by Debby Conrad
“Don’t even think about it,” he said close to her ear. He brought the knife up under her nose and laughed. “Unless you want that pretty face of yours carved up.”
Hollin shuddered and was thankful when he lowered the knife away from her face and pressed it to her side instead. The tip gouged her skin and she stiffened, almost afraid to breathe.
She found the turn he’d wanted her to take, the one with the rock at the corner. It was a bumpy, dirt road, but she didn’t bother dodging the potholes and puddles. If one of the tires was to go flat, Brad would have no choice but to change it. Then maybe, maybe she’d be able to escape him.
But her mental plan was thwarted after driving only a quarter mile. Just up ahead she saw a cabin and slowed down to a crawl. Seeing the windows that were boarded up made her throat constrict. Was this where Brad was taking her? How would anyone find her here?
“What is this place?” she asked.
“I bought it a few years ago when it came on the market. Dad and I used to come here to fish. Every year he’d rent this place so we could have a week alone. ‘Just the boys, he used to say.’” He snorted. “Until Angela started complaining she didn’t like it when he left her. I was thirteen the year he told me we were going to the Jersey shore instead of our usual fishing trip. And that you and Rachel and Angela were coming along.”
Hollin remembered that summer. And she remembered Brad whining to his dad about the change in plans. She’d felt sorry for him at the time, but was also secretly happy they were all going to the beach on a family vacation. That trip had changed things. Shortly afterward, Rachel started acting differently. She was more distant, more secretive, more despondent toward everyone. Especially toward Brad.
Angela had said it was Rachel’s hormones kicking in. Hollin had thought it was because her sister had grown breasts earlier that year. Rachel thought she was more grown up than her baby sister, as she sometimes would call her. Hollin had actually prayed that she too would grow breasts so she and her sister could be close again.
Once Rachel had told Hollin she’d shown her new breasts to Brad, but when Hollin threatened to tell her mother, she’d laughed and said she was only joking.
Now Hollin wondered.
“Stop. Turn off the ignition.”
Hollin did as she was told.
Brad yanked the key free and pocketed it. He jerked on her arm and pulled her roughly out of the car. She bumped her hip and then her knee on the gearshift.
Once her feet hit the ground, she turned back to retrieve her purse. Her purse with her cell phone and extra car key.
“Leave it,” he said. “And don’t even think about running.” He gave her a shove, propelling her forward.
She could smell the musty lake and damp earth while the sounds of the woods reverberated in the silence, playing a tune of their own.
He pushed her up the creaky wood steps to the front door and fished in his jacket pocket for a key. It was a dead bolt, and the first thing she noticed was that the lock looked new.
Brad had planned this, had added that lock to the door and had boarded up the windows as well. Once they were inside he closed the door. It was ink blank inside, and the terror began to mount within her. She heard him turn the lock.
“Scared?” he whispered.
“No.”
“Liar.” She heard a switch flick and the room was instantly bathed in light. She looked at the door they’d come in. The dead bolt didn’t have a latch; she’d need a key to get out. And since the windows were all boarded, she was doomed.
She needed a plan, and she couldn’t panic. She had only herself on which to depend. That meant she had to remain calm and level headed.
Take a deep breath. She did, filling her lungs with the stale, musty air. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture. Across from the fireplace sat a sofa with wood arms and an old recliner. A Formica table with four chrome and red, vinyl chairs around it was in the far corner. There were no walls to separate the kitchen that had chipped, white, metal cabinets, an old gas stove and a small refrigerator.
The floor was a scarred and battered looking linoleum with a braided rug in the center of the living area. An opening on the back wall led to what she assumed was a bathroom, hopefully, and possibly a bedroom or two.
“Hungry?” he asked, finally releasing her arm.
“No. But I’d like to use the bathroom.”
He nodded to the hall and started off in the same direction. Hollin followed.
Flicking on the light to the cramped bathroom, Brad said, “I want you to bathe. I can smell him on you.”
She knew he was referring to Griffin, but she didn’t respond. She refused to anger him. Instead, she waited until he moved from the doorway so she could enter. There was only a shower stall, toilet and small sink. There was no window. No means of escape. Hollin placed her hand on the door and was about to push it shut, when he stopped her.
“Leave it open.” He smiled wickedly. “Besides, locking yourself in there won’t do any good. I have the key.”
It was the first time she’d looked him in the eye since her abduction, and she didn’t like what she saw. This wasn’t the Brad she knew. His blue eyes were dull and full of insolence. His features hard and foreboding.
When he disappeared around the corner, she quickly used the toilet. The bowl was stained brown from rusty water and made a horrible screeching sound when she flushed.
“I brought you a towel and some clean clothes.” He shoved them at her. Everything was new, she noted, seeing the price tags. “The water should be hot. I had someone stop by a few days ago to get the place ready and stock it with some groceries.”
She supposed Brad was waiting for her to show some gratitude. “Thank you.”
He actually smiled. “You’re welcome. See, I’m not such a bad guy.”
You’re a rapist and a murderer. You’re sick, demented, and I hate you! she wanted to yell, but didn’t dare. Keep calm.
