by Rita Herron
Pulling her ski hat over her ears, Ellie burrowed in her jacket and stood on the periphery of the crowd, hoping to go unnoticed. Voices and excited whispers floated in the wind as Bryce exited the building onto the steps of city hall.
Swallowing her bitterness over the fact that her father chose to endorse Bryce as his replacement instead of her, she quietly blended in with the spectators. Of course, Randall Reeves’ support could have backfired after the truth about Hiram was exposed, but Bryce managed, as always, to put a positive spin on the situation. As the new sheriff, he intended to clean up the town. Get justice. Protect the towns along the trail.
He was the hero.
Maybe her father had been right. If the sheriff’s job was about politics and publicity, Bryce had been the better choice. She wanted to concentrate on justice and the law.
Ever the charmer, Bryce saluted the people who’d gathered to watch him be sworn into office, sending cheers and applause across the lawn.
Ellie forced herself to breathe. As Bryce was now sheriff over the entire county which encompassed Crooked Creek’s police department as well as Stony Gap’s, technically she worked for him.
Shondra slipped up beside her, her scowl as disgusted as Ellie’s. “He’s always been a dick, but now he’ll lord that power over all of us.”
It didn’t take a therapist to diagnose Bryce. “Narcissist chauvinist,” Ellie muttered.
“You know during the investigation into the Ghost case, he had me working small details at the festival in town. Since then it’s gotten worse. Last week, he assigned me to cover the garden show. Apparently, Lily was afraid someone would steal the prize roses.” Shondra rolled her eyes. “Then I was assigned to the local nursing home, where one of the patients was stealing the other patients’ afternoon ice-cream treats and cookies. All the while Bryce is sending the other deputies out on domestic calls and to investigate a drug ring he thinks has cropped up on the outskirts of town.”
“That’s not fair,” Ellie said.
“Tell me about it,” Shondra replied with a sigh. “I threatened to file a complaint against him for gender bias if he didn’t start letting me work real cases.”
A smile tugged at Ellie’s mouth. “How did that go over?”
Shondra chuckled. “About like you’d expect. But hey, he finally sent me on a couple of domestic calls.”
Ellie admired Shondra. The woman had grown up in an abusive home, and she was passionate about cracking down on domestic violence.
Shondra nudged her arm, her smile fading. “How are you doing?”
Ellie dug her hands into her pockets and shrugged. “Think I’m going to hike the trail for a few days.”
Just then, Bryce’s gaze traveled across the crowd, settling on Ellie. Some emotion she couldn’t quite compute flickered across his face, replaced with a wicked smile before he stepped behind the microphone beside his father, Mayor Waters.
Anxiety pinched at Ellie’s gut. Bryce had something up his sleeve. That look… she knew it. He was going to make her life a living hell now he was in charge, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it—except quit and move away. Somewhere no one knew her. Somewhere she could escape.
She’d been considering it for days now. She’d even pulled up a map, trying to pick a location.
But with national news airing the story of the murdered little girls, there was nowhere to hide.
Three
Marvin’s Mobile Home Park, Crooked Creek
The dark, evil thoughts came out of nowhere. But they always lived in his head, whispering their insults, shouting that he was worthless, reminding him that he had no one. Voices that told him what to do, how to inflict pain.
Who to take.
They all had to suffer.
Glancing at the photographs on the seat beside him, the childhood rhyme about Monday’s child taunted him.
“Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace, Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s child has far to go, Friday’s child is loving and giving, Saturday’s child works hard for a living, And the child that is born on the Sabbath day, is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.”
But the girls were none of those things, and never would be.
Night shadows hugged the exterior of the woman’s trailer as he waited for her to come home. Overgrown weeds and patches of poison ivy choked the property, the mobile homes separated by broken-down cars, old tires, children’s toys and junk.
With the streetlight burned out, he could easily hide in the dark corners of the yard. Aside from shouting two doors down and at least three or four dogs barking into the night, the area was quiet. No animals that he could see. Still, he knew how to handle dogs.
Slipping from his vehicle, armed with the chloroform rag, he crept into the shadows of the metal carport. Hunched behind a garbage can, he waited, anticipation building inside him and making his blood hot. His body hardened as he imagined pushing her to her knees and forcing her to beg for her life.
Wind rustled the trees, tossing a Bud Lite can from a neighbor’s property across the graveled parking lot. An old man staggered from his trailer, stumbled, then grabbed the rail and wove to his pick-up truck.
The fool shouldn’t be driving.
But he was not the problem tonight. Tonight was about taking Monday’s child.
Tension coiled inside him as the minutes ticked by, and the rhyme played over and over in his head like a broken record, just like the country CDs she had played. Songs about drinking whiskey and cheating wives.
A half hour passed before the sound of an engine broke the silence. A black pick-up pulled into the carport.
His pulse jumped as she opened her car door and slid her legs over the side of the seat to the ground. A coal-black braid hung down her back, the car’s interior light shimmering across ebony skin. Her full lips puckered into a frown as she slammed the door shut and stood, fiddling with her phone.
