The Girl from Silent Lake

by Leslie Wolfe

  He tugged harshly at her hair and continued braiding. “They loved you more than me.”

  She bit her lip, tempted to say that wasn’t true. “You were my friend, Nick, and one day you disappeared. I had no idea why you left without saying goodbye.”

  He tugged at her hair again, the sudden move reigniting the pounding in her head. “I didn’t leave!” he shouted. “But did you bother to care? To ask where I was?”

  “That year was a difficult one,” she started, and instantly wanted to kick herself. She knew better than to defend herself in front of a power tripper. It ticked them off worse than anything else. “I asked,” she lied, “many times. But no one told me anything, and your mother, um, she said I shouldn’t ask about you anymore.”

  He didn’t say anything, continuing to braid her hair tightly, watching every strand carefully. Twice he went back to catch loose strands he’d missed, undoing his work and starting again.

  “That year I lost two people,” Kay continued, unwilling to let him take his mind down some rabbit hole she couldn’t follow. “You, and my father.”

  “Your father,” he repeated, speaking slowly, ominously. “What happened to your father, Kathy?”

  “You don’t know?” she asked, holding her breath. If he had the knife, he knew. He’d seen his body, what was left of it, and he’d known it for a while. The patch of ground between the willows hadn’t been disturbed recently.

  “How should I?” he replied calmly. “I was a homeless kid in San Francisco, eating from the trash and getting raped.”

  Her breath caught. That explained his violence against the women he substituted for his mother, the person he held responsible for his suffering. He wanted them to feel all the pain he’d once felt.

  “I thought you knew,” she continued calmly. “Because of the knife.”

  The lopsided grin returned as he finished one braid and secured it with a hair tie. Then he pulled it behind her ear and then to her chest, and arranged the feathers with delicate fingers that seemed incapable of doing the harm she’d seen done on his victims’ bodies.

  “Maybe I do know something,” he replied. “Why don’t you fill in the blanks?”

  She paused for a beat, carefully considering every word she was about to say, and what impact it would have. What if, through some unexplained turn of fate, he didn’t know everything about her father? It didn’t make much sense; if he had the knife, then he knew everything there was to know about the man she and Jacob had put in the ground behind the house.

  “My father stabbed my mother with that knife,” she said quickly, blurting out a morsel of truth and glad when it was out there, in the tense air between them.

  He didn’t reply, silence heavy between them as Kay ached to hear what he knew, and since when. “Now you know,” she said, then licked her dry lips and forced some air into her lungs. “Was that knife a message to me, Nick?”

  He still didn’t respond, seemingly lost in his thoughts, driven by his compulsion to build the perfect setting for her punishment. His intense gaze remained focused on his work. Shifting to her other side, he combed the remaining hair again, getting ready to braid it.

  “It’s funny how you choose women who don’t have bangs,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “I don’t have bangs either. Is it because Native women don’t cut their hair unless they’re grieving? Is that it?”

  That hit a nerve. He started braiding her hair with rash movements, tugging at her scalp and making her wince in pain. She felt blood trickling onto her nape and soaking her collar.

  “She didn’t grieve after I left,” he eventually said. “She didn’t cut her hair. My loss was nothing to her.”

  “No, she didn’t cut her hair,” Kay said gently, “but she’s still grieving. I’ve seen your photo in her album. She cherishes that.”

  He slapped her across the face, bringing tears to her eyes. “Don’t lie to me! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.”

  “I’m not—” she started to say, but stopped herself, hating the stinging tears that welled in her eyes. “I wanted you to know, that’s all. I was there today, at your mom’s place. I saw her tears when she mentioned your name.”

  His anger still showed in his movements, and for a moment, she didn’t speak, afraid she’d trigger him again.

  “Why did you change your name, Nick?” she eventually asked, hoping it was a safe enough subject to broach with him.

