Heaven's Prey

by Janet Sketchley

  Norma stood beside the dairy case, wide-eyed and gaping as if she’d seen the grim reaper. Something in her eyes...

  Ruth turned.

  That face.

  Ruth’s throat seized. She couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t scream.

  Norma scuttled up behind her and grabbed her hand. “It’s Harry Silver!”

  His mouth twisted in a mocking smile, and he nodded. “Always good to meet a fan.”

  Ruth couldn’t look away.

  “Over this way.” Harry gestured with the gun. She and Norma inched toward him. They clung together. Norma’s sniffles turned to tears.

  Tremors rocked Ruth’s stomach and bile crowded her throat. She fought to steady her breathing. The news reports said he was still in Canada, but he couldn’t be here in Nova Scotia. Not while the manhunt targeted leads in Alberta. How could they have been so wrong?

  She blinked hard, but nothing changed.

  Harry Silver. Right here in the same room. He’d kill them all.

  He had the cashier by the wrist. Young, with long blond hair—the type of girl he always chose. Just like Susan. Ruth’s heart tore. This girl couldn’t be more than seventeen, just a high-school student. Maybe one of Tony’s. She had to recognize Harry Silver. How much did she know about what he did to his victims?

  So much for prayer. Tony’s voice mocked her. Could he be right?

  Harry stepped from behind the counter, gripping the cashier’s arm. The gun in his hand targeted Ruth and Norma as they huddled together, then jerked toward the position he’d abandoned. “Back there. Now.”

  Ruth’s muscles weren’t working. Her feet dragged as if she were walking underwater against a strong current. Step by step, she shuffled after Norma.

  Harry thrust the cashier toward them in the narrow space. She let out a hiccupping cry and pressed her fist against her lips.

  Ruth reached out to pull her into a hug, but the girl jerked away from her touch.

  He stepped nearer, crowding them, gloating. He probably fed on their terror. One-handed, he swept some cigarettes from the wall display into a plastic bag then threw in the sandwich packets that lay scattered near the cash register.

  He picked up a soggy hat and what looked like a fake beard—a disguise?—and flashed them both a smile. “This beautiful young lady has won herself a one-night stand with yours truly. An experience to die for. No witnesses allowed.”

  The trembling cashier drew back against the wall, chest heaving, eyes wide. Harry sauntered nearer to her and levelled the gun at the two friends.

  They should duck, run, do something. Standing here shivering would get them shot, but Ruth’s feet had rooted to the floor.

  Norma clutched her arm, babbling in her ear. “He’s going to kill us, he’s going to kill us. I don’t want to die. Do something—you even prayed for him! Oh, God, he’s going to kill us.” Norma’s whisper hissed on, but the words stopped registering.

  The gun’s muzzle wavered.

  The blond girl whimpered, and a slow smile spread across Harry’s face. His chin lifted, and he licked his lips. “You’re just what I need.” He raised the gun.

  As one, Ruth and Norma bolted around the far end of the counter.

  His first shot missed. They ducked behind the nearest shelves, ears ringing from the blast. Ruth ran for the door. “Norma, come on!”

  Harry swore.

  The cashier screamed.

  Before Ruth took another step, the lights went out. She kept moving in the dark, brushing her fingertips along the line of shelves so she wouldn’t veer off course and bump into anything.

  Almost there... God, help me find a place to hide and call 9-1-1.

  Ruth’s gasping breaths echoed off the shelving, made it hard to hear anything else. She and Norma had a head start—they’d reach the exit before the others. Would the cashier hide or run? Harry would hunt her—poor girl! But Ruth and Norma had a chance to get out, to call for help before he claimed another victim.

  Footsteps rapped behind her. Norma! Ruth ran faster. They were going to make it.

  Fingers brushed hers, snatched her hand. Pulled her toward the bright red exit sign and the faint rectangle of the doorway.

  Not Norma’s bony grip—a large hand, strong and warm. Harry Silver.

