BoneMan's Daughters (30 page)

No exception here; Ricki saw it all in less than a second and felt her stomach sink.

Orange light showed a nearly naked man whom she recognized as Burton Welsh strapped to a metal bed. His legs were stretched
between two bedposts as was one of his arms.

The other was wrapped in a towel and cinched down to two blocks of wood. The forearm was folded between the blocks at an obscene
angle. The DA’s chest rose and fell, but he lay unconscious.

On the floor lay another man, facedown, hugging what appeared to be a large sledgehammer, weeping. “No, no, no, no…”

The man turned his tear-streaked face slowly toward her and stared up, disoriented. This was Ryan Evans.

“I can’t.” Tears streamed down his knotted face. “I can’t do it. I can’t.”

He just kept saying that, and Ricki’s heart broke.

Mark stepped past her, gun on the man’s head. “Not a muscle, boy.”

BETHANY LAY ON the bed, curled up on her side, shaking from the cold. It wasn’t really that cold, she knew, but her skin had
gone prickly a few hours ago and nothing she did seemed to stop the shivers.

Thing of it was, she’d been strong up to this point. She’d kept her head stretched just above the pool of fear and breathed
as calmly as she could, careful to process as much information as she could.

Like father, like daughter. And she hated him for making her like him.

Then again, if she’d been more like Celine, she’d be a puddle of flesh now, overwhelmed by emotion.

Days had passed, she didn’t know how many, but she did know that each passing hour lessened the chances of her being found
alive in this tomb. How long could the human body go without eating? She’d seen a show on it once, a movie about the guy who’d
starved to death in Alaska after trying to find himself by disappearing. Had it been days or weeks? She couldn’t seem to remember.
But he’d had water, right? She hadn’t had food or water for a long time; hadn’t felt the need to relieve herself for just
about as long.

Even her tears had stopped flowing.

These were the least of her problems. The fact of the matter wasn’t what she was or wasn’t doing here in this concrete room.
It was who had placed her here.

That was the issue. That was the problem.

That was what had been gnawing at her as the minutes crawled by and became hours without any change. And knowing a little
about her captor, even without having seen him yet, she was sure that her being alone with the dread of knowing his identity
was the whole point.

BoneMan was leaving her alone to break her down and it was working.

First her mind. But then her body. He was going to break her bones as he’d broken the bones of the other girls.

Why? Because he was who he was and she was who she was. And really, the more she thought about it, they weren’t nearly as
different as she might have once thought.

She hated him for who he was and she hated herself for being the kind of person he wanted.

Thoughts of suicide had come and gone over the days, but whenever she came close to convincing herself that running full speed
into the wall with her head lowered would solve all of this, she learned that she didn’t want to die yet. In fact, that was
the whole point. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t be so tormented, lying here thinking of the sick coward who’d taken her.

There was one thing that gave her hope. Only one that she could put her finger on, anyway. That was her anger.

She discovered while lying in complete silence that when her self-pity turned to anger her heart beat stronger, and when
her heart beat stronger she wanted to live longer. It would make her stand and pace on occasion, clenching her hands into
fists.

Her survival all came down to who BoneMan really was and who she really was, and how she could relate to the man.

When Bethany thought of him, of what she would like to do to him if he were sitting on the floor right now and she had a gun
or a rock—they wouldn’t be able to recognize him after she got through with him.

But his sitting down and handing her a gun so that she could shoot bullets into his face was about as likely as her growing
teeth that could bite through the wall and tunnel to freedom.

More likely was that BoneMan would eventually walk into the room and begin preparations to break her bones. Until then, Bethany
was powerless. When he came to her, she would change who she was so that he would find her unsuitable.

Or she would try to help him change who he was so that he no longer had the need to use her in the way he intended.

She’d spend endless hours thinking about what a sixteen-year-old girl could do to make the match between her and her abductor
a bad match. His needs weren’t sexual, she knew that from the news reports two years earlier. It was at least something to
build on.

