by Jane Blythe
Again, a flicker of concern flashed through him as he studied Sofia. Her eyes were glassy and she appeared to be battling to remain awake. Meeting Isabella’s insane gray eyes, he began, “I’ll tell you everything and then you take her to the hospital, agreed?”
“Of course,” Isabella nodded hastily. “Just tell her.”
Looking back to Sofia, “It’s true. I'm your father.”
“No,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Yes. I was only fourteen when you were born. The judge thought it would be better to pass you off as his daughter, things would be less messy that way,” he added sardonically. The judge was always concerned with appearance. More often than not, it was all he cared about.
Shock and horror mingled in equal portions on Sofia’s face. “Gloria?”
He nodded, “She was your mother. She was my first.”
“Your first?” Sofia’s voice had raised a couple of octaves, now bordering on hysterical. “You mean your first victim? I know what you were doing in the basement, Logan. I saw you. You were kidnapping teenage girls, tying them up and raping them, and then killing them. Is that what you did to Gloria? You raped her?”
“Yes, Sofia,” Logan answered calmly.
“I…I…I don’t belie…I can’t und…” Sofia stammered. “Gloria? She was our father...” catching herself, “she was your father’s wife, and you raped her? Why?” Her eyes begging him to make her understand, even though they both knew that nothing he could tell her could ever make her understand.
“I'm not like normal people; you know that, Sofia. I always enjoyed hurting things. Causing pain. It was a compulsion. But then animals, they just weren’t enough anymore. I needed more. I needed control. And the judge was not big on letting us have freedom, you know that,” Logan caught the pleading quality in his voice and controlled it. He didn’t need Sofia’s acknowledgment that life for them as kids under the judge’s care had been tough. “One night I couldn’t sleep, I was wandering the house and I saw Gloria. She was just standing in the yard, bathed in moonlight. Before I even knew what I was doing, I had dragged her out into the woods and ripped off her clothes. I needed to see her eyes. See the shock and horror and fear in them. I needed to hear her beg me to stop.”
“Stop,” Sofia begged now. “I don’t want to hear anymore.”
But Logan couldn’t stop, “The judge found us. He went berserk. Even more so after Gloria turned up pregnant. He warned me to stop. Told me I would ruin the family’s name if I got caught. But by then, I couldn’t stop. Raping Gloria was like my first hit of an addictive drug. I was hooked. Over the next couple of years, there were maybe fifty girls. I started with ones I knew wouldn’t tell. Prostitutes. Illegals. Drunk college girls. After a while, the thrill wore off. I didn’t get the same rush from raping them. I needed more. I needed to kill. So I chose a girl, kidnapped her, and tied her up in the basement. When I'd had enough of raping her I made her beg me for her life and then I killed her. What a rush. It was so exhilarating. I'd never felt more alive. I killed thirty-two young women. And I loved every second of it.”
Logan knew his eyes had gone glassy as he recalled the pure ecstasy he’d felt as he’d watched the blood drain from that girl. It was the single greatest moment of his life. Over time he’d learned how to refine the kill. Make it last as long as possible. Strike in just the right place with his knife so that his victims bled out slowly and he could watch, capturing the exact second in which the life left their bodies.
Sofia was crying in earnest now, tears mixing with the blood on her face and leaving little trails down her cheeks. “Please, stop,” she sobbed. “Please. I don’t want to listen to this.”
Snapping out of his reverie, he said, “There’s nothing more to tell.” Catching Isabella in a firm stare, “Now I told you everything; it’s time to take Sofia to the hospital.”
Isabella was staring at him intently, “Tell me about Brooke,” she demanded. “Did you rape her, too?”
“No. Brooke was into it. She even liked it rough. In a way, she was like me. At first I didn’t know that she was doing the judge, too. That she was just after money.” For a while, Brooke’s betrayal had stung. But then the judge had arranged for him to marry Simone and he had found the perfect woman to vent his rage on in between girls. “She got herself a cool million dollars when she sold you to the judge.”
“Arrgghhh,” Isabella screamed, her hands pulling manically at her hair as she paced the length of the small room.
Realizing Sofia had grown quiet, Logan glanced at her, her head had lolled forward, her chin now resting against her chest, she’d passed out. “Isabella,” he said forcefully. “Listen to me. Sofia needs medical attention now. I know that you love her, so do the right thing, get her help. You want to kill me, fine, I deserve it. But Sofia and that baby don’t. They haven’t done anything wrong. Take them someplace safe.”
But when Isabella turned back to him, he saw in her eyes that something had changed. She had been crazy before, but now it was pure madness that consumed her. Launching at him in an uncontrolled fit of rage. “I hate you,” Isabella screamed. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” repeating the words over and over and over again.
“Isabella,” Sofia murmured feebly. “Stop. Please.”
Unhearing, Isabella continued. Then abruptly she stopped, spun on her heel, marched to the table and returned with a knife. It gleamed in the light of the room’s single globe.
“Isabella, no,” Sofia yelled.
“It’s okay, Sofia,” Logan assured his oldest daughter. “It’s what I deserve.”
The knife hung above him.
