Devil's Creek

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  “I was a student at UV when it happened. Majoring in theater, of course.”

  “Was she your girlfriend?” Boone asked.

  “Fiancée.”

  “Crap. She died?”

  Anderson closed his eyes. “We think so. She was never found.”

  “Whoa. Seriously?”

  “Yeah. But I know who did it.”

  “You do?”

  “Uh huh. Couldn’t ever prove it. But I know.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah.”

  Anderson’s phone chirped.

  “Oh, God. It’s Grace.”

  Chapter 12

  Chandler marched Grace into the house and upstairs to the bedroom. Shoving her onto the bed, he grinned. “What? Not so hungry for me now?”

  “Let me go!” Grace slid across the bed, fuming. She grabbed her purse. “I’m calling my husband.”

  Chandler lunged for her. “No. You’re not.”

  She swung away from him and rolled off the bed, running for the bathroom.

  He tackled her, sending her sprawling on the floor. Twisting her arm behind her back, he chuckled. “Really? You think you can outrun me?”

  “No!” she screamed, pitching violently to the side. She swung her purse high and hard, smashing him in the face.

  “Damn you!” Chandler reached for his eyes, wiping blood away with his fingers.

  She ducked into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She was glad she’d taken her big bag instead of the cute little velvet evening purse in which nothing fit.

  “You bitch!” he screamed. “You cut my face.”

  With a nervous laugh, she yelled at him through the door. “You deserved it, you prick.” She unzipped her purse and found her phone, dialing Anderson’s number. Her fingers shook and a wave of dizziness hit her.

  He answered on the first ring. “Grace?”

  “Baby, I need you.”

  “What’s going on? Where are you?”

  “I don’t know exactly. It’s a huge estate off the Waterbury exit. We’re in the woods near Devil’s Creek.”

  Chandler screamed her name from the bedroom. “Grace!”

  “Who is that? The guy you met on Facebook?”

  “Yeah, but he can’t get me. I’m locked in the bathroom.”

  “Why’s he yelling?”

  “Um. Because I clocked him in the head with my purse.” She let out a little yelp when Chandler rammed something heavy into the door. The frame shook. “Um. Look for a dirt track that leads to a mansion. There can’t be too many of those in these parts.”

  “Is it his place? Would it be listed in his name?”

  “No, it’s his friend’s house. Name’s Denny.”

  “Denny who?”

  She whimpered. “I—I don’t know.”

  “Oh, crap. Grace. Never mind. I’m heading north.”

  “Maybe the cops will know someone named Denny who owns a mansion up here. But, um, please hurry. He’s really pissed off.”

  “On my way. Boone’s here, too.”

  “Good. And Anderson?”

  “Yes?”

  “One more thing. There’s something wrong with this whole setup.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “He called me by my real name. And he says he knows you.”

  “What?”

  Another bang against the door.

  A scream escaped her lips. “Oh, God. He’s breaking down the door.”

  Chapter 13

  Anderson put the phone on speaker so Boone could hear what was happening. Both men ran for the Jeep.

  “Hang tight. We’re almost in the car,” Anderson said.

  A loud crash followed by a scream came from the phone.

  “Grace?” Anderson shouted. “Grace!”

  He heard a rustling, a loud thump, and heavy breathing on the phone. “Anderson? That you?”

  Anderson paled. What the hell? “Who is this?”

  “Never mind who I am. But I have a message to pass on. Murphy says ‘Hi.’”

  The phone went dead.

  ∞∞∞

  Boone slid into the passenger seat of the Jeep, watching a grim-faced Anderson back up and turn toward the road. The phone had been on speaker, so Boone had heard the whole conversation.

  “Really?” Boone fumed, feeling outrage streak through him. “How can Murphy possibly be involved in this? He’s in prison, for God’s sake.”

  “I don’t know.” Anderson spoke in carefully measured words, his voice like steel. “But he probably wants revenge, right? Grace tricked him. He hates her. Remember how he glared at her during the trial?”

  “I do. The lunatic.” Boone scowled. “Damn.”

