by Blake Pierce
He had adjusted accordingly. And he had done well, as far as he was concerned.
For instance, the woman was no longer in the upstairs room, the place he had left her in an hour before. Now, she was in the shed. She was in the fetal position, her arms pulled behind her and her knees drawn up. Her ankles and wrists were bound together, the rope given some slack so she would not accidentally pop her shoulder out of its socket. She had to be unblemished when he put her upon the pole. God would not accept sacrifices with flaws.
He studied her for a moment as he stood against the pole that he had just finished erecting in the shed. This woman was quite pretty, prettier than the others for sure. Her driver’s license placed her age at nineteen, and he read she was originally from Los Angeles. He did not know why the woman had come here, but he knew that God had placed her in his path. The girl did not know it, but she should feel honored. She did not realize that she had been selected even before she was born to be sacrificed for the glory of God.
He never bothered trying to explain this to the women. They would not listen.
He had stripped this one completely naked. He’d left the bra and underwear on the others because he did not want to risk temptation. But this one had been such a perfect sacrifice that he could not help himself. He had never seen breasts so perfect, not even in movies or magazines.
He knew he must be punished for looking at her flesh in such a way. He’d be sure to repent of that sin, to hurt himself many times tonight.
After setting up the pole, he’d gone to the hardware store and purchased a roll of plastic covering. He’d spent half an hour covering the floor of the shed with it, using staples rather than nails, as they would be easier to remove later on. Setting up the pole in the shed and then covering the floor with the sheets of plastic had been laborious work, but it had been good for him. In a way, it had made him more appreciative of the sacrifice to come. Working this hard to make way for a sacrifice made him feel more worthy.
He stopped and took a deep breath, admiring his handiwork.
It was almost time now.
He had to pray first and then he would string the woman up. He’d have to tighten the gag because he had never given a sacrifice in such a populated area. One slip and a neighbor would hear her screams as the whip came down. But he would worry about that after she was tied to the pole.
First, prayer and repentance. He needed to pray that his cities—his sacrifices—would be pleasing to God and that his work would exemplify His glory and love for man.
He got to his knees in front of the pole. Before he closed his eyes to pray, he looked to the woman again. Quiet understanding seemed to spread across her face and seeing this, he went into prayer with a great sense of peace.
It was almost as if she knew that there was a great reward waiting for her afterwards, as if she knew she would receive that reward and be released from this world of filth before the hour was through.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Mackenzie parked her car at the end of the block in this dilapidated neighborhood, and pulled up a close-range map of the area on her cell phone before getting out of her car. She knew that her search would consist of a one-block radius along three different streets: Harrison, Colegrove, and Inge.
She knew that Inge Street could be crossed off of her list because the houses along this end of the street were vacant, having been condemned several years ago. She knew this because it was a popular locale for drug deals and gang activity. She’d netted her first drug bust here and had also had to pull her sidearm for the first time in her career just a few streets over.
Colegrove and Harrison streets, though, were fully occupied and managing to hang on in this otherwise deteriorating part of town. These were people with menial jobs that usually spent their paychecks on liquor, lottery tickets, and, if they had money left over, fast food dinners most nights of the week.
Before getting out, she pulled up Ellington’s number. She texted him the street names and then signed off with: If you don’t hear from me within a few hours, call someone and send them here.
She then set her phone to silent and stepped out into the night.
Mackenzie walked down Harrison Street at a steady pace, not wanting to seem overly suspicious at such a late hour even though any single woman walking down these streets after dark would be seen as foolish. She kept an eye out for houses with trucks or vans on the property, and spotted two residences that fit the description.
The first house had a van out front, parked in the small driveway. Worn vinyl lettering along the side of the white van read Smith Brothers Plumbing.
Slinking through the shadows as quickly as she could, Mackenzie went to the side of the van and peered into the passenger side window. She could barely see into the back but she did manage to see a corner of a toolbox. In the front, tucked between the seats and console as well as between the dashboard and the windshields, she saw several invoice sheets. On the top of a few, she saw the same artwork that was on the side of the van, marking the invoices as Smith Brothers Plumbing.
With that house eliminated from her search, she moved on to the next house. A black truck sat outside along the curb. It was a newer model, adorned with a Don’t Tread On Me bumper sticker and a decal in the back glass indicating the owner was a Vietnam vet. She looked into the back of the truck for any sign that it had carried a large cedar pole recently but saw nothing. While she didn’t want to rule a vet out just because of their service to the country, Mackenzie did find the thought of a man reaching seventy putting up those poles by himself hard to imagine.
She reached the end of the block and then turned right toward Colegrove Street. She could hear the thumping of thunderous bass from a nearby house blasting rap music. As she passed by each house looking for trucks or vans, she caught glimpses of the murky Danvers River reflecting the moonlight far behind the houses.
