Dead of Summer

by Sherry Knowlton

  “So, now, I use my power in service to Lord Buddha and the village Nat, called Nang Ton Pho. Using reliquaries has been my own unique twist. I collect a bone from each sacrifice to complete an entire body for the Nat.”

  When Quinn walked to the female outline sitting on the altar, Alexa stirred to attention.

  As if Quinn were teaching one of his classes, he lifted out each gilded wooden box for illustration. “This is a hand. And this. Here are the two leg boxes. And the feet. Of course, the breast is simply tissue—so odd that such an iconic part of the female form dissolves so quickly into dust. But I’ve captured a piece of the breastbone, here.”

  Alexa couldn’t help but listen with a nauseous fascination to Quinn’s twisted lecture . . . or notice that there were two empty compartments in the form.

  “I’ll confess, it took me awhile to develop the necessary discipline. There for a while I got bored between the full moons, so I sacrificed dogs—just to give me a little amuse bouche between the main courses, so to speak.” Quinn looked a bit embarrassed at this admission.

  Alexa remembered the chilly reception that her mastiff had given Quinn that night at the cabin. No wonder. His hyper-sensitive canine nose must have detected the smell of other dead dogs. If only I’d heeded Scout’s warning, Alexa lamented silently.

  “But now I’ve developed discipline. I’ve been fortunate in finding sacrifices each month. But all of them were disposable women that few would miss: whores, lower class drudges—women with no real intellectual capacity. Truthfully, taking the women was easier than capturing some of those little yappy dogs.

  Alexa slowly pieced it together: the missing women, the hanged dogs—it had all been part of Quinn’s twisted and malicious plan.

  “I’d been fretting about where I could find someone worthy to sacrifice for the skull relic. I was worried that Nang Ton Pho would be angry if I offered her the skull of one of those vacuous sluts.”

  Quinn finished sharpening the handsaw. He rose to place the saw and the knife in a long, gilded box. Locking the box and pocketing the key, he returned to his seat on the leather stool. A candle by the altar sputtered into darkness as Quinn hunched forward, his feverish gaze boring into Alexa’s eyes.

  “Things started looking up when Jack asked me to cozy up to you. When they found out that you’d discovered Cecily Townes’ body, he thought you might have learned something that could connect him to her death. As I got to know you, I began to like you. You are attractive, come from a respectable family. And you are very, very smart.

  “I’ve had you in mind for the skull almost since the day we first met. But, I must confess, I developed some qualms because

  we had become such friends. I found myself choosing other pieces for my boxes; a foot, a hand.” Quinn’s voice hardened to steel. “But when you and your bitch mother brought down my father, all bets were off.”

  Alexa could barely breathe. In her heart, she had known what Quinn had in store for her—or at least the general idea—from the moment she opened her eyes and took in this creepy psycho temple. But now he’d said it. He was going to kill her and put her skull in a box to honor some spirit that lived in a tree in Thailand. Alexa swallowed a bubble of hysterical laughter with a sob.

  Quinn noticed Alexa’s distress and crouched down in front of her. His eyes glittered hard as ice, but he used a soothing tone. “Don’t worry. I’ll be quick and clean. You won’t feel a thing.”

  Alexa forced herself to look him in the eye but couldn’t speak.

  He patted her shoulder as if comforting a worried toddler; then he rose. “Oh, of course. I should mention that you don’t have to worry about sexual violation. Emile taught me that a sacrifice should never be traumatized with rape.”

  Alexa’s stomach lurched as she shrank from his touch.

  “My seed becomes part of the sacrifice only after she is set free. I use my sexual release to bond with the sacrifice as part of the offering.” Quinn turned and sauntered toward the corner of the barn.

  He spoke over his shoulder in a bright voice. “Everything is ready. I’ve got a light repast waiting. I’ll be back when the moon has risen. I would offer you something, but I suspect you’re not very hungry.”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  WHEN THE DOOR CLICKED SHUT, Alexa fell onto her side and curled into a ball, whimpering. This fucking nut job was going to kill her with that wicked looking knife, screw her dead body, then cut off her head with a saw. Terror paralyzed Alexa. She couldn’t move.

