The Bride Collector

by Ted Dekker

  “… if you want, Quinton,” Rain Man was saying.

  “I… Please don’t call me that,” he heard himself say.

  “You can still change this.”

  I’ve killed a million people and I want to kill a million more because I’m a demon and that’s who I am.

  “I’m… I’m a demon.”

  Rain Man didn’t respond.

  Quinton felt himself falling, sinking to the ground. His knees landed on the earth, jolting his mouth shut with a clack of teeth. He began to cry, then sob, then he stretched his jaw wide and he began to wail.

  Brad Raines was saying something, but his words were swallowed by Quinton’s rage. He thought his head might explode. Panic beat him in the face and chest and he gripped his temples to contain it. But it grew.

  There was only one way to stop it.

  BRAD RAINES WATCHED the breakdown with a mixture of dread and relief. He’d gotten through to the Bride Collector, and anything was better than the course they were on before.

  But he’d also guessed the bitter truth: Quinton wasn’t using Paradise to lure her sister. He was luring Paradise. All along it had always been about Paradise.

  Now the man was screaming and his face was white as he trembled on his knees like a man possessed.

  “You can stop it,” Brad said. “You can end all of this.”

  The man suddenly stopped screaming and lowered his head, panting.

  “Quinton…”

  Slowly he came to himself, breathed deep, unsteadily pushed himself to his feet. He stood there, limp. His jaw muscles bunched, relaxed, then bunched again. He finally looked up, face fixed.

  “You’re right.”

  He turned around, walked to the table, picked up his pistol, returned, and shot Brad from a distance of ten feet.

  Boom!

  The bullet punched into his chest, knocking the wind from him. He gasped and tried to jerk his arms around, but they were held tight by the restraints.

  “God!”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you there.” Quinton walked back to the table, picked up a small bag, and headed for his car, a black Chrysler 300M.

  The bullet had missed his heart or he wouldn’t still be breathing. To the right of his chest, most likely through the lungs and out his back. Pain spread down his side in throbbing waves.

  “Please… Where are you going?”

  Quinton stopped. Then faced him, eyes deadpan.

  “I’m going to finish what I should have finished a long time ago. And when I’m finished with her, I’m going to find another one. And I’m not going to stop until they’re all dead because that’s what I do. I kill God’s favorites.”

  He turned back around and walked on.

  “Enjoy the last few minutes of your life, Mr. Raines.”

  29

  PARADISE DIDN’T KNOW how long she’d been in the beauty salon. Two hours, she guessed. At least.

  Jessie, the youngest of six hairdressers working today, had taken her by the hand, led her to one of the chairs at the back, and sat her before the mirror. “So, what do you think we should do?”

  Paradise was at a complete loss. The smell of chemicals made her dizzy. They were going to gas her with something and turn her into a monster, but of course that was absurd, they would do no such thing. She might be a bit naive around the gills, but she wasn’t stupid. Psychotic maybe, just a tiny bit, but not stupid. Still, she couldn’t stop the thoughts ramming the inside of her skull, trying to get out.

  Monsters, they’re all monsters and aliens and they’re going to poison you.

  Jessie took Paradise’s hair and pulled it back. She was a young woman with a head swimming in blond curls. One of those magazine faces painted with makeup that reminded Paradise of Andrea, except with blue eyes to match the sky where aliens came from.

  Stop with the alien stuff!

  “Why don’t we cut it off?” the alien said.

  “No.”

  “You don’t think? Oh, I think your hair would be adorable short.”

  Just the thought of those scissors snipping around her neck was too much. “I’d rather not.”

  “Okay… Well, I can do whatever you want. It’s your hair, not mine. What do you think, Cassandra? She doesn’t want her hair short.”

  Cassandra, the mother hen here, walked over in her floor-length dress, smiling warmly. “Well, let’s just take a look at you, Samantha.”

