Echoes of Terror

by Maris Soule

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  The gravel driveway changed as Misty ran forward. What had started as a wide, clearly discernible roadway faded into nothing more than a path. Patches of grass mixed with sharp, little stones and dried pine needles. Each stride she took caused pain, but she didn’t dare stop running.

  She hadn’t heard another car since the first, and, the farther she traveled, the more she knew she was heading in the wrong direction. It didn’t surprise her that she’d gone the wrong way. Everything she’d done lately had been wrong.

  “Daddy, I’m sorry,” she sobbed, the words barely audible.

  Her initial burst of adrenaline wearing off, she slowed her pace. Fatigued muscles, unaccustomed to strenuous exercise of any kind, shot internal messages to her brain, begging her to stop. Each breath she took came as a short gasp.

  Trees and brush swallowed the path and surrounded her, blocking her view of the house she’d left. In a way, she was glad. Misty knew the foliage was also blocking his view of her. She continued on, stumbling over fallen branches and being clawed at by the prickly spines of a sprawling shrub. She’d flaunted her nakedness on the cruise ship, laughing at the shocked expression on the face of the woman who spied her, and putting up a fuss about freedom of expression when the ship’s officer made her get out of the pool. Now she felt raw and exposed. Vulnerable.

  She’d stopped yelling for help as soon as she realized it was futile. There were no houses around, no knights on white horses riding by who might save her. She couldn’t even find the road, much less a car or another person. All she could do was keep going and hope The Beekeeper would give up and go back to the house.

  Keep going deeper and deeper into the woods.

  A low, drawn-out croak gave her a start, and Misty stopped. She heard it again. Up ahead in the trees. Like laugher, the sound mocked her.

  With her eyes, she followed the sound and spotted the source. A large, black bird sat on a lofty pine bough. The raven was watching her.

  Like a hypnotist, the bird’s gaze held her where she stood. She’d seen several ravens in trees and on buildings when their ship docked in Juneau. They were bigger than the crows she was familiar with, and they’d yelled back and forth at each other, strutting along the rooftops.

  They were supposed to be smart. Someone onboard the ship had told her that. She wished she could ask this one which way to the road.

  Once again the bird cried out, then it flew away, and Misty felt an aching sense of loneliness. She had no idea where she was, had no clothes to shield her from the scratchy brush, the rain, or the cold. Not even shoes to protect her feet. A tear slid down her cheek, then another. She thought things couldn’t get any worse . . . until she heard a branch snap to her right.

  With a woof, a bear rose on its hind legs, and looked directly at her. Misty sucked in a breath, staring at the animal. It was so close she could see the twigs and briars that stuck to its pale, almost white fur. Its chest was wider than any man’s, each paw as large as a baseball mitt, and its eyes were no more than dark circles in its monstrous head. It opened its mouth, exposing a line of threatening teeth, and gave a huff, the sound deep and guttural.

  Misty wanted to scream, but the sound froze in her throat. As if drained of all blood, her legs gave out, and she sank to the ground. Huddled over her knees, she covered her head with her arms, closed her eyes, and waited for the inevitable.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Vince followed Sergeant Landros along the hallway to the police chief’s office. The door was closed, but wood and glass couldn’t stop Tom Morgan’s voice from carrying into the front area. Although his words were muffled, Tom’s strident pitch indicated his anger, and when Vince entered the room, he wasn’t surprised to see Crystal cowering in a chair, shoulders slumped and head down. Her husband was glaring at her, a finger pointed her way.

  Tom’s attention switched from his wife to Vince and Sergeant Landros, but the expression on his face didn’t change. Years ago, while serving with Tom in the Marines, Vince had seen his friend’s temper erupt. He steeled himself for the explosion he knew would come.

  “You!” Tom snapped, transferring his finger-pointing to Vince. “Why didn’t you tell me what Misty had planned?”

  “Because I didn’t know what she had planned.”

  “You and Bob were checking her computer.”

