Freak

by Jennifer Hillier

  * * *

  She woke up strapped to a gurney. Wait, no, it wasn’t a gurney, it was a portable massage therapy table. There was a doughnut-like cushion underneath the back of her head. And she was freezing because she was completely naked. Abby had stripped her down.

  The smell hit her next. Blood, urine, and body odor, all melding together like a disgusting stew. It took her a moment to realize that the smell was emanating from herself, because she’d wet herself. She looked down and saw bloodstains on her chest and legs that had obviously seeped through her clothing. Marianne’s blood. She screamed.

  “Enough enough enough,” said Abby’s voice from somewhere behind her. “It’s so annoying, you must realize that. You’re going to give us both a headache.”

  Sheila craned her neck to see where Abby was, and finally spotted her. She was approaching the table with a small smile.

  “Don’t say it,” Abby said.

  “Say what?” Sheila’s voice was raspy.

  “You know, the typical cliché question all victims ask when they wake up somewhere strange, otherwise known as, ‘Where am I?’” Abby sighed. “God, I hate that question.”

  “It’s a cliché because most people want to know.” Sheila squirmed but the straps wouldn’t give.

  Abby leaned toward her. “Does it really matter?” Her breath was soft and sweet on Sheila’s face.

  If I can figure out a way to get out of here, it will definitely matter, Sheila thought. “Yes, it matters to me.”

  “Well, guess what?” Abby’s voice turned flat as she stepped back. “What matters to you doesn’t matter to me. Because I’m not Ethan, you useless cunt. I’m not keeping you alive. I’m not torn by my feelings for you. I’m not confused. So let’s be very clear, shall we? I hate you. I’ve always hated you, and you’re in the place where you’re going to die a very painful death.”

  Abby’s face loomed over her once again. Sheila twisted violently as the younger woman moved closer. Then she let out another curdling scream.

  Abby winced. “Wow. Quite the lungs you’ve got on you. Really, Sheila, the screaming is so irritating. Do I need to stick something in your mouth, or are you going to stay quiet?”

  “I’m sorry,” Sheila gasped, her back aching from the strain of pushing against the straps. They were made of canvas and very strong. “I can’t help it.”

  “There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.” Abby smiled. “That’s Hitchcock, in case you didn’t know. One of my favorite quotes of all time. The waiting’s the worst part, isn’t it?”

  Sheila disagreed. She was certain that the pain, when it came, would be worse than anything.

  The lights in the room were so bright that when she looked up, Sheila’s vision became blurry. It was difficult to tell what kind of room she was in. She couldn’t detect any strange smells over her own awful odor. And it was cold, colder than the cellar had been earlier. There was no breeze, no dampness, no noises other than her own rapid breathing.

  “I can tell you’re still trying to figure it out.” Abby had something in her hand, and it glinted whenever she moved it. It was the knife, the one she’d used to stab Marianne. No, wait, it was a different knife. This one was much worse. A surgeon’s blade. “But really, don’t worry about it. It’s a place that has no significance for you whatsoever. Other than the fact that you’ll die here, that is.”

  Sheila believed her.

  “Hey, look at your nipples. You must be freezing. They’re like pebbles.” Abby flicked one of them with her finger, and Sheila bit down to keep from screaming again. “Wow, so sensitive. Good to know.”

  “Abby, please.” Sheila was breathing hard.

  The younger woman disappeared for a moment, and then Sheila heard a click and a hum.

  “There,” Abby said. “I plugged in the space heater. Give it a few minutes; this place really is drafty. That ought to give you a hint that we’re not in Ethan’s house. Like I would actually try and re-create that. Although,” she said, cocking her head, “that might have been interesting if I’d had more time. But unfortunately some kids set fire to his place a few months ago, and it burned to the ground. The lot’s just sitting there now, sad and empty.”

  “I hadn’t heard.”

