There was the softest moan from him, enough to send a surge of hope through Katie. “Katherine?” His voice was weak and thready.
“Yes, Jonathan, it’s me.” She could barely see him in the pale light from the window. “Are you all right?”
Groaning, he struggled to get up, falling back again before Katie remembered to tell him that his hands and feet were bound. “Christ, my head,” he groaned. “What happened?”
Briefly, prodded by a powerful sense of urgency, Katie explained their perilous situation, along with giving him a quick summary of all that Drake had told her. “Both exits are locked,” she finished. “I don’t know how we’re going to get out of here, but we don’t have much time.” She paused, becoming aware that Jonathan did not seem at all surprised. “You knew all along that it was Drake, didn’t you?”
“No, not really,” he said, keeping his own voice to a near whisper, “but I did get a sense of—I don’t know—the uncanny, I suppose, when we ran into him at the funeral parlor. There was something in his eyes—like hearing a sour note on the piano. I put my aversion to him down to jealousy, though I found myself remembering something my mother told me years ago—that dried wheat stems make excellent straw, and Devlin had said that he and his father grew wheat on their land. But that bit of trivia isn’t going to help us now—too little, too late, as they say. Our first job is to get out of these ropes. We need something to cut them with.”
Katie wracked her brain, then, in a flash of recall, saw herself dropping the flashlight down here the other night, heard the splintering of glass. She told Jonathan. “I dropped the flashlight when I saw—anyway, if the police didn’t clean it up, the glass is still here.”
“Be careful,” he said behind her. “Don’t cut yourself.”
After only a moment’s searching, excitement rippled through her at the touch of something smooth and cool against her cheek. “I’ve got it.” Seizing the fair-sized sliver of glass between her teeth, she made her way back to Jonathan and maneuvered the glass into his hand.
Backs pressed together, Jonathan worked feverishly at the ropes binding her wrists. Their combined breathing seemed deafening in the quiet of the cellar. The seconds crept by with nerve-screaming slowness. Katie was about to despair that their plan would fail when, suddenly, the rope snapped. Her hands were free. Briskly, she rubbed the circulation back into them, then quickly undid the rope around her ankles.
“Listen!” Jonathan whispered.
Katie froze. “I don’t hear anything.” And then she did, a soft rustling just outside the door. Oh, no, she had to untie Jonathan.
“No!” he whispered, as she turned to him. “No time. Get away from me. He has to believe I’m still out. It’s our only chance. Go!”
She’d barely managed to put a few feet between them when the door swung open. Drake’s silhouetted form seemed to fill the doorway. The knife was in his hand, its blade gleaming in the moonlight. He came inside, slowly, warily, the knife poised now, leaving the door open wide behind him to let in light. His eyes went from Katie to Jonathan who lay perfectly still and in the same position as Drake had left him. After a moment, Katie saw the tension leave Drake’s shoulders, and the wild look go out of his eyes.
“So you’ve managed to free yourself,” he drawled, moving toward her, reaching out a hand to stroke her breast beneath the tissue-thin fabric. Katie’s skin recoiled at his touch. “Nice,” he murmured. An almost uncontrollable hatred for Drake Devlin washed over her, and she had to fight the compulsion to ignore the knife, and just fly into him, hands, feet, everything. But in the rational part of her mind, she knew she would be no match for a madman wielding a knife. He would kill her. And then he would kill Jonathan.
“I’ve got something I want to show you,” he said, his hot, greedy eyes raking her body, “then you and I will take a little trip upstairs. No sense in our not being comfortable, is there? By the way, you do look ravishing in that negligee. A nice touch, don’t you think?” He shifted his gaze to Jonathan again. “Did you try to wake your boyfriend?” He sauntered over to where Jonathan lay still as death, and nudged his ribs with the toe of his boot.
Katie’s own breath stopped.
“I thought you’d try,” he said, coming back to her. “But I made sure he wouldn’t be waking up for a long, long time.”
As he reached to take her hand, Katie flattened herself against the wall. “No. You’re crazy, Drake. You’ll never get away with this.