  Ruth screamed and tried to pull away. Her free hand swept a line of boxes to the floor, but she couldn’t grab anything for an anchor. Harry dragged her from the store.

  Her fingertips hooked the doorframe, but his speed tore them free. Fat raindrops stung her face as he hauled her, struggling, toward his car.

  Harry flung open the driver’s door, shoved her inside, and glared at her in the glow from the car’s dome light. He spat a curse. “You!”

  Ruth cringed at the hatred in his eyes. Would he let her go? Or shoot her? God, help me!

  He grabbed her arm as if to pull her from the car, his fingers like hooks. Ruth cried out, and he swore harder. He half-turned toward the store then whirled back to face her. “She’ll have called the cops by now. Useless or not, you’re my hostage. Get into the passenger seat. Move.”

  She’d move, all right. Over the centre console and out the other door. Crying, gasping, Ruth hitched one leg over the stick shift, then the other. Almost there. Her coat pocket snagged.

  Harry piled into the driver’s seat. His hand on her shoulder pushed her the rest the way, to the sound of tearing fabric.

  Ruth searched for the door latch. She had bare seconds to escape.

  Harry jammed the key into the ignition. Ruth’s fingers found the handle. As it clicked open, she threw her weight against the door.

  The engine caught. Harry seized her arm and yanked her back into the car.

  Ruth screamed again. “No, please. Let me go!”

  He threw the car into gear and swerved hard to the left. The motion sent her falling against him and slammed the door on her escape.

  She pulled away from him as he floored it out of the parking lot, taking the empty suburban streets well above the limit in spite of the rain. How could Harry see where he was going?

  This couldn’t be happening. “Please—it’s a mistake—you don’t want me.” Thank God the cashier was safe, but—not her!

  Her hand went to the door latch. She could still jump. An image flashed in her mind of hitting the asphalt, breaking bones, then rolling as her skin tore. She willed her fingers to pull the latch but they slid away.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she slumped against the door. Lord, where are You?

  “Cell phone. Now.” Harry drove left-handed, his right extended for her phone. The bag he stole from the store still dangled from his wrist. He swung his arm backward and the bag slid off into the rear. His hand reached back to Ruth.

  She clutched the purse in her lap.

  “Now.” He grabbed the bag but she held on. Before he could win the tug of war, she tore open the outer flap and pulled out the slim cell.

  He released her purse and snatched the phone. Harry switched hands on the wheel and jabbed the automatic window button. Seconds later the cell went spinning into the night. “Throw your purse in the back seat, or it goes out, too.”

  As if she had anything in it for defence, but it was all she had left. Ruth reached between the seats and made herself release the soft leather bag. Empty hands. Ruth gulped. So alone.

  Two deserted streets later Harry took the highway’s on-ramp and left Halifax behind. Where was he taking her?

  “Please. Let me go. This can’t be happening.”

  “Oh, it’s happening, sweetheart.” He muttered something about stupid sheep. “You can’t be that clueless. Even your friend knows who I am. I can’t just shoot you now. You cost me a night of passion. You’re going to pay before you die.”

  Chapter 2

  The car knifed through the storm. Ruth peered out the rain-swept windshield, her fingernails digging into her palms.

  “I know who you are.” Fear flattened her words, and her thr
oat constricted. She fought for air, clamped her lips to hold the breath for a count of ten. Again. Again. Until she was able to exhale with a degree of control.

  Every Canadian old enough to watch the news knew this man’s face. Harry Silver. Rapist. Murderer. A national hero, fallen hard.

  Grief over Susan had driven Ruth to read every article, follow every online thread. First in hatred, then in prayer.

  She’d known who he was before that. Most Canadians did. You didn’t have to follow car racing to admire Canada’s best, and as a fan of the sport, Tony had idolized him.

  Then that idol had murdered their niece—and others. What he’d done to those young women... the torture, broken bones, the mutilation. Horrific details ricocheted through her mind now, freezing her thoughts and filling her stomach with bile.

  If she couldn’t distract herself, she’d go crazy. Think. They were on the main highway southbound from Halifax. He had to be heading for the Atlantic, or to a small private airfield. There was no other way to get out of Nova Scotia in this direction, and why would he stay?

