by Kara Kelley
“A doctor once told me it was stress and that maybe it was time for a career change.” He chortled. “He thought I didn’t like my job, joked I didn’t have the stomach for it.”
“Maybe you don’t.” Avery looked plainly at him as he offered her the bottle with the straw. She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll only have to pee.” She glanced at her tied wrists and wiggled the fingers of her bound hands. He paused and touched her right wrist, which had begun to bleed. He fingered the blood, almost mesmerized by it.
“Well, that’s practical thinking, my dear. Most of the women I tie up are not nearly as calm and logical. They’re usually crack whores though.” He set the water with a straw next to her on a high side table. “I have a victim to deal with, but you reminded me. Before I go, do you need to use the outhouse?”
His calm everyday tone unnerved Avery, and fear raced wildly within her as she imagined the women before her in this man’s possession. I’ve killed so many women; I can do it in my fucking sleep. They’d never made it back to their loved ones. But beneath the bone-chilling fright—deep in her gut, she knew Mike would save her, and that kept her sane and outwardly calm. She wasn’t meant to die yet. Maybe she’d let go before, maybe it seemed easier that way in the Jeep, but now she had Mike. And with him, she wanted to fight—she wanted to live. And for that, she needed to keep Henry talking.
“You want Mike to play your game. But how is killing a game? And why Mike?”
“So, that’s a no then?” He stood, clapping his hands together. “Very good. Now be a dear and behave.” He smirked then, patted her on the head, and whistled as he walked away stripping off the hunting attire. “I think you’ll find my punishments for disobedience quite different from your daddy’s.”
Avery swallowed hard. Knowing Henry knew such intimate things about her and Mike made her sick to her stomach, but hearing him refer to Mike as her daddy reassured her that he was coming for her. My mountain man daddy is coming, and this asshole will regret ever laying a hand on me.
* * *
The rustic one-room hunting shack was cold. Light and wind came through the old slatted wood structure, but without the sun to warm the air, the damp draft chilled her. It had nothing in the way of amenities, but Henry did manage to find a little mirror so he could smooth his hair after he’d removed the hunting clothes he’d been wearing over his slacks and white button-down shirt.
Avery huffed quietly. Her only thought was to keep him there with her until Mike came.
“What was that, my dear? Do you have something to say?”
“You just look like you’re heading out for a date, not to murder some poor innocent woman.” She shook her head as if the mere movement could rid her of his image.
“Innocent?” he snorted. “My victims are never innocent.”
“I am. You’re crazy.”
He laughed a belly laugh that curdled her stomach.
“It is a date of sorts though, and I think mental instability is a given with most serial murderers, no?” His amused expression fell away, and he looked at her seriously. “And are you really that innocent?”
She pulled in a swift breath, and her eyes stung, so she looked to her lap. Maybe Henry was right, but before she could think any further on it, he flew at her. The rapid movement was so unlike him that she screamed in alarm. His civility was merely a mask to the beast within. His hand clasped around her jaw and squeezed tightly. She squeaked in fear at the cold hatred in his dark eyes.
“Do you know what else besides mental instability should be a given, my sweet? Respecting the man that could snuff you out on a whim.” His words were forced through clenched teeth, and spittle sprayed from his mouth, landing on her cheek.
“You obviously feel very strongly for Mike,” she answered as calmly as she could, pretending fear wasn’t shredding her insides. “Because of that, I don’t think you will snuff me out.” Her eyes tightened in pain as he strengthened his grip, but she refused to show alarm. She tasted blood where her cheeks mashed against her teeth and split. “If you kill me, he’ll be lost to you forever.” His eyes slivered.
“Once he’s back into hunting mode, he’ll chase me to the ends of the earth to avenge your death. He’ll never give up.” He leaned his face so close to hers she could feel his minty breath against her face. “He won’t stop until he takes his last breath or I take mine. You don’t see it, but I do. It’s rare these days, but yours is a love he’d gladly die for.” His fingers squeezed her jaw harder once again, and tears sprang to her eyes. “It wasn’t my plan to kill you, Avery, but I’m highly adaptable so don’t fucking tempt me.”
