Dead End

by Jeramy Gates

  He frowned. “Are you okay, Lynette? You look pale.”

  Lynette winced. Her gaze had strayed to the two tiny, shadowy figures at the base of the stairs. She snapped it back, staring up at him. The maniac didn’t seem to notice.

  “Well, you can imagine what happened next. Heavens, it was a mess. To this day I don’t know how I managed to drag his body into the basement and clean up the living room before my mother got home.” He leaned closer, fixing her with his maniacal gaze. “I really don’t know. Literally. I can’t remember it. From the moment I grabbed the knife, to the moment I sat down for dinner, everything is black. I just remember macaroni and cheese, and how it was the best meal I’d ever had in my life. It was like for the first time, I really tasted-”

  There was a thump in the staircase. The killer’s mouth snapped shut and his head jerked in that direction. He froze, listening, barely even breathing. Without a noise, he rose from the chair. He brought the knife up, pointing it at his captives, and put a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.

  Lynette closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. Next to her, Paul made grunting sounds as he struggled against the duct tape that held him prisoner.

  Chapter 32

  It was nearly midnight when Valkyrie rolled up the drive towards the old farmhouse she had once called home. The lights were on inside, and in the distance, she could see into the dining room where the Collector had his captives tied up. Valkyrie couldn’t tell if the children were there -she couldn’t see them from that vantage- but Lynette and her husband were bound to chairs, facing the window that faced into the yard. It was exactly the same place where she and Tom had been six years ago…

  She saw the silhouette of the killer standing before them, with his back to the windows. “Matt?” Val said in a quiet voice.

  “I’m listening,” he said through the speakerphone.

  “If anything happens…”

  “I know. I’ve got the cops on speed dial.”

  “Good. But don’t get jumpy. Give me a chance to save these people.”

  “I will. Activate your com and leave your cell phone in the car so I can hear everything.”

  “Already done. Thanks, Matt.”

  “Be careful, Val.”

  Valkyrie stepped out of the Packard. She closed the door with a quiet click and stood there a moment, resting on her cane in the gravel driveway. She could feel the heat radiating off the engine in the chilly night air. The air smelled like rain. Another storm. It was almost as if the weather had followed her all the way from Boston.

  There was a flash of lightning on the horizon. Thunder rolled across the plains. A breeze tugged at the hem of her coat, tousled her raven-black bangs. With a whisper of movement, she vanished into the night.

  Chapter 33

  Lynette’s blood froze as the killer disappeared into the stairwell. One of her girls let out a squeal, and she heard little feet racing across the second floor. The killer stomped up the staircase behind them. Lynette shook, hyperventilating through her nostrils as panic took over. Warm tears cascaded down her cheeks, soaking into the rag that bound her mouth. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

  Don’t panic, she thought. There’s still time-

  Paul struggled next to her. Lynette glanced at him, and saw that he was shifting around in the chair, trying to loosen his bonds. She followed his lead. The rope was tight on her wrists, and the awkward angle made movement nearly impossible. As she twisted and worked her wrists, the rope sawed against her skin, burning into her naked flesh. Beside her, Paul made grunting noises as he twisted in his chair. He leaned forward, straining against his bonds. When that failed, he began rocking from side to side. Lynette watched in confusion as he swayed, pushing with his feet until he hit the tipping point. She winced as he crashed to the floor.

  Upstairs, another scream. A shot of adrenaline poured into Lynette’s bloodstream, giving her new strength. She shifted, twisting her wrists behind her back. She moaned as the rope cut into her. She pressed her hands together, using her own body as leverage. The rope became tighter and tighter, gnawing into her, shredding until it felt like it might cut right to the bone. Then, to her surprise, the knot began to loosen.

