by Linda Howard
Dinner was relaxed, with a lot of joking and teasing. Marlie asked Trammell when Dane’s house would be finished, and he lied without turning a hair. More delays, he said solemnly.
Grace told Marlie all about the wedding plans she was making, and how lucky it was that they had planned on a long engagement because she would need all the time to plan a large, formal wedding. Trammell broke out in a slight sweat as he listened to the discussion, but the look of wild panic was gone; he was adjusting to the idea of marriage in connection with himself.
A series of thunderstorms, normal during the hot summer nights, popped up and entertained them with dramatic flashes of lightning and booms of thunder. After dinner, Trammell took several photographs of them all, and that led him into showing the thick albums of shots he had taken over the years.
Dane figured prominently in a good many of them, and Marlie studied his face with interest. He looked different, somehow, in the stark black-and-white photos Trammell had taken. Seeing her interest, Trammell settled beside her to tell her all about every shot.
It was earlier than usual when Marilyn Elrod arrived home, but the passing storms had knocked out the electricity at the bar, and the patrons had been politely but firmly invited to leave. She was also tipsier than usual, and when the garage door didn’t lift, she pressed the button on the opener again. Still nothing happened.
“Damn it,” she muttered, pointing the opener directly at the doors and holding her thumb on the button. Nothing. She threw it onto the car seat beside her. “Stupid batteries.”
She tottered in her high heels up the walk to the front door, then stood weaving as she tried to remember the code for the security alarm. She only had a few seconds after unlocking the door, she didn’t remember how long, to punch in the code and prevent the alarm from sounding. She hated that damn alarm, so shrill it hurt her eardrums. The security system had been James’s idea, not hers. Men and their gadgets.
It took her a minute to notice that the little red light above the lock wasn’t shining. Damn, was everything in the house malfunctioning?
Then she laughed softly to herself. Of course! The electricity was off here, too. She should have noticed how dark the neighborhood was.
She fumbled the key into the lock and opened it, stumbling a bit over the threshold as she went inside. Damn, it was dark as a tomb! How was she supposed to see?
Candles, she thought. She had candles. She had bought an assortment of incense candles, thinking of the sexy atmosphere they would make when she brought a lover home. There hadn’t been any lovers yet, but she was prepared just in case. James had probably had some flashlights around, but she didn’t know where they were. It was likely he had taken them with him, the bastard. He wouldn’t want his little dolly to be caught in the dark.
But where had she put them? The kitchen? That didn’t seem like the right place to put incense candles.
On the other hand, that’s where the matches were, and maybe she had put them there. She slipped out of her heels as she felt her way through the dark house to the kitchen. She found the matches first and struck one, relieved by the small flare of light. Three of them burned down before she located the incense candles.
She lit one immediately, to give herself light. Well, this was a fine end to a boring evening, she thought in disgust. She might as well go to bed, since she couldn’t even watch television.
She carried the sack of candles in one hand and the lighted candle in the other as she went upstairs, only stumbling once. “Oops,” she whispered. “Have to be careful. I’m carrying fire.” The thought made her giggle.
In her bedroom, which she had changed completely after James had left—she had burned all the sheets the bastard had slept on—she lit the candles one by one and set them on her dresser, so she could see the effect when they were reflected in the mirror. Yeah, she thought. Pretty damn sexy. The thick aroma of incense rose, and she coughed a little. Maybe she should go for unscented candles.
She began to undress, leaving her clothes were they fell. The incense grew stronger, and she coughed again.
She halted, her head tilted a little to the side. Had she heard something? She waited, but the house remained silent. Too silent, she thought. Yeah, that was the problem. She was accustomed to hearing the quiet hum of the refrigerator, the clocks, the ceiling fans. Without them, she was too aware of the sounds outside.
When she was naked, she pulled on a robe and belted it loosely at her waist. She was suddenly too sleepy to do the complete cleansing cream routine, so she simply wet a washcloth in the dark bathroom and scrubbed it over her face, then dropped it in the basin.