  “For viruses. Spyware. That’s all. You told us to respect her privacy.”

  Vince wasn’t sure if he should say more. In the service, he’d been in command. He’d given the orders and expected Tom to obey. Since then, Tom had made millions; now had his thick, blond hair trimmed by a stylist; wore a polo shirt, slacks, and loafers that probably cost more than most people made in a month. Tom Morgan was a client, which reversed their former positions, but client or not, Tom needed to hear the truth. “Maybe you would have known what she had planned if you’d spent more time with her.”

  “I’ve been busy. I . . .” Tom started, but then stopped himself. “I called you when I first suspected there was a problem. Where were you?”

  “In Washington, D.C. I do have other clients.”

  “And Bob?”

  “Los Angeles.”

  “How convenient.”

  Vince didn’t like his friend’s tone. “What are you suggesting?”

  “That one of you . . .” Tom switched his gaze to Crystal, and then back to Vince. “One of you should have known what was going on.”

  “Maybe that ‘one’ should have been you,” Crystal objected, looking up at her husband for the first time since Vince had stepped into the room.

  “Bickering about who was responsible isn’t going to help the situation,” Sergeant Landros said. “What I want to know is how this Bell guy, this Beekeeper, knew your daughter was going to be here in Skagway.”

  “Well, I think that answer is easy,” Tom said, looking directly at the sergeant. “From what my wife has told me, you have this kidnapper’s girlfriend working for you.”

  “Officer Ward is not and never was Bell’s girlfriend,” Landros countered, his posture stiffening.

  Tom grunted in disbelief, and Vince could understand why. Up until last night, once he’d learned of Katherine’s connection to Bell, he’d had the same reaction. Misty’s kidnapping, here in Skagway, and Katherine’s former relationship with Bell were simply too much of a coincidence. It didn’t matter that Katherine had said she was a victim, that she’d thought Bell was in a mental hospital, and that she had nothing to do with Misty’s kidnapping. Vince hadn’t believed her.

  But, last night, when he stopped by her place unexpected and saw her fear, he changed his mind. Her reaction earlier that day, when she realized Bell was involved, had been real. Her anger that the man was again on the loose was real.

  “I agree,” Vince said, nodding at the sergeant before looking at Tom. “I don’t believe the officer is involved. What I want to know is why this Bell guy is sending faxes to my office, not to you.”

  “Exactly,” Tom said. “Why is he? What part do you have in this kidnapping?”

  “Me?” Vince took a step back. He’d come to help his friend, not to become a suspect.

  “You could have stopped her, but, no, you’re out of town. Both you and your partner are incommunicado. Nevertheless you manage to get up here after my daughter is kidnapped and just happen to spend the night with my wife.”

  “I did not spend the night with your wife; I spent it with Katherine.”

  The moment he spoke, he wished he hadn’t.

  “Katherine?” both Crystal and Sergeant Landros said. “Officer Katherine Ward?” Landros added, his tone incredulous.

  Vince looked at him. “I stopped by her place after I left here last night. I had some questions.”

  “And, she let you spend the night?” Landros didn’t sound convinced.

  “We were both tired.” Vince wasn’t about to tell the sergeant he’d found his officer so drunk that she passed out and had to be he
lped into bed.

  “So you spent the night with Officer Ward.” Tom’s tone had taken on a hint of suspicion. “And, I’m to believe the two of you aren’t involved in my daughter’s kidnapping?”

  Vince glared at his friend. “I’m going to let that go, Tom, because you’re worried about Misty, but you know me better than that.”

  “Enough,” Crystal said, standing. “Bickering about who might be involved isn’t getting Misty back. Tom, we only have a few hours. Pay the money. Once Misty’s safe, you can have them all arrested.”

  Tom shook his head. “What guarantee do we have that he won’t kill her . . . that he hasn’t already killed her?”

  “As of yesterday afternoon, she was still alive,” Sergeant Landros said.