  Lynette relaxed a little, feeling the slack in the rope. She felt warm blood trickling down her hands and ignored it. She pulled, trying to work one hand free. The rope slid across her wrist and up around the base of her thumb, but it stopped there, too tight go any farther. She’d have to try again. One more attempt just might do it…

  There was a clatter off to her left. She looked down and saw Paul kicking at the cabinet doors. Her eyes widened. Suddenly, she understood what he was doing. He was trying to use his feet to get into the base cabinets. Something in there might free them. But what? Pots and pans wouldn’t work. There were no knives down there…

  Then she remembered: the crockery! That was the cabinet where Lynette stored her set of fancy ceramic tableware, the antique stuff she had inherited from her grandmother. She only brought it out for the holidays. If Paul could get one of those items free and shatter it, he might use the shards to cut their bonds.

  A third scream. This one was louder than the others. Shriller, more terrified. The sound of it cut Lynette to the core. Ava, she thought. That’s Ava… the brave one. Lynette twisted her wrists, prying, fighting the rope. Her nerves screamed. The pain was too much. She could feel the rope grinding into her, the blood running in a stream down her hands.

  There was a thump upstairs, followed by a muffled scream. Lynette froze. Her breath caught in her chest. Everything went silent. Paul went still next to her. She became aware of the movement of cool air on her skin, the rush of wind hitting the north wall. There was a low rumble of thunder, and then came the slow thud, thud of heavy steps moving down the staircase.

  Lynette bowed her head, her chin pressing into her breast. She began to sob. It was over. Something terrible had happened up there. Her girls… she couldn’t even bear to think it. This is what she had been terrified about all night. She’d long since decided it didn’t matter if she died. Just let the girls go. That’s what she kept thinking. And now…

  Lynette opened her eyes as the killer reappeared in the stairwell. He had little Ava in his arms. Sophie was nowhere to be seen. Her heart leapt. Ava was alive! And what about Sophie? Maybe she was, too. Maybe she’d escaped, or…

  “You lied to me,” the killer said, shooting her a dark glare. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  Lynette shook her head, her eyes going wide. “No!” she shouted. “No, please!” But it only came out a muffled sound through the cloth.

  He glared at her, eyes black, sharp frown lines cutting into his features in a way that seemed unreal. There was something demonic about the man; something evil beyond the realm of ordinary humans. He was like a caricature.

  Paul thrashed on the floor, kicking desperately. The cabinet door broke with a sharp crack! The dishes inside rattled. Suddenly, he had the killer’s attention.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” the man said, coming closer. He shifted, holding Ava close to his chest with his right arm as he brought the knife up in his left. Paul froze as he saw the tip of that gleaming blade pressed against his daughter’s back.

  “All I asked for,” the killer said, “was a little honesty.” He drew his gaze back to Lynette. “You know, of all people, I thought I’d get that from you. A nice little family, nice little farmhouse. I bet you go to church every Sunday. I bet your daughters are Girl Scouts. Am I right?”

  He took a few steps closer as he spoke. The captive parents could do nothing but stare up at this evil creature, their helpless daughter captive in his arms.

  “I’m so disappointed,” the killer went on. “You know, up until now I had no reason to kill you. Now, I’m afraid I’m going to have to…”

  Ava shifted. She looked up at him, and he leaned his head back a little, letting his eyes adjust as he looked into her angelic little face.
“So small, so innocent,” he said in a soft voice. “Such a shame…”

  Ava gave him a strange frown. She wiggled a little, getting her arm free. Then she reached up to touch his face. At the last instant, her little fingers straightened into claws, and she dug them into his badly burned cheek. The flesh ripped under her nails. Blood gushed. The killer screamed. He dropped her and the knife, both hands going to his face. Ava hit the floor, landing on her belly. Instantly, Paul was rolling toward her, trying to protect her.

  Lynette screamed. The muffled shrieks filled her ears, though she wasn’t even aware that the sound was coming from her. She shook the chair, fighting against her bonds. She struggled, twisting, pulling. The rush of blood made her hands slick. Suddenly, one hand was free. She lifted it, and the rope fell away. She straightened, diving for the knife at the killer’s feet.

