Confession

by Carey Baldwin

  “You’re not dropping me off.” Faith glanced at her nails, like she’d just said she didn’t care for more tea, thank you.

  “You’re not going with me.” He pushed up from the table, leaning toward her.

  “Scourge is my patient. I agree with Johnson. He’s a planner and not likely to be there at this particular moment. But if by some chance he is, I’d have a far better chance of reasoning with him than you.”

  “No offense to your shrink skills, but if the bastard’s at the Donovan place, reasoning with him is the last thing I’m going to do. You won’t be trying that either because you’re not coming with me.”

  Still looking at her nails with that same casual demeanor, she said, “Let me put it another way. My name’s written on the bathroom wall in blood. So who do you think is next on Scourge’s list, the Donovans or me? Where do you think I’d be safer, at my place all alone, or riding out to Rio Arriba with you?”

  He couldn’t argue with that. Truth was, he wasn’t keen on letting Faith out of his sight. He heaved a sigh. There was something else bothering him. “How did Scourge find you, Faith? You’re new in town, your practice isn’t even a practice, and yet . . .”

  “I found a brochure advertising my practice inside the box with the family’s photographs. I didn’t show it to you because I didn’t want to worry you. I’ve handed those pamphlets out to just about every primary-­care doctor in town, trying to drum up referrals. I guess Scourge’s physician thought he could use some mental-­health ser­vices. He probably found me from my brochure.”

  Luke shook his head. “That doesn’t explain the coincidence. You have two patients. One confesses to the murders, the other is the actual killer. How does that happen?”

  “Not by coincidence, I’m sure. Let’s dismiss the brochure, then. He could’ve picked it up later I suppose.”

  Luke dragged a hand through his hair. To him, everything fell apart unless they could explain how both men happened to turn to Faith.

  “Try this on. Scourge was enraged when he heard Dante had confessed to being the Saint. When Dante took credit for Scourge’s crimes, Scourge felt impotent, powerless, terrified. Think about it. His traumatic incident in the lab happened right around the time Dante’s confession hit the papers. Scourge is both drawn to blood and repelled by it at the same time. Just as he’s drawn to religion and repelled by it at the same time. He was undone by Dante’s confession, and that impotence manifested itself in his fear of blood. He could no longer carry out his crimes so . . .”

  “He needed a shrink.”

  “My name was all over the local news as the woman who turned Dante Jericho in to the police. That’s why Scourge picked me. In a way, I’m complicit with Dante in trying to steal his glory, don’t you see? Since I’m the one who turned in the false Saint, I’m as much to blame for his problems as anyone.”

  He raised an admiring eyebrow. “And that’s why they call you Doctor.” Grabbing his windbreaker, he added, “Road trip?”

  TWENTY-­EIGHT

  Thursday, August 15, 10:00 P.M.

  Faith clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. Luke had been right to insist they proceed with caution. They hadn’t been able to reach the Donovans on their landline, and with no cell coverage, they couldn’t call Torpedo to find out if help had been sent. Once they’d sighted the Donovan family’s farmhouse, Luke had pulled his Spitfire off the road, and they’d walked the remainder of the way just in case Scourge had already set his plan in motion. Just in case he’d arrived at the farmhouse before them, ready to do his worst. Just in case, while peering through a downstairs window, they spotted Scourge brandishing a shotgun.

  Just in case had just turned into her worst nightmare.

  She caught a glimpse of Scourge, shotgun slung over his shoulder, in the hallway. Then he disappeared into a room and closed the door.

  He’s inside the house.

  Luke’s arms came around her from behind, shoring her up even before her knees could think about wobbling. He spun her toward him, noiselessly pressed his finger to his lips. Like she needed a reminder to keep quiet. Her body shook from the effort of holding back a powerful scream—­a scream that pounded the inside of her chest like a fist demanding to be let out.

  And it wasn’t just her body she was fighting but her mind as well.

  We’re too late. Too late. Too late.

  From inside the house, a male voice cried out, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  At least one member of the family was still alive.

  Whatever Scourge had planned, she was certain he’d be sticking to a strict schedule, and that might buy the family time.

  Closing her eyes, she willed away the thoughts of helplessness, replacing them with a single empowering one.

  Stop him.

  Yes. That was much better. If her heart hammered any harder, she’d need a defibrillator, but that was fine by her.

  Fuck fear.

  She’d used all the extra oxygen her panicked heart provided to fuel her muscles and her brain. “We have to stop him before it’s too late.” She mouthed the words to Luke, not wanting to chance so much as a whisper this close to the downstairs windows.

  Nodding, he took her by the hand, and together, they backed away from the house and into a copse of trees where they could quietly strategize.

  Lucky for them, Faith had read the pertinent parts of In Cold Blood aloud to Luke on the trip, and that just might give them the edge over Scourge, who had no idea his master plan was about to be disrupted. Considering they were armed only with one Glock and the can of pink pepper spray clipped to Faith’s belt, they were going to need all the edge they could get. “If Scourge is carrying out the scenario described in the Clutter murders, the daughter will be bound with cord in her upstairs bedroom, and the mother will also be upstairs, bound in her own bedroom.”