  She had to pay attention to where he was going, know their location. Get away somehow when he stopped, and get help. Concentrate on the sights, the sounds. Anything but the screaming in her head.

  The darkness was more intense away from the city’s nightglow, and the headlights turned some of the raindrops to crystal shards. The windshield wipers slapped double-time in an endless battle with the rain. Old cigarette smoke and stale body odor thickened the air.

  Another, unfamiliar, element tainted the mix. Ruth wrinkled her nose to stop a sneeze. She’d heard it said one could smell fear...

  The man beside her swore and gunned the engine. What was he doing?

  A flash of light caught her eye as she turned to look at him. She glanced behind them. Headlights—getting nearer. Her heart thudded. Police?

  “Sit still.” Harry sputtered his words through clenched teeth, battling the steering wheel. His profile set, his thin lips a grim line. The engine roared as he demanded more power.

  His racing career gave him an edge over whoever followed. How could she distract him without causing an accident? The other car had sped up too. Ruth held her breath. Roof lights. Siren. Please—now.

  Harry’s car lost traction, shot to the right. He pulled back into the lane just in time and surged forward, but the approaching headlights overtook them. An SUV shot past. Its tires slapped a sheet of water against their windshield with a sharp splat. Ruth screamed. The spray hung there, an opaque curtain, isolating them from the world outside.

  “Lunatic.” Harry let loose a stream of profanity. He held the wheel steady, driving blind. As soon as the windshield cleared, their speed increased again. The taillights of the vehicle ahead vanished, swallowed by the storm.

  Ruth stared into the night. Her throat ached, and she could barely see through her tears. Wind and rain lashed the car, stronger and louder until her ears rang. She covered them, but the worst of the storm raged inside her own head. Her thoughts whirled, too fast now to pray. God was out of reach.

  There must be a way out. Could she put them off the road? They might both be killed, but she was going to die anyway... She lurched for the steering wheel.

  A strong hand clamped hers for an instant, gouging her wedding band into her flesh. “Try that again, and I’ll break your wrist.”

  Ruth cradled her aching fingers. She took another deep breath, held it, and tried to slow her careening thoughts. Please, God... get me out of this somehow.

  “Make yourself useful.” Harry’s voice made her jump. “Get me a cigarette out of that bag in the back. But don’t touch your purse. I don’t want you taking a swing at me.”

  She reached between the bucket seats for the plastic bag from the convenience store. It was half full of cigarette packages, potato chips and cello-wrapped sandwiches. She took out a pack of cigarettes, but her fear-numbed fingers couldn’t catch the plastic tear-strip. When she finally succeeded, the wrapper slipped off and the cardboard box fell under her seat.

  “I hope you’re not going to be a complete waste of time.” Harry groaned the words like a teenager to a tag-along little kid.

  He probably rolled his eyes, too. His contempt brought the blood to Ruth’s face, and the injustice only heated it more. As if she’d asked to come.

  She pulled another pack from the bag, opened it more carefully, and handed him a cigarette. His fingers brushed hers, and she jerked away. He fumbled with the dashboard lighter, and the inside of the car filled with the acrid smell of smoke. Ruth choked and turned her face to the window.

  “Bothers you, does it? There were no women in prison—I had to find something to pass the time.” His tone hardened. “But don’t worry. Second-hand smoke isn’t going to shorten your life span any.”

  As if she were a commodity to use and throw away. Ruth’s skin went cold. Death didn’t scare her, not with the promise of heaven. But to die at the hands of this killer?

  Ruth bit down on her tongue and clamped her lips against the screams that fought to get out. She twisted her wedding ring. By now Tony must know. What would this do to him? First his niece, now his wife whom he’d accused of being obsessed with Harry Silver. The air froze in her lungs. Surely he wouldn’t think she’d gone looking for the man?

  Chapter 3

  No one in his right mind would choose this twisty, unlit highway for a fast getaway, especially in a storm like this. At least that’s what Harry hoped the cops would think.