He disappeared again, and Hollin heard him whistling. Lifting her gaze skyward, she prayed for the strength to escape him.
Dropping the clothing and towel on the floor, she lowered herself to the toilet and buried her face in her hands. Flames licked at her insides, like a churning volcano about to erupt. She was thankful her stomach was empty or she knew she’d be sick.
She forced herself to stand and undress, her thoughts weighing on her like bowling balls tied to her limbs. She pulled back the shower curtain and was surprised to see several of the products she normally used. Shampoo, soap, shower gel.
Which meant if he’d gone to all the trouble of buying her clothes and toiletries, then he wasn’t planning on killing her. Or was he?
Hollin quickly stepped under the shower’s spray and scrubbed her skin and hair clean. She had to show Brad she was compliant. She’d do whatever he said, except for one thing.
If he touched her, if he tried to force himself on her, she knew with absolute certainty she’d kill him.
#
Sara MacDougal lived in a modest house with a white picket fence, just on the edge of town. Her brows drew together in an agonized expression when she opened her door and saw Griffin standing on the front porch.
“Sara?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Griffin Wells, and I was wondering if I could talk to you.”
“I know who you are.” She looked past his shoulder, then met his gaze again.“If you’re uncomfortable letting me inside, maybe you could step out on the porch and we could talk.”
She seemed to be weighing her choices, then opened the door wider to allow him inside. “Would you like to sit down?” she asked, tipping her head toward the living room.
“Yes. Thanks.” Griffin sat in one of the two chairs and Sara sat in the center of the gray and red plaid sofa. “I need your help.”
She gave a short laugh and touched her short auburn hair. “You need my help?” She was dressed in jeans and a long sleeve T-shirt. Her smile fad
ed. “I don’t understand.”
Griffin didn’t waste any time. He got right to the point. “Hollin Pierce is missing.”
Her brows shot up and she sat forward on the sofa. “Missing? What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “But we’ve been seeing each other.”
She gave a tiny nod. “Yes, I heard.”
Of course, she had. “And last night we had sort of a disagreement.” She told me she loved me, and I acted like a jackass. And now she probably hates me forever. “She took off, and no one has heard from her since. This is so unlike her. I know she wouldn’t have done this deliberately. I mean worrying her family like that.”
“You’re right. She wouldn’t do that, especially after what happened to Rachel. That was just awful, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was.”
“I really like Hollin.”
“Yeah, so do I.”
Her expression suddenly grew puzzled. “Why are you here? Why would you come to me for help?”
“Because you were married to Brad MacDougal.”
She shrugged, then her mouth fell open. “You think Brad had something to do with her disappearance.” He watched her face and eyes as her mind began to register. Then she brought her hands to her mouth. Her voice was resigned. “Oh, God. Why didn’t I see it?” She dropped her hands to her lap and stared him in the eye. “What do you want to know about him?”
“Everything.”
#
Hollin emerged from the bathroom, her wet hair skimming her shoulders, the water drops soaking through the fabric of the white blouse Brad had given her to wear. The navy slacks were a little loose, but she didn’t care. What bothered her more than anything was that he’d known her exact bra size, and the panties he’d selected--white cotton briefs--fit perfectly as well.
She crept down the hall to check out the rooms beyond. Both of the rooms she assumed were bedrooms, were so dark she couldn’t see a thing. Which meant the windows were boarded up in those rooms as well. Not wanting Brad to get suspicious, she walked into the main room where he sat waiting for her.
“You look much better,” he said, a satisfied smile on his thin lips. He patted the sofa cushion next to him. “Come sit down.”
She chose the chair, instead of sitting beside him, her hands tense in her lap.
He frowned, obviously displeased with her choice. “Don’t be mad at me, Hollin.”
Shuddering, she gave him an incredulous look. “You raped me. You murdered my sister.”
His face became a mask of rage. “I did what had to be done.” An icy chill hung on his words. “Rachel was a slut! She’d been tormenting me for years.”
Brad stood, took a step toward her, then sighed and returned to his seat. He placed his hands on his temples, as if he were fighting with his emotions.
The dank but humid, stale air clawed at Hollin’s senses, making it hard for her to breathe.
Lowering his hands, he stared at her, all calm and collected once again. “Did you know I used to sneak in your room at night and watch you while you slept?” His lips curled into a brief smile. “Rachel caught me one night. While we were vacationing on the shore. You were only ten that summer. I thought you were the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.”
He stared at her wistfully. “But Rachel told Dad. She tried to turn it into something dirty. Something vulgar. She was jealous,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “She wanted my attention. She even flashed her tits at me one day, thinking she could distract me. And then a few years later she started coming to my room in the middle of the night. She seduced me.”
Hollin tried to block out his words as her hands twisted nervously in her lap. She attempted to swallow, but her throat was too dry. She didn’t want to listen, but there was no escape.
His brows drew together in a frown as he reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a thin gold chain. From the chain swung a gold heart.
Her locket. The one he’d ripped from her neck the night he’d raped her.
Hollin shuddered.
