Shadow of Perceptoin

by Kristine Mason

  Morrison nodded, and took a step back.

  As Hudson exited the Trans Am, Morrison handed him a thick manila envelope. “Please make sure Eden gets this.”

  “Not planning on sticking around?” Hudson asked, and dropped the envelope on the passenger seat.

  “The house is on the next street. If you look between the yards here,” he said, and pointed toward the house with the red door. “You can see part of the news van.”

  Hudson craned his neck, then saw the van. “I see it.”

  “The address is 8753 Elm Street.” Morrison took a step back toward the other side of the road. “Eden’s been in there for a little over fifteen minutes. I suggest you call the police.”

  “Wait,” Hudson said, and withdrew his gun from his shoulder holster. “I’d prefer if you stayed.”

  Morrison narrowed his eyes. “So you are a cop. I told you I don’t like it when people lie to me.”

  “I didn’t. I’m a private investigator.”

  “How convenient for Eden,” Morrison said, and took another step back. “What I’m wondering, though, is why you’d waste time on me, rather than rushing to save the woman you love? What do you think Eden would prefer? That you make sure you apprehend me or save her.”

  He’d always made it his mission to complete an assignment. No matter the cost. From the time he could talk, his father had pushed him to be the best. To always come out the winner. Morrison, no matter how heinous his crimes, wasn’t worth losing Eden.

  “Don’t contact Eden again,” Hudson said, then reaching for his cell phone, he sprinted between the yards. Before he closed in on the news van, he dialed 911, gave the operator the kidnapper’s address, then pocketed the phone.

  As he rounded the van’s back bumper, he peered through the window. Empty. Stepping away, he hesitated, then looked through the van’s window again. A cowboy boot stuck out from beneath a blanket. David.

  Adrenaline pumped through his veins, along with raw fear.

  This was no longer a kidnapping. Whoever had Eden wasn’t afraid of murder.

  The 911 operator had told him to hold his position and wait for the police. If he hadn’t been on the phone with Morrison, he could have called CORE for backup. Right now, he was on his own.

  He edged toward the back stoop, crouched, then crept up the rotted, wooden steps. When he reached the door, he ducked beneath the window, then slowly raised his head. He froze.

  Eden lay on the floor, where a small kitchen led into another room. Her right arm above her head, her wrist cuffed to the door knob.

  Uncertain who he was up against, and running on hate and adrenaline, he jumped off the stoop, then moved toward the front of the house. A twig snapped. Gun raised, Hudson turned.

  Michael Morrison shot his hands to the sky. “I saw Eden inside,” he whispered. “I’ll help you, but when I hear sirens, I’m gone.”

  Hudson lowered his gun. “I can use the help. Do you have a weapon?”

  Hands still in the air, Morrison said, “I’ve got a tire iron stuffed in the back of my pants.”

  “Turn around.” WhenMorrison pivoted, Hudson pulled the tire iron free, then handed it to him. “I’m going to check the front of the house. You hang out by the back stoop. If anyone comes out, run around the opposite side of the house and get me.”

  Morrison nodded. “Works for me.”

  As he was about to head toward the front yard, Hudson stopped, then said, “When you do hear those sirens, you better—”

  “Run like hell?” Morrison smiled. “I can tell you live by a certain code. And I respect that. I’m here for Eden, not for you. Trust me. After tonight, I’ll never see you again.”

  Although he didn’t like the idea of letting a murderer go, he didn’t like Eden being held hostage even more. He understood Morrison. The man had killed for revenge. Whoever held Eden…that uncertainty worried him more than setting a killer free.

  Chapter 25

  Every muscle and nerve ending in Eden’s body ached. She knew the results and differences between a Taser and a stun gun from a story she’d reported a few years ago. Now that the gun had been turned on her, she realized its true effectiveness. The voltage had knocked her unconscious. She had no idea how long she’d been out, or where she’d been taken.

  Forcing her heavy eyelids open, a wave of vertigo consumed her. She shut her eyes again, and clutched her nauseated stomach. Her right arm didn’t cooperate. She tugged, shifted her aching head, then panicked.

  Cuffed to a door, she fought the dizziness and forced her sore muscles to strain against the doorknob. Grabbed her wrist with her other hand and tried to free herself.