  “This bastard might kill her, Boone.”

  “No way we’ll let that happen. Hold on.” Boone motioned to his Silverado parked behind the barn. “Swing by my truck. I’ll get my rifle.”

  Anderson circled the yard and Boone jumped out to grab his weapon from the rack. He climbed back into the Jeep. “Go. I’m calling Sheriff Dunne.”

  “Good. I’ll keep trying Grace.”

  Boone’s call to Sheriff Dunne went right through. “Dunne here.” The man sounded wide-awake, as if he’d been up for hours.

  “Sheriff? It’s Boone Hawke. We’ve got a problem.”

  “What’s up, Boone?”

  “Grace has got herself into a mess. A bad one this time.”

  “Drugs again?”

  “No. She’s met some crazy-assed maniac who’s holed up with her in a mansion in Waterbury.”

  “What? Another kidnapping?”

  “Sort of.” Boone shook his head, trying to get to the point as fast as possible. Last summer, Portia and Grace had both been abducted by Murphy, but the creep was still in jail, so how had he managed this?

  “Talk to me.”

  “She was locked in a bathroom in some mansion, but it sounds like the guy broke down the door. He took over her phone and said something really weird.” Boone told the Sheriff what he’d heard.

  “No way,” Dunne said, disbelief ringing in his voice.

  “I know. So what do we do?”

  “You have a last name for this douche bag?”

  “Don’t know. He’s calling himself Chandler. But the house he’s at is supposed to be his friend’s. It’s near a waterway called Devil’s Creek. Belongs to a man named Denny. Or Dennis, I guess.”

  “Last name?”

  “Don’t know that either.”

  “Okay. Hold on. I’m gonna check this out. Don’t hang up.”

  Boone held on while Dunne conversed in the background. Anderson turned onto Route 116 heading north and accelerated into the passing lane. At this time of the morning, traffic was light. He checked the dash clock. Only six-thirty. The next ten minutes crawled.

  Halfway to Middlebury, Dunne came back on the line. “Boone?”

  “I’m here.” He tapped the Bluetooth button so Anderson could hear. “I’ve got Anderson on the line, too.”

  “Okay, good. Listen. I checked. Murphy’s still locked up tight, but it doesn’t mean he didn’t hire this guy. Or, this Chandler creep could be capitalizing on last year’s events. Trying to psych you out. Hard to tell.” The phone crackled, then came back with a strong signal. “You guys still there?”

  “We’re here,” Anderson said.

  “Okay. We’re sending someone up to question Murphy. Meanwhile, I woke up the town clerk in Middlebury. He says a millionaire and his wife named Dennis and Sheila O’Rourke have a big place up on Moon Creek. It’s the only mansion in town. There’s no such thing as Devil’s Creek.”

  Moon Creek?

  Murphy.

  Did he rename the creek to remind them of last year? Had this been a jab? Their last showdown with Murphy had been at Devil’s Lake.

  He gave the directions to Boone. “Listen, I’m on my way with Deputy Mills and there’s a negotiator en route with his team. We’ll meet you there. But don’t go in shooting. This
isn’t television. You need to let us handle this guy.”

  “Understood,” Boone said, eyeing his rifle. “But if we get there first… ”

  Dunne thundered the next words. “You stay outside the gates, for fuck’s sake. Last time, you went off half-cocked… ”

  “And we found Grace, didn’t we? You guys failed.” Boone felt a little guilty pointing out the obvious, because he knew the police hadn’t looked good. And they’d been royally ticked off with him.

  Anderson shot him a grim smile. He’d been there. He knew exactly what Boone was saying.

  Dunne grunted. “Yeah. Okay, you’re right. But you wait for us this time. You could get Grace killed.”

  “Okay, Sheriff. We’ll see you there.”

  Boone glanced at Anderson. His complexion looked pasty and beads of sweat popped on his brow.

  “Buddy? You hanging in there?”

  Anderson grimaced. “Barely.”

  Boone tried to calm him. “Listen. We’ll get there soon. We’ll find her. We’ll bring her home again.”

