One (Count to Ten Book 1)

by Jane Blythe

  “I’ll have whatever you're having,” Kate replied, as much as she, too, wanted answers, she also wanted to keep the man as comfortable and open as possible.

  “Tea,” Terry told her as he set on the kettle. “I’m not one for coffee, never was, never will be.”

  They waited in silence as Terry McGinnely made a pot of tea and joined them at the table, squeezing himself between the table and the wall to sit on a chair that creaked under the pressure of having to support his enormous frame. “I understand you wanted to talk to me about Ricky.” His face was a mix of curiosity, puzzlement, and distress.

  “How long has Ricky Preston worked for you?” Xavier asked.

  “Uh,” rolling his eyes heavenward as he thought, he answered, “four…five years.”

  “What kind of employee has he been?” Kate asked.

  “Diligent, hard-working, skilled,” Terry listed.

  “Have you had any problems with him?” Kate took a mouthful of the hot tea, finding it a little strong for her taste but swilling it down regardless.

  “No, he always turns up on time, and he does everything asked of him, quickly and professionally.” Terry smiled uncertainly. “He’s a model employee.”

  “He do work at people’s houses or only here?” Xavier was tapping his fingers together, something he usually did when he was stressed.

  “He works at people’s houses sometimes,” Terry replied. “It just depends on the job.”

  “Have you ever received any complaints about him?” Xavier continued.

  “Complaints?” Terry echoed. “No. None. Ever. Ricky is great at his job, polite without being pushy. In fact, I usually get compliments from everyone he works for, some even come back, ask for him again. May I ask what this is about?” Terry watched them nervously. “Has Ricky done something wrong?”

  “Ricky Preston has been identified through fingerprints as the man who’s been killing families in the area and leaving one family member alive,” she explained.

  Terry uttered a horrified gasp, “Ricky did that?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry,” Xavier added sympathetically, her partner knew how Terry felt finding out someone you knew and liked was capable of such horrific things.

  “My Ricky?” Terry was clutching at denial. “He’s been going around killing people?”

  “There’s been no indication that he was violent?” Kate wondered how good a job Ricky Preston had done at playing the part—obviously good enough to fool both his boss and Annabelle. “He’s never been physical with you or any of your customers? Never lost his temper and lashed out?”

  “No, never,” Terry shook his head solemnly.

  “Is there any place you can think Ricky might go to hide out?” Kate asked, noting the hope that flashed through Xavier’s eyes.

  “Not really, we mostly had a business relationship. Talked work, sports, weather, politics but nothing much personal.” Terry looked apologetic, as though it were a fault on his part that he hadn't known every detail about his employee.

  “What about his mother?” she asked, thinking of the reason Ricky had given Annabelle as to why he hadn’t been around to support her like he’d promised to. “I know she’s been sick lately, might he be staying with her? Or maybe if she’s in the hospital hiding out at her house?”

  He looked confused. “That’s a trick question, right?”

  “Why would it be a trick question?” Xavier demanded.

  “Because Ricky’s mom died when he was a kid. Why would you think that she was sick?”

  “Because that’s what he told us.” Xavier’s forehead creased with annoyance.

  “Why would he do that?” Terry still looked confused.

  “So we wouldn’t be suspicious of the fact that he wasn’t around for Annabelle,” she explained.

  “Annabelle?”

  “Does the name mean something to you?” Xavier inquired.

  “Ricky rang me a few days ago to say that his girlfriend, Annabelle, had been unwell and he was going to take her away out of town to cheer her up.”

  Xavier muttered under his breath and dropped his head into his hands, running his fingers through his thick brown hair.

  He squeezed his meaty hands together. “Annabelle’s not really his girlfriend is she?” Terry’s lip quivered.

  “No she’s not,” Kate replied solemnly. It appeared Ricky had been planning on taking Annabelle for a while.