She yawned as she went back into the bedroom. The candle flames flickered, sending up sickening waves of incense. She leaned over to blow them out, and a face appeared in the mirror.
She whirled around, a scream lodging in her throat.
“Hellooo,” the man said softly.
20
THE ALBUM WENT SKIDDING ACROSS THE FLOOR, STARTLING everyone. Marlie was on her feet, swaying, her face utterly white. Her pupils were so constricted that only tiny black dots remained, the intense blue of the irises dominating her stricken face.
“Dane,” she said. Her voice was thin and almost soundless.
“Oh, hell.” He lunged out of his chair and caught her weight against him as her knees began to buckle.
“What’s wrong?” Grace cried in alarm.
Both Dane and Trammell ignored her, their attention focused on Marlie. She was breathing in heavy, jerky gasps, her eyes wide and fixed as she stared at something they couldn’t see.
“Dane?” she said again, pleading despair in her voice. Her hands clutched his shirt, twisting the fabric.
Dane gently eased her down onto the couch. “I’m here, baby,” he said, hoping she could hear him. “Is it happening again?” She didn’t answer. He shook her insistently. “Marlie!”
The jerky breaths roughened into dry sobs. “He’s looking at me,” she said in a voice that was no longer hers.
Dane couldn’t get her to respond again. She sat motionless, her breathing evening out until it was barely perceptible. Her eyes were open and unseeing, unblinking.
“Shit,” Trammell said softly, crouched beside Dane. “When I said she could have a vision here as well as at home, I was joking.”
“Alex,” Grace said in a very clear, determined voice. “What is going on?” Her lack of understanding proved that Trammell had been his usual closemouthed self, not telling even Grace about Marlie’s abilities.
Dane didn’t take his worried gaze off Marlie’s face. She was beyond his reach and he didn’t like it, didn’t like knowing that she was going through hell and there was nothing he could do. The waiting was over.
“Alex.” Grace sounded as if she were about to resort to violence.
“Go ahead,” Dane murmured absently to Trammell. “You might as well tell her.”
“Tell me what? What’s wrong with Marlie?”
Trammell stood up and put his hand on Grace’s arm. “Marlie’s psychic,” he explained softly. “She has visions of the murders while they’re happening.”
“Psychic?” Grace glared at him. “I’m warning you, Alex Trammell—”
“It’s true,” Dane said. Violently he wished that it weren’t. “She’s having a vision now. Another murder is happening right now.”
“If this is a joke—”
“It isn’t,” he said flatly.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Trammell instructed. “Other than the three of us, and Lieutenant Bonness, no one else knows.”
She looked uneasily at Marlie. “How long does this last?”
Dane checked his watch. It was 10:36, earlier than the other two murders had happened. “I don’t know. Half an hour, maybe.” The last time, when Jackie Sheets was killed, it had taken him longer than that to bring her out of it. Somewhere in the city, at this very moment, another woman was dying a horrible death; Marlie was gone from him until it
was finished.
At 10:54, her right hand twitched convulsively several times, in an abbreviated stabbing motion. Both Dane and Trammell understood the significance of the small movement. Sweat rolled down Dane’s face despite the chill of the air conditioning. He caught her hand and held it, hoping that the contact would comfort her on some unconscious level. Trammell paced restlessly, his dark eyes hooded and dangerous.
“Make some coffee,” Dane murmured. “Or tea. She’ll need it.” Grace moved toward the kitchen, but Trammell waved her back to her seat and went to do it himself.
At eleven, Dane sat down beside her and eased her against his shoulder. Her arms felt icy to his touch. He shook her gently. “Marlie? Can you come back to me now, honey?”
Her eyes didn’t even flicker.
He waited a couple of minutes and shook her again, calling her name. He saw some small movement in her eyelids.
He began stroking her hands and arms, trying to rub some warmth back into her skin. “Wake up and talk to me, honey. Come on, pull out of it.”
