Green shook his head. “You’re not telling me the whole truth,” he said, his eyes narrowing.
Stephen sighed. “What else can I do to convince you?” he asked.
Green leaned forward intently. “Give us a DNA sample.”
Stephen stared at him, confused.
“Oh!” I said excitedly. “They’re trying to figure out where that extra blood drop came from. It’s Howard’s. Say yes, Stephen, say yes!”
“Okay,” said Stephen, shrugging. “Sure.”
Green tilted his head and looked at Stephen thoughtfully. “You know this might place you at the crime scene.”
Stephen shook his head. “Not possible. You might find something in the study where I searched for the files, or the master closet where I hid to go through them, but you’re not going to find anything around where Molly was killed. Or . . .”--he paused, reluctant to say the word--“or dismembered because I wasn’t there.”
Green picked up the phone and made a call, asking someone to bring over a DNA swab kit. Then he turned back to Stephen. “You know what?” he said. “I actually believe you. I believe everything you’ve told me. But there’s something important you’re leaving out.” He shook his head. “And whatever it is, it’s important to you. And that makes me suspicious.”
“Make it about Ashara,” I suggested.
Stephen chewed on his bottom lip and looked at the ground, as if trying to decide whether or not to answer. Hell, for all I knew, he really was trying to decide whether or not to answer. I’m sure he didn’t really want to drag Ashara into this if he could avoid it.
Finally, his shoulders slumped for a second, and then he took a deep breath, preparing himself to speak.
“My girlfriend was with me for some of this,” he said. “I didn’t want to drag her into it, in case I got in trouble for the breaking and entering.”
Girlfriend, I thought. He’s calling her his girlfriend now. Interesting. I’d have to pass that little tidbit on to Maw-Maw at some point when the other two weren’t around.
“What’s your girlfriend’s name?” he asked, pen poised over the paper.
“Ashara Jones,” he said.
Green made a note.
“Tell him that Howard knows about Ashara,” I urged.
“Actually,” said Stephen, “there should already be a report on file. Clifford Howard saw her at one point, and he’s been kind of following her around. She came in a few days ago and reported him trying to run her off the road.”
Green looked at him hard. “A man you suspected of brutally killing Molly McClatchey has been after your girlfriend and you just now come in to tell us about it all?”
Stephen shook his head. “You wouldn’t have believed us before. We didn’t have enough evidence.”
Green nodded--almost unconsciously, it seemed--and began flipping through the files. He picked up Mary McClatchey’s letter to her grandson James. He read through it, nodding again.
“Okay,” he said. “Wait here for a moment.”
He stood up and headed toward the back of the office, where he pulled a file out of an enormous filing cabinet.
He came back and sat down, flipping the file open in front of Stephen.
In it were full-color pictures of the crime scene. On the top of the stack was one of Molly, lying in a pool of blood, her joints separated from each other by inches.
Stephen’s face blanched, and he swallowed convulsively. “Oh, God,” he said, and closed his eyes, turning his face away from the photographs.
“If you’re right, this is the monster who’s been chasing your girlfriend,” Green said. “You should have come to us earlier.”
“She tried,” Stephen said, meeting Green’s eyes squarely and avoiding looking at the picture. “She put in a report that the guy tried to run her down.” His voice grew angry. “No one followed up on it. No one from this station even called her. No one.”
Green nodded and flipped the folder closed again. “Point taken.”
He moved away from the desk again to put the folder back in its drawer. On the way back, he stopped at a phone and made another call.
He leaned back in his seat again, tapping his desk. “Someone will be here in a few minutes to take that DNA sample.”
Stephen nodded. “Fine. But you might want to take a sample of Howard’s DNA while you’re at it.”
Green smiled. “Oh, we’ll get to that. But we might have to have to get that subscribers’ list before we’ll have enough for a warrant. I’ve got a call into a judge right now. We’ll see what he thinks.”
At that moment, I started getting a strange feeling in my middle. A rubber-band feeling.