“Okay, please!” she whimpered. Her mind whirled as she attempted to keep calm and logical. She just wanted to keep him talking and there, but he was so unstable she couldn’t risk provoking him further. Her heart also flipped at his observation of Mike’s love for her.
“That’s better.” He smiled and released her face to pat her cheek sharply. “Now,” he said, straightening his jacket. “How do I look?” Avery swallowed the blood in her mouth and forced a small smile. Play nice, Avery, she told herself.
“Handsome.” She fought to keep from physically recoiling from him. There was truth to her statement, but knowing his inner ugliness made him repulsive to her. She couldn’t see him as anything but evil and revolting.
His smile widened slowly, and he winked at her. “I do love a fast learner.”
He turned again, this time lifting the keys and a set of license plates off the table. She saw a flash of them, but he kept them close to his body. XBN—excited being nobody, she memorized and struggled to read more. He started whistling again; this time when he got to the door, she called out.
“Why? Will you tell me why he’s so important to you?”
Prescott’s head cocked as he froze in the doorway. “And ruin the surprise?”
He turned and left without another word.
She waited, listening, attempting to quiet her thudding heart and erratic breathing. Had it been five minutes? He must have a car stashed somewhere, or maybe he planned on stealing one. She yanked on the ties around her wrist and hoped Mike found her in time. With the partial plate number, he might be able to catch Henry before he took his next victim. She hissed as the ties cut deeper into her skin, more blood seeping into the wood. She shut her eyes and imagined the woman who would wear ties just like her, knowing she wouldn’t be so deliberately cared for. The poor woman would die at the hands of a man who was somehow connected to the man she loved. Why was Henry so obsessed with Mike? She growled, trying to think.
Avery clasped her fingers tightly around the curved arms of the chair, squeezing to hold her arms steady then pressed her toes into the floor and hopped. She moved no more than a quarter of an inch, but it was a start. She jumped again, this time with more vigor, and then again.
She’d made it a foot and a half closer to the table when the door swung open. Henry stood there a moment shaking his finger at her. He’d been testing her? Her gut sank, and terror sprang to life within her. Would he kill her now?
“Tsk, tsk.” He walked to her, in his even-tempered way, stopping to pull a roll of antacids out of the plastic bag on the table. He took a moment to unroll them and fill his container. Then he opened a black duffle bag on the floor and pulled out a syringe. “I guess it’s nap time.” As soon as he pushed the plunger down emptying the syringe into her, Avery felt the effects and slumped, and before his back was out the door, everything went black.
* * *
By the time Mike had gotten his clearance and reinstatement back, Alex had disappeared, and Mike didn’t even care. Let the bastard run. He could deal with him later. Mike had much more important things to worry about. The local PD was ready to help in any way they could, so he had a temporary desk and computer access.
His heart clenched in his chest as he thought of Avery. Was she okay? Had Prescott hurt her? His chest burned as the many women Prescott had killed flashed in his m
ind, including the first one, Lydia. The one that he kept a picture of in his lockbox. All brunettes, all tall, all drug addicts, and all dead.
Mike seemed to slip seamlessly back into his role and googled ‘bars in Bathurst, NB,’ and several listings came up. Prescott usually picked up his vics in bars, and maybe that was an advantage. Bathurst was small, and most people didn’t have the money to spend much time in bars, so there weren’t many. He picked up the phone and called the new team commander in charge of Prescott’s case, Don Davies.
“He hasn’t killed since you left. He used to communicate with you via Skype, was it?” Davies’ voice sounded as if his larynx had been dragged down a gravel road and he breathed into the phone as if he were walking up a flight of stairs. He probably drank rotgut whiskey and smoked too much—probably spent too much time eating diner food and sleeping in his car, too. This might have been Mike had he continued working in the field. He wondered for a moment what the guy looked like, but didn’t linger on the thought. He needed the man to send him the files on Prescott and nothing more.