“I tried to warn you. I told you not to dress like her. Not to wear that cheap makeup on your face. But you wouldn’t listen to me. How was I supposed to go away to school, knowing what you were doing behind my back?”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. It was clear he was growing more agitated. And Hollin had to think of a way to calm him down.
“Brad, let’s open the door for some fresh air.”
Jerking his head upright, he gave a short laugh. “So you can escape? Is that what you’re planning? Do you think I’m that stupid?” The color in his face deepened.
“No. I just thought . . . I can’t breathe in here. Can’t we go outside at least?”
“No! You’re staying right here. I have to explain. I have to make you understand.”
Beads of sweat dotted his forehead while her own skin grew clammy.
“No one understood. Not Rachel. Not my father. It was all his fault. He threatened me when we first came to live at Angela’s house. I hated you and Rachel.” He snorted humorlessly. “With Rachel, the hatred came so easy, but Dad said if I wasn’t nice to you and her, he’d send me to live with Aunt Marsha. I couldn’t believe my own father would send me away.” He sucked in a breath and blew it out.
Tilting his head, he gave her a contemplative look. “He doted on you, used to hold you on his lap while he was reading. I was so jealous, but I soon learned that the nicer I was to you, the more Dad seemed to love me. And the nicer I was to you, the more I got to like you.” He smiled, and Hollin wanted to slap him.
“After Rachel told Dad I had sneaked into your room, he told me it was unhealthy to be thinking of you as anything more than a sister. But he didn’t understand. We were connected, you and me.”
Like hell, she thought, but didn’t voice her feelings.
“And then, when he stopped by that day, the day he had his heart attack, I realized he would never understand my feelings for you. He saw the pictures and . . .” He buried his face in his hands.
“What pictures, Brad?”
He lifted his head, and she noticed the grief stricken look on his face. “I usually keep that door locked. Dad was looking for the bathroom, and he opened it.”
“What door? What pictures?” Panic rose inside her, filling her veins and limbs with what felt like cement.
Shaking his head, he said, “It doesn’t matter anymore.” He smiled thinly. “All that matters now is the future. You and me.”
He was right. It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was her staying alive, getting away from him. She sat there, trying to tune him out while thinking how she could distract him, how she could get those keys.
He’d taken off his sports coat, and it now hung over the back of one of the chrome chairs. Perhaps if she told him she was hungry, he’d make something for her to eat. And once he turned his back on her, she could grab the keys and run.
“It was so easy to frame Wells. He never locked the door on that old trailer. I found his pocketknife in a drawer in his bedroom and tossed it in the bushes near the garage.” He snickered, obviously proud of himself. “I was the one who told Deputy Barnes to search the area again for evidence.” He exhaled loudly and shifted in his seat.
“I couldn’t believe that you would go anywhere near Wells when you came home.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t going to give you another chance, not after seeing you with him. Kissing him. And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, you let that piece of scum inside you. It was disgusting. Do you know how that made me feel? I wanted to kill you.”
Hollin cringed but refused to let him get to her. She pushed away from the chair and stood. “Brad, I’m starving. I need to eat something.”
“Haven’t you been listening to me?”
“I’m ready to pass out, and you must be hungry too.” She moved to the kitchen area, passing by the table and chairs, where Brad’s sports coat hung.
He quic
kly stood and closed the distance between them. “You’re trying to divert my attention, but it’s not going to work. There’s no way you can escape, Hollin.”
“I’m not trying to do any such thing. I’m just tired and hungry. After I eat something and rest a little, maybe we can talk some more. Maybe I’ll see things . . . differently.”
He reached out and touched her cheek and she almost lost it. Somehow she found the strength to force her trembling mouth into a smile.
“Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll cook for us,” she suggested, backing away from his revolting touch.
He dropped his hand to his side. “You’re not a very good liar. And if you think you’re going to find anything sharper than a butter knife in one of those drawers, you’re wrong.”
She swallowed back the bile in her throat. “Don’t be silly. I wasn’t thinking anything like that.” Slowly, she turned her back on him and went to scope out the contents of the refrigerator. She took out a carton of eggs, a stick of butter, some cheddar cheese.
Opening the cupboard doors, she searched for a pan, passing up the omelet pan in favor of a heavy, iron skillet. She turned on the gas burner, grabbed the box of matches on the back of the stove and lit it. While the butter melted in the skillet, she started preparing the omelet mixture.
From over her shoulder she noticed Brad had taken a chair at the small Formica table. “This is nice, you cooking for me. We could do this every morning together. You, Chelsea and I.”
Hollin stiffened. Chelsea?
“Do you think she looks like me?”
Why hadn’t she put it together before now? Brad was Chelsea’s father. She fought back both a wave of tears and nausea. “Yes,” she muttered, refusing to look at him. “She does.” Although Rachel had always thought her niece was Rachel’s clone.
“Rachel refused to admit she was mine, but I knew. That lying slut!”
Hollin beat the eggs with a fork, taking all her frustration out on them.
“I knew I had to kill her.”
Her knees almost buckled as she grated the cheese.
“I was afraid I might not be able to murder a woman with my bare hands, which is why I decided I needed a little practice.”
