by C. E. Hansen
“Where did Grace go?” he barked. When she didn’t answer he grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. “Where the fuck did Grace go? I have no time for shit now, Sarah. Where?”
“She left, said she was stood up,” Sarah stuttered.
“When? How?” Terror struck him in the heart.
Sarah pointed to the side door. “’Bout twenty minutes ago. Guess she was going to 6Avenue.”
“FUCK!” He ran through the side door, through the courtyard and gate then onto the street.
Goddamn it, Grace, where did you go?
He looked up and down the street; it was dark but he spotted something on the sidewalk. Cole ran toward it, bent down and picked it up. A pocketbook. He dug in, dropping the contents onto the sidewalk, trying to find an ID. He pulled out a wallet.
Grace Preston the driver’s license clearly stated. His heart grew cold.
Fuck...God Almighty...Grace.
He must have grabbed her here.
You son of a bitch…fucking bastard. Where did you go? Where did you take her?
Cole spun around, trying to guess which way Jonathan would have gone. Central Park was visible at the end of the street.
He’d need privacy, would want to take his time. It was too dark here. He wants her to be afraid, see him, know what he was going to do. He wants her all to himself.
He turned running toward the Park, his four-man security team directly behind him. Cole ran as fast as he could, his blood chilled; Jonathan had at least a twenty-minute lead.
“He’s taken her into the park. He’d want privacy for what he wants to do. Where would he go...where would he have enough light?”
Hendricks pointed to the left. “There is a bridge down there. It’s dark inside but there is a light right outside.”
“You.” Cole pointed to Hendricks. “Go to the bridge. He’s likes slitting throats, probably has a knife or razor and he won’t hesitate to use it on her, so you make Goddamn sure he doesn’t. Spread out. I’m going in that direction.” Cole pointed. “I need something—someone give me a fucking knife.”
Hendricks tossed his hunting knife in Cole’s direction then turned and started running toward the bridge. The knife landed near his feet and Cole reached down then tucked the blade through his belt in the back under his jacket.
“Span out. We need to find her, NOW.” Cole’s heart was beating to burst through his chest. Getting to Grace too late was not an option. The others spread out. His legs were burning, but he wouldn’t slow down. He ran, turning his head. Looking for a place that would give this psycho a place to do his thing. He saw nothing but trees. Cole looked up and spotted a bench in front of low bushes. Behind the bushes was a small building. Cole ran toward it.
He reached the bench and slowed. He quietly walked until he got close. He heard a man’s voice speaking low and continued walking toward it, careful not to step on anything that may give him away. A dull light seeped through the bottom of the door, illuminating the cracked cement threshold. The building was some kind of maintenance shed. Cole walked up to the door and quietly tried the knob. Locked.
Looking around, not knowing if he had enough time to get his team back here, he took several steps back and without a second thought ran full force and body slammed the door. The door cracked loudly and splintered open. Two pairs of eyes immediately turned as he rolled in, struggling to get back on his feet. He quickly assessed the situation. The room was dimly lit, dank, smelling strongly of mold. A broken wheelbarrow sat in the corner against the wall. A man waving a straight razor stood over the form of a woman who was tied up. His woman.
Seeing Grace slumped against the wall, covered in blood, sucked the air from his lungs. But she was conscious. Taking a deep breath, he spoke in a low menacing tone as he stood slowly, raising both hands in the air.
“Jonathan, right?” Cole looked directly into Jonathan’s eyes, quickly looking at Grace. Perched weakly against the wall, she was in shock, staring at him, silently pleading. Her eyes, full of fear, darted from side to side. Her mouth was wrapped in what looked to be her scarf. He held his hands up, showing Jonathan he was not armed, and stood where he was, not moving.
Jonathan looked at him in amazement. “Who the fuck…where did you come from?” He turned to look at Grace; anger contorted his face.
“Jonathan. I’m over here,” Cole whispered, trying to keep his anger in check.
“Who the fuck are you?” Jonathan slurred, his eyes wide, unfathomable.