Anxious to take her and get the hell out of here before her neighbors got home, he lunged toward her, grabbing her around the neck in a chokehold. Quickly he pressed the rag over her face. She kicked, trying to elbow him, struggling to jerk his hands away, but he was stronger. He tightened his hold, cutting off her air until her body went limp, and her head lolled back.
Smiling to himself, he dragged her into the bushes. Then he scooped her into his arms and carried her to his car.
Opening the trunk, he shoved her inside, slamming the trunk shut.
Excitement made his cock throb as he drove away.
Four
Sunday
Springer Mountain, Georgia
Dawn cracked the sky, a sliver of sunlight seeping through the gray clouds as Ellie grabbed her backpack from the trunk of her Jeep. Wind shook the trees and rustled the bushes, the scent of rain filling the air.
Her gaze fell to the bundle of mail on her back seat. More hate mail.
Several letters had arrived yesterday, the ugly words taunting her and keeping her awake long into the night. Some sounded threatening, yet she’d hoped that folks were simply blowing off steam. She’d been too ashamed to show them to her boss or anyone else.
But as she was a cop, she’d kept every single one of them, and she’d also told the therapist about them just in case one of the threats became a reality.
What was she doing pouring out her heart to a shrink anyway? After Hiram trapped her in that cave, she’d been traumatized, repressing memories of what had happened. A few weeks later, her parents moved and changed her name from Mae to Ellie, so Hiram couldn’t find her again. When she’d talked about Mae, they led her to believe that Mae was her imaginary friend.
Her childhood therapist had perpetuated her parents’ lies under the guise of protecting her.
When, all those years later, the truth came out and Ellie realized the therapist helped her parents, she decided to report her to the board for unethical conduct. But she was too late. The counselor had left the job on
e day and virtually disappeared.
Ellie forced herself to return to the present. Knowing that cell service was spotty and deciding she needed a break from the countless calls from Angelica and disgruntled Bluff County residents, Ellie locked her phone in the glove compartment.
A few days off the grid, escaping into the mountains, would hopefully clear her head.
Still, dangers existed on the trail at every turn. There were steep ridges and drop-offs, wild animals, and drifters who sheltered in the mountains. Knowing some were mentally ill, and others were criminals hiding out, Ellie carried her weapon and extra ammo, as well as a flare gun, a Taser, and pepper spray.
A girl alone couldn’t be too careful.
No fool herself, for emergency’s sake, she snagged the handheld radio she used to communicate with the National Park Service. Early this morning, she’d texted Ranger Cord McClain with Search and Rescue to tell him where she was going, a deal they’d made long ago whenever she went hiking alone. The fact that he hadn’t responded told her he was still angry with her. Maybe while she was out here, she’d figure out a way to mend their friendship.
Leaving her Jeep, she inhaled the crisp mountain air, bringing with it the scent of honeysuckle and ivy, and began her hike.
The steep inclines and twisting paths of the AT—the Appalachian Trail—led deep into the forest. Tall pines, hemlocks, oaks and cypresses filled her sightline and blocked out the sunlight, creating countless places to hide.
She’d never understood how a person could get so fed up with life they’d venture onto the trail and decide to stay.
But she got it now. She just wanted to be left alone. To get lost in the endless miles of woods and wilderness. To breathe in the scents of nature, watch the dandelions pop up, and forget that evil had torn her family apart.
Then maybe she could figure out what to do with her life, whether she wanted to search for her birth parents.
Because something told her it wasn’t a good idea. If they hadn’t wanted her as a baby, why the hell would they be interested in getting to know her now?
Five
Somewhere on the AT
The darkness closed around her. A cloying smell. Something wet. Dank. Rotten. She blinked to clear her vision, but there was no light. No sound.
Nothing.
Only the cold emptiness and hollow feeling of being alone.
Fear pulsed through her. The man had come out of nowhere. No… He’d been hiding at her place, waiting to ambush her.
A dizzy spell overcame her as she tried to sit up and determine her location. A metal chain clinked against the floor. A heavy weight circled her neck so tightly she could barely breathe. Blinking away tears of frustration, in the pitch black she felt the floor and walls surrounding her.
Cold. Steel. Bars.
Oh, God, she was in a cage.
Panic choking her, she forced herself to inhale deep breaths.
Heart racing, she lifted her hand to her neck, nausea rising to her throat. She knew what she was going to find.
A dog collar. Heavy metal linked to a chain.
What kind of sick pervert had put her in here?
Footsteps sounded above her, indicating she might be in a basement. Nearby the sound of water dripping echoed. A dog barked. And… did she hear another woman crying? Or… clawing at another cage?
The steps grew louder. The sound of a door creaking rent the air, floorboards groaning as he came down.
She glanced up, squinting to see his face. But it was too dark, and he closed the door, blocking out any light that might slip through the crack. A low whistle echoed as he walked down the stair, a happy whistle, as if he was excited.
Blinking, she forced herself to be still and choked back a cry. Don’t show fear.
“Ahh, good, you’re awake.”
The sight of the knife in his hand made her snap. The cage rattled as he inserted a key into the lock. The scent of sweat and stale beer hit her.
