by Lisa Gardner
I need to do something. Protect my friend. Escape the Bad Man. Make him pay.
So much anger and frustration well up inside me. Always, it’s been him. He killed my mother. Robbed me of my voice. Enslaved me into a life of servitude where I was forced to watch him destroy other girls.
There’s no good in this man. Just layers of evil.
“Clayton, hurry up!” the grandma woman urges. “I don’t think she’s dead.”
So maybe D.D. will be all right. If I can find a way to get the Bad Man away.
He smiles again. He knows I’m a cripple, but it doesn’t inspire compassion in him. Just contempt.
I try to cower back, but my hip makes contact with the wall. I’m trapped, no means of retreat. So I try something else. He thinks I’m helpless—and I let him.
I take a small step sideways onto uneven stone. Grunt as I pretend to twist my ankle. Fall crouched to the floor.
One, two, three, four . . .
He strides forward, sure of himself, as he whirls his hunting knife.
Five.
He reaches me. I rear up awkwardly, and lash out as hard as I can with my good leg. I hit the side of his knee. He roars in surprise, and staggers slightly, pulling the woman’s attention away from D.D. Good.
I kick him again, nailing him in the balls. He screams, clutches himself, and drops.
“Clayton!” the grandma woman screams in clear distress.
I head for the doorway.
At the last second, he slashes out with his blade, slicing open my exposed ankle. In sheer rage, I turn on him again. I kick his head, watch it bounce against the hard floor. I do it again, spraying blood from my ankle. My blood onto the stone. My mother’s into the red earth. We have both bled too much for this man.
“Stop it!” the grandma woman shrieks, but she is stuck behind the table. She can’t get to me, and seems to have momentarily forgotten D.D.
I don’t want to leave the blond detective, but if I go, the Bad Man will follow. I want to believe D.D. can figure out how to handle the giant woman. Whereas the Bad Man . . . No one has ever fought him and won.
Wake up, wake up, wake up, I think in my mind to D.D. Then simply: Survive.
Because I don’t think I have it in me to bear another loss. Then again, I don’t think I have it in me to still be alive by day’s end.
I struggle out of the room, limping badly down the hall. I’ve had years to learn how to hobble with speed. I’m not giving up now.
Behind me I hear cursing, then crashing. The Bad Man staggering to his feet.
He will come for me.
I can’t scream. I can’t run.
I limp as fast as I can into the dark.
CHAPTER 43
KIMBERLY
CROUCHED BEHIND THE ROCK, KIMBERLY held her breath in the dark tunnel and focused on the sound of approaching footsteps. Flora remained propped up awkwardly beside her, in no condition to run or fight. This was it, then. One pistol versus one rifle.
As her FBI instructors liked to say, this is why we train.
The shadows beside the boulder started to shift, take shape. They formed into the faint silhouette of a man. Come on, she thought, two more steps. She had only one chance to get this right.
He stopped and Kimberly nearly groaned.
Flora dug in the dirt beside her, obviously searching for another stone to throw. Except.
The shadow pivoted sharply. He’d figured out their little game. One quick step sideways, the rifle leveled in front of him.
Pop, pop, pop.
Kimberly didn’t hesitate. Three to center mass. The man dropped. The rifle dropped. Then Kimberly darted forward, kicking the rifle clear, before collapsing herself, shaking uncontrollably from adrenaline and belated terror.
“That was a little close,” Flora said, just as more footsteps sounded in the dark behind them. Not walking this time. Running.
“Shit.” No time to find new cover. Kimberly fumbled around in the dirt, grabbing the rifle their first opponent had tried to use against them. Flora once more held up her blade.
A light burst into view. Then a second.
Kimberly was just settling her finger on the trigger, when a voice called out:
“Sheriff! Drop your weapon.”
A light hit her between the eyes. The second beam found Flora with her feral grin and bloody forehead.
“Are you okay?” Keith called out of the dark—and forget Flora, Kimberly could’ve kissed him.