They’ll find you. Jonathan will…”
“What they’ll find,” he cut in softly, “is the good doctor here slumped over your grave with his wrists slashed. Murder and suicide. A crime of passion. Happens all the time.” He gave a hard laugh.
“No one will believe…”
“Oh, of course they will. A psychiatrist who’d just lost a patient— blames himself, poor man. He takes a year off. A mental breakdown, they’ll say. Poor Dr. Shea had a mental breakdown.”
She felt herself beginning to hyperventilate, tried to control it.
“You—you said you didn’t know that until Jonathan and I were…”
“I didn’t. Until I saw you together. Then all it took was a little phone call to Belleville General to collect a bit of information. What I got was a bonus. You’d be surprised how cooperative some women can be—how they love to divulge secrets. But after all, what could be so threatening about a guy who just landed into town and wants to look up his old college buddy?”
Closing his hand around Katie’s wrist, he pulled her roughly to her feet and toward the door. “Enough talk. Come. Your bridal bed is ready.”
Twisting her arm painfully behind her back, Drake marched her ahead of him, the knife point prodding her forward in a near run. The hard, frosty ground burned her bare feet.
And then she was standing amidst a semi-circle of shadowy trees staring down in horror at the black water that glistened like oil at the bottom of the grave Drake had dug. Above her the moon slipped in and out of darkness, and the cold night air bit into her near nakedness with cruel and savage teeth.
Drake’s hands gripped her shoulders and he pushed her forward. Closer and closer to the edge of the deep, rectangular hole in the earth he nudged, teasing her. Katie screamed, kept screaming, her hands flailing wildly at empty air, finally managing to clutch onto the rough fabric of his jacket. He drew her back, held her gently against his chest, murmured soothing words while she sobbed in terror.
***
Her screams tore the silence, echoed horribly, accusingly inside Jonathan’s mind. The dream he’d had rushed back to him, the dream of her falling—falling, tumbling over and over like a rag doll spinning through space, lost to him forever. Tears and sweat blinded him, burned his eyes as he worked frantically at the ropes binding his wrists. You can’t fail again, a voice screamed within him. You can’t.
At another scream from Katie, the tiny shard of glass slipped from his grasp, shattered on the cement floor. There was a moment of utter disbelief, and then nausea gripped him as he felt along the floor. At last, he touched a sliver of glass, tried to trap it between his fingers.
But it was too fragile and crushed like salt, embedding itself in his skin, leaving the tips of his fingers wet with blood.
He began to weep.
***
Drake tried to pull her to him again. Katie’s hand shot out, found flesh, and she raked his face, feeling triumphant when some of his skin came away beneath her fingernails.
He let out a yelp, his hand leaping to his face. Katie seized the moment to drop to her knees on the ground, just inches from the open grave, and scramble away from him. And then she was on her feet, running as fast as her legs would carry her, in the direction of the house. Close, too close, his boots thumped the ground behind her, his raspy breathing amplified in the crisp night air.
Oblivious now to stones and twigs that cut into the soles of her feet, and even to the cold, Katie ran with everything that was in her.
An
d then she was taking the back steps by twos—was inside the house. Her fingers were clumsy and numb with cold and terror, refusing to obey, but at last she’d managed to lock the doors behind her and draw the drapes. Crossing the floor in the darkness, she picked up the receiver and dialed zero.
“Operator,” came the sing-song voice over the line. “What number please?” the voice said in maddening monotone.
Feet pounding up the back steps, the door rattling violently, then, suddenly, an explosion of glass.
At the sight of his hand worming through the hole in the glass,
Katie dropped the phone. His fingers were groping for the lock. Could she get out the front door and make it down to the car? Was there time? Even if there was, he would immediately kill Jonathan in his rage. Why hadn’t she looked for the gun, learned how to use it? She would have shot him without hesitation. But it was too late now—too late. All this ran through her mind in a matter of seconds, until she heard the door lock click into release.
Grabbing up the stove poker, Katie slipped behind the cot, crouched low, trying to still her tortured breathing.