Slowly her eyes began to close, and she drooped in his arms as the rigidity began to leave her muscles. He shook her again, not wanting her to slide into that deep, unconscious sleep. “You have to talk to me, Marlie. You can’t go to sleep yet.”
With visible effort she lifted her eyelids and looked at him. She was dazed, incomprehension in her eyes. Panic edged into the blue depths as she fought for consciousness, for her sense of self. It was another moment before recognition flared, followed closely by horror and anguish.
“Shhh, shhh,” he whispered, holding her close. “I’m here, baby.” He could feel the tremor that started in her legs and worked upward, becoming stronger and more violent with every passing second. He reached out, and Trammell put the coffee cup in his hand. Carefully he held it to Marlie’s trembling lips, forcing her to sip. She was gray now, as the shock worsened.
“Please,” she begged, her voice shaking and barely audible. “Let me lie down.”
“Not yet. Drink some more coffee.” He wanted to carry her to bed and let her sleep, while he held her close against the terrors of the night, but ruthlessly he pushed that impulse away. He had to get the details before he could allow her to rest.
“Tell me about it,” he demanded, putting force in his voice. “Tell me what you saw.”
She closed her eyes, trying to pull away from him.
“Damn it, Marlie!” He wasn’t gentle when he shook her this time. “Tell me!”
Her mouth trembled wildly, and tears seeped out from under her lashes. “It’s dark,” she said. She took a deep breath and let it out with a shuddering sigh. She opened her eyes. “The electricity is out. The storm knocked it out.”
That flat, expressionless tone entered her voice, as she let herself sink into the horror again. She stared straight ahead, and Dane braced himself. “She came home earlier than expected. She’s drunk. She puts some candles on the dresser, lights them. Incense candles, in little glass holders. They stink. She takes off her clothes, puts on a robe. Nice of her; saves him some trouble. She goes into the bathroom and washes her face. When she comes out, he’s waiting for her.”
“Dear God,” Grace said quietly, as the horror of what she was hearing, of what Marlie had endured, began to come home to her.
“He comes up behind her when she bends down to blow out the stinking candles. She sees him, turns around. She doesn’t scream; they almost never do. He’s already too close, the knife already at her throat. Even though she’s drunk, the stupid bitch, he can see that she knows what’s happening. Good. There’s no point in punishment if they don’t understand the lesson.
“He makes her take off the robe. She’s too skinny; he can see her ribs. He doesn’t like that. She’s terrified. She doesn’t argue when he tells her to lie down. Not on the bed—the floor. He prefers the floor. He’s gentle with her, but he can see in her eyes that she knows who he is, knows his power. That’s nice, but it takes away the element of surprise.
“Afterward, he helps her to her feet. He kisses her cheek, strokes her hair. He pulls on her hair a little to make her tilt her head back, and she looks up at him. Please, she says, begging already. No pride. They never have any pride. He smiles at her, and watches her eyes as she feels the first sting of the blade. Then he lets her go, so the race can start.”
Trammell swung away, muttering a curse.
Marlie wasn’t looking at any of them, wasn’t seeing any of them. “She doesn’t run. She just looks at him. He cuts her again. Says, Run bitch. She doesn’t. She swings at him, hits him in the face. Then she’s all over him, hitting, kicking, screaming at him. He’s furious; this isn’t the way he wanted it to work. Stupid bitch. If that’s the way she wants it, he’ll give it to her. He slices deep, again and again, to get it over with. He hates her. She was stupid, she ruined it for him. It was supposed to be a race, like the Preakness. Maryland, O Maryland.” Marlie sang the last little bit.
“She’s down. His arm is tired. She isn’t even grunting now when the knife goes in. He gets up …” Her voice suddenly wavered. Dane felt her jerk, then begin to tremble again.
“What?” he asked softly.
Her face was colorless, her eyes stark. “He looked in the mirror,” she said. When Dane merely stared at her, puzzled, she said it again. “He looked in the mirror! He saw himself—and I saw him!”