  Too late, he saw what she was doing. Lynette’s hand closed on the handle, and his boot came down on her hand. Lynette screamed as the bones broke. She heard a crack! and sharp, mind-searing pain shot through her nerves. Off to her left, Ava was crawling away from the scene on all fours. Paul was between them, inching closer like a worm, dragging the chair with him.

  The killer snatched up the knife. He shot Lynette a disgusted look and then hurried across the dining room to catch Ava by the collar. With a jerk, he lifted her to her feet. She screamed, kicking and clawing at him like a tiger. The killer held her at arm’s length, taken aback by the child’s fury. The look on his face was almost appreciative.

  There was a noise behind him, and he turned. His jaw dropped as Valkyrie materialized out of the shadows. He had just enough time to recognize her, to take note of the cane in her left hand and the pistol in her right, pointed right at him-

  KABOOM!

  The nine-millimeter slug hit him in the left shoulder. It burned through skin and flesh, nicked the bone, and exploded through his back. He made a hoarse screaming sound and twisted as he dropped Ava to the floor. He stumbled back a step. Val fired again, but missed this time as he turned away. The Collector took three steps, flying through the nook, and dove through the kitchen window.

  Chapter 34

  Valkyrie knelt to help little Ava to her feet. The look on the girl’s face was feral, like a wild animal backed into a corner. Val noticed blood on the girl’s hand and checked it for wounds. She found none.

  “Are you okay?” she said. “You’re safe now. Do you understand?”

  Ava stared back at her, uncomprehending or unable to reply. It was impossible to tell. Val moved over to Lynette, who was struggling to untie the rope around her ankles. Val took a knife from the butcher block and knelt to cut the woman free. She moved over to Paul, first removing the gag, then slicing through the duct tape on his wrists. She handed him the knife to finish cutting himself free, and then put a hand on Lynette’s shoulder.

  “Where is Sophie?”

  Lynette licked her lips. “I don’t know. Upstairs, I think.”

  “Go upstairs and lock yourselves in the attic room. Do you understand?”

  Lynette nodded, her eyes wide.

  “Good.” Val turned her head, scanning the room. “Do you have a gun?”

  Lynette considered for a second and then nodded emphatically. “Yes, Paul has one in the closet.”

  Val glanced at Paul. “Get it.”

  “What about you?” he said. “What are you going to do?”

  “Did he have a gun?”

  They exchanged a glance. “We never saw one,” said Paul. “Just that hunting knife.”

  “Good.” Val rose and headed for the front door.

  Chapter 35

  Valkyrie stood in the drive, cane in hand, pondering her next move. It wasn’t hard to follow the trail of blood leading across the gravel driveway and into the barn. One of the tall sliding doors sat partway open, the darkness within impenetrable. A gust of wind washed over her, whipping her clothes and hair, filling her nostrils with the scent of ozone. There was a flash of blue light over the horizon, followed seconds later by the barely audible rumble of thunder.

  Matt must have been listening through the com, because his voice suddenly said in her ear, “I’m calling the cops.”

  “Not now!” Val hissed under her breath. “Keep quiet.”

  Matt went obediently silent.

  Somewhere inside the barn, the killer waited. Lester had the cover of darkness to his advantage, and the element of surprise. On the other hand, Valkyrie had the advantage of familiarity. She knew the barn -knew the entire property like the back of her hand. She also had a firearm, and her prey was injured. Not just the burns -which she had glimpsed just before he leapt through the window- but also the bullet wounds. It had to take a toll. The man couldn’t be in good shape.

  This time, it really was almost over.

  Val lifted her thumb, checking the safety on her pistol. She slid her index finger into the trigger guard and felt the familiar cold steel crescent of the trigger against her skin. Six rounds, she thought, feeling the weight of her pistol. One in his shoulder, the other a miss. She’d started with eight, now already down to six. No matter. I only need one.

  Val rested her cane against the barn and forced the left door open. A tremor of pain shot up her spine as it rumbled aside. She reminded herself to go easy. She’d just spent two entire days in the car, and that had followed a day of hanging by her wrists on that island. She wasn’t in great shape. The pain pills had helped to mask the symptoms, but the underlying damage was real. She hadn’t given herself time to heal, and it was taking a toll on her.