  Like a salvation, the mantra crept into her mind: Panic means death. Panic means death. She clawed her way back from the edge and felt the floorboards beneath the carpet digging into her ribs; she smelled the musty barn beneath the cloying incense. She knew she had to fight, to try to escape.

  Alexa opened her eyes and twisted so that she could examine the wall behind her. She had been so mesmerized by Quinn’s little sideshow that she’d paid scant attention to the planks she’d been leaning against. On closer inspection, this wall didn’t extend the whole way to the ceiling; it was more like one side of an old stable. As she ran her eyes up the half wall, Alexa noticed a rusty piece of metal dangling over the top of the stall. Perhaps a bit for a long-dead horse’s mouth or a stirrup? If she could get to that, maybe she could saw through the rope.

  But the top of the wall was several feet above her head. The rope that secured her was looped through a ring near the floor. There was no way she could stand to reach that length of metal.

  Like a ray of clear light, it came to her. All these months of trying to master the Scorpion pose could help here. Alexa slipped off her shoes and turned to face the wall directly beneath the piece of metal. She tried to quell her panic and become calm.

  After several deep breaths, Alexa positioned her arms in a V on the rug in front of her. Ironically, the rope between her wrists helped to maintain the proper arm position. On her knees, she lowered her head to a spot between her elbows then straightened her legs into a jackknife pose similar to Dolphin. She moved her legs closer to her body, and slowly and deliberately lifted her legs, one by one, until her body rose into a headstand.

  It took her a few moments to attain balance before the next crucial step. She had to pick up the piece of metal with her bare feet and drop it on her side of the wall. A wrong move and it would be lost on the other side. This maneuver had to be done by touch since her eyes faced the floor.

  With careful deliberation, Alexa raised her head off the floor and arched her back into a C-shape to begin the inverted backbend known as Scorpion Pose. In the full pose, the feet would be lowered close to the head, mimicking the position in which scorpions carry their stingers, looped forward toward their heads. But Alexa wouldn’t need to go that far into the pose. Muscles trembling, legs parallel to her head, she sent her feet toward the wall. This was where she usually crashed to the floor.

  Alexa concentrated with every fiber of her body. Straining to maintain balance, she felt her toes brush the top of the wall. With painstaking control, she brought her feet toward each other until . . . there! Her right toe touched the metal. Inch by inch, she brought her left toe to the other side of the metal and lifted.

  The metal didn’t budge.

  She fought off despair as sweat trickled off her forehead and onto the carpet. For a second, Alexa lost concentration and felt as if she would topple. With sheer force of will, she focused on her breathing to regain concentration.

  After several deep breaths, Alexa again used her toes to clasp the chain. This time, she brought her toes beneath the chain to pry it from the wood. And, in an instant, it was free.

  Too heavy to hold with her feet, the metal piece slipped from her toes and plummeted to the floor, slicing painfully into her left hand. The thick carpet and her hand muffled the sound.

  Alexa ignored the pain and slowly unfolded from her pose. When she reached the rug, she shook from the combined effects of tension and exhaustion.

  Wiping her forehead wit
h the hem of her blouse, Alexa pulled herself together. She had no idea how long it would be until moonrise. Quinn could return to the barn any minute. Alexa looked at the blood trickling from the gash on her left hand and grinned. At least this metal thing was sharp.

  She immediately tested it by hacking at the single rope that connected her to the metal ring in the wall. The play in the cord between her wrists gave her enough mobility to saw the taut rope. Alexa hewed frantically with an ear cocked for Quinn’s arrival. Seconds ticked away until a strand of rope frayed, and then another and another until the whole thing separated.

  Alexa slipped into her shoes and grabbed the metal bit. She would cut the cord between her hands later. When she first stood, she rocked in a wave of dizziness. Spots danced before her eyes. Alexa wobbled but steadied herself against the wooden wall. When the dizziness passed, Alexa rushed toward the altar and tried to open the golden box containing the knife and saw.

  The lock wouldn’t budge.