  Anderson nodded. “I sure as hell hope so. If Murphy is part of this… ”

  Boone put a hand on his shoulder. “Grace is one strong lady, and she’ll probably have this bastard trussed up like a turkey by the time we get there.”

  Anderson gave him a half-smile. “I sure hope so.”

  Chapter 14

  The door broke open, and Grace leapt away from Chandler, jumping toward the window and still clutching her phone. The man whose face appeared in the gaping hole reminded her of Jack Nicholson’s performance of Jack Torrence, the writer gone mad in Stephen King’s “The Shining.”

  She almost laughed. When would he say, “Here’s Johnny?”

  When he tumbled through the door, she yelled and scuttled backwards. This isn’t a movie. It’s real. And this lunatic is after me.

  Blood spilled down his face from a cut on his forehead, making him look even more freakish than his already wild expression. He lunged for her, grabbing the phone and knocking her down at the same time.

  She fell to the floor with a thud, hitting her head on the sink. The world spun and she tried to bring it back into focus.

  To her surprise, Chandler didn’t step on her phone to destroy it; instead, he lifted it to his ear. “Anderson? That you?”

  He grinned at her. He actually grinned.

  “Never mind who I am. But I have a message to pass on. Murphy says Hi.”

  The name hit her like a punch in the stomach. She looked up and scowled. “Murphy? Are you kidding me?” Her underarms grew wet and she swayed when she tried to get up. “My head,” she said, holding her hand to her forehead. “Oh, God. It hurts.”

  “Good. Now you know how it feels,” he said, dragging her to her feet.

  She repeated herself, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “Murphy?”

  A satisfied smile split his face. “You like that, huh? Nice touch?”

  She stared at him. “What do you mean, nice touch?”

  He brayed with laughter. “Poor old Anderson’s gonna be peeing his pants right about now.”

  “No,” she said. “He’ll be calling the cops. Murphy almost killed my whole family last summer. My husband was a soldier in Iraq. He’ll tear you apart, piece by piece.”

  Chuckling, he hauled her back into the bedroom. “Soldier, smoldier. Murphy came after I met your beloved. Did Anderson tell you he destroyed my life? Probably not. But that whole Murphy thing... ” He beamed in her direction. “Oh, that was priceless. I enjoyed watching the story unfold in the courtroom. I was there every day, you know.”

  “What?” She wasn’t getting his point. Who the hell is this guy? Does he know Murphy?

  “Oh, yes. It was quite the drama. Especially when he abducted you.”

  “Really? You liked that part?” she said, furiously plotting her next move. First, get him to talk. To relax. Then maybe she could bash him again and get loose.

  “Oh, yes. It was brilliant. The way Murphy incapacitated all of your men folk who were supposedly guarding you? Hilarious. And then, when he took you instead of Portia… Oh, how I wish I could have taken credit for that move.”

  “I don’t remember seeing you at Murphy’s trial. And I was there every stinking day,” she said with a challenge.

  A girlish giggle burst from his lips. “Like your husband, I come from a theater arts background. I had several lovely disguises. Most were quite unique.”

  “Really?” she said, trying to sound conversational and calm. Get him to talk about himself. Then take him by surprise.

  “Yeah. Do you remember the old blind man who used to tap his way inside and sit in the back?”

  “You?”

  “Me.”

  “Who else?”

  “I also played a pregnant Muslim woman. Veils cover a lot.”

  “Crap. I held the door open for you on several occasions, you prick.”

  “That’s right, polite gal that you are.” He pushed her back onto the bed. “How about another go at it before your hubby arrives, huh?”

  She spat her words at him. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

  He smiled, but his eyes remained cold. “That can be arranged.” He dressed while she sat on the bed, taking a camera from a knapsack. “Smile for me, beautiful.”

  Grace sneered and gave him the finger. “No freakin’ way.”

  “Oh, really? We’re gonna play it like that? How crude, Miss Candy.”

  As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he stooped to pull a revolver from a drawer in the nightstand. “Do I have to shoot you first? Or will you smile for me?”

  Grace’s insides quivered with fear. Christ. The guy has a gun?