  It was the name she’d given them, afraid to be caught. She slipped out of the chair and stood, keeping her eyes on the scissors in Cassandra’s hand. At the center, the sight of a woman with shears wouldn’t bother her, but it was different here.

  Out here, aliens were on the loose.

  Cassandra must have seen her eyeing the scissors, because she set them on a shelf next to neatly stacked white jars of hair product. “You want a complete makeover, right?”

  “I need to look beautiful.”

  “Well, honey, that pretty much means a complete makeover. The hair, the face, a manicure, pedicure… What about your clothes?”

  She looked down at her jeans. “I want to cut my jeans off. Short.” She drew a line across her thigh.

  The two beauticians exchanged smiles. “Okay, I think we can do that. But you’re going to need some new clothes. What’s this for? You have a date, honey?”

  The question brought the killer to mind, and it took some concentration to keep from unraveling in front of them. “Yes. I have a date.”

  “Okay, okay.” Cassandra walked around her, nodding. Both women were probably doing everything in their power to keep from bursting out in laughter. But as far as aliens went, they seemed nice enough. Not that they were really aliens.

  “Okay, flip-flops, shorts. But the T-shirt has to go,” Cassandra said.

  “I don’t have another shirt.”

  “We’ll worry about that later. But you have to put on something that doesn’t smell like you rolled in it, honey.” She played with Paradise’s stringy hair. “Let’s give her a sexy sporty look, Jessie. Highlights, bangs, a little texture. Not too much makeup, just a healthy glow and some lipstick. What do you say we keep you looking natural, honey? Bring out your natural beauty.”

  She nodded, lost.

  “French manicure, not too long, Jessie. Red toenail polish.” She stooped over and lifted her left jean leg. “You need a wax, honey. You okay with that?”

  Did Angie wax? Paradise wasn’t particularly hairy, but she knew that most girls shaved their legs and their underarms. Brad would approve.

  So she nodded.

  “Perfect. Get her into a robe, Jessie.” She touched Paradise on her cheek and smiled. “Don’t worry, Samantha, you’re in good hands. Just sit back and let us pamper you. Okay?”

  Paradise blinked, frightened but certain that she had little choice.

  She stripped out of her smelly T-shirt and jeans and put on the long white robe they gave her. First the shower. She’d never heard of taking a shower in a beauty salon, but then she didn’t know much about these kinds of places. Jessie insisted she wash off the smell, so she did, using what they called an exfoliating scrub. It smelled like flowers and made her whole body tingle. Under any other circumstance she might have found the hot shower relaxing.

  But she couldn’t get rid of the killer’s voice in her head. Or the hollow pit in her gut, the gnawing sense that she was somehow prostituting herself, cleaning herself on the outside but being dirty on the inside. Yet what choice did she have?

  Then they went to work on her. Washing, scrubbing, painting, polishing, waxing… They decided they didn’t have to wax, thank goodness. Instead they shaved her legs and underarms. She kept thinking that the aliens had captured her and she was in their experimental room where they prodded and poked to better understand the human specimen they’d taken.

  A white facial mask. Hair color, cut, and style. Makeup.

  All the while Jessie and Barbara, who did both nails and makeup, kept commenting on
how she was really beautiful. Her strong nails, her healthy hair, her porcelain skin…

  Paradise sat back and accepted the torture, mind lost on the haunting voice that had spoken to her on the phone. The killer. Who had Brad.

  Really, she was doing this for him. For both the killer and Brad, however ashamed she was to admit this to herself. For the killer because he would hurt Brad if she didn’t follow his directions to the letter. For Brad… No, not for Brad. Brad wouldn’t want her to go through this just to look more beautiful.

  But he wouldn’t mind, would he?

  Her mind couldn’t process the whys of what was happening to her. The aliens, the demons, the killer. And worst of all, her father’s voice, back from the dead, demanding she come out of her hiding or he would kill her mother. As he had.

  She looked down at her new white-tipped nails, which looked more like claws. Barbara put her file down and took her hand.

