Before He Takes

by Blake Pierce

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Missy Hale had a stubborn streak in her. It was something that her first grade teacher had noticed and set up subsequent parent-teacher conferences. It was likely the very same reason she had never been able to hold a serious relationship for more than eight or nine months. At thirty-five years of age, she recognized the stubborn streak and understood that it was not something to be proud of.

  Yet as she sat in the back of what appeared to be a small cattle cart of some kind, it was that stubborn streak that she was relying on. She was pretty sure it was the only reason she was not a blubbering mess right now.

  She was scared, she was in pain, but she was also pissed off. There was a huge bump on her forehead, a result of being blasted in the head with what she was pretty sure had been the side of a large carpenter’s hammer. She ran her fingers along the knot, wincing not only at the pain but at the sheer size of the damned thing.

  You were a stupid girl today, she thought. How did you fall for that?

  She still saw the guy slumped over in his truck. He’d been a good actor for sure, but still…even in a small town like Bent Creek (or, perhaps, especially in this kind of town), she knew women had to exercise caution out on those mostly abandoned back roads.

  She had no real idea of how long she had been knocked out. She’d opened her eyes roughly ten or fifteen minutes ago. When she’d felt panic sweeping through her head and heart, she stifled it right away. It was much easier than she’d expected and she was pretty sure the immense pain in her head had helped; it had given her something else to focus on.

  Since then, she’d allowed herself a few moments of fear but that was it. After that had come and gone, the stubborn streak had kicked in. It told her that not only was she going to be okay, but she was going to get out of here soon.

  Wherever here was.

  She’d had an appointment with David Ayers at 9:00. It was currently 11:05, according to her watch. Surely a phone call had already been made. Probably David Ayers to her supervisor and then, if she was lucky, her supervisor to her cell phone. And although her phone had been left in her truck, she was pretty sure alarms were being raised due to her not answering. She didn’t know how long it would take for the police to get involved, but she figured her chances of getting out of this were pretty good.

  Of course, she had no idea what this was. The man she’d stopped to assist had attacked her and was currently holding her in some type of container. From the inside, she was pretty sure it was one of the industrial containers that livestock were often carried around in. And if that was the case, she was pretty sure she would not be able to get out by herself.

  She saw nothing more than some dirt, old hay fragments, and a wooden wall in front of her. That, plus the musty smell and the faint scent of some sort of manure, made her think she was in a barn. She was being held in a cattle container in a barn somewhere around Bent Creek. She thought of David Ayers but knew there was no way he would be capable of such a thing.

  Finally, using her stubbornness to summon up some courage, Missy walked to the front of the container. She had to hunch over, bent almost in half to advance forward. There, she found that there appeared to be a layer of chicken wire that had been fastened across the front of the container between the lip of the container and the actual gate. With this second layer of security, she was pretty sure there was no way to escape.

  That meant she had two options: sit idly by, hoping the guy that captured her wouldn’t kill her soon, or screaming for the guy and hoping to have some sort of rational conversation with him. Neither option appealed to her, but she’d be damned if she’d just sit still and wait for her fate to be decided for her.

  She banged at the chicken wire and started to yell. She was only able to let out a single yet powerful, “HELLO!” before the pain in her head erupted like a volcano in the center of her skull.

  She stumbled back from the pain and was sure she was going to throw up. She was instantly hazy, dizzy, and nauseous. It also felt like someone was driving a spike into her forehead.

  This asshole really did a number on me, she thought. And with that realization, the stubborn and fighting side of her started to shrink a bit.

  Seconds later, she heard a loud clanging noise and the sound of what she thought were huge hinges. Barn doors opening, she thought.

  The hell of it was, she knew almost everyone that owned a farm in Bent Creek. There were a few smaller ones that she had never visited but that was because they weren’t large enough to warrant the interest or resources of the Department of Agriculture.

  She heard footsteps coming forward and then a shadow fell across the chicken wire as a man stood in front of the container. He dropped down to his haunches and peered in at her. Looking at him through the chicken wire, Missy was pretty sure she had never seen this man before.

  “Scream like that again,” the man said, “and I’ll knock your teeth out.”

  “Please,” she said. “What do you want? Just tell me…let me know and we can put this behind us, right?’

  The man laughed at her, a maniacal laugh that made Missy wonder if he was crazy. He had a thoughtful look on his face and then looked to the left, away from the container. “One minute,” he said. “Keep your mouth shut.”

  Something in his eyes made Missy quite afraid of him, so she figured she’d do as he said for now. She remained quiet, cowering in the back of the container as the man walked away from the container and to somewhere deeper within the barn.

  He came back a few seconds later with a gnarled strip of burlap in one hand and a small machete in the other. He leered at her through the barred gate and the chicken wire, tapping menacingly on the wire with the machete.

  “Stay right there at the back and put your hands on the floor. You try to run or hit me, I’ll hack away at you. Understand?”

  She fought not to beg and plead, obeying his orders. She gave a weak little nod. Her head was still pounding, making the entire scene all the more surreal.

