by Joanna Wayne
“Wait a minute. I hear that noise again,” Jessica said, “and it is not a rat.”
“I hear it, too. It’s coming out of that wall.”
“It’s a baby. A ghost baby.”
No one was giggling now.
“Let’s hold hands,” Sara said. “Hold on very tight in a circle. Ghosts can’t break a circle of friends.”
They held hands, but the baby kept crying. And it didn’t sound like a ghost at all.
“I think that’s what happens if you’re very bad, like if you get caught down in the basement with your friends after lights-out. They just bury you in the wall, and you never come out.”
“I want to go to my room,” Daphne said. “I don’t want to be buried in the wall.”
They held hands and walked back up the cold, dark stairs. And the baby in the wall just kept crying and crying and crying.
CAROLINE CAME TO slowly, dizzy and disoriented, her vision blurred. Strange memories played in her mind. She was young, playing with her friends in a cold, dark basement. She’d been asleep and this was the nightmare, but it had never been this clear before.
She tried to concentrate so that she could hold on to this part of her past when she woke up. Not the dark stairs, the cold basement or the heart-wrenching sound of a baby crying. But the good parts. Being with her friends.
“Won’t be long now.”
Ron’s voice cut through the thick fog that filled her mind, and she was aware of a whole new nightmare. She tried to sit up, but she couldn’t move. Her hands were tied behind her back and her feet were tied together. The rope cut into her flesh. She was wearing the red dress. She didn’t remember putting it on. In fact, the last thing she remembered was the crack of Ron’s gun against her skull.
She must have blacked out. So Ron had dressed her. He’d touched her body. Her stomach churned at the thought.
But she couldn’t give in to the fear or the revulsion. She had to use all her mental and physical energy to escape. So where was she? She looked around. Her vision wasn’t as blurred now, but it was dark, and all she could see clearly was the back of Ron’s head. And walls.
A truck. She was in the back of an enclosed truck, and from the way her body was being bounced around, they must be traveling at a high speed.
“Caroline.”
Someone was in the truck with her. Or maybe she was sliding back into the nightmare—or just losing her mind.
“Caroline. It’s me, Trudy.”
“Either shut up back there or talk loud enough so I can hear you. I don’t like whispering.”
“Trudy Mitchell?”
“Yes. Who is that man, Caroline? Where is he taking us?”
“He works at the newspaper.” And none of this made sense. “How did you get mixed up with him?” Caroline kept her voice low in spite of Ron’s order.
“He broke into my bedroom while I was asleep,” Trudy whispered. “He threatened me with a knife, told me he’d cut my throat if I made a sound. He did cut me a little. I felt the blood run down my neck and then he hit me in the back of the head with something that felt like a hammer.”
“Probably the same gun he hit me with,” Caroline whispered back.
“Probably. I woke up in the back of the truck. My hands and feet are tied.”
“Mine, too.” It still didn’t add up. “Did you meet Ron at the Catfish Shack?”
“No. I’ve never seen him before, but he’s going to kill me.” Trudy started to cry.
“He won’t kill you.”
“Yes, he will. He told me so before he kidnapped you and threw you into the truck. He’s going to kill me because he read what you wrote about me and he said I’m a lying slut. I’m not a slut. I’m not.”
“No, and I never said you were. His mind is twisted, Trudy. Twisted and deranged.”
Caroline had written about Trudy and Josephine’s interactions. And she had notes on Trudy’s testimony concerning Jack. But they’d never run in the newspaper. Nothing about Trudy had ever gone to print. Ron must have read the information about her directly from Caroline’s computer late at night when no one was watching. Or else he’d read her private notes.
The Prentice Park Killer had been working at the Prentice Times all along.
And now he was in the white paneled truck that belonged to the newspaper. Normally it was used for delivering papers to the carriers and the dispensers located in various spots around Prentice. There was a barrier behind the driver to keep the stacks of newspapers from pouring into the front seat in the event of a sudden stop.
That was why all they could see was the back of Ron’s head and the very top portion of the front windshield, and why it was all but pitch-dark in the back of the truck.
And now they were speeding down the highway—probably on their way to be killed the same way Sally and Ruby had been killed. Throats slit. Stripped naked and left to bleed to death.
No. She couldn’t think like that. She was a survivor. Sam had said so. She couldn’t give up, especially now when she had so much to live for. For the first time in her life she loved someone who loved her back. Someone brave and strong and good. If only there was just some way to reach him and let him know where they were. Sam could stop Ron.
But Sam wasn’t here. She had to do this on her own.
Her head pounded with pain, which became more excruciating with every bounce of her body against the floorboard of the truck. It was hard to breathe and difficult to swallow. She wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, then forced herself to interact with the monster.
“Where are you taking us, Ron?”
“To our place. Yours and mine. We were meant to be together, Daphne. You and me.”
“And we are together. So why do you have me tied up in the back of the truck?”
“Because you screwed up everything when you started sleeping with Sam Turner.”