  Tom looked at the sergeant. “And, you know this how?”

  “Yesterday afternoon, when Bell contacted Officer Ward using the police radio, I was listening in, and I heard two girls in the background.”

  “But, that was yesterday afternoon,” Tom said.

  “True, and you’re right. There are no guarantees that if you give him the money he won’t kill your daughter. Which is why we hope to find him before this five o’clock deadline.”

  “Hope,” Crystal said, almost with a sneer, first looking at the sergeant and then at her husband. “So what is it, Tom? Do you ‘hope’ they find Misty? Is your money more important to you than your daughter’s life? Maybe we don’t know what he’ll do to her once he has the money, but we know what he’ll do to her if he doesn’t get the money. He’ll kill her. Just like he killed that kid she was running off with.”

  Her outburst surprised Vince. For once it really sounded like she cared what happened to her stepdaughter.

  Tom, however, simply shook his head.

  With a sigh, Crystal sank back down on the chair and buried her face in her hands. Barely audible, she made one last plea. “Please, Tom, please. Just pay the ransom.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Misty shivered, the cold cutting deep into her body, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she waited for the bear’s attack. The snap of a twig, and her muscles tensed.

  I’m going to die, she thought, tears slipping out between closed lids.

  A memory of her parents standing together, back when her mother was still alive and healthy, came to mind. If only she could go back to that time, back to the happiness they’d shared. Her mother had died slowly, painfully.

  Misty heard a grunt and waited, holding her breath. She didn’t want to think about how painful this was going to be. Would she have an out-of-body experience? She’d heard that happened to some women when they were being raped or near death.

  It didn’t happen to her mother. Misty had heard her mother beg for morphine, heard her mother crying. Those last few weeks, whenever possible, Misty avoided going home. She stayed late at school, visited friends. She made excuses why she couldn’t sit with her mother.

  She was a terrible daughter. She deserved to die.

  I’m sorry, Mommy, Misty cried, not caring if the bear heard. Let it maul her. Bite her. Claw her. She’d blamed her father for marrying Crystal, for not being faithful to her mother, but she was the one who had let her mother down. She—Misty Morgan—not her father, not the doctors, not even Crystal, who kept saying she wanted the two of them to be friends.

  “Do it,” she said, and sat back on her haunches, turning slightly to face the bear. She was ready for her punishment.

  Ready to die.

  Except, the bear was gone.

  The spot where it had stood was now merely an open space between two trees. Only the light drizzle of rain remained, and the sound of a car passing in the distance.

  A car.

  Misty rose to her feet and brushed dirt and pine needles from her legs and hands. The sound had come from her left and slightly ahead. Away from where she’d last seen the bear. She wasn’t going to die, and she wasn’t far from safety.

  She ignored the shivers that continued to spiral through her body and stumbled toward the direction of the car sound. With the swipe of her hand, she brushed wet, clinging hair out of her eyes and behind an ear. Her heart raced, and each breath she took had a slight quiver to it, but she felt energized. Even the stones and pine needles jabbing the bottoms of her feet only brought forth an occasional complaint.

  Low-growing brush with sharp barbs cut at her bare legs and snagged the sheeting still attached to her right wrist. She pulled the strip loose from a bramble and started to work on loosening the knot. The sound of another car, this one passing even closer, made her leave the cloth around her wrist. Rescue was only a short ways away.

  She’d been climbing from the moment she left the house, but she didn’t realize how much altitude she’d gained until she reached the edge of a rocky cliff. By going down on her hands and knees, Misty could see over the edge. Below her the road looked like a wide ribbon, a car going by providing an estimate of the distance. She was too high up to jump, but she might be able to climb down. Large boulders, their faces smoothed by glacier flow, created an uneven wall that led down to the road. If she could reach the first small ledge, she should be able to make it to the next.

  Sitting back, she once again began working on the strip of sheet knotted around her right wrist. A bush growing near the edge of the drop off looked sturdy enough to hold her weight. At least she hoped it would. If she tied the strip of sheet around the base of the bush and held on, she should be able to reach that first ledge.

