Jessica said nothing and her husband walked over and laid a hand on her cheek.
“Maybe you should let someone else take over from here, hmm?”
She stared up into his eyes, stared and searched,
“No, I think Claire Rothman’s story is a tale I need to hear.”
“I’ll be right here, waiting,”
Jessica sent him a weak smile and walked back into the room, where a woman much like herself waited to tell her story.
CHAPTER 4
Twenty miles away, Robert Michael Rothman sat in a diner and stared up at the TV that hung over the counter.
There was a picture of him on the screen, but it was more than a decade old and he doubted that anyone in the diner would connect him with it.
He had always known he was average looking, and as he gazed about the diner he saw two other men who matched the photo on the TV as well as he did. Still, it wasn’t smart to press your luck, and so he paid for his breakfast and left.
After the chaos at the farm, he had taken the vehicle that the would-be robbers had arrived in and driven away.
The robbers had underestimated him. At sixty-one, his hair was gray and his face, although handsome, had attained a few lines and wrinkles, add to this his medium stature, and very few people would view him as a physical threat, but then, very few people were right about most things.
He walked around to the rear of the diner, through a sparse patch of greenery and entered a shopping center. The center was shaped like a U and the back of the U was occupied by a huge supermarket, while shops of various sizes and different specialties filled the right and the left sides.
It was a weekday with school in session and so the parking lot wasn’t crowded. The first shop on the left was a busy convenience store that seemed to be doing a brisk business of selling lottery tickets. He spotted what he was looking for hanging behind the counter, and when he left the store, he had two disposable cell phones.
Once outside the store, he placed a call. When the call went unanswered, he left a message, set the phone to vibrate, and then continued his walk about the shopping center
As Rothman strolled along, he read the names of the shops and when he came upon the Lady Lite Fitness Center, he headed out into the section of the parking lot where Lady Lite’s clientele parked their cars.
Each parking spot had an LL painted on at the front of the grid. It seemed that each shop had their own designated parking slots.
Rothman looked back and realized that the Lady Lite Fitness Center was sandwiched between a bakery and an ice-cream parlor, and for a moment he wondered how many women had sweated away calories inside Lady Lite only to leave its doors and gain them all back at the bakery.
When he finally found an unlocked car, he smiled at his luck, for it was a luxury vehicle and inside it, he spied a collection of modern dance music, as well as photos clipped to the sun visor that showed a group of smiling, fit twentysomethings.
Good. This meant that his new prey was most likely young and had money. Money meant space, people of means tended to live farther apart from each other than their less affluent counterparts. The woman that owned the vehicle most likely lived in a private home, or at the very least an apartment with well-insulated walls.
The photos showed three women and three men. Two of the women were blondes while the third was a redhead. He hoped that it was the redhead who owned the car; it had been a long time since he had a redhead.
Rothman popped the trunk before closing the door, and then walked around to the rear of the vehicle and checked to see if it had an internal trunk release, it did.
A quick glance showed him that the tiny car used by the security patrol was on the other side of the parking lot and that no cops were nearby. When he was certain that no one was watching, he climbed into the trunk and shut himself in, and while lying there in the darkness, he thought about his wife.
***
Back at the police station, Claire Rothman continued her story.
“When Robert untied me from the tree that day I saw a look of shame in his eyes and knew that he had regretted what he’d done to me. When I asked him why he attacked me, he told me that it was because I was just the kind of girl he’d always dreamed of.”
Jessica’s pulse quickened as she listened to Claire’s story, a story much like her own.
“We married after college and our life together was good, but deep down I knew that Robert wasn’t normal, and I wasn’t alone in that opinion. Over the years, all of my friends, girls I’d known since childhood, slowly slipped away from me, and more than once I heard whispered comments about Robert, comments about the way he looked at them, studied them with his eyes as if he wanted to devour them. My best friend, her name was Cindy Bowman, the last time I saw her she told me that Robert flat-out gave her the creeps and that she couldn’t understand what I saw in him, but I loved Robert, knew that he loved me, and I didn’t care what anyone else thought.”
“You say that your husband studied women, stared at them, are you aware of a time when he may have done more than stare?”
“If you’re asking me about that poor girl hanging from those chains, I swear I didn’t know anything about that.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. We know it became more than mere staring, what I’m asking is when, when do you believe that he went from looking to touching, to taking, taking women to ease the sick cravings that he felt.”
Claire gazed down at the tabletop for long moments before she finally spoke again.
“I don’t have a date, but I can guess at the time period. If I had to guess, I think he crossed the line with Vicky Belle.”
“Who’s Vicky Belle?”
“Nearly twenty years ago, we had a housekeeper named Marge Belle. Marge suffered a massive stroke when she was only forty-two and became disabled and later died. Robert and I went to the funeral and that’s when we met Marge’s daughter, Victoria. I still remember the way she stared at Robert throughout the funeral, and... I remember Robert staring back.
