Don't Breathe: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (Darkwater Cove Psychological Thriller Book 6)

by Dan Padavona

  “Nobody delivered flowers between the hours of nine and eleven,” he says, rocking back in his chair. “Care to explain how a bouquet arrived on the secretary’s desk?”

  Darcy brushes the hair out of her eyes.

  “It must be an inside job.”

  “A teacher?”

  “Or an administrator. I wonder if Chris Doyle or Kealan Hart connected with a teacher and asked them to deliver the anonymous gift. Either that, or we’re chasing the wrong person, and our unsub works at the school.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Saturday, September 19th

  2:45 p.m.

  Ali jolts awake and stares at the window. Something is different.

  Last she recalls, the man in the clown mask offered her a berry smoothie. She doesn’t trust her captor. But the healthy drink enticed her after the amount of water and electrolytes she lost yesterday. The blender whirred in the kitchen, and for a moment she wondered if she’d gotten through to him. The drink seems like a peace offering. She might convince him to let her go. Or at least not harm her again. When he returned with the smoothie, a red straw poking out of the glass, she sipped the sweet and tart drink past her lips and swallowed. A minute later, she realized something was wrong. The room grew dark, her peripheral vision shrinking.

  That’s the last thing she remembers. He drugged her. Why?

  So he could leave. He didn’t expect her to awaken before he returned. Ali jumps from the chair and ignores the wretch rushing into her chest. Tugging on the door, she finds it locked. She glances around and fixes her eyes on the window. Nails clamp the window shut, and she doesn’t have a hammer to pry them out. But she can break the glass. She grabs the steel chair and walks it to the window. Yes, this will work. One swing to shatter the glass. Then she’ll sprint to the road and hope his vehicle isn’t the first one she runs into.

  As she hoists the chair, the front door opens and shuts. He’s home. He’ll hear the glass breaking.

  Screw it.

  Ali slams the chair through the pane. Glass explodes. Shards rain down outside the window. His hurried footsteps rush toward the room. Ali places one foot on the sill and pulls herself up. She’s almost through the opening when two hands yank her back by her shirt collar. Her head slams against the floor.

  Undeterred, Ali pops up and lunges for the window again. This time his arms encircle her head, a powerful forearm pressed beneath her chin as he squeezes the life out of her. Her legs flail. She reaches back and rakes her nails across his face. He yells, forgetting to disguise his voice. She doesn’t recognize her captor from his cry, but his blood coats her nails as he drags her away from the window. Ali’s leg kicks out and smashes into a glass enclosure. A gold-tinted scorpion lands on the carpet and scurries around in irritated confusion.

  It occurs to her as he pulls Ali toward the center of the room—he’s not wearing the clown mask. If she can twist her head, she’ll see his face. He seems to sense her intentions, shifting his body to stay behind hers as he swings his neck to avoid her wild swipes.

  Her body weakens. She can’t breathe with his muscled arms wrapped around her head and neck. She slumps to the floor and lands on her back. He reaches behind him for the mask and pulls it over his head. As she lies on the floor, her lungs sucking air with desperation, he struggles to right the clown mask. It lies crooked over his face, the eye holes over his ears. When he adjusts the mask, he grabs Ali’s arm and hauls her up.

  “You stupid bitch! You’re ruining everything.”

  Again he forgets to use his false voice. The voice sounds familiar, yet she can’t place it.

  He sets the chair upright and throws her down on the seat. The seat back clips her shoulder. Tears stream down her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she says between sobs. “Please don’t hurt me again.”

  “Don’t hurt you? You mean the way you hurt me? I love you, Ali. And you love me, though you refuse to acknowledge your feelings. Why do you make everything so difficult? The phone calls, the flowers. I asked for your companionship, and you laughed behind my back.”

  “No, I didn’t. I’d never laugh at you.”

  “Liar.”

  “I’m not a bad person. And you’re not, either. In your heart, you understand this is wrong. This isn’t the way to show a woman love.”

  “It isn’t about love. Not anymore, Ali. You failed every test I administered, and now I have no choice but to...”

  Ali drops her chin to her chest.