“Jesus Christ.” Every hair on his body stood upright, and a chill chased down his spine. Trammell and Grace were utterly silent, their attention riveted on her.
“He’s completely bald,” she whispered. “He shaves his head. A square jawline. H-His eyes are a little too small, a little too close together.”
Dane couldn’t contain himself. He was on his feet, his powerful body tense and ready for action. “We’ll get a police artist in,” he said. “He’ll work with you on the sketch, and then we’ll get it to all the television stations and newspapers in the area.” It was their first break, and it was a huge one. “Call Bonness,” he told Trammell. “Fill him in on what’s happened. We need to find the woman, too, one way or another. Marlie, what did she look like—” He turned back to her, and broke off in midsentence. Her head had fallen back against the couch and her eyes were closed, her hands lying limply in her lap.
“Ah, honey,” he said softly. She had given in to the debilitating exhaustion. For a moment he had forgotten the physical price she paid in this. He wanted to kick himself. Immediately he pushed all other concerns aside; others could take care of the details in finding the victim, but only he could take care of Marlie. “You handle everything,” he told Trammell as he bent over her to lift her in his arms. “I’m taking her home.”
“You can both stay here,” Trammell said, but Dane shook his head.
“She’s confused when she first wakes up, and it takes her a while to get her bearings again. It’ll be easier for her if she’s in her own home.”
“How long will it be before she’ll be able to talk to an artist? Bonness will want to know.”
“Noon, at the very earliest. More likely two or three in the afternoon.”
“He won’t like waiting that long.”
“He’ll have to.” With Trammell and Grace flanking him, and cradling Marlie gently in his arms, he carried her to the car. Trammell opened the door for him, and he placed her on the seat, let the back down into a reclining position, and buckled her seat belt.
“Do you need me?” Grace asked. She eyed Marlie’s pale, unconscious face worriedly. “I’ll be glad to sit up with her.”
“I can handle it. She’ll sleep for at least twelve hours.”
“Well, all right. Call me if you need me.”
“I will,” he said, and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
Marlie didn’t move during the drive through the misty, foggy night. Having seen it before, he wasn’t as worried as he had been the first time, but on the other hand, now he knew how exhausted she would be, and how lon
g it would take her to recover. This had to be the last one. He couldn’t let her go through this time and again. As soon as they got a police sketch ready and to the media, he would put his plan into action.
He had barely gotten Marlie home and placed her on the bed before the phone began ringing. Irritably he snatched it up. “Hollister.”
It was Bonness. “We can’t wait until tomorrow to get started on that sketch. This is information that needs to be in newspapers tomorrow.”
“It’ll have to wait,” Dane said harshly. “She can’t do it now.”
“She has to.”
“She can’t,” he snapped. “This isn’t a choice she has, or that you have. She’s unconscious with exhaustion, and it takes hours for her to recover.”
“Maybe a doctor can give her adrenaline or something, to snap her out of it—”
Dane ground his teeth together to control a flare of fury. “I’ll break anyone’s arm who comes near her with a needle,” he said, his voice hard and crisp.
Bonness paused, taken aback more by the warning implic it in his tone than the actual words. The words were bad enough, but the tone was deadly. Nevertheless, he tried again. “Damn it, Hollister, you need to get your priorities straight—”
“They’re as straight as they’re going to get,” Dane interrupted again. “No one is touching her. I’m turning off the phone here, so she won’t be disturbed. If you need me, call the beeper number, but don’t waste my time trying to change my mind. Talk to Trammell if you have any doubts about her condition.”
“I already have,” Bonness said reluctantly.
“Then why the hell did you call?”
“I thought maybe there was something we could do—”
“I’ve already pushed her as far as possible, to get what information we did. This hit her harder than the last time, harder and faster. Just leave her alone and let her sleep. I promise that I’ll call as soon as she wakes up.”