  As soon as the cloth was off her wrist, she transferred it to the bush. Twice she checked the knot and pulled on the sheet. It had torn once. She didn’t want it to tear now. Satisfied that the material would hold, at least until her toes touched the rocky ledge, she shifted her body to the edge of the cliff. Below her, another car passed. She grabbed hold of the cloth with one hand and took in a deep breath, ready to ease herself over the edge.

  Except she didn’t move. Couldn’t move. The sharp edge of a knife pressed against her throat held her in place, along with the softly spoken, “Gotcha.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Katherine cradled the receiver against her shoulder, and glared at the clock on the wall above the station’s kitchenette. Only fifteen minutes had passed since she’d first dialed the number for the state hospital in Michigan, but it felt as if she’d been on the phone for hours. Getting someone with the authority and the willingness to fax an up-to-date photo of Charles Bell was turning into a battle of wills.

  “I know all about patient privileges,” Katherine snapped at the woman on the other end of the line. “I’m not asking for his files, just his picture. An up-to-date picture.”

  Calm down, she told herself. So far, getting angry with the hospital’s staff and doctors hadn’t helped. Charles had obviously fooled them all. This was the third person she’d talked to who insisted the man the Skagway police department was after couldn’t possibly be the same one they’d had in their facility.

  The doctor who signed Charles’s final release papers upset her the most. “I wouldn’t have okayed his release,” he’d said, “if I’d thought he was a danger to anyone.”

  Katherine had erupted at that. “No danger? So far he’s killed two people and kidnapped two teenagers.”

  That was when she was transferred to the woman now on the line.

  “Why can’t you believe the truth about Charles Bell?” Katherine asked. “The man murdered my parents and brother. Raped and held me hostage for almost nine months. He was crazy then, and he’s crazy now.”

  When Charles’s lawyer had presented the insanity plea, Katherine had initially balked. She’d wanted Bell to die for what he’d done to her and her family. Or, at the very least, to be a prisoner, just as she’d been for almost nine months. Only when her lawyer convinced her that Bell would be a prisoner, albeit in a mental hospital, did she allow herself any peace of mind. But, now she was being told he’d been cured, that seventeen years ago his actions were an ab
erration, his behavior triggered by his wife leaving him.

  Katherine knew better. Charles was a cunning, conniving, manipulating controller. He’d controlled her. Controlled his wife until she left him. And controlled his daughter to the degree that she wouldn’t even testify against him. Sisi Bell swore her mother was the crazy one, that her father had never done anything to her.

  Which was a lie. Charles had told Katherine how he seduced his daughter. He’d been proud of it.

  Initially the lawyer assigned to Katherine’s case had thought they could overthrow the insanity plea by showing how Charles had planned her abduction, but Charles’s lawyer had an excuse or reason for everything Charles did to her. The soundproof room in his basement was so he could play his trumpet and not disturb the neighbors. Katherine had been so upset when he rescued her, he’d had to keep her down there. Of course he had sex with her; he thought she was his wife.

  Lies, all lies.

  The hospital administrator interrupted Katherine’s thoughts. “He started improving dramatically after his daughter came to see him,” the woman said.

  “His daughter?” Katherine hadn’t expected that. “I thought her mother asked the judge to bar Sisi from seeing her father.”

  “Perhaps when she was underage, but Ms. Bell is a grown woman now, and, from what she said, her mother has passed on.”

  Ms. Bell. So Sisi hadn’t married. “When did she see him?”

  “The first time she came was three years ago.”

  “She’s come more than once?”

  “Oh, yes. For a while she was coming every week, and then every few months.”

  “Why wasn’t I told about these visits?”

  The woman on the other end of the conversation gave a derisive grunt. “According to our files, you were to be notified if and when Mr. Bell was released. We did that by calling you and sending a letter. I have a note here that says your father took the call.”