There was one truck parked alongside the street right in front of her. Even before she approached it, she saw that it was not the truck she was looking for. The back tires were flat and it showed signs of neglect that made her think it had been given up on years ago.
She was halfway down the street, peering ahead and seeing nothing but cars the rest of the way down, some in scant driveways but most along the curb. There were six in all, one new model among the other five rusted heaps.
She was just starting to feel that she had unraveled yet another unsuccessful theory when she spotted the house on her left. An older model Honda Accord sat along the curb. A small stretch of overgrown front yard led to a badly maintained chain-link fence that extended to an equally poor wooden fence that separated the yard from the neighboring property. She walked further along the property and froze when she got to the opposite side of the house.
The chain-link fence was nowhere to be seen, apparently coming to a closure point in the backyard. What she did see, though, was a makeshift driveway that was nothing more than flattened grass and thin dirt tracks. She followed the tracks with her eyes and saw that they ended where an old green Ford pickup was parked. It sat front end out, the grille and dead headlights staring right at her.
Mackenzie glanced to the house and saw that a single light was on. It cast very little light, making her think it was a lamp or a hallway light from further back in the house.
Moving quickly, she dashed into the yard, following the course of the flattened grass to the truck. She looked into the truck through the driver’s side window and saw some old fast food bags and other trash.
Among it all, sitting in the center of the bench-like seat, was a Bible.
With adrenaline pumping into her heart, she reached for the driver’s side door. She was not at all surprised when she found it locked.
She went to the back of the truck and saw that the tailgate was down. She peered into it and saw no clear indication of what it had recently carried, though it was hard see anything in the dark.
She looked behind her into the backyard and saw tha
t her assumption had been correct; the chain-link fence ran the length of the yard and then came up and around where it stopped alongside a shed. She could not see any windows, but she could see a trace of light issuing from a space along the shed door.
She stepped into the backyard, inching closer to the chain-link fence. As the shed came into view, she started to think the light was indeed something smaller, a candle, perhaps. With her curiosity now morphing into something very close to caution, she came to the edge of the fence. She crouched low to the ground as she neared the faint glow coming from between the small crack along the door and the frame.
She started to look for a way through the fence, fearing that crawling over it might make too much noise. As she did this, her eyes fell on another shape alongside the shed. She’d missed it before, as it was low to the ground and cloaked in shadows. But now that she was no more than ten feet from the shed, the shape was clear and defined.
Actually, it was two shapes.
Two cedar poles, cut to roughly eight feet in length.
She knew she should wait for backup.
But she sensed, with all that she was, that there was no time.
So, with fire in her muscles and her nerves firing on all cylinders, she reached up and grabbed the chain-link fence.
And then she began to climb.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
The fence was old and rusted just like everything else on this godforsaken street. She felt the rust cutting into the padding of her finger but at least, because of the rust, the chain-link material made almost no noise as she scaled it. The fence was seven or eight feet tall and soon she reached the top.
She threw one leg over, steadied herself, and then brought the other over.
With a single push away from the fence, she leaped from the top and landed in the yard with a soft thud.
She instantly withdrew her Glock from its holster and crept toward the shed in a crouching position. She made her way to the door and rose up on her legs a bit, trying to find the warped area in the frame that kept the door from shutting all the way. She found it three quarters of the way up the door and peered inside.
She saw the pole right away, standing directly in the center of the shed. A scurrying shadow flew across it, followed by the object that had cast it. She saw the woman first, her legs kicking at the air, and then the man that was holding her from behind. The woman was naked except for a gag around her mouth. A series of muffled cries were coming from behind it as she fought to get away.
The man was wrestling her toward the pole. A strand of rope was wrapped around his shoulder like a limp snake.
Mackenzie, heart slamming so hard she could barely hear, had seen enough. She knew she’d have to act fast; she had to pull the door open and get inside with her gun raised before the creep had any idea what was happening.
This is where it would be easier with help, she thought to herself, suddenly regretting that she had ventured out here alone.
She extended her hand to the door’s rusty handle. When she grasped it, a sickening thought filled her head. What if it’s locked from the inside somehow?
That answer was simple enough. Now that she was inches away from the killer, she was willing to take more risks. If that’s the case, she thought, I’ll shoot through the fucking door.
She gripped the handle and took a deep breath. She held it in and didn’t exhale until she had pulled the door open.
She leaped forward, bringing the Glock up.
“Police! Put the weapon down and your hands—”
She knew she’d made a mistake the moment she stepped inside. Something under her feet felt odd. And there came a noise, something that made no sense.
Mackenzie looked down for a split second, her eyes leaving the shape of the man in front of her, and saw the plastic sheeting that covered the floor. She was standing on it. And although it took less than a second for her to process what she was seeing, it was a second too much.
The murky figure in front of her dropped immediately to his haunches, grabbed the plastic sheeting in his hands, and yanked with all he had.