  “That’s because you’re so fucking narcissistic.” Abby examined the knife in her hand. Sheila couldn’t take her eyes off it, either. “Anybody ever tell you that, Sheila? It’s all me-me-me with you sex addicts. Anyway, I’m sure the neighbors would all move away if they thought they could, since for a time it was pretty much a graveyard. Now nobody’s going to want to buy in that neighborhood. Especially not in this market.” She sighed pleasantly. “Now I’m kind of wishing the house was still there. It might have provided an interesting sense of closure.”

  Abby held up the blade, took a good look at it, frowned, and wiped the side of it on her shirt. Then she pressed it to the side of Sheila’s right breast, and slid it in. Sheila gasped. It couldn’t have penetrated more than a few millimeters, and the knife was so sharp that it didn’t really hurt that much, but the thought that the steel was inside her—inside her!—was horrifying. Her whole body turned rigid. She dared not move, for fear the knife would slide deeper.

  And then it did. Abby pushed the knife in a little farther, and a white-hot pain seared through Sheila’s breast. She cried out and the lights above went hazy. Sweat poured off her forehead, and yet she was shivering. She couldn’t remember ever having been this cold.

  “Please, Abby. Please, stop.”

  Abby leaned forward again, her face inches away from Sheila’s own. “As much as I’d like to play games with you right now, Sheila, I’m not going to. So I’m going to tell you right now that you are going to die tonight. It’s not going to be quick. You are going to suffer. It is going to hurt like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, and yes, I am going to thoroughly enjoy it. All the begging in the world won’t change my mind.” She smiled and withdrew the blade, examining the tip, which was now red with Sheila’s blood. “Actually, begging turns me on, I should tell you that. The more you beg, the more excited I get, and the more inclined I am to draw it out. Your choice.”

  “You are a psychopath.”

  “Yes I am!” Abby said cheerfully. “Unlike Ethan, I’ve never had a problem with labels.”

  Quickly and without warning, she inserted the blade into Sheila’s other breast, and the pain, once again, was searing. Sheila bit her lip, trying desperately not to cry out, and a low, agonized moan escaped her lips. Abby pulled the knife out again. The exit of the knife was almost as painful as the entry. Sheila cried silently, tears streaming down her temples, but she dared not do more than whimper.

  “I’m always so interested in the sounds people make.” Once again, Abby examined the blade that had been inside Sheila’s body just seconds before. She seemed fascinated with blood. “I could write a book on just the sounds alone.”

  “Why don’t you just kill me.” Sheila’s voice was dull. She felt like she was floating in a sea of pain. The pain wasn’t constant; it ebbed and flowed, giving her no chance to try to adjust to it. There was no way she could take another hour of this, let alone another minute. “Please, Abby. Just kill me.”

  “Now what fun would that be?”

  “You don’t want to get caught, do you?” Sheila said, her eyes closing. The throbbing in her left breast now matched the pain in her right. “You want to escape, don’t you? Start over somewhere else?”

  “Stupid question.” Abby shook her head in mock disapproval. She disappeared for a moment, and came back with a bigger knife. Christ, did she have a whole surgeon’s arsenal? “Of course I don’t want to get caught. My mistake was fucking around with you in the first place. By sending you those postcards. Remember when you were in rehab? I thought I could torment you from afar.”

  “You did. I didn’t sleep for weeks after you sent them. I didn’t sleep until they arrested you.”

  “Really?�
�� Abby looked delighted. “That’s outstanding. How sweet of you to let me know,” she said with an exaggerated smile, her eyebrows arched.

  Sheila kept her eyes closed, willing herself to go away. To be anywhere else but here, wherever this place was. She was probably going to die without ever finding out. A thought hit her then. Abby could not have found this place by herself while she was behind bars. And with Mark Cavanaugh dead . . .

  “Who’s helping you?” she asked suddenly.

  “Hmmm?” Abby’s voice floated over her from a few feet away. She’d obviously changed her mind about the larger knife and was back at the spot where she kept her tools. Sheila could hear her picking through a stack of what sounded like very sharp knives, not that Sheila could see them. How helpful that her imagination seemed perfectly willing to fill in whatever blanks she couldn’t visually confirm.

  “Where are we?” Sheila tried again.

