The Haunted (Sarah Roberts 12)

by Jonas Saul

  “Everything’s set,” he said as he walked across the room toward the boxes. There, he produced a keycard, also holding it up for Sarah to see. “This is the key that allows access to the room that held these files.” He set it on top of the nearest box and turned back to face her. “Somehow you got the key,” he said, his tone sarcastic, “stole these boxes, and one by one, for all fifteen of them, brought them to your room to review.” He shrugged. “Who knows what you were thinking? That’s something for the investigators to figure out.” He moved closer to her chair. “Of course I will help with the investigation, steering them where they need to go. My diagnosis has already been written and submitted.” He stopped in front of her, his knees almost touching hers. “You’re certifiable. A psychopath and a pyromaniac, who gets off on setting fires. Your destruction of this wing of the Amy Greg Psychiatric Hospital was a plan that even in your deluded consciousness you were able to pull off. After all, you’ve wanted to kill Cole Lincoln for some time. You waited until he was on shift—”

  “Cut the bullshit,” Sarah snapped.

  He stopped, his mouth hanging open.

  “Ego much?” she said. “I get it. You’ve got a foolproof plan. You’re both geniuses. The both of you have raped and assaulted your victims for years and gotten away with it and now you plan to destroy whatever’s in those boxes and me along with them to keep getting away with it. All right already. You both talk too much. Get on with it. Start the show so I can finish this and go home for dinner. I’m hungry. And I’ll need a hot bath after dealing with the likes of you.”

  Williams’ mouth closed. For a prolonged time, he stared down at her.

  “You really are crazy.” The laugh that emitted from him was forced, strained. “Home for dinner? That’s something. I’d like to see how you’ll pull that off.”

  She braced for a blow to the head or something equally painful, but it didn’t come. Instead Williams moved to the boxes, examined them until he came to one labeled with zeros. After moving a few aside, he lifted the lid off the zeroed box and produced a red gas can. When he turned back to face her, the dim light in the room cast a dark shadow on his features, making his grin one of absolute madness.

  He looked like a demented doctor from an ’80s horror movie, the gas can his talisman.

  The first pangs of fear flipped her stomach. “Seems like you thought of everything.” She kept her face pensive, deadpan.

  He unscrewed the cap on the large gas can and took a whiff of the contents, drawing his head back in a jerking motion.

  “Whew, what a smell. Do you know what that smells like?”

  “Sure. But I have a feeling you’ll tell me anyway.”

  “It smells of burning skin and death. Your death.”

  “I suggest you smell it again. Then again. Maybe the fumes will repair what’s wrong inside that twisted head of yours.”

  “Insult me, mock me, enjoy your false bravado. That’s all you’ve got. An empty shell of a woman, chasing ghosts from the past.” He set the gas can down by his feet. “A coping mechanism.” His mouth sagged until his face formed a moue, almost as if he was pouting for her. “I understand. Facing certain death must have its drawbacks.”

  “Ask yourself. The reason the door on my cabin was locked wasn’t to protect me at night. It’s to protect you from me.”

  “Cute.” He slipped out of his doctor’s jacket and retrieved the room key and a Bic lighter from the right pocket. He tossed the jacket on the boxes and set the key and lighter on the floor by the gas can. Then he proceeded to undo the belt from his jeans and moved forward.

  “You have to be strapped back onto your bed, but I can’t use meds. If you’re doped up and only partially burned and they do a toxicology report as part of the autopsy, there will be questions as to how you were successful in burning this ward while on meds. That leaves me with this belt. I will use it for your neck as I remove you from the chair. Try anything and I will strangle you, then burn you. Understand?”

  Sarah glared at him, a muscle under her right eye twitching.

  Where’s Cole? He’s the one I want.

  “Understand?” Williams asked again in a harsher voice.

  Sarah nodded. “I get it.”

  Williams stepped behind her and lowered the belt around her throat. He slipped the end inside the buckle and pulled it until it was taut. As he did, Sarah tried to flare her neck out to give her room to breathe later if he pulled it too tight, but it didn’t work. During her recent training with Aaron and hand-to-hand combat lessons, her body had grown tight, muscles cut. Her neck was surrounded by a thin layer of fat, not enough to make a difference.

  The grip of the belt made the air escaping her throat raspy. He loosened it some, but not enough for her to breathe normally.

  “I will do one hand at a time,” he said.

  He undid her right hand first. Then, as she lifted it up from the chair’s arm, free of restraints, the belt tightened to where breathing stopped.

  “Place it on the bed,” he demanded. “Now!”

  Eyes bulging, lungs yearning, Sarah shot her arm out, close enough for him to secure her wrist to the bed’s restraints. The pressure in her head increased as he worked one-handed on securing her. Her mouth opened and closed like a landed fish, not able to dispel or grab air. Then, gratefully, the wrist restraint on the bed gripped her skin and the belt around her neck loosened simultaneously. She gulped air in waves, her vision clearing.

