“What have you done?” Morris whispered. “What have you done?” he bellowed.
“I didn’t …”
Anna didn’t finish. Throwing his knife to the wall, the crazy man dashed to her and started ripping the dress off her. He scratched her skin and pulled a tuft of hair with the zipper.
“Damn snotter! Bitch! Damn snotter!”
Morris grabbed the knife from the floor, shook it at her, and ran out of the room. Something cracked outside, something banged, and silence returned.
Anna couldn’t believe that she was alone and not tied. She jumped from the bed that was almost as high as a table, and looked around for clothes. With her T-shirt and panties on, she didn’t waste a second, rushed to the door, pushed it with her hands, hips, back, and kicked it with her feet and legs. The door didn’t even shake.
“No! No! No!”
Anna hit and hit the door then ran around the small room, hoping to find an exit, but she found nothing. So, she ran to the door again and kept ramming into it, yelling, crying.
“Help! Somebody! Help me, please! Call the police! Somebody! Heeelp meeee!”
The door thrust open and Anna burst outside into the snow. She didn’t have time to gasp before he snatched her arm and pushed her inside, into the room. The door was shut with a loud crash. Anna, shaking with her whole body, met the eyes of the man. Met the eyes of the killer. His head was tilted, his eyebrows knitted, his lips pressed, his skin covered with red spots.
“You are not good,” he said quietly.
“Let me go!” Anna attacked the man and felt a sharp pain in her arm. She froze and took a step back. She became dizzy, her vision blurred, and she fell on her knees, then her head hit the floor.
CHAPTER 52
The rope was approaching. She saw every thread torn from the wickerwork. She hoped it wouldn’t hurt. She was scared of shots and cried at the dentist. Fast and painless, please. If she couldn’t avoid it, do it fast. The rope vanished and she saw a pillow. Softness and warmth touched her face.
Max sat up with a start and screamed, grabbed his throat, and gazed around the room blindly. His breath caught in his lungs and didn’t want to go out.
“Ann!” he yelled as he exhaled and coughed. Then he fell back feebly and stared at the ceiling, colored by the morning sun.
He knew what he had seen. Angelica’s murder. It was a dream, but so real. Too real. He had been in that room with covered windows, on a hard bed. He saw the rope, his hands were bound, and pain racked his body. Somebody tried to smother him. They would have done it if he hadn’t woken.
“Anna?”
She wasn’t here. He pushed her away and now he was alone. What had he done? Max stood when his breath restored, and immediately, he was shaking from the cold. He threw his robe on his shoulders and went to the kitchen, where he drank water right from the faucet with his hand. He stood by the sink, coming back to his senses, and then returned to the living room to find his cell phone. He had turned it off for the night, and now, when he turned it on, he discovered a few missed calls. He didn’t check them all, but found the number of the old detective and pressed the call button.
No one answered. The call went to voice mail. Max dialed the number again and this time it was answered.
“What the …?” The detective’s voice was hoarse and irritated.
“Sorry. It’s Max Stevenson.”
“Who?”
“Max Stevenson. Writer. I’ve called you about Angelica Porter. She dis—”
“Do you know what time it is?”
“I didn’t check the clock, to be honest.”
“You should check and call like normal people.”
“Don’t hang up! You don’t understand. I know where she was held. I know the way she was killed. She was killed. I know that.”
“I went to bed long after midnight last night. Do you have any idea what you’re—?”
“He smothered her with a pillow. He tortured her before that.”
“What are you talking about? Are you under the influence?”
“I’m not drunk. We need to find the killer.”
“How do you know any of this?”
“I had a dream, but you have to take me seriously. It was real. All these dreams were real.”
“What in the world are you talking about? It’s six in the morning.”
“Listen to me. Maybe you can remember that room. When you talked to people at that time, you could have been in there. Angelica knew the person. I know that room well. I had a dream about it before. I don’t understand why she hides the killer from me. She probably doesn’t remember. Have you heard about post-traumatic stress syndrome? It blocks the most dramatic experiences.”
“I understand that you are a famous person and everyone knows you, but you know what? You need to get some sleep.”
“I’m telling the truth!” Max yelled. His robe opened, but he wasn’t cold. “She was killed! You can find the killer if you make your lazy brain work!”
“Okay, that’s it. You have a—”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”
“Goodbye now.”
“Hello! Hello!”
Max hurled the phone, and it flew into the corner of the room, behind the table with the computer on it.
“I’ll find you. I’ll find you.”
He ran into the bedroom, dropped the robe, pulled on his jeans, a T-shirt, a sweater, and skulked to the door. He stopped before getting his jacket. Where was he going? Who would he find? Max sat down on the floor in the hallway, between his boots and Anna’s shoes, thrust his hands in his hair, and closed his eyes. He strained his brain, call for the unknown and cosmic essence that would help to open his inner eye. He had to unwind the clues of the mystery, unravel the secrets. In his books, he knew who the killer was from the beginning, making the readers guess. Now he took their place, only instead of fantasy it was reality and the universe became the author. Whatever it was, it didn’t speak now. It didn’t want to share the final secret. Max was exhausted, confused. He didn’t understand enough to figure everything out. He felt the answer was somewhere on the surface. He probably had discovered it already, but he needed to go back or remember something, and he couldn’t seem to put it together. It felt as if, he’d stumbled into an invisible barrier.
