That was when he faced the truth he’d been avoiding for the last twenty-four hours: He loved her. So much, it scared him. So much that the idea of someone hurting her made him homicidal. So much that he was going to go nuts if she didn’t turn up at all, or turned up dead. Will acknowledged the strength of the emotion, clenching his fingers around the top rail of the fence and closing his eyes.
He wanted to offer her forever, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.
A bark made him look down. Will saw Pork Chop loping toward him out of the dark.
“What are you doing over there?” Will asked as the dog reached the fence, reared up on his hind legs and pawed the top rail, barking. He’d never before seen Pork Chop in the Wyland Farm fields. As far as he had been aware, Pork Chop couldn’t get over the fence.
“Where have you been, hmm?” Will asked the dog. Pork Chop dropped to all fours, barking. Will stared at him as the dog continued to bark, backing away from the fence.
Had Pork Chop been with Molly? Did he know where she was?
Responding to his gut again, Will went over the fence and followed Pork Chop into the dark.
53
A muffled grating noise made Susan stiffen in Molly’s arms.
“He’s coming,” Susan whispered, trembling. “Oh, Molly, I can fit in the crack but you …”
The beam of a flashlight sliced through the darkness about a dozen feet to Molly’s left. Coming from the surface, it shone downward, illuminating a stone-lined shaft about four feet in circumference. Iron bars formed a jail door-like barrier between the large chamber they were in and the shaft, which Molly presumed led to the stone cover.
The grating noise came again, followed by the sound of footsteps descending. Molly watched as black boots came into view, followed by lean legs in jeans. Iron rungs were set into the side of the shaft to serve as a ladder, she saw. He was climbing down them.
In her arms, Susan was shaking with fright.
“If you have a place to hide, go hide,” Molly whispered, pushing her sister away. Susan hesitated only a second, then slithered away into the dark. Molly lay down, feigning unconsciousness.
Fear dampened her palms and dried her throat as she listened to the clink of metal against metal. Peeking from beneath one nearly closed lid, Molly watched as he inserted a key into the lock on the barred door. The door swung inward with scarcely a sound; the hinges must have been well oiled, and recently.
Probably in preparation for Susan’s abduction.
Molly realized that to everyone on the surface she had now vanished as thoroughly as her little sister. They would be looking for her—Will would be looking for her.
But they hadn’t found Susan. And they hadn’t found Libby Coleman.
They might look for another thirteen years and never find this place.
She had to fight the terror that threatened to engulf her. Giving way to panic was the worst thing she could do. She had to lie very still, lips parted, breathing in and out, in and out …
The flashlight shone full in her face. It was all Molly could do not to flinch.
“You haven’t come out to help your sister, Susan?” Tyler Wyland asked reproachfully, aiming the flashlight along the wall behind Molly. “Her head’s bleeding; she needs you.”
Susan said nothing. Wherever she was—the crack, she had said—Molly assumed that she was beyond Tyler Wyland’s reach. That might be why she was still alive; but still, she couldn’t stay in there forever. She would die just as surely in there as she would out here, just in a different way.
And no one would ever know.
“Now that Molly’s here, I thought we might talk,” Tyler said, still pointing the beam of the flashlight at the wall. “I really don’t want to hurt either of you, you know,”
Oh, right, thought Molly, and prayed Susan had enough sense not to fall for that. Tyler could hardly let them go; kidnapping was the least of the charges he would face.
Suddenly the flashlight was on her face again. The light filtering in through her closed lids made the throbbing pain in her head worse. Molly concentrated on her breathing as Tyler knelt beside her, touching her face with warm fingers.
Her stomach knotted with fright.
He picked up her left wrist. The action was sudden, and she had to concentrate hard on keeping her arm limp. Molly felt the cold slide of metal around her wrist, heard the click, and realized that she was being handcuffed.
Sheer black panic almost overwhelmed her.
Once she was handcuffed, she would be helpless, unable to aid herself or Susan.