He wanted to be needed. Isn’t that what they all wanted? The pain of not being wanted drove him to this. She could at least
understand that part of him.

Or maybe revenge was driving him. Maybe his mother had beat him or kept him in a closet and only fed him on weekends. She’d
decided long ago that this must be at least partially correct. Something had happened to the man as a child to make him the
kind of person he was.

Maybe his father had abandoned him. It had happened to her. She hadn’t stooped to this level, nor could she.

How far could someone go to be accepted and loved?

Or maybe he was trying to teach society a lesson. A crusader on the warpath, striking down girls to make a point that somehow
made him feel like a hero. Justifying himself, and ultimately feeling needed as a result.

Or maybe he was just plain sick in the head and did this all for fun, like a child who lights the tails of cats on fire for
fun.

It made her wonder what made people do evil things in the first place. Why did some bullies beat up on dogs? Why did fathers
walk out on their daughters? Why did thieves shoot gas-station attendants in the head? Why did pimps prostitute girls younger
than she was? Why did politicians hate those who got in their way?

In the end it was all about being needed. Being wanted.

Bethany moaned, rolled slowly over so that her left arm was under her body, and pushed herself up. Dizziness spun the room
and she sat still for a moment until it passed, then lowered her feet to the floor.

Dirt from the mattress had smudged her blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms and turned her white T-shirt a light gray brown.

As odd as it might seem, perhaps her greatest desire now was for BoneMan to walk into the room and make his intentions clear.
Until then, she was left with her own crumbling mind and she didn’t know how much longer she could take it.

She’d been telling herself that since the first time she’d woken up here. But something had begun to change these last few
hours. The anger that had given her a small amount of hope had started to fade, replaced by a sense of being totally alone.
Forgotten even. Abandoned.

The feeling was what destitute must feel like. What if not even BoneMan came for her?

What if no one really cared if she lived or died; only that BoneMan be stopped?

What if all of her hopes and dreams and aspirations ended in a slow, mocking death in this oversized tomb?

Or what if…

A scrape outside stopped her thoughts. Her heart thumped harder in her chest. Could have been a rodent, or the wind, or her
imagination.

But then the sound came again. Soft footfalls on a concrete hall.

She stood and stared at the door. Then quickly sat back down. Maybe she should lie down. What would please him, to find her
standing and alert, sitting and patient, or curled up on the bed, exhausted?

She instinctively wiped her face, thinking it was probably dirty. She should have made an attempt to at least look presentable.

Presentable?
What was she thinking?

Bethany sat down, folded her hands in her lap, and waited for BoneMan to open the door.

THEY STOOD AROUND the room, glaring and pacing, refusing to entertain that anything Ryan had to say could be something as
simple as the truth. The interrogation room was outfitted with a single white table, six lightweight folding chairs set haphazardly
about the table, and a large one-way window that allowed authorities to watch undetected from the adjacent room. A black television
stared at him from a cart along the far wall.

The only other fixtures in the room were the people, who’d come and gone over the past hour. At the moment they consisted
of one uniformed officer who stood in the corner; Ricki Valentine, the FBI agent whom Father Hortense had called; her boss,
a man named Mort Kracker. And the district attorney, Burton Welsh, who’d just been released from the hospital and paced on
the far end like a bull who saw only red. They’d told him he had no business being here less than twelve hours after suffering
a broken arm, but angered bulls apparently didn’t listen to doctors.

The DA had held a news conference in which he’d come off like a war hero who’d broken out of a prison camp and single-handedly
ended the war by delivering to justice the tyrant who’d terrorized them all.

Ryan knew that he was facing impossible odds, that besides the DA’s arm nothing had broken his way, that even his frantic
pleading and explaining now worked against him.

Within minutes of the FBI’s entrance into the storeroom, he’d made his case abundantly clear through pleas for understanding.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill an innocent man, no matter what was at stake. And that was a problem, see, because Bethany
was at stake! They had to stop BoneMan.