Somewhere in the fog, the phone rang. Max slowly returned to reality. The phone. He spurted up, hearing a crack in his back, and ran to the living room. There, he squeezed through the gap between the wall and the table to pick up the phone, pressed the button, and put it to his ear.
“Hello!”
“Max, you’re not sleeping.”
Anna’s mother. Who did he expect to hear? The penitent former detective or the killer himself?
“Yes, I’m awake. Good morning. What happened?”
“Max, we didn’t sleep all night. I waited until morning to call you. Is Anna there?”
“No.” Max forced his thoughts about Angelica to quiet down, but it didn’t work. “She’s not at your house?”
“No.” The woman started to cry. “No, she’s not and she didn’t call. I kept dialing her number all night long, but it went to her voice mail every time. I called her friends. I called the Daniels. They told me it’s not like Anna and I should call the police. I decided to call you first. What should we do, Max? What could have happened?”
Max was here, in the present, with Anna’s mother, and in the past with Angelica. He couldn’t recognize and accept the fact that his wife had disappeared. Anna couldn’t disappear. No and no again.
“Max, just tell me that nothing bad could have happened to my Anna.”
“No. Of course not.”
He heard only sobbing in the phone. “I’m going to call the police,” he said. “Just in case.”
Something banged in the phone and then all the sounds were gone.
“Mom? Hello?”
A few seconds later, the sobbing returned.
“Mom, we don’t know
anything yet. She could just … the battery in her phone could have died and she stayed the night at her friend’s house.”
“Oh. Oh, I can’t talk.”
“Mom, I’ll call the police and then you. Okay?”
“Oh, Max. I can’t even breathe.”
“You take something to calm down. Like Valerian root or something. Can I talk to Father?”
Max talked to his father-in-law for another five minutes, asked him to hold himself together and take care of his wife, and promised to take care of everything. Then he called his friend, a detective. The detective, in his turn, transferred the call to the best professional in this department. Aiden Lawton. Aiden promised to talk to Anna’s parents first and then to him. Max’s profession invoked a healthy and needed respect in the detective even though Max was sure that Lawton had no idea what the writer had written and possibly heard his name for the first time.
CHAPTER 53
Anna woke up slowly. Much slower than the first time. She didn’t have a headache or a pain in her throat, but her whole body felt like it had been broken into pieces starting from her shoulders, down to her knees. Her legs in the upper part, on the inside, were burning and her insides stung. Before consciousness came realization. While she was out with the help of some drug, he raped her. The nausea came to her throat and Anna breathed deeply to stop it. She would have choked on her own vomit if she had been lying on her back. The room still contained the smell of what she had spewed out earlier. A few more seconds, and Anna felt ropes on her arms and legs again and the nudity of her body, covered with something scratchy. The air in the room was stale, the light was on, and she smelled burnt wood.
Two more deep breaths and Anna opened her eyes. This time she could lift her head, but not enough to sit up. Her arms and legs had been tied to the bedposts. Not as tight as the first time, but she still couldn’t move. A green, checkered blanket covered her unevenly, leaving her right arm and a part of her left leg exposed. Besides the pain and nausea, she needed to go to the bathroom. Anna wasn’t sure she could last long; it had already been awhile. She didn’t pee only because she didn’t drink anything. Her throat was not just dry; it felt like it was sponged out.
She didn’t escape; she had been raped, and probably beaten. The act of sexual abuse after everything else that had happened didn’t shock her or make her desperate. She had expected it. When she came to her senses completely, she didn’t start to feel bad for herself or scream about the situation. This time around, when the shock and questions were left behind, she started to think about escape. Despite the pain in her body, her head worked well and the desire to live was too strong. Anna looked at things realistically and lived in a progressive century. In a century when murders and serial killers became a part of everyday life like cars or mobile phones.
She started to move her legs and arms. Moving all parts at the same time didn’t work, and Anna concentrated on her right hand. If she freed this one, she could handle the rest. Then what? How would she get out of this locked room? Twisting the rope, Anna searched around again. Besides the stove, a refrigerator, and a chair in the corner, there was one painting on the wall. The painting belonged to a talented artist, Anna had to admit that, but black, yellow, red strokes of a brush left uncomfortable feelings. Talented and crazy artist. How could she use that picture? What did he have in the fridge? He would hardly have knives or anything else suitable for an attack. Now it wasn’t important, she would think of something. She had to get out of the ropes first.
What time was it? Was it morning or night? Her parents and Max should have contacted the police by now. Suddenly, Anna thought about her new project and about the deadline her publisher had given her. Would she have enough time to finish it? What if they found another artist? She almost laughed at her thoughts. What a fine time to think about work and book covers. She hadn’t had an opportunity to enjoy it yet. Max and his dead girl occupied her head.