* * *
—
KEITH EXAMINED FLORA’S HEAD WOUND while Sheriff Smithers explained about the secret door that had led them into the old mining shaft. Keith and the sheriff had spent the past twenty minutes or so roaming a warren of tunnels while searching for an exit. Then they’d heard the gunshots and started running.
Now, Sheriff Smithers flashed his light on their stalker’s body.
“That’s Bill Benson,” Keith spoke up in surprise. “The ATV rental guy. Why is he trying to kill us?”
“He already shot Walt,” Kimberly provided. “He’s dead, at the other end of the passageway.”
“But why?” Keith asked again.
Sheriff Smithers appeared troubled. “Bill doesn’t have a criminal record that I know of. Quiet man, really. Married Penny Johnson forty years ago. Pretty thing. Unfortunately, she turned out to be not quite right in the head. They had a son together, but Penny’s condition grew worse. Last I knew, Bill tended his business, then went home to take care of his wife.”
“Walt led us here,” Flora provided. “He said he could prove that the woods really did scream at night. I assumed he figured out the sounds were coming from this mine entrance. Which, if it’s connected to the B and B, makes sense.”
“We found the cook’s body fifty feet beyond the secret door,” the sheriff said grimly. “Died hard. At least one set of screams that won’t be heard again.”
Flora was still frowning. “But why was Bill Benson here? How did he know we’d be coming? Because clearly that was one hell of an ambush, and Keith and I never talked to him about us coming here. We didn’t even know this tunnel existed.”
Kimberly shook her head. She didn’t understand either. “You said Bill and his wife had a son?” she asked the sheriff.
Smithers nodded slowly. She didn’t like the look on his face. “Big guy,” he confirmed. “In his younger days, was known for brawling and drunken disorderlies. Not the kind of guy you wanted to cross. But after high school, he moved out West. Last I heard, he was running his own business in New Mexico, someplace like that. Sounded like he was doing all right for himself. I know he’s been home more lately. I figured to help out with his mom, maybe see about taking over his father’s business. But Clayton’s always been a hard one to pin down. Being his own boss, he can come and go as he pleases.”
Flora glanced at Kimberly. The woman’s forehead really did look awful. “As in he has plenty of opportunity to kidnap girls, network with others, then return here with the new merchandise.”
“Honestly, I haven’t seen the man in years. Didn’t even really give him much thought. But then . . .” The sheriff suddenly closed his eyes, shoulders sagging. “Shhhh-rimp.”
“Spit it out, Sheriff,” Kimberly demanded.
“I normally don’t pay much mind to gossip. But Bill . . . rumor is he and Franny have been having an affair for years. She’s single and it’s not like he has a real marriage.”
“Your receptionist, Franny, is dating our dead rifleman?”
“She said Bill came to the department today. Raised such a fuss, the deputy who was watching Mayor Howard had to assist.” The sheriff’s voice had grown hoarse. “Howard hanged himself. Then Franny . . . Franny came to the inn with me.”
“Franny is at the Mountain Laurel?” Flora spoke up sharply, then promptly win
ced. “With D.D.? And Bonita?”
“Super tall, surprisingly broad-shouldered Franny?” Kimberly asked more pointedly, staring at the sheriff. “Because it’s not like Bill Benson is a big guy. Where according to Bonita, her monster is huge.”
It was hard to tell in the dark, but it was possible the sheriff’s face had gone white. “Bill’s wife is a wisp of a woman.”
“We saw her picture at his store,” Keith confirmed. “Not exactly a giant among women.”
“You said Franny was pregnant, that Franny lost her baby,” Kimberly continued. “What if that’s just a story she told, and the real reason she stayed in town, got a job at the sheriff’s department, was to remain near her son?”
“That poor boy,” the sheriff murmured. “Stuck at home all day with a crazy woman.”
“Given up by another crazy woman,” Flora added dryly.