  “Don’t kill me. I promise I won’t run away again.”

  “You made your bed. Now sleep in it.”

  Spider bites and scorpion stings rise off her skin, the flesh along her arms raw and pockmarked by bubbling wounds. She’s poisoned or infected.

  “I need a doctor. There’s something happening to me. I’m dizzy.”

  “You’re weak. That’s what you are, Ali. You’re not ready for the final test and never will be. But I can’t wait. Live or die. It’s up to you.”

  Her body trembles as he leans over her, his arms braced to the chair back and imprisoning her. A plan forms. She’s not strong enough to fight him, and he’ll murder Ali before night falls. But she won’t go to her grave without learning his identity.

  She hangs her head and feigns submission. A low chuckle escapes his chest. As he bends lower so his eyes are even with hers, she reaches for the mask and tugs it over his head. His fingers clutch the rubber and cling to the red hair. As the mask peels over his scalp, she spies black hair. Kealan Hart was blonde. She was certain Kealan kidnapped her.

  Throwing her strength behind one last tug, she rips the clown mask away and hurls it across the room. In one motion, she grabs his wrists before he can cover his face.

  Ali recognizes her captor. No, this can’t be.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Saturday, September 19th

  3:20 p.m.

  “Hey, where is everybody?”

  Darcy scans the downstairs as Ketchum drives off for a quick dinner. She hears voices, but nobody occupies the living room or kitchen. The deck door slides open, and Julian glances at Darcy with his mouth hanging open in surprise.

  “You’re home…I didn’t think you were coming back until—”

  “Agent Ketchum bought dinner. He’s picking me up in an hour. Is everything okay, Julian? You seem surprised to see me.”

  She glances around Julian’s shoulder and spies Cynthia and Jennifer on the deck. Julian raises his hands in placation.

  “I wanted to discuss this with you first. But the office switched Cynthia’s hours, and this was the only time she could speak with Jennifer.”

  “About Sean Braden? I thought Jennifer wasn’t pressing charges.”

  Before he answers, Darcy moves around Julian and pulls the door open. Jennifer’s head shoots up. An alarmed look crosses her face. She lowers her eyes as Cynthia rubs Jennifer’s shoulder. Jennifer and Cynthia have both been crying, judging from their bloodshot eyes. Cynthia clutches a crumpled tissue.

  “All right, I want to know what’s going on,” Darcy says, pulling a chair between Cynthia and her daughter. “Ever since Cynthia pulled Jennifer over, everyone has been acting secretive. What’s really going on?”

  Cynthia looks at Jennifer in question. The teenage girl nods.

  “I knew Jennifer lied to you and Julian when she said she’d been at Kaitlyn’s,” Cynthia says, biting her lip. “The windshield broke at Sean Braden’s house.”

  “Why would you lie to us?” Darcy says, touching Jennifer’s shoulder.

  “Because you never would have agreed to me seeing Sean.”

  “That’s not true. I want my daughter to date. But you need to be truthful with us, so we know who you’re seeing and where you’ll be. I made myself clear. It’s too dangerous in Genoa Cove and Smith Town right now.” Darcy stops and searches for the right words. “What hurts me more is you confided with Cynthia instead of us. Why don’t you feel you can talk with us?”

  Jennifer s
obs and swipes a tear off her cheek.

  “Look, I totally screwed up. I get it. Sean isn’t the person I thought he was, and I’m stupid for misjudging him.”

  “No. You’re a smart girl. This is on Sean Braden, not you. He was wrong to force you into sex. I’m just thankful you had the strength and smarts to fight your way out of his bedroom. I appreciate Cynthia cares, and the two of you bonded over music and whatever else. But why the tears?”

  Darcy poses the question to Cynthia.

  “I can explain,” Julian says, folding his arms. “I’m the one who asked Cynthia to speak with Jennifer about the attack. Don’t blame her.”

  Darcy scrunches her brow.

  “I don’t follow any of this.”

  “I realize I overstepped my bounds,” Cynthia says, glancing down. “You’re Jennifer’s mother, and your daughter should come to you first when she has a problem. But I know too much about boys like Sean Braden and who they become after they reach adulthood.”