Her wrists were burning, but the rope didn’t give. Anna continued to pull her hand, trying not to pay attention to the sweat and tears. She cried from pain and her own stupidity. Who would believe it? She reacted to puppies! Who would believe that an adult could be so naïve and trusting? But he was their client. She wouldn’t suspect anything was wrong with him. Then other thoughts came. About Max’s dreams. He had a dream about the house where the girl was killed. He also had a dream about that girl, and she tried in some incomprehensible, out of this world way to tell him her story. She wanted to tell him about the killer. What if she wanted to stop him? It meant there was life after death, but in some form unattainable for a mortal. Why did she choose Max; it wasn’t clear. Could she sense that his wife would become his next victim? No. Psycho said that he found her after Max contacted him. Then why? Only she knew the answer. Angelica. What if she was in this room? Now?
Anna looked around. She didn’t feel any presence. What did Max say? The girl couldn’t remember the killer? Why didn’t she listen to him? Why did he come here?
Concentrate.
Max said that she couldn’t remember the killer. Right? It seemed like that was it. If he remembered, Max would come here again, but with a different mission. Only he wouldn’t know that she was here. This time, a visit could be dangerous for him. Maybe he would call the police and they would come to this horrible house. If they would trust him.
How did it happen? A man had lived in one house for many years, killing innocent girls, and no one, no one even guessed it. Just like in Max’s books.
“Max, Max, find me, please.”
As if somebody heard her and unlocked the door, it opened. Morris entered the room. He held a potty in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. Anna felt a wave of pleasant, fresh air before the door closed.
“I knew you came to,” the man said. “Is it warm enough? I think it’s good.”
He approached the bed, looked over Anna critically, threw part of the blanket away, and stared at her arm.
“Well, well. Are you trying to get out?” The man snickered, put the potty near the bed, and threw the plastic bag on the chair and his jacket on the floor. He didn’t look at the naked body of his prisoner. Anna still began to shake. She tried to stop, but couldn’t.
“You can’t run away. Don’t even think about it. The door is strong and I have a padlock on the other side. I call this a shed, and I built it myself. The exit goes to the backyard. I have a huge pit bull there running free. I trained it to attack anything that moves. The fence around it is high; you won’t get over it. So, forget this foolishness. You’ll only make it worse.”
“Can it be worse?” Anna whispered. The man heard her.
“Of course! What do you think? I’ll tear you to shreds. Alive. If not me—the dog will do the honors. Understand? Do you need to go to the bathroom? I’ll untie you and won’t watch, but don’t try to do anything funny.
“You have the knife, I have nothing.”
“That’s true.” Morris laughed, then walked to his prisoner, untied her as he’d promised, and went to the opposite end of the room. Anna, as quietly as she could, went potty. She was humiliated, but saw no choice. She covered the potty with the lid, looking around. Trying to find something that she didn’t notice before and something that could help her escape. How long did he plan to keep her alive? What was he going to do next? Settling back on the bed, Anna pulled the blanket over her body.
“Are you done?”
“Yes,” Anna said.
The man turned to her, studied her as a medical doctor would do, then walked quickly to the bed and pushed the potty under it. After that, he picked up the plastic bag, fished out a pack of juice, and gave it to Anna.
“Drink.”
Anna grabbed the package and took a few sips of cold juice. Morris snatched it out of her hands and put it back on the chair.
“You’re not going to feed me?”
“Juice has vitamins and enough nutrients to keep you alive. Food would give you strength and excrements. Do you
think I need that?”
Unlikely. He was going to kill her anyway, so a juice diet worked for him. Only it didn’t matter. Maybe she wouldn’t have strength, but it didn’t mean she would give up. No, she would collect everything she had left in her and run away from here no matter the cost.
“I washed the dress from your muck. It will dry by nighttime.” The man grabbed the blanket and pulled it to the side. Anna tried to move away from him, but he seized her breast and squeezed it painfully. Anna didn’t make a sound, only winced.
“Look at these boobs. Do you like me?” Morris pushed away his prisoner’s hands and squeezed her other breast. He pinned her legs to the bed with his knee. “Do you like me?”
Anna held back tears of pain and humiliation with all her might, and was afraid she would lose it if she opened her mouth to talk, but the bastard squeezed her breasts even harder and plunged his knee into her stomach.
“Do you like me?
“I do,” Anna muttered, hoping it would save her from pain. That was what happened. The man relaxed his hands and started caressing her breasts. This gesture was even worse for Anna, and she pushed the rapist’s hands without even realizing it. He growled like an angry dog and slapped Anna’s face so hard she fell on her back. Morris climbed on top of her in that instant, sat over her hips, pinched her arms over her head, and started to lick her breast with his wet mouth. Anna was sure she would puke and knew what would follow this. She couldn’t afford a beating. She would lose more strength if that happened, and she didn’t even have a plan for her escape. She was going to do that no matter what.
Suddenly, the man stopped, slipped down, and wiped his mouth.
“We’ll finish tonight. The way it’s supposed to go. Everything already went topsy-turvy because of you, damn snotter. You rest for now.”
The land of dead flowers: (A serial killer thriller) Page 25