  A gust of wind slammed the compact sedan sideways on the wet pavement. His passenger screamed. He swerved back into his lane, hard enough to throw her against the door. Theatrics, but it served her right.

  “Hang on. I won’t kill you. Yet.”

  He squinted past the wild slap-slap of the wipers at the blurred lane markings. A headache hovered behind his eyes, and he spared one hand from the wheel to knead the back of his neck. Two years since he’d been in the driver’s seat. His reaction time had slipped, but he was still good.

  The headlights reflected white off a curtain of rain. Harry kept a steady pressure on the gas, ignoring the pale ghosts of speed limit signs that rose out of the darkness. Speeding infractions were nothing after what he’d done—and would do again.

  This was liberty. Not his escape from prison, but this. Speed. Control, even under these conditions. The rush. The edge that made him master of the best tracks in North America, from the legendary Indianapolis Brickyard to the street circuit of his home race in Toronto.

  He sat taller, shoulders pressed into the backrest to stretch his muscles. Look at him now, on a third-rate highway on the east coast of Canada, driving a gutless tub. And grateful to hold a steering wheel.

  One last race, such as it was. There should be one last celebratory victim before he left the country. He shot a bitter glance at the woman beside him. The girl at the store had been perfect. A mouth-watering blonde in her late teens. Pure looking, maybe even a virgin. But he was stuck with this aging sheep. Too old, wrong hair. Dull.

  He arched his back against the tension cramping his spine. He hated his plans being thwarted, hated her for being here. Somehow he’d make this work—make her pay for his loss.

  The road flattened at the base of another hill, and he hit the gas. He needed the speed to settle his nerves. These east coast highways didn’t deserve the name. This one only had a single lane in each direction, with sometimes a passing lane in the middle. Good thing there was no one in his way tonight.

  The lane markings made a sharp turn to the left. Harry lifted his foot, hands tight on the wheel. The car hydroplaned straight for the pavement’s edge. The headlights shone over an inky drop. Why no guardrail? Cold swept his body, then a wave of blistering heat. He swore. If they went off here …

  Teeth clenched, he eased onto the brake. The pedal shuddered as the ABS kicked in. Give me something, anything. Sliding for the brink, the car jerked as tires bit asphalt. He reversed to gain enough room to t
urn, threw it into drive and crept forward in a shallow turn.

  One tire slid on the painted pavement markings. But the car continued into the turn. Harry released the accelerator. The car spun and skidded backward.

  Harry sucked air and stood on the brake. His captive screamed again, a long, thin note that broke off as they hit the highway’s gravelled shoulder. The rear wheels slithered, then caught.

  Car and body back under control, he let out a long, slow whistle. It wasn’t the first time he’d come out lucky.

  The woman dropped her hands from her face. Relieved they hadn’t crashed, or disappointed?

  “You’re not getting out of it that easy. We finish this my way.”

  He nudged the accelerator, increasing pressure as the wheels grabbed traction. The car slewed back onto the pavement, tires spitting gravel.

  She wiped her eyes on her coat sleeve. Her lips moved, and he caught a few words over the hammering rain: “God help me!”

  He glared at the dark road ahead. “Don’t waste your breath. If there is a God, He didn’t help any of the others.”

  Muscle memory clenched his hands on the steering wheel. “Especially the last one.”

  ~~~

  An exit sign loomed out of the rain. Harry took the off-ramp at a speed that made Ruth brace her feet against the floor. She flinched at the sudden, grating sound as the tires cut a swath through a deep puddle, splashing waterfalls higher than the car. If his driving terrified her, what would happen when he stopped?

  The ramp merged onto a secondary highway. Harry eased to a stop on the side of the road. He snapped on the dome light and turned his full attention to her for the first time. The anger in his glare caught Ruth’s breath.

  His jaw clenched under its thick layer of stubble. Then his lips pulled into a savage grin. “This must be your lucky day. You get to stand in for my gorgeous blonde. I hope you’re up to it.”