  “He’s kidnapped her, hasn’t he?” Terry’s huge face was pained. “And he’s some sort of maniac. What’s he going to do to that poor girl?”

  * * * * *

  7:50 P.M.

  Ever so slowly, she began to awaken.

  Her head felt like it had been filled with cotton wool.

  Annabelle tried to take a deep breath to clear her mind, but panic was threatening to overwhelm her. It terrified her knowing that she had been unconscious and at the mercy of this horrible man. Her mind began to conjure images of what he might have done to her, the visions playing out on her eyelids as clearly as though she were watching a movie.

  Why couldn’t he just keep her drugged and unconscious? At least then she would remain blissfully unaware of all his awful deeds. She didn’t want to be awake if he raped her again. Last time he had drugged her, and even though she didn’t remember it, it still made her feel sick to her stomach. But if he did it again, and she was aware of every disgusting second, then she was sure she would never survive it.

  And then what would he do to her?

  Would he torture her before he killed her? The pictures she had seen of her mom and dad and sister and brothers’ mutilated bodies were flashing vividly in her mind. What if he did that to her? What if she was alive when he did it? What if he did something worse to her?

  How was he planning on killing her?

  Was he going to stab her, shoot her, strangle her, drown her, smother her, drug her, leave her alone to die from starvation and dehydration?

  Was he planning on keeping her hostage for a while before he killed her?

  What if he was planning on keeping her for weeks or months or even years? Keeping her locked away. Scared and alone. No one to talk to. How would she survive that?

  Horror was welling up inside of her. Starting in the pit of her stomach and reaching its tentacles out to every single molecule of her being until it was almost choking her. At last she could stand it no longer and forced her sticky eyes open.

  She gasped when she caught sight of her surroundings.

  Annabelle couldn’t believe where he had brought her.

  The room where he had left her was not the same one she had first awakened in. No longer was she in that attic. Now she was in a basement.

  A very familiar basement.

  In fact, it was her own basement. He’d brought her back to her own house and locked her up in the basement. Probably the only part of the house not destroyed by the fire. Still, it was damp down here. The water had seeped down, leaving several puddles on the floor, including the one she was sitting in.

  Why had he brought her here?

  Why would Ricky be so stupid as to keep her here at her own home? Surely the police were bound to come back here eventually.

  Annabelle’s heart dropped as she remembered seeing her best friend’s—really her only friend—face, hovering above her in the seconds before the drugs knocked her out. Now that she knew Ricky Preston was the killer, the face from that night that had once been fuzzy was now crystal clear, the voice whispering an apology had also become recognizable.

  Ricky’s betrayal was like a knife through her heart. One that almost took away the fear. When she thought of all the times she had sat in his house, comfortable and at ease, talking more about herself and her life than she would dare to disclose to anyone else, she felt chilled to the bone. She didn’t have many friends—acquaintances and colleagues—but not many friends that she would go shopping with or out to lunch with. Annabelle never felt at ease with people; she always felt like she ha
d to act a certain way. But things were different with Ricky. He had made her feel safe and she had confided in him.

  While she had been sitting in Ricky’s den baring her soul, he had been sitting there pretending to listen and care, all the while planning how best to destroy her life.

  Now she knew the truth.

  Ricky Preston was a lunatic.

  A lunatic who had kidnapped her and tied her up and left her in her basement.

  Annabelle’s only hope now rested on Xavier figuring things out.

  Her already cut and bloody wrists were bound behind her back, at an angle that kept sending arrows of pain down her injured shoulder. The end of the rope had been fastened to the hook supporting her brother Julian’s punching bag. If she moved even a little, the pressure from the rope almost popped her shoulders out of joint.

  Annabelle knew that once again she wasn’t going to be able to brute force her way out of this. Since Ricky had been avoiding her while she was conscious, it was also highly unlikely that she was going to get an opportunity to attempt to talk her way to freedom.

  That only left Xavier.

  She was sure that he would figure it out eventually.