  He unlatched the bars of the gate and drew them open. He then set about unfastening the chicken wire. She supposed he had screwed some type of hinges onto them or maybe even just simple wood planks to keep the wire stationary. He had it all removed in less than ten seconds and then he was hunching down to join her within the container.

  He slid the machete along the side of the container, smiling a young boy’s smile that made the harshness of his eyes look evil and damn near the stuff of lunatics. She cringed and pressed herself back against the wall of the container.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I never will if you don’t give me a reason to. For right now, I’m just going to put this burlap round your mouth. You keep screaming and someone might discover our little secret. Understand? So you don’t fight and this will be over very soon.”

  Maybe she was the lunatic. She wanted to believe him—she hoped the words he was saying were true, daring to put some sort of hope into them.

  He slunk through the container in a way that was almost like a morbid dance, still dragging the machete. When he reached her, he was not subtle at all. He reached out and caressed the side of her face. He then placed the strip of burlap across her mouth. He wrapped it tight around her face twice, tying it behind her head. With what was left over, he tore it away and bound her hands. As he looped the burlap around her wrists, he looked her in the eyes and smiled.

  “This won’t stay on your hands,” he said. “When I come to you and we make love, I’ll release your hands. I’m not a total barbarian.” He then gave her an unnerving wink, leaned forward, and kissed her on the neck.

  She whimpered against it and hit her head on the back of the container. Another flare of pain passed through her just as he backed away. “It won’t be long,” he said. “Soon enough, we’re all going to be happy together. You’ll see. I’ve had my eye on you for a while, Missy. You hold a special place among the rest.”

  My God, he’s crazy, Missy thought. I
don’t know if that helps me in this case or not and I…oh God, oh God…

  The slamming of the gate jarred the thought from her mind. She was left simply trembling in the back of the metal box, feeling that determined and stubborn part of her crumble away bit by bit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  No more than ten minutes had passed since he had bound and gagged Missy Hale when Harry Givens saw the car come slowly bouncing up his driveway. He was in his side yard, running his wood splitter. So much of his concentration had been on the women lately and he’d let his woodpile get low. And now that it was snowing, he figured he’d best get a good pile stoked up and inside his cellar before all of his firewood got wet.

  But now that Harry saw the car coming up his driveway, keeping a dry supply of wood was the least of his concerns. Seeing an unfamiliar car so soon after gagging Missy—it didn’t feel right.

  You were stupid to ditch that truck like that, he thought to himself. The snow has probably covered your tracks by now, but it sure as hell wasn’t about to cover up a government truck.

  Deep down, he’d known this. He’d simply been counting on no one finding the truck until after the snow had fallen…hell, probably not for a week or two after that. And by then, he’d be long gone.

  But here was this car he’d never seen before. It sure wasn’t a cop car, not even one of the broken down models Bateman and his boys drove around town. Still, it did not sit well with Harry—especially not when it parked and a man in a suit stepped out.

  The suited man spotted him in the side yard just as he placed another length of wood on the splitter. Acting as if the presence of the suited man didn’t bother him, Harry pulled the crank back, sending the motorized wedge forward, trapping the piece of wood between the wedge and the back post of the splitter. The wood creaked and then burst in half, split evenly down the center. He then retracted the wedge by pulling the crank back toward him and readying the splitter for another piece. By the time the splitter was ready for the next piece of wood, the suited man was about twenty feet away.

  He smiled at the suited man and killed the engine on the splitter. As he sized the suited man up, Harry was also very aware of the axe that sat about five feet to his right, propped against a knotted length of maple.

  “Sorry to bother you,” the suited man said, taking a few steps closer. He pulled something out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and showed it to him. It was an FBI badge.

  Shit, he thought. And for the first time since he had taken his first girl, he started to panic.

  “I’m Agent Ellington with the FBI,” the suited man said. “I was hoping you might have a few minutes to talk.”

  “A few,” he said, doing everything he could not to seem angry. “But I’d really like to get this all split up before the snow comes down even harder.”

  “I can appreciate that,” Ellington said. “I’ll make it as quick as I can then. I’m in town looking into a string of recent disappearances.”

  “Yeah, that’s terrible,” he said. “I heard about the author. Something Manning, I think.”

  “Yes, that’s right. And honestly, we’re just checking around the farms for any information we can find. Any place off of the road is being checked out.”

  “Well, that’s damn near any house when you live somewhere like Bent Creek,” Harry said. “What exactly do you need from me?”

  “Nothing, really. Just some basic information. For starters, what kind of farm do you run here?”

  Harry chuckled and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Nothing much these days, to tell you the truth. I tried pigs, but don’t have the patience. So I don’t even call it a farm anymore. I have some success with corn and tomatoes in the summer, but that’s about it.”

  Agent Ellington looked to the back of the property, across his backyard and toward the two sheds. “What’s in those?” he asked.