  Cynthia takes a deep breath and releases it with a shudder.

  “It was my senior year of college. I’d dated Landon for a year before he developed a drinking problem. Every weekend he got blackout drunk. And he changed. Landon became mean, yelled a lot, and treated me like I was beneath him. We got into a fight at his apartment one Friday night. His roommate, Ben, was there, and I wondered if Ben needed to step in and protect me. That’s how violent Landon acted. After Landon became abusive, I decided to leave.”

  Cynthia lowers her head and scrubs her hands down her face.

  “He blocked the door. Before I realized what was happening, Landon threw me down and tore my top open. Instead of helping, Ben joined in. It was like someone threw a piece of meat at starving dogs. They ripped off my clothes and gagged me so I couldn’t scream. Landon raped me, then Ben. They went at me for an hour before Landon handed me my clothes with a warning not to tell anyone.”

  Jennifer stares wide-eyed.

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. I was too humiliated. A friend drove me to the emergency room. The nurse wanted to use the rape kit and bring in a social worker. I refused. Told her nobody raped me. A few years passed. They’d gotten away with rape, and once I got my sea legs under me, I regretted not turning them in. Fast forward to my five-year sorority reunion. My best friend pulled me aside. I’d confided with her after the rape, and she’d pushed me to press charges. Turns out Landon tried to rape a girl when he was in high school. The girl’s brother caught him on top of her and pulled him off before he unbuttoned her blouse.”

  Jennifer’s chipped nail digs into her thigh, turning the skin red.

  “Are you saying I should tell the police about Sean?”

  “You need to do what’s right for you, Jennifer. Just understand boys like Sean Braden never change. It takes a sick mind to violate a woman. One day, maybe not this year or next, Sean will graduate to full rape.”

  Darcy scowls and says, “I’d love to hang that kid out to dry.”

  “We’d be in for a war,” says Julian, looking away. “Jennifer and Sean traded texts, planning the rendezvous, and Jennifer knew Sean’s parents were away.”

  “Whose side are you taking?”

  Julian holds up his hands.

  “Before the attack, Jennifer went willingly to Sean’s bedroom. They kissed on his bed. Again, a mutual decision. A smart defense lawyer would tear our case to pieces, and the Braden family can afford the best.”

  “He’s right,” Cynthia says. “Even in my case, I’d gone to Landon’s apartment on my own and flirted with him before he drank too much. I would have won in the end. But at what cost? His lawyers would have ruined my life.”

  Darcy’s heart clenches. She’d sensed Cynthia’s damage, but never imagined it was this bad. Julian sets his hand on Darcy’s shoulder.

  “This Landon guy divorced his wife three months ago,” he says, nodding at his partner. “He started calling Cynthia last month.”

  “I blew him off,” Cynthia says. “But he won’t leave me alone.”

  “You think he’ll escalate?” Darcy asks.

  Julian furrows his brow.

  “That’s what we’re afraid of.”

  “Cynthia, you’re welcome to stay with us. There’s no reason for you to be alone.”

  Cynthia holds up a hand.

  “That’s kind of you. But I can’t fear the worst. If Landon pushes things further, I’ll deal with him my way.” Cynthia swivels to face Jennifer. “As for Sean, should he contact or threaten you, you need to tell Julian and your mom. We’ll involve the police if we have—”

  Cynthia stops when Julian touches her arm. He stares into the yard as Darcy stands.

  “What are you looking at?” asks Darcy, pushing the chair aside.

  “See that?”

  Julian points at a funnel-shaped web in the grass. A black form crouches behind the web. Darcy descends the steps for a better view.

  “That’s the same species I killed on the deck. Where the hell are they coming from?” Darcy glances at Jennifer. “Run inside the house and grab a jar. The largest you can find.”

  As Jennifer enters the kitchen, Darcy scrolls through her contacts until she locates Dr. Anastasia Hayworth from the University of Florida. She sends a request for a video conference. After two rings, Hayworth answers.

  “Agent Haines,” Hayworth says. The doctor sits among a wall of glass aquariums. A microscope stands beside her on a cluttered desk. “I hope the local press hasn’t blamed another death on spiders.”