“I’m your unfinished work.” Cole never negotiated with a psycho before, but dealt with his share of egomaniacs.
“You…? You’re that fucking asshole who hit me. Stay back, watch, I have something you’ll want to see. You can watch little lover girl here get sliced nice and neat.” He waved the razor near Grace’s face.
“Jonathan. Joseph?”
“How…don’t you call me that. It’s Jonathan.” He sounded hurt, child-like.
“Jonathan, don’t you remember me? I’m the one who survived the fire.” Cole struggled for the right words. “The fire you set in Philly. Manayunk.”
A look of recognition slowly crept up Jonathan’s face.
Cole was stalling, trying to keep Jonathan’s attention on him.
“Remember the house fire.” Saying the words turned Cole’s stomach; his desire to kill grew in intensity. “Remember the family, the family that burned inside. They all died.” The memory slowly registered on Jonathan’s face. He remembered, all right. “They all died,” Cole repeated. “That was my family. My mother, my father and my eight-year-old brother.” Cole found it difficult to keep the venom from his voice. “They all died…but you didn’t get me. I’m alive. I’m here.”
Chapter 37
My tears flowed freely now...fear replaced with deep sorrow. The pictures…his family all dead. Jonathan killed them…I blinked rapidly, trying to eject the tears so I could focus. I looked at Cole, his anguish clear on his face.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know who you are. You’re that little fucking kid from the boys’ home. The one that fucking doctor babied.” The glassy look in Jonathan’s eyes vanished, replaced by darkness. “Now isn’t this nice? A family reunion.”
“So Jon, got the balls to finish what you started? I’m sure as hell going to finish what I started.” Cole threw down a challenge. “Or are you all about murdering girls?” Cole goaded him like a bully in a schoolyard.
Jonathan’s eyes seared into Cole’s. “Fuck you…I’m an artist. You can’t see that. You’re too fucking stupid to understand. You don’t know art.” Jonathan smiled. “I paint a portrait...using the blood of filthy whores.”
“Fuck the girls, ‘sissy boy.’ I’m your unfinished work.” Cole had his attention, but Jonathan still held the razor dangerously close to Grace.
“That’s got to make you angry, huh? That I fucking lived. Must have stuck in you all these years.” Cole focused on Jonathan, watching every twitch, every tick. He briefly looked out the corner of his eye at me. He didn’t know how badly I was hurt but couldn’t get me away with Jonathan on guard.
Jonathan’s face flushed. When I looked up, saw that darkness, I closed my eyes. It was done. It was over. I was going to die here in this dank little shed. I peeked at my captor again—and the razor in his hand.
“I will finish you but I need to finish this one first.” Jonathan turned his head back toward me. My eyes widened in fear, and I rocked my head back and forth feebly.
“Johnny, know one thing, you Goddamned piece of shit—you are never going to leave this place. You will die here, screaming.”
A flicker of fear crossed Jonathan’s face, contorting his features.
“Fuck you.” Fear coated his voice. “If I die here, I’m taking her with me.” He lifted his hand, swinging the razor dangerously close to me.
“No…You won’t. Because if you touch her, hurt her in any way, I will make you suffer so much more than the women you murdered. I will have you begging me to fucking e
nd you.”
“You don’t know shit…This fucking cunt,” he said pointing the razor he held far too close to me. I shuddered. “Our whore mother.” He gestured toward himself and me, the razor inches from my face. “She fucking threw me away, like trash, like I was garbage…” Jonathan’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “She kept this one...fucking ice princess.” A tormented chuckle emanated from his throat. “This cunt got what was mine. My little sister, here. You think you can cause me greater pain. Fuck you, jerk off.”
I closed my eyes, the tears streaming down my face. What nightmare was this? Jonathan my brother—half-brother? He murdered Cole’s family. Also responsible for all those women murdered? The bile filled my mouth and my stomach heaved. I coughed, gagging against my scarf, which was tied tightly across my mouth.
“Johnny, you haven’t felt pain...but you will.” I thought I heard Cole move closer toward me, but I was too afraid to open my eyes. “If you hurt her, you’ll be begging all the way to hell...Think about it, Johnny.”