  Leave it, she thought. There’s no time.

  Following Quinn’s path, she rushed to escape the building. In a well-lit outer room, she found the exit.

  Just as she was about to unlatch the wooden door, Alexa heard movement on the other side. Quinn was coming. She ducked behind some moldering bales of hay.

  Quinn entered the barn dressed in a loose-fitting black tunic and pants. On his head was a scarf tied in a fashion that looked vaguely Asian. Or like the Dread Pirate Roberts in The Princess Bride.

  Jesus, Alexa, she thought. This is not a time for jokes or random thoughts. You have to focus.

  Quinn walked by Alexa’s hiding place, oblivious to her presence. Clearly, he expected to find Alexa right where he had left her. As he entered the temple room, Alexa dashed out the door, catching it before it closed and easing it shut behind her. Emerging from the cool dry interior, she faltered for a moment as she hit a wall of humid heat.

  Her earlier conclusion had been correct. Quinn had taken her to the barn behind his house. She called up every ounce of strength and sprinted past the Victorian monstrosity, hoping to find the keys still in the car. But a light shining from a front window revealed nothing but an empty courtyard. She noticed another building to the left of the house, which could have been a garage, but she couldn’t chance it. The building was dark. It could be locked. He wouldn’t leave car keys in the ignition.

  She looked around frantically for a place to hide, though she could see nothing but an impenetrable barrier of thick dark hedges and towering black trees.

  Seeing no other option, Alexa tore down the lane in the pitch dark, hoping to put as much distance as possible between her and Quinn. As she ran, she tensed for the moment Quinn would come after her. With each step, she imagined Quinn tearing apart the barn, furious to find her missing. A split second later, the

  barn door slammed. Quinn howled a chilling roar of loss and anger. The maniacal tone of his screams raised goosebumps over Alexa’s entire body. But she didn’t pause in her headlong flight to find safety.

  Next, Quinn stormed through the house and garage. Alexa kept track of his movements from the sounds of breaking glass and banging doors. She measured her progress forward from the steadily receding volume of Quinn’s curses. But it had taken them a long time to reach the house from the main road. She still had miles to go.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Alexa muttered when that inevitable moment came. A vehicle engine roared back at the house—not the sports car; maybe the pickup truck.

  She couldn’t believe how fast the truck devoured each mile of her hard-won run to freedom. The pickup drove slowly, but in minutes the arc of its headlights fell only a few yards behind Alexa. Just before the headlights threatened to capture her in their snare, the truck stopped. The beam of a spotlight hit the gravel to her right. Sweat streaming down her body, she slipped into the meadow on the left. A few feet in, she became entangled in a huge blackberry bush and squatted low. The metal bit that she had been clasping like a talisman slipped from her hands into the thick underbrush.

  Quinn spoke in a cajoling tone above the idle of the motor. “You may as well come out, Alexa. Clearly, I underestimated you. But that’s exactly why you’ll make the perfect sacrifice. I need someone as smart as you.

  “But you’ll never get away. It’s miles to the main road. These fields are nothing but briars and brambles. There’s no way you can make it out that way. I’d rather have you unscathed for the offering. Calculate the odds yourself, counselor. It’s better to just accept the inevitable.”

  Crouched three feet off the road, Alexa couldn’t dispute his description of the vegetation. This meadow was an impenetrable mass of thorns, baked brittle by the August heat. The dry smell of exploding seedpods mingled with the acrid scent of snapped stems. Alexa fought the urge to sneeze.

  In just a few short feet, the brush had ripped her face and arms to shreds. With her hands still bound, she had limited opportunity to fend off the branches. Mosquitoes swarmed to the gash on her hand and the new scratches on her face. She tried to worm her way farther into the field, but the blackberry thorns had snared a clump of her hair. She crawled forward until the thorns released their hold, but the bush sprang back with a loud rustle. Alexa froze and hugged the ground.

  The movement of the bush gave her away. In an instant, Quinn focused the spotlight on the spot where she lay, panting in fear.

  “I know you’re in there, Alexa. Just give up. Think of it as martyrdom if you want. Into the valley of death rode the smart lawyer.”