  “Well, the one on the right is mostly filled with barn wood. There’s a few old lawn mowers and a motorcycle I planned on rebuilding but never got around to. The other, I use for a bunch of different things. Storing crops in the spring and summer, a little work space for engine repair, storage…everything, really. You’re welcome to go have a look.”

  As Agent Ellington thought this over, Harry once again felt the axe, just within reach. If Ellington did decide to snoop around, Harry figured he’d have to use it. He’d already put a government truck in a pond today…maybe offing a government agent with an axe to the forehead would be the icing on the cake for the morning.

  “Thanks,” Ellington said. And, to Harry’s horror, he started walking toward the barns. He was walking toward the one on the right, the one Harry had come out of fifteen minutes ago. Fortunately, the footprints he’d made coming in and out of them were mostly covered by the snow.

  Wanting to seem as normal as possible and to cover up any bravery Missy Hale might be capable of, he cranked the splitter back to life. Ellington cast him an annoyed look but carried on with his business.

  Grab the axe, Harry told himself. Kill him. Do it now.

  Harry’s heart started to hammer hard in his chest. An excitement like the one he got when he had taken the women surged through him. He watched the FBI agent walk toward the shed, the snow coming down in fat flakes around him.

  Slowly, Harry reached out for the axe.

  ***

  For a strange reason she had not understood, Missy had calmed down a bit when she’d heard the sound of a small engine cranking to life. This had happened almost immediately after her captor had left her gagged and bound in the container. She supposed the sound calmed her because it meant he was otherwise occupied. After the engine noise, she’d also heard the pleasant sound of wood splintering, popping, and clattering into a pile. He was apparently splitting wood, using one of those engine-driven wood splitters.

  The taste of burlap filled her mouth and the loops around her wrists were a little too tight. She realized now that her only hope was that the police would come, alerted by a string of phone calls that would have resulted from missing her meeting with David Ayers.

  As her frazzled mind tried to imagine what this scene might look like as it played out—her boss being called and then, in turn, calling to start a search for her—she heard the engine on the wood splitter come to a stop. He’d apparently not needed much wood, as the engine had only been running for about ten minutes or so.

  Her fear was that he’d come back to her. He’d been talking crazy, but she’d gathered a few things. First, she was pretty sure he had captured more than one woman. Second, he planned on raping her, although he had referred to it as making love.

  After a few moments, she was pretty sure he was not coming back. Not right away. She heard a brief silence and then a muted conversation. She could hear the words but they seemed thin and far away. It made her again wonder where she was being held. Outside of her cattle crate, she was pretty sure she was inside of a barn or shed of some sort. But beyond that, she had no idea.

  She listened closely to the conversation, missing a few words here and there but catching enough to make her heart surge with hope.

  “Sorry to bother you,” someone said. She was pretty sure this was not the voice of the man that she had seen fifteen or twenty minutes ago. This was confirmed with his next statement: “I’m Agent Ellington with the FBI. I was hoping you might have a few minutes to talk.”

  “A few,” someone else responded and this was her captor.

  The FBI, she thought as they continued to speak somewhere nearby. I can try screaming through this thing. He might hear me.

  She started trying to scream but the burlap against her mouth made it hard. It came out in a strangled sort of wail. As she gathered up her breath, she heard more of their conversation. “…in town looking into a string of recent disappearances.”

  She tried screaming again and realized that it just wasn’t going to work with the gag on her mouth. She backed against the back of the container and tried moving her head up
and down, hoping to loosen the knot he had tied. She also tried rubbing her wrists together, hoping to loosen the bind around her wrists, but that only seemed to make things worse. The asshole sure seemed to know his way around a knot.

  She slid on her knees to the front of the container and placed her back against the chicken wire. She again bobbed her head up and down, hoping the burlap would catch on the knot. It did a few times but the burlap always slipped off, doing nothing to weaken the gag around her mouth.

  As she gathered breath for another scream, she heard even more of the conversation—a piece that again filled her with a desperate hope. It was her captor talking this time. “…work space for engine repair, storage…everything, really. You’re welcome to go have a look.”

  And then, moments later, she heard footsteps. From the sound they made as they approached the shed, she figured the snow had really started to come down now. She could hear the light crunching of snow under the agent’s shoes.

  But then the wood splitter fired up again. It was no longer calming to her, but menacing. She could not hear anything over it and had no clue of how things were playing out.

  She tried screaming again but all it did was rattle her head and make her throat feel raw. She then tried kicking at the container but the sound it made was dense and hollow. She seriously doubted that the sound would reach any ears outside of the barn she was currently in. Still, she kicked and kicked until jolts of what felt like electricity raced up from her feet into her knees.

  She collected her wits and sat there for a moment. Just let the agent do his job, she thought. He’ll open the barn door and find the container and—

  But something about that felt wrong. Why would her captor willingly let the agent into the barn? The only thing she could figure was it was some type of a set-up. She found herself frozen then, waiting for the engine on the wood splitter to stop one more time.

  Instead, the engine noise remained and, over it, she heard the agent’s voice. He spoke in a near-shout and seemed impossibly close.