  Muscles still screaming, Eden ignored the pain and swiveled. Now fully alert, she took in her surroundings, then gagged and fought the bile rising in her throat. It smelled as if someone had dumped the contents of a dozen Porta Potties in the room. TV guides, yellowed newspapers, soda cans, wrappers and dirt littered the wood floor. Across the dimly lit room stood a hospital bed, which had been piled high with pillows and blankets. The bed immediately reminded her of Michael Morrison’s surgical table and his OR. Only Michael hadn’t taken her.

  Rusty.

  She’d known him for several years. Adept as a cameraman and excellent with editing film, Rusty had been one of the few people she’d liked at WBDJ. Why would he do this to her? She remembered David, and her chin trembled. Why would he do this to any of them?

  “Doesn’t she look sad?” Rusty laughed as he walked down the short, cluttered hallway and entered the room. He knelt in front of her, and nodded. “You’re right. Pathetic is the more appropriate word.”

  A muffled scream came from the hospital bed. Metal scraped against metal.

  Eden turned and caught movement. Her skin prickled with fear. Those weren’t pillows and blankets on the hospital bed. “Rusty,” she said, making an effort to keep her voice calm. “Who’s in the bed?”

  “Mama. She doesn’t get many visitors anymore, so I’m sure she’d love to meet you.” He moved toward the bed, then turned on a lamp.

  A morbidly obese woman lay prone on the bed. Duct tape covered her mouth. Her arms were stretched, and both of her hands had been cuffed to the bedrails. Eyes wild, the woman screamed against the duct tape again. Although sympathetic to the woman’s situation, Eden’s focus remained on survival, escape, on the hope that someone would look for her when she didn’t show at the church. Once free, she’d help the woman. Until then, she had to find a way to keep Rusty from killing her.

  “If you scream, I’ll put the tape over your mouth again,” Rusty said to the woman. “I know what I’m doing, quit nagging me. This will be over soon.”

  Confused, Eden glanced around the room again. Although it sounded as if Rusty had been talking with someone, she hadn’t heard or seen another person.

  He ripped the tape off his mother’s face. “Be good.”

  The mother nodded, then began to cry. “Why, Pudge? Why are you doing this? Who is this woman?”

  “Mama, this is Eden Risk. Eden, meet Mama. The smelliest bitch you’ll ever know.”

  “I only smell because you won’t change my colostomy bag,” Mama began, then looked at Eden. “I’ve been cuffed to this bed for almost two days. Pudge won’t feed me, give me anything to drink or let me watch TV.”

  “I know, you were right,” Rusty said with a shake of his head. “I should have kept the tape over her mouth.”

  “You’re scaring me,” Mama said. “Who are you talking to?”

  Rusty shoved away from the hospital bed, and fisted his hands. “The only person who knows the real me.”

  “Who?” Mama asked. “This Eden person? How could she know you the way I do? You don’t even look like you.”

  “Stop with all the fucking questions,” Rusty yelled. “That pathetic, self-serving bitch.” He pointed to Eden. “She doesn’t know me. You don’t know me. All you’ve ever done was use me.”

  Rusty paced the room, smacking his h
ands on his legs. He stopped. “I will. I’ll take care of Eden. But I told you. Mama dies naturally. Let me clean the van first.” He fisted his hands, then punched the air. “Fine. I’ll kill her now,” he screamed.

  Face flushed, veins protruding from his neck and temples, Rusty grabbed a backpack off the floor.

  Eden realized Rusty was obviously crazy. He’d murdered David, kidnapped her, held his mother prisoner, and ranted to himself. Terrified by what he might do next, Eden shifted her legs beneath her rear, knelt, then glanced around the filth and clutter, searching for something she could use to protect herself.

  When she looked into the kitchen, she spotted a butter knife sitting on the kitchen table next to dirty plates and old food. While the dulled blade wouldn’t offer much protection, she’d rather have that, than nothing at all.

  Grabbing the knife wouldn’t be easy. While the table was nearby, she would have to close the door to reach it.

  Wait. If she closed the door, she could lock herself inside the kitchen. Once she locked him out of the kitchen, though, Rusty could leave through the front, then come in through the back door.