  Although she was cornered, it was the bastardized Tennyson quote that sent Alexa over the edge. She leapt to her feet and stalked back onto the road. “You asshole. I am not going to be your docile little sacrifice or martyr or whatever ridiculous pretext you use for your twisted murder games. And I am sick to death of your pretentious overuse of literary allusions. That shit may impress the freshman coeds, but your pathetic attempts to sound intellectual only make me laugh.”

  Alexa knew her chances were slim. But she wouldn’t go willingly. She turned and fled down the lane.

  “You bitch.” Quinn’s shriek hung in the air behind her as she sprinted for her life.

  Quinn took his time. Alexa knew he was playing with her but didn’t slow her pace. The truck door slammed. An eternity later, the pickup drove forward at a leisurely pace. Still, the sputtering crunch of gravel beneath its tires crept steadily closer.

  Alexa scanned both sides of the lane as she ran, looking for an opening in the wall of brambles. All she needed was a bare stretch or even some tall grass, and she could abandon the lane. Maybe find a place to hide. Make it difficult or impossible for Quinn to follow in the truck.

  But she could find no break in this endless tunnel of thorns. Alexa developed a stitch in her side and could feel her pace lag. Dimly, it registered that she had stopped sweating and dehydration might be closing in. Sharp pieces of gravel stabbed through the thin soles of her flats with every footstep. She kept pushing herself down the lane.

  Exhausted to the point of collapse, Alexa had lost all sense of time as she trudged forward. Quinn’s truck dogged her heels. Around her, the inky night had lightened, glowing silver over the treacherous fields. She raised her eyes to the full moon shining high in the sky and knew she had lost.

  Quinn pulled up beside her and spoke through the open window. His eyes glittered in the moonlight like jagged chrome. “This has been quite amusing, Alexa. I don’t think I’ve ever had

  such an entertaining experience. I believe Nan Ton Pho will be all the more pleased to receive such an excellent gift. But I think it’s time to stop the games and get on with the ceremony.”

  Alexa finally stopped walking. Through the thin soles of the ballet flats, her feet were on fire. Head down, gasping for breath, she had to rest her roped hands on the side of Quinn’s truck to remain upright. A muscle in her thigh cramped into an unbearable knot.

  “Fuck you, Quinn,” she whispered. When she straightened to look d
irectly into the barrel of Quinn’s pistol, she was too tired to even flinch.

  “Enough, Alexa.” Quinn motioned with the menacing gun. “Get into the truck.”

  Alexa swayed on her feet, incapable of going on. Still, from the core of her being, she refused to submit to Quinn’s macabre plans for her death. She considered letting him shoot her right there in the road. Then all that knife polishing would have been for naught.

  Quinn sighed and edged his door open. As his foot met the ground, Alexa stumbled backwards.

  In the yawning silence, a faint sound caught Alexa’s attention. She tilted her ear toward the main road and the murmur of sirens borne on the night air. Alexa shook her head to clear it. She knew that desperation must have driven her to conjure up the idea of a police rescue.

  Don’t lose it now, Alexa, she thought as she took another cautious step away from Quinn.

  Then Alexa’s heart leapt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flashing line of blue and red lights. At least three police vehicles sped down the lane toward them, sirens blaring. She summoned the strength to hope.

  Quinn was so focused on Alexa that it took him a moment to register the approaching police cars. When he saw the oncoming vehicles, he lunged for Alexa. She avoided his grasp and threw herself into the meadow, falling into a prickly mound of wild thistle.

  The first police car screeched to a halt a short distance away from the truck. John Taylor and Trooper Cannon tumbled from the vehicle and stood behind their open doors, guns aimed at Quinn. One of them trained a spotlight on the professor.

  Alexa’s heart warmed to see John. But Quinn was out of control. She had to warn them.

  Before she could call out, Cannon yelled. “Hutton. Drop the gun. Where is Alexa Williams?” Additional policemen in protective gear and carrying weapons fanned out on either side of John’s car, slowly moving toward Quinn.