  “Are you okay, Samantha?”

  “Yes,” she’d answered, startled.

  “You’re hands are trembling. It’s okay… Is it a problem with drugs?”

  She was talking about substance abuse, but Paradise immediately thought of the antipsychotics in her medicine cabinet. Because her mind was bouncing around like a rubber ball. The chemicals, the uniform-like robes, the scissors, the painting of nails and faces all frightening snippets from a horror movie.

  She almost stood and fled then.

  “No. I’m just a bit scared.”

  The woman glanced around. “Are you in danger?”

  “No,” Paradise answered too quickly.

  Barbara patted her hand. “Okay. It’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t okay, and Paradise continued to fight against an almost insurmountable urge to run out, bathrobe and all. She refused to look in the mirror, terrified of the monster she would find in her place.

  Cassandra had returned from her lunch with a shopping bag just as Barbara finished painting her face. “I hope you don’t mind, Samantha. I took some of your money and bought you a few things.”

  Money? “I don’t have any money,” she said.

  “You overpaid us. Now we’re even.” She pulled out a pair of frayed jean shorts, a red blouse, and a pair of white sandals with silver buttons on the straps. “What do you think? I hope a size four fits you. Aren’t they adorable?”

  She had no clue what to think.

  “Well, go on,” Jessie said. “You know where the dressing room is. Show us your new sexy self, honey.”

  “Put them on?”

  “That’s why I bought them.”

  “Now?”

  “You wanted shorts, I got you shorts, but I can’t put them on for you.”

  Jessie, Barbara, and Cassandra were all looking at her expectantly. So she took the bag, beating back stray thoughts of how foolish she was, and put them on in the dressing room.

  When you’re done, take a picture of yourself and send it to me so that I know you’ve done exactly as I’ve asked. Then go across the road to the park and wait for me. I’ll call you and tell you what I want you to do next.

  The voices echoed in her head. What if she was too late? What if he was waiting in the park now?

  Despite their pampering, or perhaps because of it, she was more nervous now than when she’d first walked in. Keeping her fingers from trembling was now impossible.

  Paradise grabbed her dirty jeans and dug out the cell phone. No calls. She stuffed it into the right pocket of the shorts and hurried out into the main room.

  Seven or eight heads turned to look at her, freezing her with their stares. She looked at the mirrored wall directly in front of her. The girl facing her was an alien.

  Same height, same face, but that was it. Her dark hair hung around her face to her shoulders like a picture-perfect wig with bangs that swept across her forehead. Dark eyelashes curved up into light pink eye shadow, and dark brows had been thinned to half their former thickness. Blush colored her cheeks, just enough to change the stark white face she was accustomed to.

  And the lipstick. Red lipstick, like apples for lips!

  Her first instinct was to rub it all off before her transformation into this alien whore was complete. “What… what did you do?” she stammered.

  “My, my look at you!” Cassandra was all smiles. “Now that’s what I call sexy.”

  A chorus of oohs and ahhs agreed, and Jessie went on about how unfair it was that she could look so pretty in nothing flat.

  The red shirt hung to the top of her jean shorts, which weren’t long enough. She knew they were right, though, that she looked way too much like people Andrea would point out as pretty or cute or sexy.

  But all Paradise could think was that this woman staring back at her wasn’t actually her. She was an imposter! And even as the thoughts pummeled her mind, she knew they weren’t the right thoughts.

  She was on the verge of a psychotic break. No, because she wasn’t psychotic. She had her phobias and had her visions, but they were real. This… She didn’t know what to think about this!

  Her head spun and she was suddenly convinced that if she didn’t get the monster off her, it would take over. She rushed over to the nearest station, grabbed a white towel, and had almost taken a swipe at her face when she remembered his words again. When you’re done, take a picture of yourself and send it to me so that I know you’ve done exactly as I’ve asked.

  “Samantha?”