“Why are you doing this?” she cried.
“Because Monday’s child is fair of face,” he murmured as he knelt in front of her and set a duffel bag on the floor. “And you’re not.”
With a sinister smile, he yanked her by the hair and pulled her from the cage, tearing a scream from her.
She couldn’t see what was inside the bag, but her imagination went down a dark, terrifying path. Tears blurred her eyes, and she began to shake.
He snatched a whip from his belt and slapped it across her back. “You want to live, then beg.”
The sharp sting of the whip sliced her back through her clothes, and she blinked back tears. But she refused to beg.
He brought the whip down again and again, slashing at her back. “I said beg!”
A sob escaped her, and she tasted blood, but she shook her head. Another crack of the whip, and he kicked her in the stomach. When she still refused to beg, he turned into a madman, shouting and pacing and slapping the wall with the whip.
Finally, he returned to stand over her, his breath panting out. With a yank of her head, he forced her to look at him. “All right, we’ll play it your way. You won’t beg for your life, then I’ll keep you for a while. And we’ll have fun.” His menacing laugh pierced the air. “Oh, yes, we’ll have so much fun, Cathy.”
A shudder coursed through her. Her name was not Cathy. But she was too weak to say anything and he was lost in his madness. What did it matter anyway? She was chained in here like a dog.
“Now I’ll have to find another,” he sang as he dragged her back inside the cage. “Monday’s child is waiting.” The metal door clanged shut, then he stomped away, cracking the whip against the concrete wall as he climbed the steps and left her in darkness.
Six
Monday
The Reflection Pond
Last night he’d been forced to take another. But hell, this one was a better fit for Monday’s child. Much better. She’d begged from the moment he’d taken her until he’d watched her draw her last breath.
He moved swiftly, juggling the dead woman in his arms as he climbed the hill, grateful for night and the canopy of trees hiding him from sight. Mosquitoes buzzed around his face, and a water moccasin snake glided across the crystal-clear water of the pond. Lily pads floated on the surface and wild mountain laurel sprang up around the bank.
The first woman he’d taken still lay waiting in the cage, suffering. But he would wear her down eventually.
The nursery rhyme flowed from his mouth in a singsong rhythm, and he eased the woman onto the ground, propping her against the thick trunk of an oak facing the water. Women are special, the voice inside his head said. Monday’s child is fair of face.
He traced his thumb over her heart-shaped face. She truly looked angelic, her teeth as white as pearls, her skin ivory and as soft as satin, her hair as blonde as corn silk. But her eyes, the windows to the soul, looked blank and empty.
Smiling to himself, he carefully clipped her fingernails then stowed the clippings in a bag. No doubt she’d prefer a bright nail polish, but she would go to her grave with short, unvarnished nails void of color.
Prying her mouth open, he placed the folded scrap of paper with his message inside. He threaded the needle, stabbed it in the woman’s lower lip, and pushed it upward into her top lip. Over and over he continued until her lips were completely sewn together. No more gossiping, talking back, or lying.
When he was finished, he stood back and admired his handiwork. His stitches were even, neat, seamless. Pulling the tube of lipstick from his duffel bag, he slowly painted her mouth ruby red until it looked as if she was bleeding.
The plain white panties and bra were something she’d never choose, but he slipped the underwear over her naked body, gently tracing his finger over her pale, cold stomach.
The olive-green dress came next. It looked sickly against her skin, which had already started turning blue. He smoothed the sheath down over her lifeless form, then slid simple black heels onto her delicate fee
t.
This dress would have been perfect for a funeral, if she was going to have one.
He unwound some bramble, wrapping it around her throat as a sign to the ones who found her. Let them figure out the meaning.
His pulse quickened as he remembered her scream of terror just before he’d slashed her throat. He dotted blusher along the cut on her cheek he’d made with the broken edge of a mirror, rouge the bright red of poppies. Then he folded her hands across her stomach in prayer form.
If she could see herself, she would not be happy with the way he’d fixed her.
A light rain began to fall, droplets clinging to her long blonde eyelashes. Any surface beauty she possessed would disintegrate quickly, turning her into dust and bone. The ugliness beneath would be revealed and everyone would know that Monday’s child, who was supposed to be fair of face, was nothing but a disguise.
Pulling daffodils from his bag, he ripped off the petals and scattered them on the ground, spreading her on top of them and covering her with more of the bright yellow petals. The olive-green satin dress looked sickly beneath the soft wildflowers.
As stark and ugly as the woman wearing it.
Seven
Somewhere on the AT
After hours of a punishing ten-mile hike in the drizzling rain, Ellie was bone tired. In spite of her experience on the trail, her muscles and feet ached, the blisters she’d acquired on her feet were raw, and a permanent chill had invaded her body.
Today the numbness had set in. Finally. She welcomed it, drowning out the pain of the past month.
Slogging through the mud and prickly brush, she used her flashlight to illuminate her path. All day she’d noted signs of spring in the budding trees and scent of damp grass as she strove to make it to the shelter ahead. Raindrops glistened on the leaves like tiny diamonds, and wild mushrooms pushed through the soil in various colors.