The door opened slowly, sending a draft of icy air swirling about her bare legs. She tightened her grip on the poker and made herself as small as possible. The cot was kitty-corner, and she could see through the space between it and the wall. Drake’s boots, then the knife, leaped into view, so close she could reach out and touch him. He closed the door behind him, shutting out all light.
Silence.
Katie’s heart was pounding so hard she was sure he must be able to hear it. Then, softly, he said, “I know you’re here, Katie. We were coming up here, anyway, remember? I told you that. Oh, Katie, I’m so pleased you’re as eager for me as I am for you,” he mocked.
She heard him begin to move about the room, heard the desk slide out from the wall.
“Not he-ere,” he sang, as though they were playing a child’s game. “Now let me see—where could she be hiding?” He crossed the floor heavily. “Not under the table. Oh, Katie, I like this game. I’m so glad you thought of it.”
For several minutes there was only the sound of his breathing, and then he was walking again—but away from her. She heard the French doors open, and his footsteps become muffled, and she knew he’d stepped into the carpeted dining room. She waited a few more minutes to be sure he was really gone, and then, remembering the pair of scissors in the desk drawer, she crept from her hiding place, moving quickly but cautiously, afraid of knocking against something in the darkness. But the room was her own and familiar, and in seconds she was easing the desk drawer open. She would slip down the back stairs and cut Jonathan free with the scissors. Drake had forgotten to lock the cellar door when he forced her outside. Or perhaps, believing that
Jonathan was unconscious, felt there was no need. She sifted quickly through sheets of paper, found a ball of twine, a bunch of elastics, paperclips—but no scissors. She must have put them somewhere else. A sense of hopelessness threatened to overwhelm her. Sudden light danced on the wall in front of her. Her heart constricted, her body momentarily paralyzed. Then, slowly, she turned. Drake stood before her, a benign smile on his face, holding the lamp in one hand, the knife in the other. “It’s over, Katie. All over. I found you. I won the game.”
In her moment of blind terror, she had forgotten about the poker she clutched in her hand; now, remembering, fight returned and she raised it, struck out at Drake, but she was too close to get any real leverage, and the poker glanced off his shoulder. He let out a curse and twisted it from her grasp, tossed it on the floor behind him. His eyes riveted on her face, he set the lamp on the desk.
As he made a move toward her, Katie tried to duck past him, get to the door, but his hand caught in her hair, closed and forced her back.
He dragged her down on the floor, straddled her, pinning her solidly beneath his weight.
“No. No, please don’t…”
His face moved close to hers, his breath hot and sour. His wet, open mouth sought hers. Katie twisted her head wildly, trying to escape it, but he only gripped her hair more savagely. She was sure he would rip it from her scalp. For a moment, she thought she might pass out. But she mustn’t let herself. She mustn’t.
Time held little meaning. It might have been hours or mere minutes that they struggled there on the floor. From time to time, weakness swept over her, exhaustion threatened to betray her. Drake was so strong, yet her own renewed bursts of energy, born of desperation and fury, allowed her to hold him off. But for how long?
Near collapse, she saw the knife. It seemed to have come out of nowhere. She had forgotten about it. Now, like a snake, it hovered above her, poised to strike. He lowered the cold steel, his labored breathing matching her own. The point of the blade touched the hollow of her throat.
Her mouth went dust-dry.
“I don’t want to make you ugly, Katie. Don’t make me.”
She prayed for a miracle, knowing the pleasure he would take in carving her up. Even if she did give in to Drake, she knew he would kill her afterward. She was certain of that. Raping her would not be enough. He had not dug that grave with a view to letting her live.
Hadn’t he already told her his plan? But right now—right this minute, you are still alive. She forced herself to go limp.
“That’s a good girl,” he crooned, praising her as one might an obedient child. “I won’t cut you unless you fight me. You won’t fight me, will you?”
“No,” she choked out. “No, I won’t fight you anymore. Please, don’t hurt me.”