“JONATHAN! It’s Jonathan. Not Jon, not Johnny...Jonathan. You think I’m a fucking moron. You think I don’t know what you’re doing. You want me to leave this cunt alone, but that ain’t happening. No...no fucking way. She is mine. I will watch the life leave her.” he paused, “You can watch if you want, but step an inch closer and I’ll gut her first so it’s real painful. Sound good Grace?”
My eyes popped open. He looked at me. A shudder shook my body. He was my brother? No wonder he hadn’t let me seduce him. Wait—Mother had another baby? I was so confused my head was spinning. I closed my eyes again and prayed for it to end…begging whatever higher power there was to spare Cole. He had suffered so much already.
Cole scanned the room quickly, needing to knock Jonathan off his guard. Jonathan was too far gone. He was insane.
As Cole looked at me, positioning himself to throw his body in front of me, sparing me Jonathan’s blade, a gunshot slammed into Jonathan, hitting him in the side. My ears rang from the concussion.
“What the fuck…? What was that…” Confused, he grabbed his side with his free hand. Lifting it, seeing his blood.
Jonathan raised the razor to cut me, and a low rumble vibrated in Cole’s chest, the sound, primitive, animalistic. He slammed into Jonathan, knocking into him. Jonathan panicked, bringing the razor down, burying it into Cole’s shoulder. Cole lifted his fist and pummeled Jonathan’s face. Hearing a crack incited Cole to lift his fist again. This time he connected with Jonathan’s jaw. He tried once more to get the razor out of Jonathan’s grip. Jonathan swiped his arm down, cutting a deep gash in Cole’s thigh.
Cole reached behind himself, pulled a knife out of his belt and raised it above his head, bringing it down swiftly. Jonathan moved slightly and the knife buried deep into his shoulder. Cole pulled the knife out and plunged it down again, this time, lower, into Jonathan’s chest.
Jonathan howled in pain. An audible rush of air escaped his lungs and he started convulsing. Cole kneeled on the arm holding the razor. He pulled it out of Jonathan’s hand and tossed it. It clanged loudly as it crashed into the bucket of the wheelbarrow.
Cole kicked Jonathan’s limp body to the side further away from me. He quickly pulled the scarf from my mouth.
Abruptly the police ran in, weapons drawn, followed by Cole’s team. They all stood in the tiny space looking around. The medics began attending to Jonathan, still alive, though barely.
“Are you okay? Where are you hurt?” Cole asked me, rubbing the tears from my face. He held me close to him, rocking me. I started shaking, crying uncontrollably as the relief washed over me like a tidal wave. I was clearly in shock.
“He didn’t cut me too bad, I don’t think,” my voice was throaty, gravelly. “I think he got my arm.” I looked down at the blood running from a deep gash in my arm. “And my hand.”
Cole swept his eyes over my body. His eyes widened then he masked his face. He began wrapping my scarf tightly around my thigh.
I looked up at Cole. His vibrant eyes were full of fear.
“Grace, babe, I’ve got you, it’s okay now. You’re safe, but right now we have to get you to the hospital.” He continued to hold me close to his chest.
I shook my head, trying to clear it, “Where did you come from?” I trailed off, feeling lightheaded. “Cole, you have to help Michelle. He hurt Michelle. Please, Cole, find her.” My chest racked with sobs uncontrollably.
“Okay, but I’m getting you out of here first.” Cole lifted me in his arms and carried me quickly out of the small shed to the waiting EMTs, placing me down gently on the gurney.
“She’s hurt…badly.” It was a whisper but I heard him. “Get her to Columbia Presbyterian now.” Cole turned to the police and his team. “Another woman is hurt, petite, dark hair. Couldn’t be too far from here.” His men spread out, running in different directions.
A female EMT tried to examine Cole’s wounds, but he pulled away.
“You’ve been injured too, sir. We need to take care of you too.”
“Just get her to the hospital,” he directed the EMT. He bent down and kissed my forehead. “I’m going to find Michelle. I’ll get to the hospital as soon as I can.” He squeezed my hand and released it.