“Vicky Belle was only eighteen, beautiful, and smart. Unlike most women, she seemed fascinated by Robert and told me that she always dreamed of being a sculptor. In the weeks after the funeral, she would stop by and spend time with Robert in the barn as he worked on a sculpture. I became concerned that they were having an affair, but when I confronted Robert with my suspicions, he denied it. Then, Vicky suddenly stopped coming by and was never seen around town again. Now, when I think back on that, I wonder if she tried to seduce him and aroused a different passion instead.”
“Claire, you know your husband better than anyone. Where would he go to hide? Where has he run to?”
Claire shook her head slightly.
“You’ve got him all wrong, he isn’t hiding and he hasn’t run anywhere. He’s simply regrouping, planning, and when he’s ready he’ll return.”
“Return for what?” Jessica said.
“I’ll come back for you.’ Those were Robert’s last words to me and I believe them. He’ll come back for me, and soon... despite the fact that I never want to see him again.”
“He’ll never get to you. Now that the FBI knows that your husband may return, I’m sure you’ll be given protection in a secure location.”
“When can I return home?”
“It could be awhile. Your house is now a crime scene and I’m certain that the FBI and other authorities will be scouring your property for days, if not weeks.”
“So I’ve not only lost my mother and husband, but also my home, not that it matters, I doubt that I could live there again... knowing what I know.”
Jessica leaned forward and stared into Claire’s eyes.
“Knowing what you now know... do you still love him?”
Claire sighed.
“Yes, I still love him, despite all the evil he’s committed, the lives he’s destroyed, I, I still love him.”
Jessica stood and shut off the camera.
“Thank you
for talking to me, and I want you to know that I believe you.”
“You think I’m a fool though, don’t you, for staying with Robert when I knew what he was, what he was capable of?”
“No, I don’t think you were a fool. I think you were a woman in love with someone who she thought would change.”
“But people don’t change. I know that now.”
Jessica looked down at her wedding ring.
“You’re wrong, Claire, people can change, they can,”
***
As Jessica closed the door behind her, her husband walked over.
“Are you alright?”
She nodded yes, and then spoke to Agents Brice and Dyer, along with Sheriff Stevens.
“I hope what I told her is true, that you’ll be giving her protection?”
“Yes,” Brice said. “And hopefully she’s right about her husband coming back for her; it may be our best chance to capture him. In fact, I think I’ll request more assistance.”
Agent Dyer scoffed at the idea.
“I hardly think reinforcements are necessary, John. I mean the man may be hell on teenage runaways, but he’s no match for either of us, given our training.”
“You’re forgetting what he did to that home invasion team. They underestimated the man, I won’t. Make the call. Tell them we need eight more agents here and another forensics team at the farm.”
Dyer looked as if she were about to protest, but then said, “Yes sir, I’ll get right on that,” and walked away.
Jessica’s husband spoke to Brice.
“Agent Dyer seems very confident, but you’re making the right move. Rothman will come back for her soon, very soon.”
Sheriff Stevens cocked his head.
“You sound so certain, why is that?”
He turned his intense gaze towards the man. “Because it’s exactly what I would do.”
CHAPTER 5
Outside the Turtle Creek Jail, a score of news vans gathered, as journalists and camera crews eagerly awaited further word about Robert Michael Rothman.
Beyond the vans, and parked on a sloping hill, sat a blue Honda. The car was recently stolen and its owner killed by the woman now driving it.
Claire Rothman would know her as Vicky Belle, but the girl Vicky Belle vanished long ago, and since then, Victoria Belle has lived under numerous names and identities.
When Belle heard that Rothman’s true nature had been uncovered, she rushed back to Turtle Creek as quickly as she could. She sat watching the jail, waiting, and looking for any opportunity to help the man she considered her mentor and only friend.
The noise level rose outside the jail and Belle grabbed her camera and looked through a telephoto lens. Sheriff Stevens walked outside the front doors with a man and woman who were obviously Feds. The Sheriff introduced them as Special Agent Brice and Special Agent Dyer of the FBI. When the vultures of the press begin shouting questions, Brice held up a hand and quieted them down, while telling them that Agent Dyer would give a short statement concerning the case.
Agent Dyer was in her early thirties and had beautiful blue-green eyes, but Belle thought that her short hair, gray business suit and serious face made her look a bit mannish.
The woman agent stepped up to the microphones and basically said nothing of note, but simply reminded everyone that the investigation was in its earliest stages and that the manhunt for Rothman was ongoing.
Belle began snapping pictures of the feds and the deputies and fellow agents around them. When her lens focused on the face of Dr. White’s husband, she had a sudden intake of breath and zoomed in even closer.
“One of us, and man, what a dreamboat he is,” Belle whispered, while snapping multiple shots,
As the press conference ended, Belle started the car and made her way around to the parking lot of the train depot, which granted her a line of sight with the side and rear entrances of the police station.
After nearly two hours passed, Belle saw a side door open and Sheriff Stevens walked out and glanced around. Belle scrunched down in her seat and kept her camera ready.