“Yeah, short video chats that bounced off hundreds of IP addresses around the world, completely untraceable.” The cop gave a snort that made Mike’s gut leaden. He knew the guy had knowledge of Mike’s past and had probably decided there was more to his relationship with Prescott than was evident, but Mike ignored him, ending the call as soon as he got what he needed. Avery was the most important thing, her and whoever Prescott chose to take as his next victim—not some vendetta he had to clear his name. He’d given that up when he’d disappeared into the mountains.
Prescott had spent most of his life in institutions with access to the internet, and he had a thirst for knowledge as well as a genius level IQ. Mike still didn’t understand why Prescott hadn’t taken anyone since Mike had left the RCMP. The news had completely stunned him, but it probably shouldn’t.
He’d long ago learned that Prescott cared more about getting under Mike’s skin than he did about the killing, he just hadn’t figured out why. The women were all hookers, addicts, and mothers. That made sense. Prescott’s own mother had been a beautiful brunette who had put herself and her need for her next high above all else.
She’d been seven months pregnant with her second child when she’d been shot and killed. Prescott had been ten years old at the time—found by the EMTs he’d called, a Saturday Night Special at his side, with only his prints all over it. He had planned his mother’s murder extensively; the investigators had found detailed journals. He told tales of the abuses he’d endured from various Johns, pimps, and drug dealers—most of it was for no other reason than their amusement.
Prescott excelled at everything, except making friends. He was always a loner and never associated with any of the other kids. Mike had no clue what any of that had to do with him or why Prescott had become so obsessed, but he pored over the files again anyway. Mike had grown up in a middle-class family as an only child. His dad was a cop, his mom a schoolteacher and neither had a drug problem. He’d lived an ordinary, unremarkable life.
Mike arranged some backup to stake out the local bars, but it was more important he find Avery while he knew Prescott was out. She was on his mountain, a mountain as familiar as the back of his hand. She had to be in one of the hunting shacks up there, and he’d need to search them fast. Prescott wouldn’t be gone long.
With the sun long down, it was cold. At night, it still dipped to barely above freezing, even though the days were warm enough to… he pictured his little girl tied to the tree, her eyes shuttering as he brought her to ecstasy. Mike’s breaths came in quick puffs as he trekked faster up the mountainside. It was a hell of a lot farther than he needed to go, but he decided to park in a remote area several miles from the mountain in case someone was watching him. God only knew what Prescott was up to, who he’d enlisted, and what would happen if Mike wasn’t careful. And then there was the dangers of nature itself—hungry animals, or mudslides in the quick thaw. Prescott would no sooner take his little girl than nature would. He would not fail again—he couldn’t. Avery was his life.
The first hunting cabin was in ruins, but he checked it anyway, smashing the door open wide and leaving it hanging from the hinges. His heart rate had skyrocketed when he searched but quickly fell when he found nothing more than scattered beer cans and dead leaves and debris. The second cabin was in better shape but was still empty. He wanted to fall to his knees and scream, but he had to keep searching. He ran faster than he thought possible up the rough terrain, leaping over rocks and bushes to get to where he’d seen another hunting cabin. His little girl was on this goddamn mountain, and he’d find her if he had to tear it down boulder by boulder.
When the third one came into view, he knew she’d be there. There were fresh boot prints in the wet mud. He flew over the picnic table between him and the cabin and slammed his shoulder into the door to bust it open. It splintered against his weight.
Avery sat in the middle of the sparsely furnished cabin, tied to a chair. Her head hung limply, her blonde curls covering her face. His heart felt as if it had skidded to a halt in his chest. She looked dead. He howled angrily. Not her! Not his little girl.
“Avery!” He knocked the table out of his way with a raging swipe of his arm and when the single unoccupied chair fell to its side and split, Avery’s head came up. Mike’s heart started at a frenzied pace, and he felt dizzy. He cursed, slid across the floor on his knees ignoring the splinters and cradled her face in his two big palms. He kissed her hard.