  Xavier had been suspicious of Ricky from the first time they’d met. She was pretty sure that had more to do with the fact that Xavier was jealous of her relationship with Ricky, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Xavier think to check Ricky’s house. If he searched the house, he was bound to find the bracelet she’d left behind in the attic. With the use of only one hand, it had taken her ages to work the thin chain loose and caused her middle finger to dislocate. In the end, her perseverance had paid off and the bracelet, a gift from her parents on her twenty-first birthday, had fallen to the floor where Xavier was sure to find it.

  Annabelle prayed that Xavier hadn't given up on her just yet.

  He’d promised her that he wouldn’t. He had also promised her that he was going to find the killer. Surely he’d put the pieces together sooner or later.

  As footsteps clunked on the steps behind her, Annabelle prayed that Xavier would figure it out sooner rather than later or by the time he got here it might be too late.

  MAY 13th

  10:19 A.M.

  “Ricky Preston never broke his arm.”

  He looked up as his partner entered the room. “How do you know that?” Xavier asked. The fact that he hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours was beginning to catch up to him and he was starting to struggle to keep his mind focused. Kate had insisted that he go home last night, and he had. He had even been good and gone straight to bed after eating some dinner and taking a shower, but he hadn't been able to get even a wink of sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he’d been haunted by pictures of Annabelle. Memories of holding her as she slept beside him in his bed contrasted violently with images of what Ricky might be doing to her as he lay there. Or what he might have already done to her. The possibility that Ricky had already killed Annabelle left him so terrified it almost rendered him frozen.

  “Xavier, you haven’t listened to a word I've been saying,” Kate’s voice pierced his skull. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” he answered shortly. He didn’t want Kate distracted by worrying about him; if they were going to find Annabelle and Ricky before it was too late, they both needed to remain focused.

  “Did you sleep last night?”

  “Sure,” he nodded emphatically. “What were you saying about Ricky’s arm?”

  Raising a suspicious eyebrow to indicate that she didn’t believe him, Kate plopped down into a chair to repeat what she’d just said. “There are no medical records for Ricky’s broken arm.”

  “He faked it?”

  “Terry McGinnely said he never saw an x-ray or anything,” Kate elaborated. “Ricky just turned up a month ago with his arm in a cast and a letter from a doctor saying that he’d fallen and broken his arm and would need the next two months off work.”

  Xavier could believe that. Terry McGinnely seemed like a very trusting individual and, based on past experience, he had no reason to think that Ricky Preston was being anything other than truthful. “The letter from the doctor, let me guess: it was a fake.”

  “No such doctor exists,” Kate nodded. “Ricky wrote it himself.”

  “Well, I think I found out not only how his mother died but also the reason he’s been doing all of this,” Xavier couldn’t quite keep a grin from taking over his face. Finally, he felt like he was making progress, and the closer he got to understanding Ricky Preston and his motivations, the closer he got to finding Annabelle. Carefully, he pushed away the wave of fear that lapped at his toes as he thought of Annabelle, scared and alone and helpless at the hands of a maniac. Fear wasn’t going to help him right now; it was only going to slow him down. Plus, he already knew that Kate was watching him like a hawk, ready to have him removed from the case if she thought he couldn’t handle things.

  “How did his mother die?” Kate asked.

  “House fire.”

  “Interesting,” Kate arched a brow. “So I guess not a coincidence that he tried to burn you and Annabelle alive.”

  “This year is the thirtieth anniversary of Lisbeth Preston’s death,” he continued. “Ricky was sixteen when his mother died. No siblings, absent father, young Ricky and his mother were very close. The fire happened one day while he was out with some friends, his mother was home alone, fire was caused by some candles setting the curtains alight.”

  “How does that tell us why he’s doing this?” Kate looked confused.

  His grin grew bigger. “Because Ricky Preston didn’t believe his mother died because of some candles.”

  “What did he believe happened?”