  “Okay, okay,” Sarah said. “Take it easy on the belt on this one.”

  “Can’t do that,” Williams said as he began to undo Sarah’s left hand from the chair. “I’ve got to completely release you from the chair now, legs and all. You will only have your right arm secured to the bed, your stronger arm, but it still offers you a fighting chance.” Her left wrist popped free. He knelt in front of her and placed a hand on the ankle cuffs as he glanced up, meeting her eyes. “I have to do this alone. If you try anything, all I have to do is back away to be out of reach. But if you test me, I will break your arms and try again. Believe me when I say I will do it. I’ll end up having to use meds to sedate you. I’ll make sure your body is in the center of the fire so you burn so much not even dental records will help them identify you. Am I getting to you in there?”

  Almost imperceptibly, Sarah nodded. Her breathing was deep, but back under control.

  “Good. Now, gently, I will release your ankles. I am going to walk around behind you and hold the belt, but this time I won’t cut off your breathing if you do as I tell you. Cool?”

  Watching her eyes, Williams pulled the ankle restraints off and backed up away from Sarah. He walked behind her and gripped the belt.

  “Get up from the chair slowly and lie down on the bed on your back. Do it now.”

  As much as she wanted to do something, to fight, there was no play here. With one arm bound and a belt around her neck, she was vulnerable to his whim. Without wanting to startle him, Sarah eased up and out of the chair, using her left hand to push up on the armrest as her legs were still weak and unsure.

  She leaned into the oversized gurney and rolled onto her back. The strap around her right wrist was attached to the bed by a six-link chain. The chain appeared to have been added as an afterthought. Leaving her legs bent at the knee, feet flat, she set her left wrist in place to be bound, still thinking there was no other play here.

  The entire time the belt around her neck remained loose enough to breathe without an issue.

  “Well done,” Williams said.

  He clipped the strap around her left wrist and secured it. Now both arms were bound to the bed but her legs remained free. He released his grip on the belt around her neck but left it dangling there. She eased up toward the end of the bed so her head dipped off the edge to avoid the uncomfortable digging of the belt in the back of her neck.

  “You just helped kill yourself,” Williams said.

  He came into view. She frowned at him. “How’s that?” she asked.<
br />
  He walked to the end of the bed and looked up at her. She closed her knees, feeling naked in nothing but the robe-like hospital wear and panties.

  Without another word he jumped up on the end of the bed, ripped her knees apart and shoved her feet off the edge, forcing them down by pushing on her thighs.

  She yelped at the sudden movement and pain that shot through her legs as both hands reflexively yanked their binds to the ends of the six-link chains.

  He pulled forward and dropped between her legs, pushing down on her groin with his own as he fumbled with the clasp on his jeans.

  “We’re going for one more round before I burn you, bitch.”

  She shouted at him and bucked her hips but it was no use. She had no leverage with her legs forced off the edge of the bed on each side, her feet almost touching the floor, and her hands secured and useless above her head.

  She felt his skin on her inner thighs. Bile rose in her throat and a crazy thought entered her mind that this moment would add to the other horrific memories that haunt her. That’s all this was: another memory to add to the collection.

  But that was acquiescence. That was giving up.

  And Sarah never gave up.

  He was pushing on her panties, trying to rip them from her.

  She heard a tearing of material and her mind slipped out.

  And into gear. Not fourth gear; overdrive.

  She lifted her head and said, “Give it to me, baby.”

  He snapped his face toward her and stopped moving, his left arm shoved down between their joined pelvises where he was attempting to gain entry.

  And then Sarah made her move.

  Chapter 19

  Aaron couldn’t take it anymore. The waiting, the inaction, the inability for anyone to do anything without someone else authorizing it. He learned a long time ago when his sister Joanne went missing in Toronto that the police really do have their hands tied. Through Sarah, he was also learning to let it go and not judge them as harshly as he had in the past. It wasn’t their fault. They had a job to do, a system to uphold and accountability to a system. It was almost impossible to remain inside the boundaries without lawyers present behind every turn.

  But Aaron didn’t have those constraints. He could do what he wanted, when he wanted. His only accountability was to maintain standards that kept him out of jail. But on nights like this, with his patience thinning, he was finding that more and more difficult.

  Since he had ridden in with Kershaw and Parkman, he had no car at the police station and he couldn’t steal one.

  Call a cab? No, they’d trace it and follow him.

  Ask for a ride back to his car? They’d follow him.

  Stealing a police car as Sarah had done in the past wouldn’t work. Unlike Sarah, he’d get arrested, which meant he couldn’t help Sarah when and if she needed him.

  Then an idea occurred to him. He excused himself, telling Parkman he was headed to the restroom.