“Oh, shit,” I said. “Something’s wrong. Maw-Maw’s--” and then pop! I was no longer in the police station.
For a moment, I wasn’t entirely sure where I was. It was dark, and I was bouncing around a lot. Then I realized I was in the back seat of Jeffrey Howard’s SUV. Clifford Howard was driving, gripping the wheel tightly and staring at the road intently.
I heard a moan come from behind me. I turned around to see Maw-Maw and Ashara, both lying in the back of the SUV, their hands bound behind and tied to their feet by a running rope--hog tied, I thought in horror, remembering the rodeos I’d gone to when I was still alive in Texas. Their mouths were covered by strips of duct tape.
And I had no way to get back to Stephen to tell him what had happened.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Oh, God. I may have just thought it, but I may have said it aloud. At any rate, Ashara’s eyes snapped up to mine and I saw hope in hers.
I had some hope, too, but it all depended upon Stephen being able to figure out what had happened. He knew I was tied to Maw-Maw, knew Maw-Maw and Ashara had agreed to wait for us to come back to Maw-Maw’s. He had to know something was wrong.
He even knew that Jeffrey McClatchey had been arrested and that we had been worried about Howard freaking out over it.
Stephen’s smart, I thought. I just have to trust that he’ll find us.
And in the meantime do everything I could to try to get Maw-Maw and Ashara away from Howard.
The feeling in the pit of my non-corporeal stomach now wasn’t rubber-band-ish. It was terror. The sort of terror I hadn’t experienced since before I died. I felt paralyzed, unable to act, much as I had felt when that son-of-a-bitch freakazoid in Dallas had me tied up in his basement, playing with me for day after day after day.
And I had watched Howard cut Molly into pieces. I knew what this man was capable of. I knew he was going to kill Ashara and Maw-Maw.
My mind kept repeating over and over, This is not happening.
But it was. Snap out of it, Callie, I told myself harshly. You’re not tied up here. And you do have some abilities. Think, girl. Think.
Okay. I knew how to fiddle with electricity. I’d already fritzed this SUV out once. Maybe I could do it again.
I moved up into the passenger seat, and concentrated on the panel. I touched it, imagined energy coursing through my palm and into the wires, and the entire panel, along with the headlights, flashed, sputtered, then died. But the car kept running.
“What the fuck?” Howard said, fiddling with the controls.
Then he shook his head and kept driving.
I tried to remember what I had fried out in the engine before. Maybe if I concentrated on that, it could make the SUV stop running. Not that it had kept Howard from fixing it last time. But maybe this time it would give us enough time for Stephen to find us.
But it didn’t work. Maybe I had to have my hand closer to it--on the hood or something--to short it out. Either that or maybe I wasn’t remembering the right thing. It’s not like I knew much about cars.
Okay, then, if not the car, maybe I could get Ashara and Maw-Maw untied. I moved to the back, settling between them.
I started with Ashara, concentrating on the rope around her hands. But when I pulled on it, it tightened the rope around her ankles, forcing her to
bend her knees up further behind her.
The road suddenly got bumpier, and I turned around to look. We were on the old Howard place road.
At least he’s taking us to his house, I thought. That’ll be the first place Stephen will think to look.
But then, a few moments later, we left the road, passed the house, and went driving across a field behind the Howard farmhouse. In moments, we were on a small dirt track running among trees and underbrush. A track that wasn’t easily visible from the house, especially not after dark. Ashara and Maw-Maw were being bounced around unmercifully, unable to brace themselves in any way.
I slammed my fist into the seat back in front of me, then pulled it out of the leather. I couldn’t think what to do.
This is worse than my own death, I thought. I knew I was trapped then, that there was no getting away from the psychopath who had caught me. This time, I should have been able to do something. But I couldn’t even go back and tell Stephen where we were.
Howard seemed to know exactly where he was going, despite the lack of headlights on his car. He finally came out of the woods and into a large clearing. An old, tumble-down barn sat in the middle of the clearing, probably a relic from a time when the Howard place had been a working farm.
