “Then by all means be comfortable—while I’m talking.” He shoved her back down on the couch. “Consider it your last request.”

  Ruth braced her palms against the seat, leg muscles tight, ready to run at the first hint of a chance.

  “Sit. Or do you want me to waste a bullet so you can’t stand?”

  Sweat beaded his upper lip, and he swayed noticeably now. If she could keep him on his feet, keep him talking, maybe the weakness would take him.

  When she didn’t move, he laid the gun on the coffee table out of her reach. “A gun’s such a cold way to inflict pain. I can do better than that with you.”

  Harry stood with his feet apart, hands on his hips, his face a mask of hatred. “You stupid fool. Your God couldn’t possibly care for a man like me. There’s been way too much to forgive.” His eyes bored into hers. “You’re going to hear it all.”

  He wouldn’t. Ruth bit her lip. She wanted to keep him talking, but like this? God, let him pass out—fast.

  His eyes glittered like sapphires, hard and cold, and he ran a lazy tongue across his upper lip. “They say a person’s first date, first sexual encounter, make special memories, but those are really nothing. First rape... first murder... You never forget. The lovely Gina was my first.”

  Ruth’s breath caught in her throat.

  Harry’s twisted grin said he saw her fear. “I followed her for days, then lured her on a walk. She was perfect. Firm, delicious young body, lots of energy to fight me—the fear in her eyes made me drunk. I couldn’t let her scream, but her moans were exquisite.”

  Ruth’s heart pounded so hard it shook her ribcage, shook her whole body. Her stomach climbed her throat. She stared, horrified by his words. She heard the terrified girl’s tears and pleas for mercy, her unanswered cries for help.

  Slowly, graphically, he spoke of each girl in turn, his voice raspy with satisfaction. The savage litany pinned Ruth to the couch. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The news reports had left a lot out. Never in her worst nightmares could she have imagined some of the things this man hurled at her.

  Her head buzzed. She wanted to curl up in a quivering ball and close him out, but she had to keep watching him. Keep him talking so he didn’t notice his weakness. The way his legs shook, he’d collapse soon. On a chair, the floor, she didn’t care, as long as it gave her precious minutes to reach the door.

  Denny and crew watching the outside, crazy killer on the inside... God, help me.

  Gritting her teeth, Ruth forced herself to maintain eye contact with Harry. Revulsion must be plain on her face. This was no man—this was a monster, evil incarnate. She had to stop the sound of his voice.

  “Terrible, isn’t it?” Harry wavered to the side but kept his balance. The fire in his eyes dared her to make something of the motion. “Curse me now, and I’ll stop.”

  He jutted out his chin, glaring down at her. “It only gets worse. Your niece comes next.”

  Ruth’s mouth hung open, but she couldn’t make a sound. She swallowed convulsively.

  Her silence seemed to infuriate him. “Very well, let me tell you about my experiences with your precious Susan.” Ruth covered her ears.

  Harry dropped to his knees in front of her and knocked her hands away. Rough fingers clamped the sides of her head, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were alight with a strange emotion, his face only inches from hers. “She was something else, I tell you.”

  Ruth clawed at his wrists, tried to knee him in the chest. She couldn’t break his grip.

  “You haven’t heard it all, yet.” He licked his lips again, as if the taste of blood lingered. “It was dark when I took her, and snowy in the woods, but she had my blood boiling. She bruised easily. I only had a flashlight, but I could see the marks. Marks I made with my bare hands.”

  Harry’s face twisted into a snarl. “I was just starting to enjoy her when she ruined it with that Name. She thought it would help—but it only turned up the juice...”

  Ruth closed her eyes, sobbing, wishing she could shut her ears to his words, but they kept coming, battering, burying her like an avalanche.

  At last he fell silent. Ruth realized she’d been holding her breath. As she exhaled, all the pent-up anguish and terror came out in a fresh rush of tears.

  She peered at her captor through narrowed eyelids.

  His hands still pinned her head, and he moved a lazy thumb through the wetness on her cheek. “Not a pretty story, is it? And you’re going to help me write the next chapter.”

  The threat didn’t register. She was shaking, stomach churning and thoughts reeling from the mind-numbing atrocities. Her surroundings had gone dim and grey, and the room swam around her. She swallowed hard against the bile in her throat.

  His tone changed from menacing to defiant. “I enjoyed every minute of it, and I’d do it all again. So what do you have to say now?”