She had to keep him talking, had to get a better handle on what this was all about. Then maybe she could find a way out. “I didn’t want to sleep with him, Ron. He made me. It was you I wanted all along. Always you.” The words gagged her, but she had to fight for life—hers and Trudy’s. And she’d do whatever it took to stay alive until she was in Sam’s arms again.
Whatever it took. The dread and revulsion swelled inside her and tears filled her eyes.
Oh, Sam. I love you so. I hope you know that. I hope you always know.
THE DOOR to Caroline’s house was wide open when Sam arrived, and a table in the hall had been knocked over. Shards of glass from a broken vase were scattered about the floor.
Adrenaline rushed through Sam like water through an open floodgate. He rushed inside, searched every room, even the basement, where he knew Caroline would never willingly go.
The house was empty.
She was gone and he had no clue where to look for her. He stopped in the drawing room and stood in front of the fireplace, feeling as if someone had smashed a fist into his chest and ripped his heart from his body.
This is how it had been when he’d come home from work and found Peg’s body sprawled across the floor, a bullet through her head. He’d never thought anything could hurt that way again.
He’d been wrong.
He’d known the other night when they’d talked about Peg that he cared deeply for Caroline. But he hadn’t fully understood the depth of his feelings for her. But now, standing here in the drawing room where they’d made love that first night and knowing that Caroline was at the mercy of a madman, he realized he didn’t want a life without her.
He had to find a way to get to her. The clues were there; they always were. You just had to search until you found them.
Determined, he stormed into Caroline’s office, turned on her computer and logged on to the Internet. He pulled up her e-mail and did a quick scan until he found the message from her stalker.
He read it slowly, though his heart was racing.
Hello, Daphne
I’m thinking of you, though I�
��m not happy you spent last night with Sam Turner. I had hoped you were saving yourself for me. But then, you don’t really know me yet. You will soon. And you’ll discover how very much we have in common. Much more than you have with Sam. He hasn’t suffered as we have. But he will. Trust me, he will.
Take care, Daphne. Our destiny is upon us.
Sam printed the message and read it again.
This was their serial killer, not Jack Smith. Jack was mean and abusive, a pampered thug. But he wasn’t in the same league as this guy. This guy was totally depraved, barely human.
Sam reread the message. Strange, but he felt drawn to the winding staircase, as if there was something up there he needed to know, or maybe it was just that he knew it was Caroline’s favorite part of the house.
Taking the printed copy of the message with him, he climbed the stairs. He dropped onto the sofa, message in hand and tried to think what it might mean.
The guy was clearly upset because Caroline had been with him. Not just that she’d been with another man, but that she’d been with him specifically—at least that was how it sounded.
But he spoke of something he and Caroline had in common. Was this guy a reporter? But how would that fit into the suffering? The suffering they had endured, but not Sam. And the guy seemed to take pleasure in calling her Daphne.
Sam looked up from the note and stared at the portrait of Frederick Lee Billingham. “You’ve seen a lot go down during your years at the head of the stairs, Frederick. Lots of mothers giving birth, nurturing their children. Tell me what you know, good buddy. Steer me right. You’re here every night. You gotta know how special Caroline is.”
Frederick stared down from the portrait and his eyes seemed to implore Sam to figure this out. Mothers who nurtured. They’d probably done that in this house. But that didn’t happen everywhere. Caroline’s mother had thrown her away like yesterday’s garbage. Had this lunatic also been a orphan?
It was possible, even made sense in a way. At least it tied in with the shared suffering he talked about and with his calling her Daphne, which had been her name when she’d lived in an orphanage. They could have lived in the same one. Maybe that was the bond.
But obviously not at the Grace Girls’ Home. Perhaps Meyers Bickham.
Meyers Bickham, the orphanage that had sprung straight from the bowels of hell. That was what R.J. had said about the place. He’d hated it with a passion and hated Sam because he’d lived in the home that R.J. thought should have been his—miserable as it was.
R. J. Blocker. Out of jail on a technicality. A man with no conscience. Deranged enough to kill innocent people chosen randomly? Consumed with enough hate for the mother who’d deserted him that he’d take pleasure in killing innocent women? Evil to the core?
The answer to all the questions was a resounding yes.
Add to that the likelihood that the hate R.J. harbored for Sam would only have grown stronger while he’d been in prison.
The evidence and gut instinct both pointed to R.J. A combination that was almost never wrong.
Now R.J. had Caroline. Sam rushed out of the house with only one thing on his mind. He had to find the woman he loved before it was too late.
R.J. SLOWED THE TRUCK and pulled off the road, but on high ground so he wouldn’t get stuck in the mud. The grass was high, and he didn’t like high grass, was deathly afraid of the slimy creatures that slithered through it.
But he had to relieve himself, and it was safer to do it alongside the road than in a truck-stop rest room where someone might hear the two women call for help.
He took care of life’s little necessity, then went to the truck and opened the back door. It always smelled of newsprint to him. And the black ink they used in the presses. He liked the smell of the ink.
He reached into the truck, grabbed hold of Caroline’s arm and pulled her to the back edge of the vehicle. “I think it’s time you and I got to know each other a little better.”