  “Lie back and look sexy,” he said, almost crooning the words. Casually, he waved the gun in the air. “Oh, and don’t get any ideas. This thing is loaded.”

  She sat still, pushing herself back to the pillows by the headboard. “Why do you want a picture of me?”

  He came closer. “It doesn’t matter why. Just smile and look sexy.” He raised the digital camera to his eyes, keeping the gun loosely trained on her. “Come on. Say cheese.”

  She gave a half smile. Hell, it was better than being shot, right?

  “Good girl.” He changed the angle. “Now, put one leg up and stretch the other one out, nice and sexy.”

  She did as he said, then tried to get him talking again. “So. How do you know Anderson?”

  His expression darkened. “It was a long time ago.”

  “You knew him in college?”

  “Maybe. Now. One more shot before I take you out to the creek again.”

  She froze. Why would he take me out there? To have sex again?

  Screw that. I won’t touch him.

  As if checking off a list, he packed up the camera and waved the gun in her direction again. “Okay. Get up. We’re going outside.”

  Chapter 15

  While Chandler dragged her struggling through the house, Grace grabbed at everything she could reach to slow their progress. Door handles, tables, counters, anything she could find to slow her forced march to Devil’s Creek. She had a really bad feeling about this.

  Chandler slowly and inexorably pried her fingers off each item, tugging her farther with a cold expression on his face.

  His eyes burned with purpose; his mouth was set in a tight line.

  My God. He’s on a mission. He’s going to kill me now.

  One of the kitchen drawers she grappled for slid open and dumped with a loud clatter. A collection of framed photos spilled out, cracking and splintering glass across the floor. Grace scrambled to get something—anything she could hurt him with—and briefly noticed a middle-aged couple in the pictures. Was this Denny and his girlfriend?

  She picked up a large piece of glass, turning suddenly to scrape it across Chandler’s outstretched arm.

  He reeled back in horror, clutching at the wound. It bled freely, and Grace hoped she’d hit an
artery.

  “You crazy bitch!”

  She backed up to the refrigerator, pointing to the photos scattered on the floor. “Who are these people, Chandler? Are they really on vacation?” Now she knew why there were no personal touches in the kitchen or living room. He’d taken them all down and hidden them in this drawer.

  Why?

  Opening the fridge door, she scooped up jars and began to throw them at him. A Coke can. A bottle of water. A jar of pickles. Apples. Anything heavy she could find went flying across the room.

  He ducked at the onslaught, raising his good arm to protect his head. Squeezing the trigger, he shot the window over the sink. “Stop!”

  She froze and glared at him, trying to gauge her best escape route. He still held the gun in one hand, but soon he’d have to put it down to bind his wound.

  “Who are they?” she screamed, motioning to the photos, trying to put him off guard.

  “Why do you care who they are?” he said, seething. “Just shut up, woman. You’ll see them soon.”

  In one swift motion, Chandler grabbed a dishtowel and bound his forearm. The gun reappeared in his hand seconds later.

  She began to sweat. Her mind played the words men sweat, women glisten over and over again. But hell, she wasn’t glistening. She was sweating profusely.

  Had Chandler taken these poor people somewhere? Were they the homeowners? Were they dead or alive?

  He opened a drawer near the sink and rummaged around in it, still holding the gun on Grace. Smiling, he brandished a hank of clothesline rope. “Turn around and put your hands together.”

  When Grace failed to obey, he jammed the gun to her forehead. “It would be a little messy to kill you here. But if you insist… ”

  She turned and crossed her arms behind her back. “Fine. You sick bastard. You’re gonna kill me anyway, so what diff—”

  The blow was swift and harsh. He smashed the gun against her temple and she sank to her knees.

  “Shut up. And do as I say.” He knotted the rope around her wrists and hauled her to her feet.

  The kitchen swam before her eyes, and she thought she’d throw up from the pain. “God, you didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes. I did.” He chuckled. “You’re still one helluva nutso bitch, Grace. But what you did to Murphy… you’ll never do to me. I’m on to your brand of crazy.”