Isabella’s cold gray eyes stared down at him.
Sofia screamed.
The baby screamed.
The knife plunged down, piercing his chest.
The white hot pain was unbearable.
Then Isabella tugged the knife free and brought it down again.
Over and over.
Stabbing him again and again until his chest was one wet, sticky mess.
Sofia screamed.
The baby screamed.
Isabella stabbed.
And Logan’s life dripped out of him just as his victims’ had.
* * * * *
11:41 P.M.
Almost done now.
Isabella repeated the mantra over and over to herself. It was the only thing keeping her going.
She was exhausted. She wasn’t sure she’d slept properly since that incident with those horrible kids from her school.
A shiver of fear sliced through her and she struggled to control it.
Isabella hated to feel afraid. Hated to feel out of control.
Those hours in the shed had been the worst of her life.
A gun pointed at her.
Ropes securing her to the floor.
Naked.
Humiliated, scared, and alone.
Forced to lie there helplessly while those boys raped her and those girls just laughed.
What was worse was what came later.
Her family or teachers never knowing she was gone even though those kids had tortured her for almost three hours. It had taken her another twelve to finally free herself from her binds. And yet no one noticed that she hadn't turned up for classes or come home for dinner.
She had been naïve.
She had told what they’d done to her. Told her father, told her teachers, told anyone with ears. And no one had believed her. Those kids had lied. Made up stories about her. And everyone had bought it.
And then to add insult to injury, when she had tried to punish them herself she had been the one to get in trouble. Just because of what had happened with that other little girl when she was ten. Just because she was different. Just because she didn’t have friends. She was labeled a liar and a troublemaker. Labeled violent and unmanageable.
But she had gotten her revenge.
Those kids would think twice before trying something like that with
anyone else.
And then she’d heard Sofia talking in her sleep.
About girls being hurt in their basement.
So she had to find out more. She had to do something to stop it. No one had helped her just like no one had helped those girls.
She had done the right thing. She was sure she had.
And now it was almost done.
Looking down at her feet, Logan lay there. His lifeless body slumped awkwardly, vacant eyes staring at nothing.
They were in the basement.
A fitting place for Logan to spend eternity.
Isabella had dragged him down here. Even though she was big and strong, the exertion had almost drained her. But it had to end here.
She glanced at her watch.
It would be tight, but she thought she could make it.
Once she lit the match and set the basement on fire she wouldn’t have long to get herself, Sofia, and the baby out of the house before it was consumed with flames.
With a last look around this basement of horrors, Isabella took a moment to think of the girls whose lives had been lost here. Then she pulled the matches from her pocket, struck one, and threw it onto the floor.
The accelerant that she’d added earlier caught quicker than she had anticipated. Within seconds, the basement was filled with fire and smoke.
Hurrying up the stairs, all five flights of them, Isabella burst into her secret room in the attic and froze.
Sofia was gone.
Scrunching her eyes closed, she had to be wrong. She’d left Sofia tied up, there was no way her sister could have gotten free. However, when she opened her eyes the scene before her was still the same. The room was empty. Sofia was gone.
And then she remembered. Her sister had been unconscious. Worried, Isabella had untied her and laid her down on the floor. Concerned Sofia was going into shock, she had covered her with a blanket, and left her there, intending to come back for her once she disposed of Logan.
Panicking, this was a nightmare.
Sofia was weak and injured, she’d never make it out of the house on her own. But Isabella didn’t have a lot of time. The house was already on fire. The police were already on to her. They’d been here earlier searching this place for any sign of them. Luckily, no one knew of the room she’d built herself, and the police had been unsuccessful in their search for her, Sofia, and Logan. However, they could return at any second. Isabella needed to collect her sisters and flee immediately.
Frantically, she spun and retracted her steps. Surely Sofia couldn’t have gone far. Then she noticed a few drops of blood on the carpet. Taking a couple more steps and she found some more.
A trail.
Following it, then pausing, she decided she should take the baby with her, save herself another trip up to the attic once she found Sofia. Once she had retrieved the infant, she continued her search. Finally, she found her sister by the top of the last flight of stairs. Somehow Sofia had managed to drag herself down four flights of steps.
“Sofia.”
Her sister froze. Turned slowly. Tears and blood streaked her pale face. “Let me go, please, Isabella.”
“Of course,” she nodded empathically. “But you're weak. Let me help you. I’ll take you to my car, drive you to the hospital.” Moving toward Sofia, intending to help her, but her sister shrunk away, taking a step backwards.
“Don’t hurt me,” Sofia begged.
Isabella was offended. “Do you really think I'd hurt you?”
“You killed Logan,” her sister sobbed.
“He deserved it, you know he did, he told you he did,” she protested.
“I just want to go home,” Sofia pressed a hand to her head, swaying unsteadily.
“I’ll take you home,” Isabella promised. “But please, you're hurt, let me help you.” Setting the baby down, with hands held out to indicate she wasn’t a threat, Isabella started toward her sister.
But Sofia took a step backward, teetered at the top of the stairs, then lost her footing and fell.
With crash after sickening crash her sister plummeted down the stairs.
