So that he’d know.
“They were here.” He spoke quietly to Torrance, who sighed deeply from somewhere behind him. “Jesus Christ, Mike, they were here.”
“I’m sorry, pal.” Torrance’s voice was heavy with regret.
Jerry heard him make another call, his former partner’s gruff tone softening as he murmured information into the phone. He heard Marianne’s name spoken, twice.
Jerry knew he needed to move, but again, his legs and arms wouldn’t cooperate. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. He felt like a deer in the headlights, only there were no headlights, just this darkness around him, and the cold, dank smell of the cellar, and his absolute terror that his wife was in the hands of a serial killer.
chapter 37
MARIANNE’S FACE WAS white as a sheet and she was having trouble breathing. Forget panic attack. Sheila was certain her friend was having a heart attack.
The two of them were tied up on the floor of an old van, Mark Cavanaugh’s Durango having been left back at the house. Abby knew what she was doing—the van had obviously been prepared in advance.
Their legs were also bound with zip ties now, and it was impossible to move. They were covered with an old quilt that smelled like dirty gym socks, and while Sheila could breathe, the hot, stinky air made it difficult. Pressed up tight against Marianne, she could smell her friend’s apple shampoo mixed with sweat, and the combined odors were stifling. Sheila tried to wiggle her body against Marianne so that she was flat on her back, which might make the air feel fresher. But with no usable limbs, changing positions even slightly was an impossible feat.
“Just pull over and let her out,” she yelled again to Abby, but her muffled quilt-covered voice wasn’t carrying well over the loud music.
Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic” was playing on the radio, a song Sheila normally loved, though she knew she would never be able to listen to the song after this. Abby was singing along at the top of her lungs. Circumstances notwithstanding, her singing voice wasn’t bad. Low and husky, a lot like her speaking voice.
“Abby!” Sheila shouted again through the thickness of the blanket. “Listen to me! Marianne is having a heart attack! She can’t breathe! Pull over!”
Abby turned the music down and a short silence followed. Suddenly all Sheila could hear was her own breath peppered with Marianne’s shallow breathing beside her.
“What’s the problem back there?” Abby sounded annoyed.
“Pull over.” Sheila spoke in her best authoritative voice, strong and crisp and even. “Marianne is having a heart attack, Abby. She is going to die.”
“No, she’s not.” From the front seat, the younger woman’s tone was dismissive. “She’s in severe panic mode. It just feels like a heart attack. Don’t worry, I’ve seen it happen a hundred times before.” A snicker. “Okay, well maybe not a hundred times, but who’s counting.”
“You don’t know that. She could be in real trouble.” Sweat ran down Sheila’s head in rivulets from the heat of the blanket and lack of air flow. Beside her, Marianne moaned.
“And so what if she is?” Abby’s voice turned icy. “So fucking what, Sheila? What did you think was going to happen tonight? You think we’re all going to the spa for mani-pedis? You think we dragged your asses up and out of that stinky root cellar and stuck you in the back of this shitmobile so we could all go joy-riding?”
Sheila sucked in a breath. So Abby really was going to kill them. It took her a moment to bring herself to speak. “What did you do to Mark Cavanaugh?”
A long silence.
Back in the root cellar, Abby had knocked them both out again by injecting them with yet another unknown substance. By the time she and Marianne had regained consciousness, they were in the back of this old van. Sheila had no idea how long they’d been driving. What she did know was that Cavanaugh had to have helped get them into the vehicle—no way was Abby strong enough to move them out of the cellar all by herself.
And yet, the prison guard was nowhere to be seen.
“Did you kill him?” Sheila asked.
Abby stayed silent. Sheila was going to assume her silence meant yes. And since she wasn’t turning the radio back up, it was also safe to assume she was interested in hearing what Sheila had to say.
“I thought he was your friend,” Sheila said.