He reached for her right wrist. It was now or never. Molly exploded off the floor with a shriek that would have been deafening even in the open air. Down in the hidey-hole, it bounced off the walls, amplified a thousandfold. As Tyler jumped back in surprise, Molly let loose with a roundhouse right to his nose. She felt the bridge smash under her fist.
Susan screamed in terror as Tyler staggered backward, a hand clapped to his nose, howling. The flashlight fell to the floor with a clatter. Molly dove for it, captured it, turned it off.
They were plunged into pitch darkness that was alive with the echoes of screams.
“I’m going to kill you, you bitch.” The guttural voice no longer sounded like Tyler Wyland’s at all. Icy terror twisted around her heart as she realized that he was coming after her, feeling for her with broad sweeps of his arms that disturbed the still air. His harsh breathing told Molly where he was as she crawled along the cold dirt floor, flashlight in hand, taking care to make as little noise as she could. The handcuff that he had secured to her left wrist hit the stone wall with a clank. A shiver of panic shot down her spine. Molly quickly tucked the offending metal circle inside the sleeve of her coat, and rolled, moving at a ninety-degree angle from the direction in which she had been headed.
With a sound like a growl he lunged for the place she had been, cursing when he came up empty.
Molly hit the far wall and was still for a moment, fighting to control her breathing. He would be able to find her if he heard her breathe.
Not that she could hope to escape him for long. It was a large room, perhaps twenty by twenty-four feet, but the only escape was through the iron door and up the ladder. Even if she could make it before he caught her, there was still the two-hundred-pound stone slab that stood between her and freedom.
She would not be able to budge it.
It was impossible to steady her erratic pulse.
He was trying to be very quiet now, moving softly through the dark. Molly stayed still and listened, following his movements as she tried to formulate a plan.
What plan? she thought with despair. She could not hope to physically overpower Tyler Wyland. He wasn’t a huge man, but he was taller than she and muscular despite his leanness. The blow she had landed on his nose had been so effective because of the element of surprise. Without that, she was lost.
“Do you remember the mare, Molly?” The voice coming at her through the darkness made her scalp prickle. He was moving closer, following the perimeter of the room. Molly crawled toward the middle, trying to keep a grip on her fragile control. To shriek her terror into the darkness would only hasten her own end. “Sheila? Do you remember what I did to Sheila?”
Hideous realization burst upon Molly: Tyler Wyland was the horse slasher. She gasped, caught herself, and immediately rolled left.
He lunged right past her, coming up with nothing but an armful of air. Suddenly he laughed, the sound high-pitched and horrifying. It was as if he was getting into the spirit of the thing, enjoying the chase.
“Remember what I did to her? That’s what I’m going to do to you. And Susan too. Though I’m going to let Susan live awhile. Little girls are fun to hurt. Did you know that? But you—you’re going to die tonight. It’s just a matter of time until I catch you and then …”
The acts he described were so vile that Molly tuned them out. He was lunging around the room now, from corner to corne
r and across the middle without warning. Rolling, crawling, slithering across the floor, Molly just managed to elude him. Her heart was pounding; her head hurt so badly, she could hardly think. Susan was weeping; Molly could hear her gasping sobs.
But wherever she was, weeping or not, for the moment at least Susan was safe.
He passed so close to where she huddled against the wall that Molly actually felt his shoe brush her arm. He kept walking. Molly let out the breath she had been holding and slithered backward, her stomach pressed against the floor. Suddenly with a cackle and a whoosh of air he was upon her, his knee thudding into her back, his arm whipping around her neck.
Molly cried out in terror.
“Got you, got you, got you,” he crowed, tightening his arm as Molly gagged and choked. She struggled, but he grabbed a handful of hair and slammed her forehead into the hard-packed dirt. For the second time that day, Molly saw stars.
Seconds later, he had her handcuffed and was shining the flashlight in her face.
“Molly!” Susan screamed from her hiding place.
“Don’t come out, Susan!” Molly called urgently back. He was binding her legs now, with a rope he had apparently brought with him. Molly knew that the real horror was only just beginning.