  His breathing accelerated and his jaw clenched. “She filled the town with her lies,” he said, grinding his teeth as he spoke, as if the words hurt him by leaving his lips. “Everyone despises Nick Stinson in Mount Chester. But they voted for Nick Stevens to become the Franklin County district attorney.”

  “What lies?” she asked calmly, hoping her voice would soothe the old injury even in the slightest measure.

  He didn’t reply, averting his eyes for the first time. Ashamed.

  “You were aroused by me, weren’t you?” she asked quietly, her voice barely a whisper, her tone understanding, compassionate. “I was just a little girl,” she added.

  “Yeah,” he replied bitterly, “you and Judy both were. You always were Mother’s little girls.” He wrapped the second hair tie around the end of her braid, and arranged it neatly, like he’d done with the first one. “Well, not today, my dear. Today you pay for everything you’ve done.”

  Her breath caught while panic returned to stake claim on her entire being.

  “What have I done, Nick?” she asked softly, willing herself to keep from trembling.

  Silence fell heavily, while knotted muscles danced on Nick’s jaw. He glared at her, the intensity in his eyes burning, threatening, urgent.

  When he spoke, his voice was choked and bitter, strangled by unspeakable rage.

  “You were always there, with your short skirts and your cartwheels and your pink underwear, flaunting your flesh in front of me, not caring what that did to me, to my body.”

  She waited a beat, but he didn’t continue. She could picture his anguish in her mind, a teenage boy not understanding his sexuality, his urges driving him insane and burying him in guilt. But he’d never been the typical teenager; he’d already demonstrated two homicidal triad factors. He’d killed animals and set fire to the family barn. The urges in him were raging, and his sexual drive merciless, obsessive.

  But he’d gone to his mother’s bed, not Judy’s nor hers. Then why had he fixated on her? Probably because she’d been the absolute first to cause a sexual response in his young body. He must’ve blamed her for the sexual thoughts he had for his mother, for his sister, and for the guilt and shame he’d endured.

  “I understand,” she replied, her words almost unintelligible and her voice broken. “I get why you want to punish me. But why were you so harsh to Jacob? He didn’t deserve to go to jail for a lame punch in a bar, Nick. You’d done worse than that by the time you were sixteen.”

  He burst into laughter, standing at a distance and admiring his work. His cackles echoed strangely in the room, and, in response, a woman’s voice wailed loudly from another room. Loud pounding noises against a door sent a glimmer of hope through Kay’s heart, but soon she realized it was probably the same woman, the one he’d taken the day before. Not Elliot.

  At least Kay had found her in time. She was still alive, albeit Kay had envisioned her rescue a little differently.

  Where was Elliot?

  “You think I was harsh to your brother?” he asked, still laughing like a madman, his hands propped on his thighs. “You think that was it? An excessive charge prosecuted vigorously to earn him time in jail?” He clapped his hands together, visibly entertained. “Well, think again!”

  Blood drained from her face while her heart raced, aching, remembering Jacob’s black eye and swollen lip. “What have you done, you sick son of a bitch?” she asked in a low, menacing voice.

  “I sent Rafael Trujillo to provoke your lame-ass brother, in return for dropped charges for hi
s joy ride with a stolen car. Then I laid down an excessive charge and prosecuted it vigorously. Finally, Judge Hewitt, with whom I play poker every Thursday night, did me a solid and used Jacob Sharp’s case to set an example in the community. I erased his poker debt, but what’s two thousand dollars these days, right?”

  She pulled hard against her restraints, not even feeling the pain where the zip ties slashed into her flesh. “Why?” she asked, her eyes drilling into his, her rage fueled by his amusement. “I swear to God, Nick, I will kill you.”

  He chuckled. “Why? The almighty FBI profiler can’t even figure that much out?”

  She stared at him, unable to think, unable to comprehend the depths of his viciousness.

  “I knew you’d come rushing to his side,” he explained, grinning widely. “I wanted you here, like this, keeping me company for the winter. I’ve been dreaming of this moment since I first saw you, in our backyard, doing cartwheels with Judy. You wore pink underwear, remember?”

