by J. E. Taylor
Hands pushed her against the door, both ice cold and burning hot at the same time, scorching her skin, caressing her. Jennifer wheezed, her gasps creating a fog in the freezing air. Her hands clawed at the door, desperately seeking the doorknob as the thing in the closet pressed against her. The stench of fire and rotting flesh filled the air. The rank breath of the demon from her nightmares tickled her shoulder. It grabbed her wrists, searing the skin and bringing her arms over her head. “I promise you will scream for all eternity.” It hissed and a scream mixing pain with terror shot from Jennifer’s restricted lungs.
Jennifer sat up, shaking and dripping with sweat, the dream hanging on like a frightened child. She glanced over at the closet and shivered at the wide open door. Her foggy, hung-over mind clenched and she blinked a few times, just staring at the door. Wasn’t it closed this morning?
She bit her lip, swearing Steve had closed it before he left.
Didn’t he?
Unsure of which parts of her memory were real and which were dreams she stared at that opening. “He closed it,” she said to the empty room. Reluctantly, she tore her eyes away from the gaping closet and glanced at the clock. It was almost ten. She swung her legs out of the bed, giving the closet a wide berth. She opened the shades, spilling light into the room.
“Come on,” she said, stubbornly shaking her head. “It was only a dream.” She took a tentative step toward the closet. Like Flash Gordon, she reached in and flipped on the light.
Only clothes and shoes, see?
She scanned the rack from the safety of the bedroom. Her focus zoomed in on an outfit and again she shot in, ripped the outfit off the hanger, and hopped out.
Chuckling at her skittishness, she turned the light off, closing the closet door.
In the changing room, she caught a quick glance of herself in the mirror and stopped. Her heart hammered against the walls of her chest and her reflection paled. Burn marks in the shape of fingers wrapped around both her wrists. The clothes dropped to the floor and her lungs started their slow restriction, strangling the breath from her. The world tilted to slow motion and her hand rose to move her hair away from her shoulder, the other picking up the vanity mirror. Jennifer turned, holding the looking glass so she could see the reflection of her back. Forcing her eyes to stay glued to the image, she moved the hair away. Her hand squeezed the handle of the mirror tight and her eyes grew wide. The wheeze coming from her lungs now whistled in quick panting beats.
Red welts. Red welts in the shape of hands. Red welts exactly where it had touched her in the dream.
“Jesus.”
Shaking, she receded into the shower, locking the door behind her and letting the hot steam clear her lungs. She ran the soap over her skin, the cucumber and melon scent drifting on the air, mingling with her fear, and her eyes never left the locked shower door. When she finished shampooing her hair, she turned the water off and wrapped a towel around herself, tentatively stepping out of the steam and into the cool room.
Jennifer dressed quickly and ran a brush through her hair. All the while, her heart rattled against her rib cage like a fluttering bird caught in an unfamiliar house. She expected the thing to come bursting through the door at any moment and couldn’t get out of the apartment fast enough. Hurrying down the hall, she grabbed her keys and slid the flip-flops by the door on her feet. She ripped open the door and let out a surprised yelp.
Bill stood with his fist inches from the wood, getting ready to knock. “Just the person I was looking for,” he said and stepped into the doorway.
“Billy, I’m going to be late for my lunch date,” she said, trying to scoot past him.
“Yes, you are.” He closed the door behind him, blocking her escape.
“What the...” Jennifer began.
Bill punched her in the temple and she went down cold.
The ritual had begun.
Chapter 34
Bill smiled at his handiwork and glanced over his shoulder at the closed doors of the crypt Adam and Joe guarded. Up until the moment he had Jennifer in the trunk of his car, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull this off. Now, in the darkness of the tomb, anticipation boiled in his blood. Goosebumps covered his skin at the sight of her laid out on the altar, unconscious, naked, helpless.
When he ran his fingertips over her bound body, she shivered under his touch. He stepped back, studying her. A frown crossed his lips. He moved closer, lifting her head and fanning her hair out on the grey stone.