“No, Susan, don’t come out,” Tyler agreed, hauling Molly into a sitting position with her back against the wall. “You can watch what I’m going to do to your sister from right there.”
He pointed the flashlight at the opposite wall. Molly caught a glimpse of white, and then saw Susan, wedged deeply into a narrow fissure in the stone. Her sister’s frightened eyes gleamed as the beam hit them. Molly could see a small fist curled in front of her face.
“Don’t look, Susan,” Molly ordered. A rag was stuffed in her mouth, silencing her.
“So you don’t hurt my ears when you scream,” Tyler explained with a ghastly smile. Blood streaked the bottom half of his face from the blow she had landed. Even without the distorting effects of the flashlight and the blood, he looked different, Molly thought. His eyes were wide and gleaming, black now instead of their usual brown. His forehead was wrinkled, and his eyebrows were drawn together so that they almost met over his nose. His cheeks were lined in a way she had never noticed before, and he was panting with anticipation. Molly realized that she was looking into the face of insanity, and began to shake.
She was sitting against the wall with her hands cuffed behind her back and her legs bound at knee and ankle. He squatted beside her, propping the flashlight so that it focused on her like a spotlight. Molly realized that he truly did want Susan to see everything he did to her; she supposed he wanted to heighten the little girl’s terror.
Molly was terrified herself. Helpless now, she could only watch as he reached beneath his jacket and drew out a long, silver-bladed knife.
“This is going to hurt,” he promised softly, lifting the blade toward her throat.
Susan began to scream.
Molly closed her eyes, praying. The blade slid into her coat, sawed downward. Molly realized that he was cutting off her clothes.
“Freeze!” The shout sliced through Susan’s screams and caused Molly’s head to whip around. There, framed in the opening between the shaft and the room itself, was Will. He stood, feet apart, arms raised, a pistol pointed at Tyler’s head.
Tyler dived behind Molly, hooking her with an arm around her throat, dragging her in front of him like a shield. Molly felt the sharp blade of the knife dig into the soft skin just below her ear as she was pulled upright.
“I’ll cut off her head,” Tyler said. Susan had stopped screaming, and the threat echoed through the chamber. Will’s face was hard and set; the pistol never wavered in his grip.
“Susan,” he called. “Come here.”
Susan wriggled out of her hiding place. Sobbing, casting a tearful glance at Molly, she ran to Will.
“It’s okay,” he said, motioning her on past him, his gaze never leaving Tyler. “Get out of here.”
He pushed her behind him toward the ladder. With a last glance at Molly, Susan climbed.
Voices from above as Susan reached the surface told Molly—and apparently Tyler too—that Will had not come alone.
“Put down the knife,” Will said to Tyler in an even tone. “You won’t be hurt, I promise.”
Molly could smell Tyler’s fear. Held tight against him, she could smell the suddenly rank odor as sweat began to pour from his body. He was breathing fast, his arm hard around her throat, the hand holding the point of the knife to her jugular vein trembling.
“You can’t escape,” Will said, the pistol unwavering as it pointed at Tyler’s head. “Put down the knife.”
“If I can’t escape, then I don’t have anything to lose,” Tyler said in a perfectly normal voice. A quick jerk of his hand, and the knife sliced into Molly’s neck.
Boom! There was an explosion. Molly fell to her knees, pitched forward on her face. Then Will was beside her, turning her over, his hands trembling with fear.
“Molly, oh, God, Molly,” he said, pulling the rag from her mouth and holding it to her throat to stanch what she assumed was the flow of blood. She didn’t feel any pain, or even any fear. She felt cold, freezing cold; she was shaking in Will’s arms.
“Get a medic down here!” he bellowed, his voice hoarse with fear. Men filled the room, hovered over her, pulled her away from Will.
The last thing Molly was aware of was a stranger kneeling beside her, and a needle plunging into her arm.