  “I’ll be back in ten to fifteen minutes.”

  Parkman nodded, but Aaron felt Parkman’s eyes on him the whole way down the police headquarters corridor.

  As he walked past the front desk, he snatched a couple of Officer Nick Kershaw’s business cards so he’d have his number when he needed it.

  Once outside, Aaron broke into a run.

  “Hey!” someone yelled from behind him.

  His feet smacked the pavement as he stopped and turned back.

  Parkman stood in the doorway, his arms crossed.

  “Where’re you headed?” he asked.

  “To get Sarah.”

  After a moment of silence between them, Parkman unfolded his arms, opened the door to go back inside, then said loud enough for Aaron to hear, “Go get her and good luck.”

  Aaron walked backwards until Parkman disappeared inside, then he pivoted and bolted down the street. What he had planned was a long shot, but he had to try. Whether Sarah was in that mental hospital willingly or not, he needed to talk to her to find out what was going on.

  If his plan worked, he would be offered access to the Amy Greg Psychiatric Hospital without resistance.

  If his plan worked.

  He ran harder.

  Chapter 20

  Off balance, his arm still plunged between their groins, Williams leaned slightly to Sarah’s left. The pressure that held her right leg off the edge of the bed had decreased.

  “I said, give it to me!” Sarah shouted.

  Then, before he realized his mistake in leaning off to one side, Sarah bent her right leg, forced the thigh up and shoved her knee toward Williams.

  He caught the movement in his peripheral vision and pulled his hand free to block her leg, but it was too late. Her knee came in fast, connected weakly with his shoulder, bounced off, then came in again. One handed, he fumbled for purchase but missed her leg as Sarah pulled it away, aimed higher and shouted as she brought it in again.

  This time her knee smacked Williams in the left ear, knocking his head to the side. A grunt of pain escaped his lips as he used his right hand to balance himself on top of her, otherwise he would have fallen off the side.

  Not missing a beat, when Williams moved to grab Sarah’s leg with both hands, she brought her left one up and into action. Both legs encircled his waist and she locked her ankles over his lower back.

  She ground her teeth, fisted her hands and moaned as she caught him in a scissor hold, her legs tightening with each second. He pounded at her thighs as best he could, but she ignored it. After another intake of breath, she held it and squeezed tighter.

  Dr. Williams screamed under the pressure. Not in great physical shape, he had grown flabby around the waist due to glycemic stress. Without any serious muscular resistance from him, Sarah continued to squeeze his abdomen, lifting him up off the table as she flexed her stomach, until he was almost hovering above her.

  Then, in a lightning quick move, she unlocked her legs, brought the left one around in front of him before the dazed Williams could respond, wrapped the back of her knee around his neck. With the leg bent around his neck she was able to crane his head to the side at a forty-five degree angle as she squeezed.

  He made inhuman sounds, moans and internal cries as she forced his head down, hoping the force would crack something in his neck.

  Pushed by the memories that haunted her, driven by what he had been about to do to her, and offered a chance to save future victims, Sarah added a level of fury into the force around Williams’ neck until his head was inverted, dangling by the side of the bed, the rest of his body following.

  She slipped her right leg under him to keep him on the bed as his body began to slip too far to her left, but it was too late.

  When her leg had wrapped around Williams’ head and pushed him sideways, gravity did the rest and the inevitable happened. Williams’ body, the fight knocked out of him, slipped off the side of her bed and hit the floor. In order to not lose her advantage, or his head, Sarah tightened her leg with every ounce of strength left in it, but the man’s overweight body hit the floor and yanked the head out from her grasp.

  And just like that, the fight was over. Williams was on the floor and Sarah was still on the bed, wrists tied, with nothing to defend herself with but her legs. He would be more cautious, more prepared next time he approached her. He would secure her legs so nothing like that would ever happen again.

  She had made a mistake by trying to strangle him or break his neck using her leg instead of an arm. Had she kept him in the scissors hold where he couldn’t breathe too well, he would’ve passed out eventually.

  But regrets weren’t how she made it out of jams time and time again. Forward thinking and a little help from the other side was how she did it.

  Anything, Vivian?

  She turned to look for him. Williams was crawling away from her, his head dangling to the side at a weird angle. Maybe she did hurt him. Maybe she snapped something or pulled a muscle. She could only hope.

  Then it
occurred to her what he was doing.

  He was crawling toward the room key and the lighter, which sat beside the gas can.

  “How was your childhood?” she asked.

  Was there anything she could do to stall him?

  Think, Sarah. Dammit!

  “Your father beat you?”

  She pulled on her cuffs, yanking the chain to the end, and tilted her head back to examine them.

  “When you were younger, did you have a boyfriend? Is that why you’re fixated on raping women because you could only get it up when you’re forcing it?”