  She felt sick to her stomach and inhaled sharply to settle her nausea. “I was a child, you sick bastard!”

  “I expected you to come testify on Jacob’s behalf, and I would’ve let him slide easily, if only you’d come,” he said, pacing the room slowly. “But you didn’t. It’s all your fault.” He stopped in front of her and ran his fingers against her lips. “You’re here now, Kathy. That’s all that matters.”

  It took all her strength to remain calm.

  “Why now, Nick? What’s so special about now?” she asked, feeling the bile rise in her throat at the thought that she had somehow become a serial killer’s apex target, the ultimate kill he’d been practicing for all those years. But why now, what was the trigger that had set in motion the course of events that had started with Jacob being set up?

  “Lost time is never found again, is it?” he replied calmly, as if discussing philosophy over a glass of wine.

  “Something happened, Nick, to remind you I existed.”

  “Oh, I never forgot you existed, not for one day. You were mine all along, and I wasn’t going to let that change. I wasn’t going to let you live happily ever after with anyone else than me.”

  She frowned. What the hell was he talking about?

  He scoffed and pulled out his wallet, then fished out a folded newspaper clipping from the San Francisco Chronicle, dated a few weeks ago. The photo depicted her being awarded the FBI medal of valor by her mentor and longtime friend, Aaron Reese, the head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

  He shoved the photo under her eyes, and she looked at it trying to see things from his perspective. She was beaming in the picture; she still remembered how she’d felt that day, proud and a little overwhelmed, being recognized for her service after a very difficult case. Aaron Reese was also smiling fondly; he’d always maintained she was the brightest of his students, destined for great achievement in the bureau.

  But it took a twisted mind to imagine there was a sexual relationship between her and Reese, based solely on that photo.

  “You misunderstood, Nick,” she replied, “there’s nothing going on between—”

  “I believe you, yes,” he replied calmly, a satisfied smile appearing on his lips. “Aaron Reese had an accident on the interstate a few days ago. Quite unfortunate,” he added, his smile now unveiling his teeth. “Afraid he didn’t make it, poor soul, so, yes, there’s nothing going on between you two. Now you and I can fulfill our destiny.”

  “You’ll pay for this, Nick Stevens, or whatever the hell your name is,” she said, her voice filled with rage. “They know who you are, and they’re coming for you.”

  He laughed again, almost kindly, the way someone laughs hearing a child’s delusional fantasy. “Yeah? So, then, why aren’t they here already?”

  He undid the buttons on her shirt, slowly, taking pleasure in seeing her chest heaving with every shattered breath she took.

  “Your mother was right to throw you out like a rabid dog,” she said, looking him in the eye.

  His hand landed hard across her face and she screamed before she could control herself. But she didn’t lower her gaze. Blinking away burning tears, she said, “I will kill you, Nick Stinson, with my own hands, I promise you that.”

  The second blow came just as hard, and she screamed again, while he laughed. “I knew you and I were going to have fun together. I knew that a long time ago.”

  A child’s loud crying came from a distant room, and he froze. Earlier, when the woman she’d heard sobbing before had started wailing, he didn’t seem to care. But the sound of the child’s tears had a different effect on him.

  He stared at her for a short moment with lustful, bloodshot eyes, then left, slamming the door behind him.

  Fifty-Five

  In the Dark

  Kay listened intently for a few moments, following his footfalls as they faded away. Soon, another door was closed, and a moment later, the child’s sobbing ceased.

  She didn’t have much time. She only hoped she had enough.

  Cringing at the thought of causing more pain to her wounded skull, she threw herself on the side and landed hard on the tiled floor with a muffled groan, seeing stars again when her temple slammed into the hard surface.

  On her side, she pushed her left ankle lower, as far as it would go, forcing the zip tie to slide along the chair leg with it, until it reached the end and became loose. She repeated the same movement with the right ankle, using her left foot to hold the chair in place while her right ankle slid lower.