Abby laughed. The sound was humorless, harsh, and brief. “Mark was an idiot, and a drunk. He almost fucked everything up for me. It was all going according to plan, but he got blitzed last night and killed his nagging bitch of a wife. And then he panicked and tried to make it look like it was Jack the Zipper who did it, not realizing they’d already caught the guy. It points the cops right to him, and by extension, me. I wasn’t very happy about that. So yeah, I killed him, Sheila. Friends are so overrated.”
“What about lovers?”
“Dime a dozen.” Abby said this breezily, but Sheila could hear the edge beneath it.
“Especially now that you’re free.”
“Especially.”
“But for how long?” They hit a bump in the road and something sharp on the floor of the van jabbed into Sheila’s side. She tried to worm away from it. “How long until they find you? By now there’s a massive manhunt. Why not just do your time? Your sentence wasn’t that long. You might have been out in three years with good behavior.”
“Or I would have had to do the entire eight,” Abby said, and Sheila could tell her teeth were clenched. “And anyway, what are three years of your life worth to you, Sheila? Life is fleeting. I know that better than most. One day we’re here, the next day we’re snuffed out like birthday candles. I could fall down the stairs at Creekside, break my neck. Or one of those lowlife women could stab me in my sleep. Is that how I want to go? Every minute we live is a minute we’re closer to death. Three more years in prison?” Another humorless laugh. “Might as well have been a life sentence.”
“But, still, you—”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, okay? What happens to me is not your concern.”
“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”
Abby turned up the radio. They were done talking for now.
* * *
The drive was long and bumpy, and it wasn’t long before Sheila’s back was aching from whatever sharp object was digging into her. She was nauseated from breathing recycled hot air over and over again. Beside her in the dark, Marianne’s raspy breathing had turned even more shallow. It didn’t sound good. In fact, it was beginning to slow down. And her friend had stopped responding. She wasn’t even moaning anymore.
Sheila screamed as loud as she could.
The van slowed down and Sheila felt them move from a smooth, paved road over to a gravel shoulder. They came to a full stop. The music shut off.
She heard Abby get out of the van, slamming the door behind her. The crunch of footsteps, again on gravel. A second later, the back door flew open and the blanket was ripped off Sheila’s face. The cool night air felt glorious, and Sheila inhaled deeply while she could.
“Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Abby said, standing over them, her beautiful face the picture of exasperation.
Now that the van’s back door was open, Sheila could see there were no other lights around them. No passing cars, no streetlamps, no lights from houses, nothing. In the silence, she heard the faint chirping of crickets. They were in the middle of nowhere.
“Marianne isn’t doing well.” Sheila did her best to sound stern.
“And I care about this why?”
“She’s not part of this. She’s sick. You need to let her go.”
Abby took a seat on the back edge of the van’s floor, sitting so that her legs were stretched out onto the road’s shoulder. She used one hand to massage the side of her neck. “She’s Jerry’s wife,” she said dismissively. “And I have a bone to pick with Jerry. He is, after all, the reason I got thrown in jail in the first place.”
“You slit his throat.”
“He left me no choice.” Abby’s voice was getting loud.
“Abby, please.” Sheila softened her tone. “Please. Marianne hasn’t done anything to you. She’s not even with Jerry anymore. They split up. There’s no reason to keep her here.”
“Not like you, right?” Abby’s eyes bored into Sheila’s face. “Not like you, who got Ethan killed?”
Sheila closed her eyes briefly, thinking rapidly. “Let’s just drop Marianne off at a hospital. Or at least somewhere where someone can find her and call nine-one-one. If you do that for her, I promise I will be quiet, I will stop yelling, and I will go wherever you want me to go. But just help her. Please.”
“Aw.” Abby cocked her head, her blue-violet eyes filled with icy amusement. “You guys are BFFs. I don’t think I realized that till just now. How fucking adorable.” She leaned into the van so that her face was directly in front of Sheila’s. The blond hairs from her wig tickled Sheila’s face. “First, let’s be clear about something. You’re coming with me whether you want to or not. This is not a negotiation.”