But his urgency had fallen on deaf ears and he’d shut down, mind set on the hope, however thin, that he could still get to
BoneMan by making his appointment.

His choices were limited. He could either go quietly behind bars and wait for an attorney to make his case while Bethany paid
the price for his failure to meet BoneMan’s demands.

Or he could make someone in this room believe and look for a way out.

“I don’t think you understand how implausible this sounds,” Kracker said, eyeing him with an arched brow. He tapped his cheek
with a thoughtful finger. “If you’ve done all of this at the demand of this so-called other BoneMan, why would you jeopardize
your daughter’s life by calling Father Hortense? I would think you’d do exactly what he required you to do.”

“Have you ever tried to break a man’s bones, sir?”

“Okay, so you had trouble going through with it. But why call Father Hortense?”

“Isn’t that the question I should be asking you?” Ryan demanded. “Why would I? Aren’t you listening to a word I’m saying here?
I have until morning to get to him. You have me trapped here while the real monster is out there with my daughter.”

“The only reason we didn’t put a bullet between your eyes when we had the chance was because you’re the only one who knows
where Bethany is,” the DA spat through an ugly frown. “Don’t press your luck.”

Ryan slammed his handcuffed hands on the table. “I… am not… BoneMan!”

The DA was around the table and had his good hand on Ryan’s collar before anyone could react. He jerked his face close so
that Ryan could feel his breath. “I should break your neck right now, you slimy worm. I was there, remember?”

Ricki stepped up and pulled the man to one side. “Back off, Mr. Welsh.”

He whirled on her like a wounded bear.

But she didn’t back down. “We didn’t put a bullet between his eyes because that would make us the killer, now wouldn’t it?”
she said. “He hasn’t been convicted yet, no need to throw the switch.”

“Convicted?” The DA released his collar. “This man took me from my home, knocked me out, broke my wrist, took a sledgehammer
to my arm, and would have broken every bone in my body if he hadn’t been stopped.”

“But he was stopped, sir,” she snapped. “And we’re here to try to understand
why
he was stopped. Why he called the priest. Why he didn’t just finish the job as BoneMan would have two years ago.”

“Because he was
stopped
!” the man shouted. “Or is that too much for your small head to comprehend?”

“You’re hurt,” she said, challenging his fierce stare with her own. “But please don’t use it as an excuse to sound small.
I’m not excusing what the suspect did, I’m only pointing out that he may not be the same man who killed the seven victims
we found two years ago. We don’t have enough evidence to determine if he’s an original or simply copying BoneMan due to his
ordeal in the desert. Or, for that matter, a wounded father who’s doing exactly what he claims he’s doing.”

Welsh took a step toward the FBI agent. “I was there. I looked into his eyes. There is no doubt in my mind who he is, and
I assure you, when I’m done with a jury, there’ll be no doubt in their minds. Do not try to stand in my way.”

“Enough!” Kracker said. “We’re on the same side here. Just step back, Burt.”

The DA looked at the FBI boss, then reluctantly stepped away. “All I care about at this moment is saving that girl.” He shoved
a thick finger back at Ryan. “And he knows where she is.”

Ryan sat back and spoke slowly, enunciating his words as if they contained the brittle truth. “You’re about as dense as they
come, Mr. Welsh. BoneMan called you the father of lies, and he wants you dead because he believes everything about you is
a lie, beginning with your supposed love for Bethany. ”

Ricki blinked. “He told you that?”

He had to step lightly here. “Not all of it.”

“He is
him
!” Welsh said. The DA swore. He placed a painkiller into his mouth and swallowed without water. He eased into one of the chairs
at the end of the table.

“He wants you dead,” Ryan said. “And he’s out there. You willing to gamble your life on the certainty that I’m BoneMan?”

No one took him up on the challenge and he pressed while he had them listening, focusing in on Ricki, who seemed to be the
closest thing to an advocate in the room.