He weighed her promise in his mind, then, seeming satisfied, set the knife on the floor beside him. He shifted his weight so that he was on his knees in front of her. “I might even let you live,” he said, but they both knew he wouldn’t.
He worked at his belt buckle. His tongue flicked obscenely over his lower lip as if already tasting victory. He’d stalked his prey and now he was going to collect the spoils. And this is the miracle, Katie told herself. This is all the miracle you’re going to get. Now! And in that split second, while Drake was preoccupied with unbuckling his pants, Katie drew her knees up tight to her body, and with every ounce of strength left in her, slammed both feet into his chest. The impact drove him backward, and Katie heard him grunt as his head hit the floor with a sickening thud.
She waited, surprised that it had worked, her body heaving with each labored breath.
No sound from him.
She sat up slowly, at the same time sliding backward, toward the door, away from him. His boots, with their mud-caked soles, splayed in front of her. Her eyes traveled warily over his still form, not yet trusting. His eyes were open, staring blankly at her. Was he dead? Or was it just another game?
Katie stood on rubbery legs. Was it over? Unable to take her eyes from him, she reached behind her, felt for the doorknob, found it. Spotting the knife on the floor, she hesitated, thinking she should take it to cut Jonathan free. But it was too close to him, nearly touching his leg, and she couldn’t bring herself to go closer to pick it up.
Even in death, he terrified her.
At last, she opened the door and slipped outside. Holding tightly to the handrail for support, she started down the stairs. She was no longer able to run, barely able to walk—but she was free. The monster was dead. Her tears came faster, mingling with the perspiration that bathed her face, becoming quickly chilled in the cold air.
“Jonathan,” she whimpered. “Jonathan.”
Just as she stepped off the bottom step, a hand closed around the back of her neck.
Chapter 27
Half-carrying, half-dragging Katie toward the tall, shadowy trees, his voice shook with rage and pain. “You’ve ruined everything.
You’ve ruined the plan.”
She’d hurt him, she knew. But he hadn’t struck his head as she’d first thought. Perhaps a knee or an elbow, but not hard enough. Never hard enough. She was going to die, after all.
She saw with a wave
of fresh terror that they were at the edge of the grave. There was no hint of playfulness in Drake now, and without a moment’s warning, he gave her a powerful shove that sent her tumbling into the black, murky hole. Her body struck hard, knocking the wind from her, leaving her momentarily stunned. And then she was sobbing, struggling to get to her feet as the icy dark water bubbled up over her ankles.
She lifted pleading eyes to Drake. “Please, not like this. Kill me first.”
Above her, his face was that of a crazed animal—eyes wild, his mouth an evil slit in his grinning face—a face devoid of mercy.
She clawed at the wall of moist earth, but it was no use. Again, she begged him to let her up, promising to do whatever he wanted, but his expression now reflected disinterest, even boredom. He raised the shovel, and would have brought it viciously down on Katie’s hands had she not jerked them out of the way. As she did, she fell to her hands and knees.
Something squiggled against the flat of her palm, and she cried out. The first mound of earth came down on her. She breathed it, tasted its black sourness. Gagging, she tried again to stand, but it was no use.
Another shovel full slammed into the back of her head, knocking her face-down in the foul-smelling water. She crawled about like a frenzied thing, one hand pulling at the hair now plastered against her face.
More earth fell on top of her and she began to pray—a prayer she had said many times as a child. It came back to comfort her like an old and trusted friend. “Now I lay me down to sleep…”
The earth rose rapidly, the water fast disappearing, becoming hard mud casts trapping her feet and legs. She raised her eyes to the upturned bowl of sky, to the moon that exploded into fragments of itself through her blurred vision, and knew it was the last of life that she would see…
“If I die before I wake…” Words said through trembling lips, faint and desperate, but as she prayed, a strange calm began to descend upon her.
***
Drake Devlin stopped working to lean on his shovel. He looked down at her. Fight, bitch! Fight to your last damn breath. Can you see, Raynes? Can you see what I’m doing to your sweet, precious Katie?
Listen to the Shadows Page 24