I nodded. My worry for Michelle consumed me. My heart ached, my mind racing, reeling.
“What about him?” The detective asked Cole, pointing to Jonathan.
“Take that garbage to Bellevue,” he instructed the EMT pushing the gurney with Jonathan’s unconscious body.
The detective grabbed Cole’s arm. “We’re going to need to check your men to verify they are licensed to carry. We’ve already secured the discharged weapon.”
“They are my personal armed bodyguards. They hold carry licenses for New York. You can check it out later—they’re not going anywhere. We need to find Michelle first. She’s been hurt.”
The detective received a call and raised his radio to his face. “Got it. On my way.” Detective Hansen lowered his radio. “They found a body. Matches the description of the girl.”
A body…I felt sick.
“Where?”
“They are transporting her to the hospital now. Looks bad.”
I gasped and Cole turned his head in my direction. He walked over to me and held my hand tight.
“They’re transporting her to the hospital now. She’s hurt but alive.” He paused. “We’ve got to get you there, now. I’ll make sure she gets the best care, I promise.” A comforting look came over his face. “Grace, she’s a strong girl. She’s got a lot of fight in her.” Cole squeezed my hand.
Tears fell freely down the sides of my face. They were wheeling me out of the park toward the back of the waiting ambulance. A large crowd had gathered on the street watching as they loaded me into the ambulance. I closed my eyes, silently praying, and...
Chapter 38
I tried to open my eyes. Too bright. I squeezed them shut. Just trying to open them caused my head to pound unmercifully. A dull ache throbbed in my arm, another in my groin. It felt like it was wrapped in seaweed and I was slowly drowning.
“Grace, baby,” the voice whispered. A voice I recognized, but so far away.
Leave me alone.
“Please, Grace. You have to wake up. I need you, baby.”
Stop. Leave me alone. Go away.
The pain released me and I floated back down into the water.
“Grace, please.” A woman’s voice cried softly, begging, filled with pain. A man’s voice comforted her.
Not now. My head hurts.
“Grace?” The woman’s voice paused. “I think she is trying to open her eyes.” I remembered wishing that voice would stop. The man spoke again.
“I’m not leaving here. I want to be here when she wakes up.”
“Look, darling. She is trying to open her eyes.” The woman’s voice was low. “She will be okay. She has to be okay.”
I heard the woman crying again. Her sobs racked with pain.
“No, I’m staying until she wakes up.”
I heard distant mumbling, but it was too much trouble to care.
Leave me alone.
“Franklin, I said leave me be now. I’m not hungry. I told you I’m not leaving her.”
I felt bad for the woman, so sad. My heart hurt for her. I tried to wake up, to tell her it was okay. I’m okay; but my body refused to listen.
“Grace.”
I know this voice.
I love this voice.
It sings to me. My heart beat faster.
“I’m here with you, holding your hand. I won’t let go. I promise.”
And he never breaks a promise.
Warmth touched my cheek. His breath whispered against my cheek.
“Your mother is with me. She hasn’t left your side since you were brought here. Grace. Babe, can you try to open your eyes? For me?”
His voice stopped again.
Don’t stop talking!
I shouted as loud as I could.
Don’t leave me. He will kill me.
My heart raced, my head pounded. Alarms went off near my ears. Too loud. Please stop. Stop.
“Katherine, you need to eat something or we will be visiting your bedside next. Go with Franklin. I won’t leave her.”
It was the voice I loved, warming me from the inside. I missed that voice so much my heart hurt...maybe I’m dreaming...please don’t let me be dreaming.
“Grace,” he was whispering in my ear again. “I need you. I need you to open your eyes, baby.” He stopped for a minute. “The doctor told me Michelle is getting stronger every day.” Another pause. “She needs you, Grace. I need you. Please, babe.”
I tried again to open my eyes. It was so hard, the light like a laser cutting through my eyelids, hurting so bad. But I wanted to see that face, the face that belonged to the voice, the soothing voice. I struggled to open my eyes, willing them open.