Better.
Satisfied, he crossed into the shadows, letting the vision of her fill his eyes. Need swelled in him and he reached for the small square package in his back pocket. Twirling it between his thumb and forefinger, he waited.
Jennifer’s moan echoed in the chamber. Her head tilted away from the bright sun that spilled through the stained glass windows, shading the room in a collage of colors. Her hand stopped short of her face, the shackle chain rattling and scraping against the stone. Her eyes fluttered open. Deep creases appeared in her forehead as her eyes darted from the mosaic painting of Paradise Cove in the ceiling to the painted window. When she lifted her head, another groan escaped her lips and her head bounced back on the stone with a thud. The swelling in her right temple had abated, but the ugly purple bruise stood out against her tanned skin.
“Lay back, Jen,” Bill said, bringing her attention to him. He stepped out of the shadows, restlessly twirling the package in his hand.
“Where am I?” She glanced at her right hand, staring at the metal shackle around her wrist. Her head jerked to her restrained left hand, and her eyes went wide, falling back on Bill.
“In a mausoleum in the cemetery,” Bill answered. Approaching her, he ran his hand up the inside of Jennifer’s exposed thigh. “Anticipation—what an odd choice of words for you to hone in on, yet such an accurate description.” He stroked her pussy.
Jennifer tried to jerk away from him, her breath hitching in her chest. “Don’t.”
Ignoring her plea, he continued stroking her with the back of his knuckles. “You are the annual sacrifice this year.”
“What? What sacrifice?” she asked, turning her head to the right, taking in the rest of the mausoleum. Hanging from the wall were several bones in the shape of pentacles and on the floor was a large pentacle painted in red. Her tear-filled eyes landed back on Bill. “Please don’t do this,” she said.
He let his eyes take her in before he slid his finger in her dry path, hard enough to make her breath lock in her chest. “You weren’t supposed to fall for him, Jen, and you certainly weren’t supposed to fuck him,” he said, letting the anger and jealousy take over. He continued to slam his fingers inside her, the frustration growing. He glared at her, grinding his teeth. “Why’s your cunt so dry today, Jen? The other night it was dripping wet.”
A wrinkle appeared between her confused eyes.
“On the couch, you came for me.” He grazed her with his eyes. “I wanted to bury my face in your pussy and suck the cum out of you.” His eyes met her horrified glare. “Tracy would never have known—she was passed out drunk in the bedroom.
Jennifer’s lower lip quivered and the tears slid down her cheeks. She shook her head, unable to speak.
Bill sighed. “Instead, I went and fucked her. I didn’t care that she was unconscious, it was better than screwing this up. But now, now that I’ve got you here.” Leaning over, he parted her with his hands and ran his tongue inside her, tasting her. At the same time, he ran his hand up her trembling stomach until he reached the soft mounds of her chest. He squeezed, pinching her nipples until tears sprang from her eyes.
“Billy, please don’t do this!”
Standing, he licked his lips and pulled his hand away, laughing at the dying hope that flared in her eyes. “Ever since the day we met I’ve wanted to fuck you and you were dead wrong about it never happening. You see, tonight we all get to fuck you.”
“No!” Jennifer screamed.
Bill laughed, meeti
ng her fiery gaze and reveling in her fear. He gave a curt nod. “You’re Beta Theta Pi’s whore now.”
“You son of a bitch!” Jennifer screamed, struggling to get free. “Steve is going to kill you.”
Bill laughed. “Not if I kill him first,” he said, and knocked on the door. “We’ll be back tonight for the main event.” He smiled over his shoulder at her as the doors opened, filtering light in.
Jennifer let out a shriek that carried out the door with Bill.
* * * *
She watched the doors to the crypt close, leaving her sobbing on the cold stone, and certain she would never see the light of day again.
Chapter 35
Steve sat in the student center pub, looking from his watch to the door and back. Murphy waited, impatiently drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
“Where is she?” Murphy asked, looking up at the clock. It was quarter after twelve.