Mackenzie felt the ground move. The plastic she was standing on was yanked toward him and she lost her footing and went airborne.
The man then shoved the naked woman in her direction, and she landed on top of her.
Mackenzie, dazed, reached up and shoved the frantic woman off her, but by the time she did, the man was already lunging for her, bringing his fist down. She was halfway up when it struck Mackenzie directly between the eyes and sent her back to the ground.
As she fell to the ground, Mackenzie got her first glimpse of the killer. He was in his forties and partially bald. His eyes were electric blue and had the look of a crazed animal that has been penned up for far too long and has a pretty good idea of what freedom must be like. He was short but had a stocky look to him. Mackenzie had a pretty good idea that there was more muscle under his shirt than his appearance made it seem. The punch he’d delivered to her was another indication of this.
He was coming in for her now, moving with a quickness that the small space of the shed seemed incapable of containing. He had something in his hand that seemed to slither through the darkness. By the time he had raised his arm, Mackenzie realized what it was. She saw the splintered end sailing toward her.
Mackenzie rolled out of the way just in time.
The whip cracked less than two inches from Mackenzie’s right ear. The sound was deafening.
The killer brought the whip back again, this time aiming it directly for Mackenzie.
This time, she reached back, raised her gun, steadied her hands, and fired.
The motion he made as he brought the whip down skewed her aim and the bullet hit him high in the left shoulder rather than his heart.
He dropped the whip and stumbled forward, looking to Mackenzie as if the very idea of a gun was absurd to him.
Still, he was undaunted. He dove for her, going for her gun. Mackenzie fired again, this one grazing his right arm as he came down.
He slammed his full weight on top of her and the jolt of it sent a blast of pain through her body. Her hands opened reflexively and the Glock went to the floor.
The moment she heard the gun hit the floor, the killer rose up and drew his fist back. Before he could bring it down, Mackenzie punched him squarely in the gut. From the floor on her back, she did not get her full force into it, and it only diverted his blow. Yet when he brought it down and his fist only bounced from her shoulder, Mackenzie spun and clubbed him hard in the side of the jaw with her elbow.
He went sliding off of her and she instantly went for the Glock.
The killer ran as Mackenzie’s hand found the gun. She brought it up and aimed at the door just as he made his exit. She nearly fired, but the naked woman was in the way.
Mackenzie jumped to her feet and looked over at the naked woman, shaking, still bound.
“Stay here,” Mackenzie said. “I’ll come back for you.”
The woman nodded and Mackenzie saw something broken in the woman’s eyes. The events of this night, no matter how they turned out, would traumatize this poor young woman for the rest of her life.
With that haunting thought pushing her, Mackenzie sprinted out of the shed just in time to see the back door to the house closing. Mackenzie gave instant chase, fully expecting the back door to be locked.
When she turned the knob, it did so freely. The back door opened, revealing a small entryway and a darkened kitchen beyond.
He did that on purpose, she thought. He wants me to follow him inside.
She gave only a moment’s thought before she stepped inside and raised her gun, plunging into darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Mackenzie stepped into the kitchen and could tell right away that this man did not care much for the way he lived. She smelled spoiled food coming from somewhere, mingled with the smells of dust and old body odor. She felt her palms sweating on her gun as her heart slammed
, knowing she could full well die in this house, and she tried to steady them.
Mackenzie crept across the kitchen floor, listening for movement elsewhere in the house. Now that they were inside, she knew that there was no telling what the killer might have access to. At this very instant, he could be getting his own gun.
Mackenzie reached the edge of the kitchen where a dark hallway waited. Halfway down the small hallway, a flight of wooden stairs led to a second floor. The killer had the advantage here and she knew it. It would be foolish to go venturing down that hall. She looked to the right and saw a living room, illuminated by a small lamp on an end table. Another Bible sat on the end table. A bookmark stuck out of it and a pen and pad of paper sat beside it.
From upstairs, the slightest creak of a floorboard sounded out, giving away the killer’s position. Mackenzie acted quickly, wanting to get the jump on him.
Now or never, she thought.
She ran down the hallway and halfway up the stairs in less than three seconds. She paused there, staring into the darkness above her. Her eyes were beginning to adjust and when she thought it was safe to do so, she started up the stairs.
She was in mid-step when she heard footsteps in the kitchen. Confused, Mackenzie looked back down the stairs just in time to see the would-be victim coming toward the stairs. Her eyes looked half-tinged with lunacy and something about seeing such an attractive woman in her underwear in the midst of such a tense scene was abstract in a way that befuddled Mackenzie just enough.
“Please,” the woman said. “You have to call the police. I can’t—”
But she didn’t get a chance to finish. She screamed, her eyes now trailing just above Mackenzie. Mackenzie turned just in time to see the killer’s shape coming at her, racing down the stairs so quickly that Mackenzie barely had time to raise her gun.