  “Is that blood? Oh my God,” Mama shouted. “No, no, no. What did you do?”

  Eden quickly looked, then covered her mouth and stared at the scalpel Rusty held.

  “Shut up, Mama.”

  “Pudge, honey, you can’t do this. They’ll find you. And when they do, they’ll find out about Daddy.”

  Rusty rushed to the hospital bed, raised his arm, then slammed down the scalpel.

  Mama screamed.

  Eden kept her mouth covered and held her breath.

  Plucking the scalpel up, Rusty rolled the handle between his hands. “Next time, I won’t miss,” he said to his mother. “Don’t ever talk about Daddy to my precious again. Got it? What you did to Rick is all on you, Mama. You killed him. Slammed a hatchet into his face, then made my sweet precious help you chop up the body and bury it all over the state of Illinois. If it wasn’t for me, your Pudge would probably be locked away in a mental institution, drugged and drooling. Now, if you could please shut the fuck up, I’d like to help my precious finally take care of that scrawny little bitch over there.”

  Mama looked at her, and Eden swore she saw revulsion in the other woman’s eyes. “Yes,” Mama said. “You should take care of her. I know who she is.”

  Rusty, or whoever he’d become, chuckled. “You? Please, when have you ever watched the news? Every damn time I walked in the room, you were watching some shitty rerun or movie.”

  “I might be an invalid, and I might like my shows, but I do watch the news. She’s one of those investigative reporter types,” Mama said, and nodded to Eden. “And now she knows all about Rick. So, go ahead and take care of her, and whatever mess you’ve gotten my baby involved in, just make it quick. Someone’s gonna be looking for her.”

  Smiling, Rusty raised the scalpel. “For once, I agree with you.”

  Even if Rusty’s mother could help her, Eden realized the woman wanted her dead. Rusty and his mother harbored some messed-up family secrets. And now she knew them. Knew that they’d killed a man.

  Not ready to go easy, she jumped to her feet, and slammed the door shut. Rusty pounded on the door as she locked it, and reached for the butter knife. She changed her mind, then took one of the plates, and smashed it against the table.

  Rusty stopped pounding.

  Mama screamed, “Kill her.”

  A door slammed. Eden gripped the broken plate and held the sharp edge in front of her.

  Gaze locked on the back door she waited.

  Prayed.

  Hoped.

  Damn it, this shouldn’t be happening. She wanted to see her sister marry, and give her a bunch of nieces and nephews. She wanted to see her brother and dad, tell them that she loved them. Most of all, she needed to see Hudson.

  Regret coiled and mingled with adrenaline as she stared at the back door’s small window.

  His past, hers, none of it mattered. If he was willing to give them a chance, so was she. As for New York…she still wasn’t sure how they’d make a long distance relationship work, but she was determined to try. She loved him. Needed him in her life. His love, support and friendship made her whole. As she stared at the door, waiting for Rusty to burst through and kill her, she realized she’d spent so many years pushing herself to be the best at her career. While she’d succeeded, that success had come at a lonely cost. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. She wanted to surround herself with family, friends and Hudson’s love.

  Determined to survive, she crouched and prepared to lunge once Rusty rushed through the door. Seconds ticked. Nothing.

  Her stomach twisted with dread and anticipation. Where the hell was Rusty? He should have been—

  A gunshot ricocheted from outside.

  Eden flattened herself against the locked door, and stared out the window. From the other room, Mama yelled and screamed.

  Breath quickening, Eden clutched the broken plate, then jumped and cried out as Rusty crashed through the back door. Panting, and still holding the scalpel, he quickly shut the door, then leaned against it. Blood soaked the front of his shirt. His hair, a wig Eden realized, had slipped toward the side of his head revealing his shaved scalp.

  Eyes wild, Rusty stared at her with hate, then his face crumpled as he touched his stomach. “Precious,” he murmured, then he glared at her again. “This is your fault. If you would have—”

  The back door smashed open, knocking Rusty off his feet. He rolled, then lunged. Shoved her in front of him, and pressed the scalpel to her throat.

  “Drop it or she’s dead,” Rusty said, and tightened his arm around her waist.