CAROLINE HELD her breath as Ron tugged the top of her red dress down to reveal more of her breasts. She shook from a chill that seemed to harden to ice around her heart. She wanted to scream, to fight. But she was bound by rope. And screaming might make him kill both her and Trudy right now.
Her only hope was to close her mind so completely that she shut out Ron’s touch, that she didn’t feel his hands on her flesh. If she closed her mind, he couldn’t reach her at all.
She tried, but still, revulsion nearly gagged her as Ron lifted the skirt of her dress and trailed his fingers up her legs. Her skin crawled as if he’d loosed a hundred spiders to parade across her flesh.
“You’re beautiful, Daphne. And you were supposed to be mine.”
“We hardly knew each other.”
“We would have.”
“We can still work it out, Ron, but first you’ll have to let Trudy go.”
“No. If you want me to believe you are with me now, you’ll have to prove your loyalty, Daphne. You have to help me kill Trudy. I’ll hold her, but you have to wield the knife. We can do it now. Kill her and leave her for the buzzards.”
Trudy began to whimper.
Caroline shuddered. This was so sick, so horribly, horribly sick. Ron was completely insane. She didn’t know how he’d managed to seem so normal at the newspaper day after day with such deranged thoughts and schemes in his head.
She had to think, had to buy time.
“We shouldn’t waste that much time on her now, Ron. Someone might see us parked out here and catch us killing her. We should get out of here, but let me ride in front with you. That way we can talk and plan and get to know each other better.”
“If you’re sure you won’t try anything…”
“I won’t, I promise, but please untie me. The rope is cutting into my wrists and ankles.”
Ron’s face seemed to spasm for a minute, then he picked Caroline up and carried her to the passenger seat. Once he’d climbed behind the wheel, he reached under the seat and pulled out a hunting knife. Caroline’s heart slammed against the walls of her chest as new waves of fear washed through her. But apparently he wasn’t going to slit her throat just yet.
“Lean forward so I can get to your hands. But I’m leaving the rope around your ankles. And if you make any move I don’t like, the rope goes back on the wrists.”
She breathed a sigh of relief as the rope fell and her hands were freed. She’d passed the first hurdle. Her hands were untied and both she and Trudy were still alive. But now she was in the front of the truck, within reach of Ron’s loathsome hands. She watched fearfully as he stuck the knife through his belt.
Thankfully, he didn’t touch her again. He didn’t even talk, just seemed to drift back into the madness of his mind.
Caroline concentrated on escape. She might be able to grab the wheel and make Ron crash the truck. But that would only leave them stranded with him in the middle of nowhere.
She could hear Trudy crying softly. She wished she could tell her that she wasn’t forsaking her and moving to the side of the enemy, but she didn’t dare.
“Where are we going?” Caroline asked when Ron had driven about ten minutes without speaking a word.
“Home.”
“This isn’t the way to my house. You’re going north.”
“It used to be your home.”
“Are you talking about Meyers Bickham?”
“Yeah.”
“Why would we go there? You said it’s a horrible place.”
“Because Sam will go there looking for you. He has to be there when I kill you. That’s what makes this whole thing so perfect. He didn’t know I killed Peg, so her death was almost useless. But this time he’ll know.”
“You killed Peg?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Sam loved her.”
He made it sound so mundane, as if killing a human was of no more consequence that swatting a mosquito. “Why do you hate Sam so much?”
“He stole
my life.”
“Did he arrest you for a crime?”
“Yes, but he stole my life long before that. While I was at Meyers Bickham, he was with my dad in a house with a yard and a bedroom of his own. A house without rats.”
Oh, man, this was too crazy. But it added up. “You’re R.J. You’re Sam’s stepbrother.”
“Sam’s no kin of mine. My dad just ran off with his slut mother.”
“But why did you kill Sally and Ruby? Sam wasn’t in love with them. He didn’t even know them.”
“Prentice is his town. He’s supposed to be the hotshot detective, but no one thinks that of him now. Everyone with a TV or a newspaper knows that Sam Turner is a failure, just as I’d planned. No matter how he was raised, he’s no better than me.”
But Sam was better, a million times better, and she ached to feel his arms around her one more time before she died.
“You talk too much, Daphne, and I don’t believe you, anyway. You’re in love with Sam and that’s just too damn bad.” He slammed on the brakes and pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road. “I’m throwing you back with Trudy where you belong.”
He jumped out of the truck and stamped in front of it, on his way to drag her from the front seat and throw her in the back. And in that second, Caroline saw her chance. She threw her bound feet over the gearshift and planted them on the accelerator, pushing as hard as she could. The truck jerked forward.
Ron was knocked onto the hood as the truck careened into a wooded area. He slipped off just as the truck came to a jolting stop against a large pine. Trudy screamed. Caroline went flying toward the windshield, but broke the force of the impact with her hands.
The engine sputtered and died, but a cloud of dark smoke billowed from beneath the bent and mangled hood. Caroline hadn’t been seriously hurt, but she couldn’t see where Ron was. Hopefully he was injured enough to slow him down.
“We have to get out, Trudy. Now!” Caroline tugged at the ropes on her ankles, but they didn’t loosen.