“We have to get back.” Keith was already standing up. “Bill and Franny must be working together. That’s why Bill knew to be outside the tunnels. He was waiting for Franny to lead us out. He was going to pick us off one by one.”
“Help me up,” said Flora, still propped awkwardly against the boulder. Blood caked half her face. She raised an arm, but even that appeared halfhearted. Keith moved immediately to her side, offering his shoulder for support as she struggled to her feet.
Flora winced, almost toppled, but Keith caught her again. “Why are there two of you?” she asked.
“Twice the fun?”
“Good God, that’s awful. But thanks for cheering me up.” Kimberly checked her phone. “I don’t have a signal. You?” she asked the sheriff.
He shook his head.
“Try your radio. We need backup. Every officer in the damn county, state, I don’t care. And circulate the description of Bill Benson, Jr.—”
“Clayton.”
“Armed and dangerous. Approach with caution. I’ll handle FAA. Get out a notice to apprehend anyone matching Franny’s or Clayton’s description, ground charter flights, whatever it takes. Given their access to the dark web, there’s no telling how many resources they have available. Certainly, they must’ve had some kind of escape plan in place for life after ambushing a federal taskforce.”
“Agreed.”
“Uh, guys.” Flora again. “I think you two should go ahead. I’m not, um, I’m not moving so well.”
Even with Keith’s arm around her waist, she was swaying where she stood. Now, the vigilante held out her butterfly blade to Kimberly. “For good luck.”
“You keep that. We don’t know how many people are roaming these tunnels yet. Besides, at the rate things are going”—Kimberly eyed Flora and Keith grimly—“you may be our cavalry.”
“Deal,” Keith said.
Last nods all around. Then Kimberly stepped forward briskly, the sheriff already at her side.
“Stay safe,” Kimberly ordered Flora and Keith.
“Back at you.”
Kimberly and the sheriff raced into the gloom.
CHAPTER 44
IAM SILENT. I AM SLOW. I am weak.
What I need to be is smart.
As I hear the Bad Man’s roar behind me, I think, I will turn, I will take a stand. I’ll summon my mother’s love and my slaughtered sisters’ anguish, and we’ll incinerate him with our rage.
I recognize now, as I lurch down the hall, that these fantasies are only that—the vivid dreams of a girl too weak to fight back.
He’s coming. He’ll grab me by the shoulder, twist me about. And in one second of searing pain, it’ll be done. I’ll be with my mamita. Surely that won’t be so bad. Our pack of two, together again.
Footsteps, pounding closer.
The hallway is too long. I won’t make it.
I could veer off into one of the many rooms, but then what? They’re small and barren. I’ll be nothing but a mouse, trapped in a corner. I need to get upstairs. The kitchen. It has knives and rolling pins and all sorts of weapons for a little thing like me.
The footsteps grow louder. Yet the hall goes on and on.
I send out my best plea to the house. I know it’s sad and unhappy. I know it never wanted to be used this way. “Help me now,” I beg of it. “I see you, I hear you. Please, please, help me.”
And just like that, the hall lights flicker, then wink off, casting the entire hall into gloom.
A fresh roar of frustration. The Bad Man lurches to a stop somewhere in the dark, disoriented by the sudden pall.
Whereas me . . . I’ve been roaming these halls under the cover of night for years. I’m the mouse, scurrying along, keeping out of sight. I don’t need light to see. I know every inch of the hall by the feel of the stones against my feet.
Faster now. As much as a gimpy girl can do.
The Bad Man surges forward again. Slower, with an occasional thump and curse as he hits a wall, a doorjamb. His legs are longer than mine. Even slowed, he’ll eat up the distance between us in no time.
The stairs. I sense them before I make out the first riser. In my mind, I’m whimpering with relief. In real life, I’m just as silent as always.
Creeping now. Up, up, up. The door, just there, I can nearly reach.
“Stop, police!” I hear a new voice boom behind me. D.D. is alive!
I twist just in time to see a beam of light slice across the hall. D.D. has a flashlight tucked between her ribs and her injured right arm.