Heart hammering as hard and fast as if she’d just run a marathon, Isabella just stood. Frozen. Unable to move.
She was unsure how long she stood there. Then all of a sudden her reasoning took back over and she sprinted down to the first floor as quickly as she could.
She gasped as she stood beside Sofia. Her sister wasn’t moving. One leg was twisted out awkwardly beneath her, one shoulder looked like it had popped out, she looked dead.
Dropping to her knees, Isabella pressed her fingertips to her sister’s neck. Relieved beyond imagining to find a pulse, Sofia was alive but in bad shape.
To make matters worse, the first floor was starting to fill with smoke. The fire in the basement had to be a raging inferno by now.
“Sofia?” she called hopefully, resisting the urge to shake her sister, since she didn’t know how severe Sofia’s injuries were, she didn’t want to risk making them worse.
“Sofia?” she called again when she got no answer.
Yanking out her phone, she dialed Ryan Xander’s number.
He answered after the first ring, “Detective Xander.”
“It’s Isabella,” she announced.
“Where’s Sofia?” he growled. “If you hurt her …”
“Relax,” she cut him off, she didn’t have time for this now. “I would never intentionally hurt Sofia. I love her. I don’t want her to die. But,” hesitating slightly, “there was an accident …”
“What did you do to her?” he demanded.
Insulted, Isabella said, “I told you I would never hurt her. It was an accident. I swear it was just an accident.”
“What happened to her?” Anger had him over-enunciating each word.
“She fell. Down some stairs.” Tears were threatening to spill out. “She's hurt bad, Ryan. I tried to wake her up but I couldn’t. I can't wake her up, Ryan. You have to get here quickly; you have to get her out. I set the place on fire, there’s not a lot of time.”
His breath had quickened. “Tell me where you are?”
“We’re at the estate.”
“You can't be,” she could practically hear his frown. “We searched the place, they didn’t find anyone.”
“Yeah, well lucky for me there were no Everettes there with you to tell you all of the house’s secret hiding places,” she retorted. “I'm not lying. We’re here at the house, and it’s going to burn down around us if you don’t hurry up and get here.”
“I'm on my way,” a pause, “and you better still be there when I get there.”
Then he was gone.
To speed here as quickly as he could, Isabella hoped.
Sofia was badly injured. Even if she regained consciousness, there was no way her sister was getting herself out of this house. Isabella wanted to get her out, but she didn’t have the time. She couldn’t still be here when Ryan arrived. He’d arrest her. He’d never understand why she’d done all this.
“I'm sorry, Sofia,” she pressed a kiss to her sister’s forehead. “I pray Ryan gets here in time.”
Sprinting back up the stairs, Isabella snatched up the baby, then hurried back to Sofia, checking one last time to make sure her sister was still alive.
The air was now thick with smoke.
Time was running out.
Trusting that Ryan would save her sister, Isabella took one last look back, then left to begin her new life.
AUGUST 21st
1:18 A.M.
He was speeding to the Everette estate as fast as his car could manage.
Ryan had his lights and sirens going, but still there was a limit to the speed his car could reach. As much as he wanted to get to the estate as quickly as he could, he also wanted to get there in one piece. Sofia’s life was at stake, so taking foolish risks was out of the question.
Thankfully, he had already been fairly close to the Everette house when Isabella had called. He
had been debating with himself going there and re-searching the house. Not that he had really thought the officers who performed the search hadn't done so thoroughly, but he was desperate.
After hanging up on Isabella, Ryan had immediately called his partner. Explaining the situation to Paige, he had asked her to send backup and paramedics to the house.
He kept replaying his conversation with Isabella over in his head.
She had said that Sofia’s fall was just an accident. Of that, he couldn’t be sure. It was very possible that she had done it intentionally to keep Sofia from telling everything.
Isabella had also said that Sofia was badly hurt. Of that, he could be sure. Ryan didn’t think that Isabella would have risked calling him unless Sofia’s injuries were serious.
With that in mind, he was trying to prepare himself.
The combination of the mushroom poisoning, the fall down the stairs, and the smoke from the fire Isabella said she had lit, could mean that Sofia would already be dead by the time he found her.
He knew what it was like to find the woman he loved lying dead, and he had to be ready to experience that all over again.
The night of Katrina's suicide was forever etched into his mind.
It was a mid-fall evening. The temperature was cool but not cold. The leaves were changing into a mass of red and yellow and orange and gold, swirling merrily through the air, then resting on the ground to form a patchwork carpet of autumn beauty.
The wedding was approaching, set for Christmas Eve, and he had been searching for his Miss Right from the moment he hit eighteen. Ryan had always known that he wanted to marry. Even as a child, he had known that he was lucky to have parents who were as happy and in love as his were. His childhood had been a happy one, he and his brothers had been well loved, and he had longed to replicate his cherished home with a wife and children of his own.
A tiny tinge of apprehension had been alight in him that night.
Something was up with Katrina. He had sensed it on the phone. As was his custom, he had called to let her know he was leaving work and would be home soon. But his fiancée had been distant, preoccupied.