“Yes, but—”
“I’m still talking.” Abby’s eyes searched Sheila’s face. “You seem to like this chick, God knows why. She’s been nothing but a whiny, crying little bitch since we met. Not like you, who’s been through this before and has stayed pretty calm, I’ll give you that. But clearly you’re worried about your friend and she’s distracting you, and we can’t have that, can we? So here’s an idea. How about I leave her here?” Abby gestured at the emptiness around them. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere, in between two bum-fuck towns I can’t even remember the names of. She can stay here, and maybe someone will find her. I’ll do that for you, since you asked so nicely.”
“She won’t make it,” Sheila said, desperate. “She’s going to stop breathing soon, Abby. She won’t be found in time. She needs a hospital.”
“All right then. You’ve made your choice.” Abby pulled something long and black out of the inside of her jacket. It looked like a skinny leather case, and Sheila stared at it in confusion, unable to make sense of exactly what it was. It wasn’t until Abby pulled out something else from inside the case that Sheila finally recognized it.
It was fierce, like something out of a movie. Long, slim, supersharp. The blade was perfectly smooth and it gleamed in the dim light of the van. Abby held it up, caressing it with her finger.
Before Sheila could react, Abby reached forward and stabbed Marianne in the stomach. The motion was quicker and more violent than Sheila had ever imagined it could be. Blood spilled out, some of it landing on Sheila’s hands and torso, and it was horrifically warm. The copper tang of it immediately filled the air.
“There.” Abby wiped her knife on a patch of the van’s carpet before sliding it smoothly back into its case. “Now it’s no longer an issue. Now she’ll die and you’ll have nothing to worry about, and we can move forward. No more screaming or whining or begging, just like you promised.”
Sheila cried silently, hot tears flowing down her temples. She opened her mouth to shriek, but nothing came out. Nothing at all, like in one of those nightmares. The van was a vacuum, sucking the air out of everything.
Abby leaned forward, directly into Sheila’s line of sight. “Are you getting it now, Sheila? I’m not Ethan. I don’t hesitate, and I don’t fuck around. You feeling me now?”
Beside her, Sheila could feel her friend’s body going slack. Abby moved away and reached to close the back door. With all her might, Sheila planted her feet on Marianne’s thighs and kicked out. Marianne rolled out of the van and landed on the gravel shoulder with a sickening thud.
“Dumping the body already?” Abby smiled. “You don’t like getting blood on you? I personally don’t mind it, but of course I understand. Shall we just leave her on the road, then?”
Abby slammed the rear door shut and locked it. A few seconds later she had maneuvered the van off the shoulder and back onto the road. Sheila could hear her humming as she drove.
The air finally came back. Sheila screamed.
Unfazed, Abby turned the music up. A few seconds later, Sheila could hear the younger woman singing again. It was another song Sheila liked, and one she’d no longer be listening to. Assuming, of course, that she somehow survived this, which she no longer believed she would.
The song was an old eighties tune that Sheila had chair-danced to many times while listening to Internet radio in her office.
“Psycho Killer” by the Talking Heads.
As if Abby needed a soundtrack.
chapter 38
“THERE’S NO WAY to know where they’d be,” Jerry said to Morris on the phone. “The house we thought they’d be in was a dead end.”
“You sonofabitch,” Morris spat in his ear. “This whole thing is your goddamned fault. I hold you personally responsible—”
“I know you do, and so do I,” Jerry said quietly. “And I’m paying for it, okay? So is Annie.”
Morris stopped huffing and puffing long enough to say, “What?”
“Annie’s gone, too.” Jerry couldn’t keep the misery out of his voice. “Maddox has her, too.”
Long silence. Then finally Morris said, “As angry as I might be with you right now—and trust me, I’d kick the shit out of you if I could—I wouldn’t wish this on anybody. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“Find them.” Morris ended the call.