“Are you okay, baby? Talk to me.” She’d been drugged, he could tell. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and looked hazy. Her face was puffy and swollen when she looked at him.
“Jesus, I thought you were dead! Come on, honey, talk to Daddy, let me hear your voice.”
“If I… had’ve known… these chairs turned to kindling so easily… I would have tossed myself on the fl—.” He cut off her murmured drug-fogged words with another kiss and then pulled his hunting knife from his belt. He sliced the plastic ties quickly and dropped the knife to rub the sting from her wrists.
* * *
“Never mind. Please… let’s go.” Her eyes roamed the room, slowly and unsteady. “This rescue seems way too easy… convenient. Anticlimactic, yeah?”
“You were never his target, Avery. He got what he needed. He only did it to prove he could. It was all to manipulate me.” He grabbed the knife from the floor. “But you’re right. Let’s go, just in case.” He took her hand and kicked the broken chair pieces out of their path. She was wobbly and stumbling a bit, but he wrapped his arm around her waist and bent to scoop her up.
“No, I need to walk. Please.” He nodded and tightened his grip on her waist.
“It’ll get me out of this fog faster.”
“Okay, honey, but hurry.”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, baby?” he answered, dragging her faster.
“He shot Rocky.” She swallowed a sob. He only kissed her head and pulled her on. “And I got a partial license plate number.”
“You did good, honey. Really good.” She slid and stumbled, but he caught her. His soft voice encouraged her, but she was so tired.
“Poor Rocky. We need to find him. We can’t leave him out here.” A lump welled in her throat. She hadn’t had time to grieve when she was in the shack since she had been fighting for her own life, but now she felt the loss.
“We will. But right now, we have to get you back.”
“I saw Alex,” she whispered, her eyes searching Mike’s face. “I saw you talking with him. How is he still alive? Why is he here?” She’d watched him die months ago. She’d seen the blood. No one could have survived a shot to the chest like that. But somehow, not only was he alive, but he was here, on Mike’s mountain. Had he followed her, even after the way things had ended between them?
“Please, fill me in. I need to know,” she asked, her words slurring from the drugs. She stumbled again and he caught her.
�
�Avery, you need to concentrate. I’ll carry you if you don’t.”
A part of her almost wished he would. She needed to feel safe in his arms again, but she didn’t want him distracted while Prescott was still on the loose. “Okay. I’ll be quiet for now.”
“Screw this, little girl.” He grabbed her up in his arms. “This is where you damn well belong. Now no arguing.”
When they finally got to his cabin, Avery was shivering uncontrollably.
“Come on. You’re probably in shock.” He looked her in the eye and pushed her hair back, running his thumb along her forehead scar. “You’re not staying here, but I want you to sit for a minute in front of the fire and drink some water. Okay?” Avery nodded and sat on the sofa. Her teeth chattered, so he pulled the throw blanket over her. She suddenly stood, her eyes wide and wild. “I need a pen and paper. I need to write down the license plate number.” He placed both hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down. Picking up the blanket, he tucked it around her.
“I’ll get it.” He went to the drawer and took out a pad and pencil. He handed it to her and sat beside her while she scribbled the letters down. “Excited being nobody,” she murmured and then looked at him. “We’re not staying here? Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to Annie’s, and I’m going to find him. This is going to be a huge help.” He took the pad and tapped it against his palm. “I can’t wait to get this guy,” he said, growling through gritted teeth.
“There’s something else. I saw a convenience store bag in the cabin. If they have cameras you might be able to get a picture of him and broadcast it and the partial plate number. Al’s Convenience.”
“I can’t risk alerting him we have that info. He’ll disappear. And I already have his picture, but so far it hasn’t done us any good. He’s too nondescript.”
“Daddy, I think he wants you to catch him this time. There is more to his connection with you than you know. He says it’s a surprise.”