He pulled to a stop in front of the barn, and got out to open one of the barn doors. The inside was actually better preserved than I would have guessed from the outside appearance. He’d clearly used this barn for something before.
I shuddered to think what that might be.
Howard came around to the back and popped open the hatch of the SUV.
Now’s my only chance to see if I can get back to Stephen, I thought. I know where they are. Maybe I can tell him.
And with any luck, he would have figured out that something was seriously wrong and gotten the police headed toward Howard’s place.
I set out toward town full speed ahead, scanning the highway for the cavalry. But there were no flashing blue and red lights, no sirens wailing, and no police cars screaming down the road. Not even Stephen’s little car.
I stopped right outside the city limits, scanning the road ahead for anything. Any sign of help. But I saw nothing other than the occasional car passing by, going the speed limit.
Nothing to give me any hope whatsoever that help might be on the way.
With a deep un-breath, I stepped out past the city limits. It was the fastest way to get back to Maw-Maw and Ashara and sure enough, pop! and I was back on the old Howard farm--inside the barn, this time. I could tell that it had held horses at one time--stalls lined the outside walls of one side. And I’d been right. The interior was fairly well maintained.
Howard was in one of the stalls, muttering to himself. He had been prepared for Molly’s murder--he, or he and Jeffrey McClatchey--had planned it out carefully. But this wasn’t something he had planned. It was spur-of-the-moment, and he was having to improvise.
Still, not too bad for improvisational kidnapping, I thought. Ashara and Maw-Maw were both still tied up, though he had changed the configuration of their ropes. Maw-Maw sat on the ground, her hands tied behind her back; her feet stretched out in front of her and tied at the ankles. Ashara’s hands were stretched high above her, tied to a hook sticking out of the wall, the sort of hook I’d seen ranchers at home in Texas hang saddles and other horse-riding gear on. Her feet, also tied at the ankles, barely brushed the ground, so that she was forced to carefully balance on her toes to avoid dangling. Her shoulders have to ache like hell already, I thought. Both of them still had duct tape across their mouths. I moved to stand between them, brushing my hands across their shoulders, feeling helpless and angry.
Howard stood a few feet away, examining them thoughtfully.
“So,” he said, “should I kill grandma first and then do you,” he asked, aiming his question at Ashara, “or should I make grandma watch me fuck you first?”
Neither woman moved. They just glared at him. I realized anew that they had the exact same eyes and the exact same facial expressions.
Howard tapped his finger against his lip, considering.
“Yeah. You first,” he said to Ashara, smiling a hard, ugly smile. “Grandma ought to get a kick out of watching. I know I would.”
Maw-Maw’s eyes narrowed as she watched him move into one of the stalls. When he came out with a knife, she began wiggling, determinedly inching herself closer and closer to Ashara, as if she might be able to stop him somehow.
I focused all my attention on the hook, pushing and pulling as hard as I could, hoping to pull it out of the wall, to distract Howard. Anything. Nothing happened.
“Fight back, Ashara,” I said desperately. “Do whatever it takes to keep him off you.” Yeah. Like I was one to talk. I’d fought back with everything I’d had, and look where I was now. Dead in Alabama, unable to keep my friends from having to go through the same horrors I had endured at the end of my life.
As he came toward her with the knife, her eyes widened and she began to thrash wildly.
Howard’s smile turned evil. “Oh, don’t worry, baby,” he said in a crooning voice, “I’m not going to cut you. Not yet.” He reached out with the knife and slashed the front of her shirt open, leaving it hanging open, exposing her bra and skin.
“Now,” he said, “I suggest you stay very, very still. I don’t want to cut you by accident.” He reached for her pants and sliced them away in a surprisingly delicate and deft motion. Ashara stayed completely still during the operation, an occasional whimper escaping her throat.
“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice throaty. His hands went to his own pants and I saw with horror the growing bulge in them. He took a step closer to Ashara.