  Tears filled her eyes as she stared at Hudson. Blood trickled from the slice on his cheek, more blood dripped to the floor from the cuff of his leather coat, as well as the slash to his stomach. Rusty was right. This was her fault. Had she taken Michael Morrison and the anonymous, threatening calls more seriously, none of this would have happened. Hudson wouldn’t be injured, and David wouldn’t be dead.

  Clutching the broken plate to her side, she decided to let the guilt consume her later. “Do what he says,” she told Hudson.

  “She’s right,” a man said as he came up behind Hudson. “He has the advantage.”

  Eden immediately recognized Michael Morrison from his driver’s license photo. Confusion and betrayal fueled her anger. What was happening now might be her fault, but she hadn’t expected Michael to conspire with Rusty. To think, even after the heinous crimes he’d committed, she’d felt sorry for the man and for all that he’d lost.

  Hudson’s face hardened as he slowly lowered his weapon. “I know,” he said.

  “Let’s go,” Michael said, and moved to leave.

  Rusty laughed. “You two aren’t going anywhere. Boy Toy, put the gun on the floor and kick it to me,” he said to Hudson, then nodded to Michael. “You, get inside or I slit her throat.”

  Sirens sounded in the distance. Mama yelled from the other room.

  “Sounds like you have a full house. Sorry I can’t stay and enjoy the party,” Michael said. “I have someplace else to be.”

  “Don’t you move,” Rusty ordered. “Don’t you dare take a step. And you, Boy Toy, I told you to drop your gun and kick it to me.”

  “Pudge,” Mama screamed. “Hurry, hurry, the police. I see them on the street.”

  “Shut up,” Rusty shouted, then pressed the scalpel harder against her throat. “I’m handling the situation just fine without—”

  Eden leaned into Rusty and turned the doorknob with her cuffed hand. Rusty stumbled back, the scalpel nicking her throat. As his rear hit the floor, she landed in his lap.

  Mama wailed and cried.

  The sirens grew louder.

  Arm dangling from the doorknob, and still holding the plate in her other hand, Eden pressed her head back and bowed her body forward. She jammed the point of the broken plate beneath her.

&
nbsp; Rusty grunted. The scalpel grazed her throat as he jerked his body and loosened his grip around her waist.

  She released the plate, grabbed his wrist and bit.

  “Bitch,” Rusty snarled, and dropped the scalpel into this other hand.

  “Eden, move!” Hudson shouted.

  “Kill her, kill her. They’re coming. Hurry,” Mama cried.

  Before Rusty gained hold of the blade, and hoping to hit his plate and gunshot wound, she elbowed him in the gut.

  “Now!” Hudson demanded.

  Holding the doorknob, she swung her body. Hudson fired. Once. Twice.

  “No, no, no,” Mama howled and sobbed.

  Clinging to the door, Eden drew in deep breaths and looked over her shoulder. Hudson kept the gun trained on Rusty as he moved toward them.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, and checked Rusty’s pulse.

  She shook her head. “But you are. How bad did he cut you?”

  He knelt in front of her, and touched her chin. His eyes darkened as he looked at the nicks and scrapes on her neck, then he narrowed them and glared at Rusty. “I want to kill him all over again,” he said, his voice filled with hate. “If it hadn’t been for Morrison—”

  The Chicago police burst into the house through both the front and back doors. Hudson immediately dropped his weapon, raised his hands and identified himself. Mama continued to sob and babble. During the chaos that followed, the police and detectives’ questionings, the arrival of the coroner and EMTs, Eden kept her focus on Hudson. Whatever had happened to lead him to Rusty’s house didn’t matter. What mattered was that they had a chance. How they’d make things between them work, she still didn’t know.

  At least they were both alive and able to give it a try. For now, that’s all that mattered.

  *

  The next morning, Eden held Hudson’s hand as they sat in COREs evidence and evaluation room. Rachel had every TV screen on, each filled with information on both Michael Morrison and Chris Long, the man she’d known as Rusty Jones.

  Owen Malcolm and Ian Scott filtered into the room. Owen had just flown in from Las Vegas after finishing an assignment. Since he’d watched one of the DVDs, he voiced an interest in the results.