  “He believed that his mother died because no one ran inside the burning building to rescue her. Apparently, Lisbeth Preston was trapped upstairs when the fire broke out downstairs. She couldn’t get out. Witnesses saw and heard her screaming for help through a window, but the fire was too fierce and they couldn’t get inside. When the fire was finally put out and they got inside, Lisbeth’s body was found in the attic. The fire hadn’t gotten to her, she died of smoke inhalation. Her hands were all cut and bloody from trying to break through the glass windows to escape…”

  “That's why he cuts off their hands,” Kate inserted.

  “And I’m guessing he cuts out their eyes and tongues because he thinks people watched his mother begging for help and didn’t do anything about it. I suppose in his twisted mind it’s symbolic for him. Cutting out the tongues is his way of punishing them so they can’t call for help and the eyes because they looked and did nothing.”

  “So Ricky thought his mother, his only family, died needlessly, that if only someone had gone inside and rescued her, then his mother would have lived and his life would have been fine.”

  “More specifically,” he added, “Ricky Preston thought his neighbors should have gone inside the house to save his mom. That’s what he told the reporters, said his mom was murdered.”

  Her dark blue eyes grew wide. “You think he’s hunting down all his old neighbors?” Kate asked.

  “At the time of his mother’s death, he only had one neighbor; they lived on a new housing estate and most of the other houses weren’t occupied yet. I think he’s hunting down all the neighbors he’s ever had,” he clarified. “He started with the Englewoods, his current neighbors, and I’m going to guess that at some point in his life he also lived next door to the Jenners, the Ranklings, and the Littletons.”

  “With the Littletons he left that message, that he was finished. Do you think that they were the family he was living next to when his mother died?”

  “Unconfirmed at the moment,” he replied. “We’re waiting for the police reports to be faxed over, but right now, I’m hoping that the house where Ricky’s mother died is where he’s currently holed up with Annabelle.” Xavier also hoped that whatever Ricky had in mind for Annabelle, he hadn't yet had a chance to act out.

 
; * * * * *

  12:03 P.M.

  Why didn’t Xavier come?

  He should have figured it out by now, she needed him to figure it out.

  Annabelle couldn’t stand spending another second tied up in her basement, she needed to get out of here now.

  She was going crazy.

  Her shoulder was aching horribly, the stitches had been ripped out and blood had been oozing out for hours. Her arms were numb from so many hours in the same awkward position. Earlier, she had managed to work herself into a standing position. It had taken her a long time. Weak from the drugs Ricky kept giving her, her legs had refused to cooperate, her knees buckling each time she got halfway up, sending her dropping back down. Each time she slipped, her shoulder was jerked painfully, and she began to wonder whether Ricky had positioned her that way on purpose. She had eventually made it to her feet, and the relief to her arms and shoulders was immediate. Unfortunately, she hadn’t managed to remain standing for long. With little energy, she had soon collapsed, once again sending pain shooting up her shoulder, as she thumped down onto her knees.

  Strength sapped, Annabelle attempted to curl up in the most comfortable position she could manage and waited.

  For what, she wasn’t quite sure.

  Waiting for Xavier to come and find her?

  Waiting for Ricky to come back?

  Waiting to die?

  As she attempted to rest her head against her good shoulder, she caught sight of the scars that crisscrossed her chest and arms, she couldn’t see them but she knew they marred her back too.

  Annabelle didn’t know how she had gotten them.

  Well she knew, but she didn’t know. Something had happened to her when she four. Something bad. But she only remembered bits and pieces. A dark room, a man with a scary face, and screaming. Lots of screaming.

  But she had been rescued.

  Returned home to her family.

  Only her family hadn’t been the same anymore.

  After that, her parents had been different. They had been distant with her. Closed off. No longer the loving parents she remembered. As she looked at the scars, she understood why—they couldn’t love her anymore after what had happened to her. And that was the real reason she didn’t date. If even her own parents couldn’t love her, then how could she expect anyone else to?