  Darcy strides around the web, giving the spider a wide berth. The eight-legged beast swivels as Darcy moves, keeping her in its sight.

  “I found another spider like the one I told you about.”

  “Splendid. May I see it?”

  “Give us a second to capture the spider. It’s in the backyard off our deck.”

  Julian takes a large-size jar from Jennifer and approaches the web. Cynthia removes the phone from her pocket, prepared to call for an ambulance if the spider bites him. As the spider darts inside the web, irritated as Julian and Darcy converge from opposite angles, Julian slams the jar over the web. The spider darts against the glass, lunging at Julian.

  “Good thing this guy can’t bite through glass,” Julian says with a nervous snicker.

  Darcy winces as Julian grabs the lid. He must slide the lid under the jar before the spider bites him.

  “Tip the jar to the side,” she says, edging closer.

  “Easier said than done.”

  When Julian tilts the jar, the spider spins and shoots out of the trap. He jumps back before the spider’s fangs puncture his ankle. This time, when the spider dives at Julian, he sets the open jar in front of it. Once the spider crawls into the trap, he closes the lid. Darcy puts a hand over her chest.

  “It didn’t bite you, did it?”

  “Missed me by that much,” Julian says, putting his thumb and forefinger a quarter-inch apart. “Cynthia, run next door. Tell Derek to bring a small aquarium.”

  As Cynthia turns to leave, Julian says, “And make sure it has a secure top.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Saturday, September 19th

  3:55 p.m.

  “Okay, Doctor. Can you see the spider now?”

  Darcy angles the phone at the black spider. The arachnid crouches inside a small aquarium set on the table. A locking top makes the aquarium escape-proof. But that doesn’t prevent Derek’s wife, Janelle, from leaping back every time the spider skitters at the glass.

  “A little more to the left,” Hayworth says. “Right there. That’s perfect.”

  Darcy braces her phone against the table to keep the picture stable. When the spider crawls toward the phone, a quarter-inch of glass protecting Darcy from the arachnid, Hayworth hisses.

  “Did you say you found this outside your house?” asks Hayworth, pulling the phone toward her for a closer look.

  “Below the deck.”

  “Agent Haine
s, that’s no tarantula. It’s an Australian funnel web spider.”

  “Is it venomous?”

  “The funnel web is one of the few spiders in the world capable of killing a healthy adult. The question is how this spider arrived in your backyard. You’re certain this is the same species you killed?”

  “It’s the same spider.”

  As Derek maneuvers around the table to view the spider, Janelle grabs his forearm and yanks him back.

  “Not so close.”

  “It can’t get us through the glass,” Derek says.

  “Australian funnel webs enter the United States through illegal pet trade,” adds Hayworth, worry creasing the corners of her eyes. “It’s probable someone labeled the box as tarantulas. It’s not like there’s a scan which identifies funnel webs.”

  Darcy turns the camera around to face her.

  “So it’s conceivable our two victims died from funnel web bites.”

  Hayworth bobs her head.

  “Yes, but the odds of encountering a funnel web spider in the wild are astronomical, even if someone released a horde along the coast.”

  “What are the odds I’d encounter two spiders in the backyard?”

  “Not high unless someone put them there.”

  Julian holds Darcy’s eye.

  “There were at least two in my neighborhood. What if a funnel web bites someone else?”

  The doctor types at her keyboard.

  “You’ll need an antivenom. It’s difficult to obtain one in the United States. Hold on.” Hayworth hits return and clicks her mouse. “We’re in luck. North Carolina State has a small supply of antivenom. They’re studying funnel webs.”

  “Any chance we can get our hands on the antivenom?”

  “Let me make a phone call. I went to school with the professor heading up the study.”

  Darcy thanks Hayworth and ends the call. They stand around the table and glare at the killer arachnid inside the aquarium with a new appreciation for the deadly specimen.

  “It’s true,” Derek says, acknowledging the doctor’s claims. “The illegal pet trade imports dangerous exotics. It gives collectors a bad name. But I’ve never seen a funnel web up close. Fascinating.”