“Rack him,” I said suddenly. Ashara looked at me, her eyes wild and uncomprehending. “He’s going to have to untie your legs to do what he wants to do.” I spoke quickly, hoping to break through the terror I saw in her face. “When he gets close enough, swing your legs up and hit him in the balls. It’ll slow him down.”
Ashara took a deep breath, nodding. Howard, his pants now on the dirt floor, took another step toward her. His penis stood erect and purple and for a moment I wished with all my heart that I could use the knife on him.
Ashara swung herself backwards as if to try to move away from him.
“Good,” I said.
And then she used the momentum she’d gained to swing her legs up. Pulling her knees into a crouching position, she slammed them straight into his groin with every ounce of force she could muster.
He dropped instantly, clutching himself. He couldn’t even take a breath. Ashara used that time to swing herself back and then forward again to kick him in the head--not once, but twice.
Maw-Maw nodded in approval.
Howard rolled away, groaning.
I used the time to pull at the hook again. This time it loosened ever so slightly. But it was going to take me hours to get it completely loose, and I didn’t have hours.
Howard stood up again and moved in again toward Ashara, the knife held out in front of him. It was the only thing standing up in front of him, I noticed with satisfaction.
“You fucking nigger bitch,” he said. “You’re going to pay for that.” He slashed at her face with the knife. She whimpered, and a line of red opened up on her cheek. Blood dripped down her face.
“Don’t move,” he said, “or it’ll be worse.” Ashara stayed perfectly still. Howard nodded in satisfaction, then reared back and slapped her across her cut cheek. Blood flew in droplets across the room, soaking instantly into the dirt floor, leaving dark brown spots on the red Alabama dirt.
Howard pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and tied it tightly around Ashara’s neck. She gasped for air, and I could hear the wheeze as she struggled to breathe.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said. “I hear it makes everything hotter.” He leered at her. Then he bent down to cut the rope holding her ankles together, pulling her legs apart and moving in between them.
He slipped the knife under her bra and sliced it open.
I heard Maw-Maw behind me groan past the tape across her mouth. She moved in closer behind me, and I could virtually feel the anger coming off her body in waves of heat.
And then it hit me. I could feel her anger. Not virtually. Really. That was really heat against my non-existent back.
Anger. Anger is energy.
And energy was the one thing I knew I could use.
I didn’t know if I could use it to do what I wanted to do.
But I could sure as hell try.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I put my hand down on Maw-Maw’s shoulder. And this time, I really felt her shoulder. My hand didn’t slip into her like it usually did.
Then I reached out until I could cup Ashara’s cheek, the one Howard had cut.
“Look at me, Ashara. Look at me. Come on, honey.” Ashara rolled her eyes toward me. “That’s good. You’re going to be okay, sweetheart. You’re going to get through this. I want you to keep looking at me. And I want you to think about how mad you are.”
Her eyes shone with fear.
“No, Ashara. Don’t think about being scared. Think about how mad you are. How angry you are that he’s got you tied up, that he’s treating you like an animal.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“That’s it,” I said.
I could almost see Ashara’s anger well up around her, surrounding her in a red haze.
“Good, that’s right, Ashara.”
Behind me I felt Maw-Maw’s angry heat. And I opened myself up to them.
Howard had used the time to move up between Ashara’s legs. He dropped her left leg so that he could reach up and grab her breast.
An angry noise escaped her. Howard leered at her. “You like that?” he asked. “Huh? You like that, you nigger bitch? Well, you’re gonna like this even more.” He let go of her breast to tug at his penis, clearly recovered from the earlier shock of Ashara’s kick to the groin.
I imagined pulling, tugging Ashara’s anger into me, then Maw-Maw’s. And I remembered what the son of a bitch who had killed me had done to me beforehand. And I felt the anger-energy slide into me. Just when I felt that I couldn’t hold any more, that the anger of three people was somehow going to spill out of me, I saw my body begin to glow.
Waking Up Dead Page 19