  Now they were all watching her as if she had lost her lid. She was in a box. She had to get out before she made a complete fool of herself and ruined everything.

  Get out here or I’ll shoot your mother…

  She fled. Past Jessie and Cassandra, past three customers now seated for their turn. Through the door and outside into the bright sun where a new reality greeted her.

  Parked cars. A road. And across the road, a large park.

  She was shaking so badly now that she couldn’t seem to get her legs started again. This was what she had to do, right? She had to get over there and take a picture of herself and then…

  The door swung out. “Samantha, are you sure you’re okay, honey?”

  “Yes.”

  Cassandra eyed her skeptically. “Maybe you should come back inside.”

  She got her legs going then, tearing away from the spa, past the parked car on her right. I have to get out, I have to escape! She got halfway across the lot and ran behind the green garbage bin.

  Immediately she realized that Cassandra had seen her, and she was trapped like an alien back here.

  She ran around the bin and headed across the road in a full sprint.

  The cars started honking halfway across and she pumped her legs faster, right into the green park. Straight toward some trees fifty yards away.

  Paradise reached the first large tree and threw her back up against the far side for safety. Breathing like a hurricane. Her mind was shouting at her, scolding, instructing, splitting, crying, begging it all to go away so she could stay in the closet.

  But nothing went away because there was no closet and no aliens and no father.

  She got her wind and snuck a peek around the tree. No one chased her. So she’d made it. She was okay.

  Now what? Now she had to take a picture of herself to prove she’d made herself beautiful.

  Paradise pulled out the cell phone and fiddled with the controls, searching for the camera button. Both Andrea and Roudy had cell phones, and she’d messed with them some. She dropped the phone in the dust once, grabbed it back up, and rubbed it on her red shirt, hoping she hadn’t damaged it.

  By the time she finally figured out which button operated the camera, her heart was racing again. She was going to establish communication with the killer. Where would this all lead? What if he wanted something else from her? Why had he wanted her to look pretty for him? What if he actually wanted her? The thought was terrifying.

  Pushing past the fear, she managed to hold the camera out and take a picture of herself. Fi
guring out how to send it was much easier than she would have guessed-there was only one number stored in the phone.

  Now what?

  She sank down to her seat, trembling. Then go across the road to the park and wait for me. I’ll call you and tell you what I want you to do next. Her mind was twirling like a ballerina in outer space.

  “Brad.” She whispered his name, feeling both foolish for thinking that she mattered to him and desperate for him to notice her. All of this was for him… She’d thrown herself into the land of demons and aliens for Brad, because she had been so certain that she mattered to him.

  What if she was wrong?

  He’d awoken a part of her that she didn’t know existed. Even if she didn’t matter to him the way he now did to her, she had to save him. She would do anything to save him, because she loved him.

  Sitting here trembling at the base of the tree all alone, dressed like a whore, she loved and needed him more than she needed air. A knot filled her throat; an ache so terrible that she cursed herself for allowing it to live inside her. But she couldn’t deny it. Not now that she realized how lonely she’d been before Brad had-

  “Excuse me.”

  She gasped and jerked her head up. A man in uniform stood ten feet away, looking down at her. A policeman. She scrambled to her feet, tipped dizzily to her right, and stumbled to her knees before pushing herself back up.

  “Whoa, easy there. Are you Samantha?”

  She gasped. The killer? He was the killer here in disguise. “What do you want?”

  “Take it easy, I’m not going to hurt you. We received a call.” The policeman, if that’s what he was, eyed her with skepticism, hand on his stick. “Can you tell me your full name and where you live?”

  “I…” At any moment the phone in her pocket was going to vibrate, she had to be here! “Samantha,” she said.

  He nodded, understanding, though he understood nothing. “And where do you live, Samantha?”

  “I… Nowhere.”

  He stepped closer. “Do you mind if I look at your arms?”

  So then he probably wasn’t the killer. “Why?”