  “Bonnie Clutter slept separately from her husband, but no reason to think Mrs. Donovan does. I say the mother is most likely in the master bedroom.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.” Her gaze traced the upper story, looking for an open window. She’d studied the blueprint they’d found at Scourge’s place and knew the master bedroom was on the east side of the house. Which of the several smaller bedrooms on the west side would turn out to be the daughter’s room, they’d learn once they got inside the home.

  “I’d like to proceed on your assumption—­that Scourge is following the book. Since the book is what led us here in the first place, I say we dance with the one who brought us.” Luke offered her a weak smile, but his expression was drawn.

  “How are we going to get past Scourge to get to the women? He’s downstairs with a shotgun, and we’ll never be able to climb the stairs without his spotting us.” Her blood was rushing in her ears.

  Fuck Fear.

  Then it came to her. “I say we start at the top and work our way down.”

  Luke cast a glance toward the farmhouse.

  She followed his gaze to an object glinting against the side of the house—­a ladder. A ladder, a Glock, pepper spray, and each other. That was what they had, and they had better make the most of it.

  “We’ll get the women out first.” Suddenly, he dropped his eyes, and she knew they were both wondering the same thing. Were all the family members inside? How many were still alive? “Let’s take this one step at a time and be ready to improvise,” he said, meeting her eyes again.

  And just like that, she knew they’d made a silent pact to trust that the family was alive and to act to keep them that way. “Agreed. But improvisation starts now. No way that ladder will reach the upstairs windows.”

  “Upstairs window second from the left is open. We’ll find a way to get to it.” Luke outlined the split-­level roof with his pointer finger. “We can get to the lower section of the roof with the ladder. From there, we’ll have to s
cramble to the next level. And then . . .”

  Faith was already pulling him toward the ladder. They were on the same page. Whispering instructions, they positioned the ladder under the lowest section of the split-­level roof. Luke put a foot on the ladder’s bottom rung, testing its stability.

  Scrape.

  The noise amplified in Faith’s ears, and her heart jumped to her throat, but around them, all remained still. No door swung open, no shot rang out, and that’s when she realized the farm’s natural sounds would cover their small infractions. Unless they sent the ladder crashing to the ground, the night’s noises would absorb the sound track to their rescue mission. She let out the breath she’d been holding.

  Luke’s arms wrapped around her and pulled her body against his. “Luke,” she whispered, her hands trailing down his arms, his back, his buttocks, trying to feel and hold as much of him as she could.

  “Just in case,” he murmured in her ear, his breath hot and sweet. Then his mouth came down hard on hers. She opened for him, and in that brief moment, they shielded each other from the evil they were about to face, taking only strength, only good from one another.

  They broke apart.

  As noiselessly as possible, they stabilized the ladder and began the climb. Faith scampered up ahead of Luke. When she reached the top rung, the roof was just within her reach. Grateful for the upper-­body strength her workouts had provided and that extra jolt from adrenaline, she pressed her forearms on the slick tiles above and heaved her body onto the roof with a soft grunt.

  Luke’s eyes came into view at the edge of the roof. “Nice ass, Clancy.” And then he hoisted himself up beside her without so much as a quickening of his breath. “Get on your belly.”

  “What?”

  He eased into a prone position and motioned ahead.

  Oh. They were going to crawl over the roof. Less noise. Less chance of falling. They combat crawled a ways, then Luke clambered onto the second level of the roof and pulled her up behind him. More combat crawling.

  They reached the window to the master bedroom.

  Luke grabbed her hand. “Its not too late for you to climb back down, get in the car, and drive like hell to the police.”

  She shook her head. It was an hour to the nearest town, and the first forty minutes were in a no-­cell-­ser­vice zone. She’d never make it back with help in time. “I’m not leaving these ­people here with him. I’m not leaving you here with him.”

  He squeezed her hand. Opened his mouth, but then shut it again. Took a breath. An eternity later, he said, “Okay. So here’s the plan. I lower you by your arms through the window. You get the mom back to the window, and I’ll get her onto the roof and down to safety. Repeat with the girl. You strong enough?”

  “Hell yes.” She sat up and flexed a biceps. “You see me flip up onto the roof?”

  He winked, but his face was pulled tight. “On three.”

  She pressed a kiss to his forehead and extended her arms.

  “Wait.” He pulled something shiny out of his jeans and tucked it between her breasts. It felt cold against her skin. “Pocketknife. I’ve got another.”

  “You could’ve just handed it to me.”

  “My way’s more fun.”

  The look he gave her was so full of tenderness, she thought her heart might burst in her chest. “Thanks,” she said.

  “You’ll need the knife to cut their ropes.”

  “I meant thanks for being here. I couldn’t do this alone.”

  “Tell you what, Clancy, neither could I,” he said, his voice hitching. Then he took her by the wrists. Her arms jerked in their sockets as he lowered her from the roof. Her feet scrambled for purchase and found the bottom sill. The window was open halfway, but she had no way to open it more. After exhaling all her breath to make her body smaller, she squeezed feetfirst through the window and into the master bedroom.