Steve shook his head. “I don’t know. She said she’d be here.” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number. It rang and dumped into voicemail. “Hey, babe, waiting for you in the pub.” He snapped the phone shut, the uneasiness getting the best of him. He called the apartment and listened as Tracy and Jennifer’s voices announced that they couldn’t come to the phone right now. He hung up in frustration, glancing over at Murphy.
“Do I need to put out an APB?” Murphy asked, flipping his phone open.
“She might just be fashionably late,” he said, even though his gut told him otherwise. “You’ve got the safe house all set, right?”
“Yes. Are you all set for tonight?”
Steve nodded. “I still don’t know the particulars though.” He glanced at his watch again and opened the phone, scrolling through the numbers. He pressed the call button and put the phone to his ear. “Hey, Tracy, Jen was supposed to meet me for lunch. Do you know where she might be?” He closed his eyes. “Okay, I’ll try her cell again.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t know where Jen is,” he said to Murphy and got up, dropping a twenty on the table. His insides knotted. Coiled rattlers struck, their sharp fangs piercing his stomach, their rancid poison burning. That burning sensation generated a certainty that something had gone terribly wrong.
His walk turned into a run as he made a beeline out of the student center toward his car. Murphy caught him by the arm, halting his progress. Steve yanked his arm away, visions clouded his mind—visions of Jennifer lying in her room, unable to get to the phone, unable to get away from the sinister thing in her closet, unable to breathe.
“She was fine when I left her this morning.” He continued toward his car.
Murphy grabbed his arm again. “I’m taking you off this case.”
“The hell you are,” Steve snapped, turning on Murphy. “She wouldn’t just blow me off, Murph.” He started toward the car again and stopped after a few steps. “You coming?”
Murphy shook his head, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got a conference call with my boss in fifteen minutes. As soon as you find her, let me know.”
Steve got into his car and pulled out his gun, checked the clip, and slipped it back into place under the seat. He threw the car in gear, flying over to the apartment. Her car was still in the lot and his heart leapt into his throat. He jogged into the building and waited impatiently for the elevator. “Come on, come on, come on.” The numbers crawled, declining one by one as if time had stopped and restarted in jerking succession.
He closed his eyes. When the ascent began, his entire body tensed like a leopard ready to strike, and when the elevator opened on the top floor, he darted to the door. Knocking and pressing the doorbell in tandem, he closed his eyes, inhaling to calm his racing heart.
“Fuck it.” He stepped back and kicked. The wood around the lock mechanism shattered and the door sailed open, banging against the wall. Steve stepped inside the apartment, yelling her name. He covered every inch of the apartment twice, including her closet.
She wasn’t there.
Cold fingers wrapped around his heart, squeezing slowly.
“Damn, damn, damn,” he repeated under his breath, turning in a circle in the living room.
He stepped into the hallway, surveying the ceiling until he found what he was looking for. He closed his eyes and hung his head for a moment, a fragment of relief flooding through him, tempering the chill in his heart.
Cameras, surveillance cameras. Thank god.
He needed those security tapes. He walked into the rental office on the first floor and realized he didn’t have his badge. Instead of playing the FBI card, he improvised, smiling at the rental agent.
“Hi, I’m doing a story for the school paper about building security. Can you help me out and give me a tour of your security office and set up?” he asked, flashing his student ID. “Tammy,” he added, glancing at her nametag.
“Sure. I’ve seen you around here a few times, haven’t I?”
Steve flashed a brilliant smile and nodded. “My girlfriend lives in the penthouse—she’s the one who suggested I talk to you. She said there are surveillance cameras all over the place in this building.”
“It’s standard these days to have cameras mounted in the hallways, elevators, and lobby, as well as in the parking lot, especially since the front doors aren’t locked during the day.”
Steve nodded, taking a small pad off the desk along with a pen and jotted down notes regarding the camera locations. “What time do you lock the doors?” he asked as she motioned for him to follow her into the back hallway.