  “Someplace no one will find you,” Abby said. “Someplace you can scream all you want, though I really hope you don’t; my ears can’t take it.” She continued to tinker with her knives. “This really is the perfect place, and if the person I’m expecting ever shows up, I’ll be able to express my gratitude. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate tardiness? It’s disrespectful and I know you hate it, too, Sheila. Ethan mentioned once how important punctuality is to you, and on that, we can agree.”

  There was a banging sound, a door slamming shut.

  “You’re late,” Abby said to whoever had just entered the room. Her voice was icy, and Sheila prayed that Abby wouldn’t take out her annoyance on her. “I told you on the phone to be here before she woke up.”

  “After everything I’ve done for you, that’s what’s bugging you?” a voice said, and Sheila froze. She knew that voice. That voice was eerily familiar. Whose was it? “Well, then, I’m sorry, I guess.”

  “You guess.” Abby’s tone was condescending. “You sound like a petulant child.”

  “Maybe because you’re treating me like one,” the other voice said. Definitely female. “And for the record, you sound like a nagging bitch.”

  Are you crazy? Sheila thought. Don’t say that! You’ll just piss her off!

  A small silence followed, and then a giggle. And then a sigh. And then another giggle. Was Abby actually laughing? The unmistakable sounds of kissing followed, then a slight grunt, and then a groan. Whoever this new person was, Abby wasn’t mad at her. Not even close. They were kissing like long-lost lovers.

  Jesus Christ, who are you?

  Abby stepped forward into Sheila’s very limited line of sight. “I don’t believe an introduction is necessary. You two have met before.”

  Sheila tried to focus on the figure next to Abby’s, but the lights were too bright. Squinting, she said, “Who’s there?”

  “Hey there, Dr. Tao. It’s me,” the female voice said brightly. The woman leaned over and Sheila got a good look at her face. Caramel ponytail, hazel eyes, sweet smile. “It’s Danny Mercy. I had a class with you a couple years back? And I’m also Jerry’s assistant.”

  Abby laughed, and the sound was delight, ice, and evil, all rolled into one. “Not anymore.”

  chapter 40

  SHEILA DIDN’T KNOW what they had injected her with this time but it wasn’t the same stuff as before. Abby seemed to have a whole box truck’s worth of knives and drugs at her disposal. The first two injections—some kind of animal tranquilizer, Sheila thought—had knocked her out completely.

  This injection was not nearly as merciful.

  She could breathe easily and could feel her chest moving up and down. She could feel the sweat dripping down her neck and shoulders, and she could hear the hum of the space heater from somewhere in the room. She could feel the table beneath her.

  And yet, she couldn’t move any part of her body other than her head. She was paralyzed from the shoulders down. Who would invent a drug like this?

  She could hear them cooing to each other, off in a corner away from her line of vision.

  “How long have you two been together?” Sheila managed to ask. The cooing stopped. Footsteps approached.

  “Not long,” Danny answered, standing directly above Sheila. “But when you know, you know.”

  Abby laughed from somewhere in the room.

  “You planned this?” Sheila asked. Oh God, Jerry. Oh God. Your assistant may have helped kill your wife . . .

  “Been planning this for a while.” Danny smiled. “I’ve been in love with Abby ever since I was your student, Dr. Tao, not that Abby knew I existed back then. We met briefly when Ethan was my TA. Ever since, I’ve followed every bit of news—”

  “She started a fan site about me,” Abby interrupted, coming closer and sounding giddy. “FreeAbbyMaddox.com. She told me about it when we met at Rosedale a few months ago. I knew she was the one from that point on.”

  “A few months?” Sheila said in disbelief. “I thought you just met. When you accompanied Jerry to the prison.”

  “Oh no, we met long before that. I used to volunteer at Rosedale.” The affection in Danny’s voice was unmistakable. “Best time of my life.”

  The women exchanged a loving glance over Sheila’s naked and paralyzed body.

  “You’re bisexual?” Sheila said to Abby, not that it mattered. She was trying to keep both of them talking and couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Since when?”

  “Oh, who gives a shit.” Abby’s brows furrowed together. “You love who you love. I love this girl. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her, and that’s all that matters.”