  As the door slid open, a dim rectangle of light fell across the floor. Cool air washed over her, and the scent of straw and old grease filled her nostrils. She saw the glint of headlights on the old Ford tractor just ahead. Tom’s tractor. Valkyrie felt a dull ache in her chest as she saw the machine. Tom had purchased it at auction maybe fifteen years ago. Kyle had been just eight or nine years old at the time, the perfect age to enjoy something like that. He had climbed up onto Tom’s lap, and they’d ridden in circles around the driveway for an hour. A week later, Tom had used that tractor to till half an acre behind the house for their first crop. It was an experiment in organic farming that hadn’t ended well. They’d had a lot to learn.

  Val retrieved her cane, and then hurried to the light switch near the entrance. The long fluorescent bulbs overhead flickered to life, filling the barn with a dim white glow. The shadows coalesced into stark, inky blackness. She scanned the building. Horse stalls lined the wall to her left, running the length of the barn, melting into darkness. On the opposing wall, a collection of ancient, rusty tools hung over the old workbench.

  Val narrowed her eyes, scanning those tools. She remembered a scythe hanging there once upon a time, and an axe, too. They weren’t there now. It was possible that the Websters had taken them down for safety reasons, but it was also possible that the Collector had decided to arm himself with something bigger than a knife.

  Val moved cautiously forward, weapon at the ready as she peered into the stalls. The gates and walls cast long shadows across the floor and almost no light reached the far corners. She kept her finger on the trigger, scanning for the slightest hint of movement. She was ready to fire at the first glimpse. God help any rodents that crossed her path tonight.

  She found the stalls empty. She didn’t see hay or straw, grain buckets or rope. Apparently, the Webster family didn’t own horses. Val and Tom hadn’t owned them either, but they had stabled a few over the years. It had been a pleasant experience, learning to care for the animals, getting to know them, even riding them now and then. It had been wonderful and memorable for Kyle; the sort of thing he would have carried with him for the rest of his life.

  Her chest tightened at the thought. Memories of Tom and Kyle washed over her. She saw Kyle brushing the horses in the stalls, Tom restoring the rusty old Packard in that spot right in front of her. It all seemed to crash down on her like a tsunami. Valkyrie felt vertigo, her sen
ses going dull as she swayed. The tightness in her chest made it difficult to breathe.

  She made an effort to fight back her memories. Valkyrie straightened, sucking in a deep breath, fixing her mind on the present. In the cold silence, the sound of air moving into her nostrils became deafening. Her lungs expanded, breathing in the scents of the dusty old barn. The past is gone, she reminded herself. That woman is dead. She died down at the bottom of that well, just outside…Valkyrie felt the weight of the pistol in her hand, and it seemed greater than just a steel frame and a few bullets. This, she thought, squeezing the grip, is real.

  The moment passed. There, on the floor behind the tractor, she caught sight of blood. The trail led across the barn and into the tack room on the opposite wall. Val gazed through the windows in the door, but could see nothing in the dark room beyond. She moved toward the entrance, not making a sound as she reached for the handle. She widened her stance, bracing herself as she threw the door open.

  It swung wide, hitting the wall with a crash! She moved aside, letting the light hit the room’s interior. She saw stacks of cardboard boxes and an old wooden chest. Otherwise, the room was empty. The memories returned again, prompted by this familiar space. It was different now: gone were the saddles and bridles that had stayed with the farm. Gone were the coils of rope, and the jars of saddle soap. The vague scent of leather lingered in the air. For Paul and Lynette Webster, this tack room was just another place to store things. For them, this room meant nothing.

  Val moved on.

  The trail of blood had disappeared. Her prey must have found something to staunch the bleeding -an old rag perhaps. But if he wasn’t in the stalls or the tack room, then where? Somehow, the Collector had escaped. The back door, she thought.