Meaning D.D. is holding her gun in her left hand. None too steadily.
The Bad Man turns. The beam of light catches the side of his face. He is grinning as he beholds an injured cop, swaying on her feet, daring to defy him.
The Bad Man charges the detective.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
D.D.’s gun. But the Bad Man doesn’t seem to care. He smashes D.D. to the ground as if she were nothing more than a paper doll.
I see the knife flash up.
Then, I can’t look anymore.
* * *
—
THE HOUSE GROANS WITH AGITATION as I finally burst through the cellar door. I stumble into the carpeted hall, falling to my knees, then scramble up again. I’m crying. Snot drips from my nose, tears coat my cheeks.
I’m terrified and pissed off and emptied out. So many years, so many ambitions, and here I am again, watching the Bad Man take it all away. I hate him beyond all rationality. I hurt beyond all possibility.
Why are so many dying for a Stupid Girl like me?
I careen wildly toward the kitchen. The building moans again. Wind whips the tangled knots of my hair, though the doors are closed and the house shuttered tight. The girls, my mother. I can feel them all. The Bad Man is feasting. And they are as angry as I am.
I make it across the marble foyer into the breakfast room. Through the window I see a police officer standing guard. He catches the shadow of my movement, bobbing up and down as I drag my right leg. His eyes widen.
I try to shake my head, warn him away, but he doesn’t notice.
He runs down the porch, bursting through the front doors behind me.
“Hey there—”
Just as the basement door flies open, cracking against the sidewall. The deputy turns, caught between a sobbing little girl and a hulking fiend with a knife. He doesn’t need any help figuring it out.
“Stop! Police!”
Does he pull his weapon? Does he manage to fend off the first blow or two? I don’t have it in me to turn and look, as once again the Bad Man charges. The officer goes down.
I hear a gurgle I know too well. The young man dying. Alive one moment, gone the next. The Bad Man isn’t just a monster. He is the devil himself.
I crash through the swinging door into the kitchen. More wind whips around my face, tears at my hair. I want to be angry at them. Stop picking on me. Attack him instead.
But I get it. Even in death, they are afraid. I would be, too.
I snap on the commercial dishwasher. Once it reaches temperature, it’ll fill the kitchen with steam as boiling hot water sprays from inside the hood. I’ve worked with the dishwasher. I know how to withstand its spray. Does he?
I want a knife, but I’ve already been through that. Waving a butter knife at him. Only to have him attack, disarm, then carve me up with his much larger blade.
He’s so big, so strong. He stood behind Mrs. Counsel and squeezed the life out of her without breaking a sweat. He took out my blond protector in a single tackle, leaving her broken on the floor. Then dashed upstairs and killed a second armed deputy in a matter of minutes.
I feel a fresh hitch in my throat, panic rising, choking me. In desperation, I yank open the door to the broom closet. The mop sits inside, long handle protruding from its rolling yellow bucket. Maybe I can use the wooden handle to hit him, like the older woman attacking D.D. with the poker. The handle is long enough, maybe I can stay out of reach of his blade.
Then I see the bottle of bleach and am seized by a second idea.
I grab the bottle, unscrew the cap, douse the mophead liberally. I just finish emptying the bottle when the kitchen door bangs open. The Bad Man looms before me, his face flecked with blood, his hunting knife still dripping.
The room goes still. No more wind, restless spirits. We are all, living and dead, equally terrified.
“Did you miss me?” he asks.
I tighten my hands on the mop handle, and prepare to make my last stand.
CHAPTER 45
KIMBERLY
WHAT THE—” KIMBERLY ARRIVED AT the stone chamber first, the sheriff on her heels. Somewhere behind them, Keith and Flora still labored through the tunnels.
It took Kimberly a moment to absorb the scene. The secret doorway was now partially blocked by the giant oak table. And propped up against the doorframe was Franny, her pale blue sweater covered in blood. She was gripping her right shoulder. Then she saw the sheriff and promptly moaned.