  “Easy darlin’, you okay?”

  She heard Luke’s low voice but didn’t take time to answer. She’d found the mother. The full moon varnished the room in light, revealing a feminine form on the bed—­Mrs. Donovan. Midforties. Brown curls, eyes fixed on Faith, telegraphing the kind of desperate plea a mother sends when she knows her husband and children are about to die.

  Not:

  Help me.

  But rather:

  Help them.

  The woman’s hands were bound together in front, as if in prayer, and more ropes connected her body to the footboard of the bed. Her mouth was covered in duct tape.

  Just like Bonnie Clutter.

  Now Faith was glad they’d not been able to give the family details by phone. Scourge was no doubt already here, and better Mrs. Donovan didn’t know what Scourge had planned for her loved ones. Faith lifted a rope, inspecting the elaborate knots. She’d definitely have to cut through, no way to quickly untie these. She pulled Luke’s knife from her bra, and the mother struggled, violently jerking her head toward the door.

  Faith got the message loud and clear.

  Help them.

  But she couldn’t give in to the mother’s silent pleas. There was no time to rearrange the plan. Faith had no intention of leaving the mother bound in this room while she went off searching for others. She steeled her jaw. She couldn’t let her heart overrule her head, or else none of them would make it out alive.

  No pity.

  She shook the woman by the shoulders, and mouthed, “Don’t say a word.”

  The woman struggled harder, talking incoherently beneath the duct tape.

  “Shut up!” Faith gritted her teeth and slapped Mrs. Donovan’s face.

  The woman whimpered again but then nodded.

  Faith whispered in her ear, “If I take this gag off, you have to promise not to scream. If you make a sound, your whole family will pay the price. Do you understand?”

  The woman nodded again, and Faith ripped the tape from the woman’s mouth. Blood from Mrs. Donovan’s raw lips dripped onto her chin.

  No pity.

  Faith sawed the ropes that bound the mother’s hands. The sawing rubbed Faith’s own hands raw, and the hemp she held turned pink.

  Move on to the feet.

  “Why?” The softest whimper from Mrs. Donovan. “Why us?”

  Faith kept sawing rope. She couldn’t stop to think about what kind of a monster would inflict such terror on another human being because she had been helping that very monster every day. Supporting him, calming him, making him strong again so he could do . . . this.

  She spit bile from her mouth.

  “There. The ropes are gone. Get up slowly. I don’t want you to faint.”

  The woman made it to her feet, and Faith stuck her hands beneath her armpits and walked her toward the window.

  “No! Please, I can’t leave my children.”

  Faith closed her heart to the woman’s desperate pleas.

  “You’re going first. I’m not making any bargains with you. I won’t leave them. I’m going for your daughter next.”

  “No. Please.” The woman was edging away from the window.

  Faith threw both arms around her and dragged her back. “I won’t leave your family. I promise, but you have to go now. You’re wasting my time when I could be helping the others.”

  Mrs. Donovan’s body went limp. “Okay.”

  “Good. Now, I’m going to hand you up to a man on the roof. His name is Luke. He’s going to get you to safety. I don’t care if you’re scared. Your children need you alive, so you will do exactly what he tells you.”

  Another nod. And then Mrs. Donovan leaned backward out the window. Luke’s muscular arms gripped on to her, and while Faith held her by the feet, Luke eased the mother onto the roof.

  Three doors down, Faith found the daughter. Also hog-­tied, also terrified. But a certain resilience on the girl’s f
ace told Faith she had a thinking partner on her hands, one who’d make the process a lot easier than her mother had. Sure enough, the girl sat quietly, positioning her hands and feet as best she could to make it easier for Faith to saw through the ropes.

  Minutes later, they were back in the master bedroom. “Your mother’s already outside. Don’t worry about finding her, just run as far as you can and hide,” Faith said as she helped the teenager through the window.

  The girl looked at her with misty eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Go. Go. Go.” Faith ordered. And handed her off to Luke.

  They’d been arguing in whispers ever since Luke had returned to lift Faith through the window to safety—­like he’d done with the Donovan mother and daughter. But Faith flat-­out refused to leave the house until the father and son were out safely. With no one to lower him, Luke couldn’t get down and in through the window himself, or else he’d drag her out of there by force. As matters stood, she’d left him with no choice. He clamped his jaw hard enough to crack a tooth and dangled his right arm over the edge of the roof, lowering his Glock down for her. “Take the gun.”

  A beat passed in silence. Then, “I don’t know how to use a gun. You keep it.”

  “Point center mass and pull the trigger.”

  “Isn’t there a safety or something? You should keep it.”

  A muscle spasm shot up his arm, and he nearly dropped his Glock. He’d felt something snap in his shoulder earlier, and now his hand tingled, his fingers had long since gone numb. “Either take the gun or get the hell out of the house. My vote is get out now.”

  “I won’t leave them.”

  “But you expect me to leave you,” his words hissed out.

  “You’re not leaving me. You’re just attacking the problem from another angle. If for some reason, you can’t get to the men from below, I’ll still have a chance to sneak downstairs and free them. This is a team effort.”