54
November 18, 1995
When they found Susan, and Molly, they also found Libby Coleman. Her skeletonized remains, still lying amidst the tatters of her white party dress, were buried under a shallow layer of dirt in the hidey-hole. Later, they were given an answer to the question that still plagued Will: Why, since Tyler Wyland had never left the area, had there been no victims in the intervening thirteen years?
A phone call came into the Lexington FBI office while Will was at the hospital with Molly, and the Bureau had it transferred to his cellular phone. The woman placing the call identified herself as Sarah Wyland, Tyler’s mother. She was calling from Switzerland. At the outset of the call she had been informed by whoever had answered at the Lexington end that her son was dead. It made no difference. She said she had seen the story of the little girl’s disappearance on CNN, and felt it was time to set the record straight.
“Any help you can give us in understanding what happened will be greatly appreciated, Mrs. Wyland,” Will said into the phone. It was about 4:00 a.m. Lexington time God knew what time it was in Gstaad, where Mrs. Wyland said she was calling from—and he had been half dozing in a chair by Molly’s bed. He stood up and moved to a corner of the room as he spoke. Not that his voice was likely to disturb Molly. She was under heavy sedation, sleeping like an angel.
Will’s gaze slid to the bandage on her throat, and he felt his stomach burn. She could so easily have been an angel for real that he still got scared thinking about it.
Thank God he’d gotten there in time. Thank God Pork Chop had led him to the hole, and he had had his cellular phone with him to call for backup. Thank God Susan’s screaming had masked the sound of his moving aside the stone cover and dropping into the hole. Thank God he had fired when he did, and his hand had been steady.
Thank God, period.
Mrs. Wyland began to talk. She said that as a child Tyler had tortured and killed his pets. When he got older, he mutilated farm animals. Finally he moved on to horses. She had been alarmed at what she called his “tendencies,” and begged her husband to get help for the boy. John Wyland refused. He said he wasn’t going to see the Wyland name dragged through the mud, and whipped Tyler instead. Of course, that did no good.
When the little girl disappeared—the first little girl, Libby Coleman, the daughter of a neighbor and good friend—Sarah Wyland did not at first suspect her son. It was not until one of the farmhands, Howard Lawrence—yes, the one who was now tr
ainer for Cloverlot, and no, she hadn’t realized he was dead—found a little girl’s white satin hair bow in the field and brought it to her that she started to suspect. She recognized the hair bow from the extensive publicity about Libby Coleman’s disappearance. When she confronted Tyler with her suspicions, he confessed. Sarah Wyland went to her husband preparatory to calling the police. He wouldn’t let her, and insisted on covering the whole thing up.
Sarah Wyland did not agree, but she could not stand against her husband. Howard Lawrence was paid a large sum yearly to keep quiet about the hair bow. Tyler was put on medication: monthly injections of a drug that chemically castrated him. Her husband obtained the drug ostensibly to aid in controlling his stallions, and administered the injections himself. Without his sex drive, Tyler was no longer dangerous.
Unable to live with the strain, Sarah Wyland divorced her husband the following year. She left the country, and had never returned.
When she was informed that her ex-husband had died, she feared that it would all start up again. Tyler could always administer the injections to himself, but she was afraid he would not. Only her husband’s threats to turn him in if he did not had made Tyler agree to submit to them in the first place. Seeing the clip of the second child’s disappearance on CNN, she had realized her fears were correct.
She had called the FBI immediately. Thank God, in this case, the child had been saved, even if her own intervention might have come too late.
For Howard Lawrence too. If Lawrence had been blackmailing Tyler, it must have been a recent development. Tyler would have told his father, and John wouldn’t have stood for that. Most likely the hush payments, like Tyler’s injections, had stopped with her ex-husband’s death. A yearly stipend of that nature was not the kind of thing one could write into a will, after all.
When Will hung up, he stood for a few moments just looking down at the phone and shaking his head. All these years, while the Colemans had been left to worry and grieve over their daughter, their friends and neighbors had been hiding a secret like this.
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