  As soon as both her feet were loose, she pushed away from the chair, sliding her tied wrists behind the backrest until they were free of the chair. Then she kneeled on the floor, dizzy and wobbly, her head pounding fiercely. As she lowered herself to her knees, she slid her tied hands under her buttocks and forward, then shifted her weight backward until she was seated on the floor, her tied wrists under her knees. She then folded her legs, one at a time, until she was able to get her hands past her feet and in front of her.

  A door opened, then closed somewhere close, and she sprung to her feet. The zip tie holding her wrists had loosened a little, but not enough to let her slide out of it. She grabbed the end of the tie with her teeth and tightened it as much as she could without screaming, ignoring the blood tricking from where it had cut into her skin, and knowing it would get worse before it got better.

  She’d done this before, in a training session at Quantico, with a seasoned SERE trainer. Back then, she didn’t think she was ever going to make use of the man’s thorough approach to survival, evasion, resistance, and escape strategies, but she’d been wrong. Now she recited his method in her mind, quickly, her heart pounding as rushed footfalls approached in the hallway.

  Raise your arms above your head, and then bring them down quickly against your abdomen, pulling your elbows apart at the same time. The faster and more forcefully you do this, the less the pain and damage to your wrists. Do it right, and the zip tie will snap open. Do it wrong a couple of times, and you’ll slice open your veins and bleed to death in captivity.

  She filled her lungs with air as she lifted her arms above her head, just as the door handle moved. Then she brought down her arms forcefully, not caring it was going to hurt. The door opened and Stevens stopped for a beat, surprised, as the zip tie snapped, and she broke free. For a split second, they stared at each other, Kay sorely aware he was twice her size.

  She looked around for something she could use as he lunged at her with a guttural sound. Moving out of the way and avoiding him for a brief moment, she saw the scissors on the tray. She reached for them and grabbed, just as he latched onto her waist and slammed her to the ground. He pinned her down under his weight and tried to get a hold of her flailing arms. Holding the scissors as tightly as she could, she brought down her arm forcefully and stabbed him in the back.

  He gasped, blood gushing from his wound. She broke herself free of his weight and ran out of the room, disoriented. The wails and pounding coming from the lower lev
el had resumed, and she could hear the child crying again. Soon she’d set them free, but first she had to see where she was.

  With trembling hands, she found a light switch and turned on the light in what seemed to be the great room of a log cabin. Frantic, she looked for the entrance and found it. She opened the door and rushed outside, feeling instantly chilled by the freezing air and complete darkness. The faint light coming through the open door cast against the thick woods. She could see the dim shadow of the mountain peak against the moonlit sky, enough for her to realize she was close to the peak, on one of the versants.

  How did she get there? She rushed to look around the house and almost fell to her death in a massive ravine that opened at the side of the cabin, a bottomless pit. On the other end she saw an ATV, but the keys weren’t in the ignition.

  He must’ve had them.

  Kay was about to rush back inside and free the others, then find those keys and run, when lights flickered in the distance, through the thick woods.

  “Hey,” she shouted, waving desperately at the approaching lights. “Over here!”

  Her blood froze in her veins when she felt Nick’s hands around her neck, strangling her mercilessly, snuffing the air out of her lungs. She flailed erratically, unable to fight him off and free herself. Even wounded, he was stronger than she was, and she was losing her strength with each passing suffocating second.

  As her knees were starting to give, she remembered another SERE technique. She reached out behind her and grabbed his head with all her strength, then threw herself forcefully to the ground. She brought him down hard, then rolled from under him as his fingers continued to choke her, crushing her trachea. She flailed her arms desperately, feeling for something she could use, and found nothing. Instinct made her pull at the merciless grip he had on her throat, but as darkness descended upon her, a flash of a memory came to her mind. Back at the house, he’d taken Elliot’s gun from her hand and put it in his right pocket. He still wore the same clothes.