  “I don’t know about her, but I’m gay,” Danny said matter-of-factly. Her hands were empty. Unlike Abby, she wasn’t holding any knives or weapons. “I knew when I was about twelve or so that boys didn’t do it for me.”

  “Boys still do it for me.” Abby winked.

  “Yeah, we’ll discuss that later.” Danny raised an eyebrow in mock consternation. “One night with me, bet you change your mind about that.”

  “I’ve been with girls. Always with Ethan present, of course,” Abby said, addressing Sheila. “He was big into threesomes. And foursomes. And I never minded it, really. But she and I”—she glanced at Danny with a loving smile—“we haven’t been together yet. In fact, we’ve only just kissed for the first time today.”

  “And I want to do a lot more than kiss,” Danny said.

  “There’s plenty of time for that.” Abby licked her lips. “We have things to finish here first.”

  They smiled at each other again.

  “What now?” Sheila asked, her throat dry.

  Abby looked down at her. She wasn’t wearing her blond wig anymore and her ebony hair trailed in waves over her shoulders. Her eyes fixed on Sheila’s breasts, then moved slowly down the rest of her body.

  “You’re still in pretty good shape for your age,” Abby said, the hunger in her voice unmistakable. “You’re what, forty-two?”

  “Forty,” Sheila whispered.

  “Yeah, you look good.” Abby looked across the table at Danny. “Don’t you think?”

  Danny shrugged. “Yeah. She’s hot. But we knew that.”

  “Should we fuck her first?”

  “There’s no time.” Annoyance was spreading over Danny’s pretty features.

  Abby smiled at Sheila. “There’s always time for what’s important,” she said. To Danny she held out two knives. One was long and thin, the other short and fat. “Choose your weapon, darling. I’ll let you go first.”

  chapter 41

  JERRY’S PHONE WAS buzzing incessantly in his pocket, but he didn’t bother to check it. He already knew who it was. He had nothing new to tell Morris, and he didn’t want to be yelled at right before going into this meeting. He exited the elevator on the fourth floor of Seattle PD’s East Precinct, his temporary police ID clipped to his belt.

  “How long has she been here?” he asked the officer who’d been escorting him.

  “They picked her up an hour ago.”r />
  Jerry followed him to Interview Room 2, the smallest of the interrogation rooms, which housed only a table and two small chairs. There were no windows, just a camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. He’d thought he was being called in because they were going to yank his police privileges, but it turned out they wanted him in to do interviews. It was better than nothing. At least he wasn’t being pulled off the case. Torrance had promised him regular updates.

  Corrections Officer E. Briscoe—the E stood for Elaine, Jerry had discovered—was waiting for him. The blond woman sat ramrod straight at the table with an unopened can of Diet Coke in front of her. She was still wearing her uniform.

  “You heard that Maddox is out,” Jerry said, not bothering with formalities. He took a seat across from Briscoe and the door closed behind him. “What can you tell me?”

  She shook her head. “Why would I know anything about it? She transferred out of Rosedale a month ago. She’s someone else’s fuckup.”

  Jerry inched his chair a little closer. “Do I look stupid to you?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?” Briscoe said. Steely blue eyes challenged Jerry from across the table. Of course, she was a prison guard. She spent all day around inmates who no doubt gave her plenty of shit, and Jerry was probably small-time to her. She didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. “I don’t have to talk to you. You guys asked me to come in, so I did, but I can leave anytime. I know my rights.”

  “I know you were involved with Abby Maddox.”

  Briscoe blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  Jerry sighed. “I really, really don’t have time for this, Sergeant. We found Mark Cavanaugh’s cell phone.”

  “Mark?” Briscoe’s confusion was genuine. “What are you talking about? Why would I care about that?”

  “Because he’s dead. Maddox killed him.”

  The color drained from the CO’s face and she leaned back in her chair, her pin-straight posture suddenly going slack.

  “And so of course we checked his phone,” Jerry said. “He’s received a lot of calls and texts from Abby Maddox. Luckily for us, the guy didn’t delete anything.”