  Ruth couldn’t answer. She could barely form thoughts, let alone words to speak aloud.

  Harry ground his fingers into the sides of her head. “I said, what do you have to say now?”

  “What is there to say?” she whispered.

  “Don’t you get it? Your God isn’t interested in saving me.” His tone hardened. “Think about it—the one person concerned about my soul, He gives me to destroy. Your prayers must have made Him angry.”

  Cold pebbled Ruth’s skin, slid into her thoughts. What if he’s right?

  Chapter 27

  “No.” Ruth forced the word through stiff lips. “God is not like that.”

  Harry still knelt in front of her, trapping her face in his hands. His sour vomit smell burned her nostrils. She glared her defiance. “He is not a vindictive God. And He told me to pray for you—it sure wasn’t my idea.”

  Her skin crawled at his touch. The abominations those hands had committed. She knocked them away.

  Harry seemed to understand her feelings, almost to welcome them. The anger and hostility were gone from his face after his confessions. He pushed to his feet, watching her intently. “Can’t you see there’s no way back from what I’ve done? Even the first one was too much. Admit it—there’s no hope, for me or for you.”

  Ruth jumped up to face him. Pain shot through her knee, and she braced her injured leg against the side of the couch for support. “You make me sick. ‘I’m too bad to be forgiven, so I’ll just do what I want. I won’t forgive God because He didn’t do it my way.’”

  With her good leg, she kicked his shin as hard as she could. “I’ve got news for you, buster. It’s not about you!”

  Confusion flickered in his eyes, and he stepped back. Away from the gun. Ruth advanced on him, almost crying from the fire in her knee. “Two years of prayer for you, risking my marriage and my reputation, and you haven’t got the guts to take a stab at salvation. Go to hell if you want to. I won’t stop you.”

  She launched herself at him, jammed both fists into his stomach, then dodged before he could grab her. He let out a startled grunt and fell against the rocking chair. She fled for the kitchen. Behind her, the chair broke, and he thudded to the floor, cursing.

  Ruth threw out an arm to steady herself against the kitchen door frame, then sprinted for the exit. The agony in her knee shot up her leg, but she couldn’t stop. Pray Harry hurt something when he fell, pray he’s too mad to think of the gun—

  His hand clamped her arm and jerked her backward. Pain lanced her shoulder, and she screamed. Ruth turned to face him and tried to writhe free, but he tightened his grip.

  She grabbed a mug from the counter and banged it down on his forearm. His hold loosened, and she pulled away, hurling the mug at his head. It crashed into the cupboard behind him as he lunged to get between h
er and the door.

  Ruth doubled back around the table. Her leg buckled, but she kept her feet. She bolted into the living room. The front door, or the gun?

  She dodged the fallen rocking chair and made for the door. Harry had nothing to lose, and he’d probably guess she’d never held a gun before.

  He caught the edge of her shirt and yanked her back. She looked around for a weapon but there was nothing in reach.

  Harry cursed her viciously as he dragged her away from the door. The fire in her knee had turned to ice. She could barely feel her foot. He grabbed her sore shoulder and spun her around.

  Sweat sheened his forehead, and his breath came hard. He shook his free fist in her face. “I’ll go to hell. But I’m taking you with me.”

  Ruth glared at him. “No, you won’t. I belong to Jesus Christ, and you can’t take me away from Him.” Guilt wormed in her stomach. “Listen, I’m... sorry for what I said. God doesn’t want you in hell. I don’t either. I’m just angry and scared. And it’s more than where you go when you die, it’s life now. Please, won’t you let Him set you free from this?”

  Harry rolled his eyes. “You just don’t give up. Okay, you want repentance?” He looked at the ceiling, his grip on her shoulders tightening. “God, I repent I ever asked You into my heart. I’ve changed my mind. Get out!”

  “When did you—?”

  Anger rekindled in his eyes. “I was a kid. I didn’t know any better. I do now.” He shook a fist heavenward. “Leave me alone!”

  “But—”

  Hatred twisted his face. He hooked a foot behind her ankle and shoved her shoulders. “Time to pay.”

  Ruth fell backward, screaming. Her head cracked against the floor.

  ~~~

  Her first awareness was of pain. The back of her head stung, and her legs throbbed like they were caught in a bear trap. She lay on her back. Why couldn’t she move her legs? What did he do to me? Ruth’s mouth went dry.