“We lock the doors from eight at night to eight in the morning.” She smiled over her shoulder.
“How many cameras do you have in operation?” he asked as they went down a narrow stairwell and into a small room with six monitors.
“Six.” She pointed, smiling at him. “We record video but no audio.”
“How long do you keep the recordings?” he asked.
“We have a rolling seven day recording process. Each disc represents a twenty-four-hour period.”
“Do you ever review the tapes randomly?” he asked.
She blushed. “We sometimes spot check.”
“Can you show me how it works?” He pointed to the recorder.
“I don’t know.” She bit her lip, looking from him to the control panel.
“Come on, we can check out what time I left the penthouse this morning.”
She nodded and rewound the tape for the penthouse hallway. Something flashed across the screen quickly, then there was another flash, and finally she slowed the tape down. She found the spot on the tape where he’d left, slightly disheveled and hung over—a far cry from his current neat appearance.
“Can I try?” he asked.
Tammy hesitated, glancing between him and the monitor.
“I felt as bad as I looked.” He pointed at the frozen picture. “We went to The Dean’s Office last night.”
She offered a knowing smile. “Ah. You recovered well.” She ran her eyes over him and sighed. Nodding, she agreed and Steve sat down at the control board.
He looked up at her for confirmation as he moved the controller back and forth, rewinding and forwarding the tape.
“That’s right,” she said. The buzzer went off and she glanced at the monitor for the rental office camera. “I’m sorry. I have a customer in the office.”
Steve turned. “Can I just write down the make and models of your cameras and system?” he asked. “I’ll come right up when I’m done, I promise.” He offered his irresistible smile.
Nodding, Tammy scurried out of the room.
Steve shook his head. Security around here is pathetically loose. He focused back on the video camera, fast-forwarding. Stopping, he rewound and played, watching Tracy leave the apartment a few minutes after he had. The second pass in fast forward, another flash crossed the screen and he rewound, stabbing the play button just before the anomaly.
His fists slowly closed into tight balls as he watched the screen. Bill stepped into the a
partment, blocking Jennifer, and closed the door. The clock on the counter said it was eleven-thirty. Minutes later, he came walking out with Jennifer over his shoulder. She was out cold. “Fuck!” Steve popped the disc out, slipping it into a case, and slid it into the waistband of his shorts, pulling his shirt over it. He replaced it with a disc from a couple of days before, pressing record before he took the stairs three at a time. He closed his eyes at the landing, taking a deep breath to compose himself. With a smile plastered on his lips, he stepped into the office. “Thank you, Tammy,” he said, putting her pad and pen back on the counter.
She smiled offhandedly at him and continued answering questions.
Steve walked out to his car and flipped the phone open. He stabbed the speed dial and waited.
“I’m on the other line,” Murphy said.
“You need to subpoena the video surveillance at the apartment,” he growled into the receiver. “Bill Tyler has Jennifer.” He closed his eyes. “I’ve got the proof—the surveillance tape of him taking her is in my hands right now.” He pulled the disc out and slipped it into the glove compartment. “It’s in my car.” He listened to Murphy swear. “Just get the damn subpoena so we can get the lobby and parking lot tapes.”
“Where are you going?” Murphy asked.
“I’m going to get Jennifer,” Steve said and glanced in his rearview mirror.
“It’ll take me a couple of hours to get the subpoena, so don’t do anything stupid.”
“Why the fuck is there a tail on me?”
“To cover your ass,” Murphy said.
“If he keeps following me, I’ll shoot him,” Steve said and hung up the phone. He swung out of the parking lot, shifting gears and outmaneuvering the tail. He took the twists and turns leading to his grandfather’s place and slammed to a stop in front of the cabin. Jumping from the car, he lined his gun up to the last curve in the driveway, aiming where he expected the undercover FBI agent to pull into view. The sound of crunching gravel under the hum of an engine got closer and Steve wasn’t disappointed.