In the dark car, Jerry turned to Torrance, who was once again driving. They were heading back to Seattle PD, having been called in by the chief of detectives herself. Jerry already knew what was going to happen—they were going to strip him of his temporary consultant’s ID. They were going to pull him away from all this.
Jerry didn’t know how to feel about it. On the one hand, it was his wife, his Annie, who was somewhere out there, and nobody wanted her found more than he did. But on the other hand, he knew he was too close to the situation. His hysteria would not make for good police work.
“You know I’ll keep you posted about everything. You’ll hear it from me, I promise,” Torrance said, as if reading Jerry’s thoughts.
A helicopter buzzed overhead, its huge searchlights scanning the fields around them. It was one of theirs, looking for Abby. They didn’t think she’d be on foot, and there was clear indication at Cavanaugh’s family house that another vehicle had been there recently. The tire tracks were fresh.
“We’ll find them,” Torrance said as the lights of the helicopter faded into the dark.
“I’m sure we will.” Jerry’s voice was tight. “But the important question is, will we find them before she kills them? She won’t hesitate to do it, Mike. I know this bitch, remember. She’ll just do it, she won’t pause to think it over, she’ll just fucking do it. That’s what I’m scared of.” Ha. Scared was such a small word to describe what he was feeling right now.
“We’ll find them,” Torrance said again. “Also, maybe you should warn Danny.”
“Why?”
“Maddox liked her, didn’t she? You’d better make sure she doesn’t pay your girl a visit.”
Jerry hadn’t even thought about the potential danger to Danny with Maddox out of prison, and he mentally slapped himself. Reaching for his phone, he pressed five on his speed dial to call Danny’s iPhone. It rang three times before his assistant picked up.
“Hey,” he said, trying not to sound tense. He didn’t want her freaking out. “Just checking in.”
“Everything okay at work?” She sounded breathless, as if she’d run for the phone. “I was surprised to see your number. Are the computers okay? I left a sticky with all the passwords on your—”
“Listen, Abby Maddox has escaped from prison.”
A long silence on the other end. Finally Danny said, “That’s funny. I could have sworn you just said that Abby Maddox escaped from prison.”
“I did. Because she did.”
“Holy shi
t!”
Jerry couldn’t tell whether it was fear or amazement in Danny’s voice, but he suspected it was a lot of both. “Where are you right now?”
“I’m at home—”
“Alone?”
“No, I’ve got a study group here.”
“Stay home, okay?” Jerry said. “And make sure your friends stay with you. At least until we find out where the hell she is.”
“Jerry. You don’t think . . .”
“I don’t think you’re in any danger.” Jerry’s attempt to sound reassuring was pathetic and he knew it, but he had to try. “Maddox has no reason to come looking for you. You were friends, yes?”
Danny hedged. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. She seemed to think I was okay.”
“Just watch your back, is all I’m saying.” He kept his voice neutral. “I just wanted to let you know the situation. If, by some small chance, you do hear from her, call the police immediately. Go grab a baseball bat. And then call me. You got that?” He didn’t say anything to her about Annie or Sheila being snatched. What was the point? It would only scare her, and there was nothing she could do about it, anyway.
“Yes,” Danny said.
“Repeat it back to me.”
“Nine-one-one, baseball bat, call you.”
“Good girl.”
“Hey, Jerry,” Danny said. Her voice was shaky now. She sounded spooked. “Be careful, okay? Abby Maddox . . . she’s not one to fuck with, dude.”
“Preaching to the choir, dude,” Jerry said, and disconnected.
chapter 39
THE VAN FINALLY stopped.
A moment later, Abby’s face loomed over her in the back of the Jeep. White, ethereal, angelic. Angel Face, the media sometimes called her. Ha, right. More like the Angel of Death. There was a syringe in her hand.
“I’m moving you, so I’m going to knock you out.” Abby said. She plunged the needle into the side of Sheila’s neck before she could protest.
By the time Sheila registered the sting, she was out.
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