Once the Sheriff was satisfied that no one was watching, he spoke into his radio and an SUV drove around and parked by the door, followed by an unmarked van. Through her lens, Belle could see several people fill the vehicles. When she saw Claire Rothman walk out the door, not once, but twice, she knew that the FBI was laying a trap for Rothman.
“A fucking decoy,” Belle whispered.
When the two vehicles left the parking lot, she started the car and followed them.
***
As he waited in the trunk for his prey to return to her vehicle, Rothman had used his knife to cut into the back of the fold-down rear seats until he had a sliver of space to look through. When he heard footsteps approach, he pressed his face against the rear of the trunk and saw a woman get into the car.
The woman’s name was Kaye Swan. She was a twenty-three-year-old law student and, to Rothman’s delight, she was a redhead.
Swan tossed a sweaty towel onto the backseat and then started her car. As she drove home, she blasted music on the CD player and sipped water from a plastic bottle.
When Rothman exited the trunk after a short bumpy ride, he found himself in a garage that was built into a two-story home. The door leading into the house wasn’t even locked, but as Rothman opened it, he heard a chirping sound go off, a sound meant to alert its owner whenever someone entered or exited the home.
Rothman stood there by the door with his knife at the ready, as he expected Swan to either investigate the sound or shout out, “Who’s there?”
When Swan did neither, Rothman went looking for her and found her upstairs, in the shower.
He left her there and went exploring. He had already grabbed a roll of duct tape from the garage along with a length of cotton rope, the type used to make clotheslines. When Swan finished her shower, he planned to tie her up, but before he did that, he needed information.
He found her phone on a bedside table and began scrolling through the call history. There weren’t many calls and only one number repeated more often than occasionally. Rothman figured it was probably the husband’s number and he would ascertain at what hour he was expected home, once he had her tied up on the bed.
The drawer on the table where he found the phone held a box of condoms and a tube of flavored lubricant, kiwi strawberry. Rothman squeezed out a dollop onto the tip of his finger and tasted it. When he checked the table on the other side, he found a loaded .38 revolver.
He used his knife and cut four lengths from the rope. He had no sooner finished securing the rope to the corners of the bed when he heard the shower cut off. He moved silently behind the bedroom door and pressed his back against the wall.
As he waited for Kaye Swan to dry off and walk back into the bedroom to dress, he stared at the large portrait hung over the bed. The portrait showed Swan and a blond man who he took to be her husband. The two of them were grinning at the camera as if they’d never been happier. In the backdrop, Rothman saw a turquoise sea and realized that the photo was probably taken on their honeymoon.
He began thinking of Claire then, and was so engrossed in thought about his wife that Swan walked into the room before he realized it. She was barefoot and wearing a white, terrycloth robe.
After entering the room, she walked over to the bed and stared down in puzzlement at the rope tied to it.
Rothman slid soundlessly from behind the door and with practiced finesse hit her on the back of the head just hard enough to stun her.
Swan collapsed to the floor while moaning and rolled over onto her back. Rothman saw a pair of blue eyes lose their focus as he unfastened her robe. When he reached down to grab her under the arms he made sure to step on a corner of the robe, and as he lifted her from the floor, the robe slid off and she was naked.
Incoherent mumbling became a cry of protest just as Rothman secured her fully to the bed, spread eagle. Before she could scream, he slapped duct t
ape over her mouth and, less than a minute after entering the room, Kaye Swan was a captive in her own home.
Rothman stared down at her and savored the moment. This woman, this beautiful, coveted creature was now his, his to do with as he pleased.
He felt the sense of power that always swept over him at such times and silently reveled in it.
She was taken, she was his, and completely at his mercy.
The emotions that flowed through him were as old as humankind and would always be there, but he knew that only a few such as himself would ever act upon them.
All men were attracted to beauty, all men craved with desperate hunger to taste it once they found it, but not many shunned the shackles of society and morality and claimed it for themselves.
He had fought against his nature for years, but in the end, it was a vain struggle.
He was a predator in a world overflowing with prey and he feasted upon them at will.
He looked down at the woman on the bed and, despite what most would think, he did feel sympathy towards her. However, any compassion towards her was far outweighed by the hunger, the need to possess, to control, needs that had been a part of him for as long as he could remember.
He had been created to be what he was as surely as anything else in the world and he no longer questioned why he was what he was.
The woman on the bed before him mattered little to whatever force created life. In the time it would take him to ravage, rape and murder her, the world would give birth to a thousand like her, and he knew that a certain percentage of those newborns would become prey to others like himself someday. The cycle of predator and prey was as old as time, and now, with his true nature revealed, he felt freer than he ever had.
He stopped his introspection and took a careful inventory of her body. Kaye Swan was as fit a woman as he had ever come across. Her shapely body had a well-defined musculature that in no way diminished her femininity, but instead, enhanced it. Although the area above her vagina was shaved, there was faint auburn stubble beneath Swan’s armpits and Rothman realized that she was a natural redhead. Her breasts were also natural and well-proportioned to the rest of her, the areolas large with wide pink nipples.
The TAKEN! Series - Books 5-8 (Taken! Box Set Book 2) Page 27
