Scream (38 page)

Amber forked her fingers through her hair. "Well, we know
they don't like apples and aren't that interested in the Cheerios
either. It's gotta be something that gets them in a frenzy, something... wait a minute." She snapped her fingers. It was
gross, but it would work. "I got it."

Jess sat behind the wheel of her cruiser, hands at ten o'clock and
two o'clock. Her mind was spinning off in a hundred different
directions. First, there were the abduction cases. Three women
imprisoned in an old barn in the middle of who-knows-where.
One of them for two weeks. The abductor must be feeding them,
keeping them alive for... what? How weird was that? Then,
there was the search effort. Their search in Maryland alone was
like looking for a lost diamond in a wheat field. Then factor
in the hundred or so square miles in Pennsylvania. Oh, they'd
find the barn sooner or later. The area was big, very big, but not
limitless. They'd find it. The question was, would they find it in
time? The slimeball that abducted the women would most likely
either move them or kill them. And probably within the hour.
Not enough time. Especially if they were in Pennsylvania.

And then there was Mark. She wasn't sure what to make
of the mechanic turned rescue hero. He was so sure that the
screams he'd heard meant that Cheryl was going to die ... and
die soon. There was no telling what he was doing now. Probably
scouring the Pennsylvania countryside looking for an abandoned barn. Finding a barn wouldn't be difficult, but unless he
got extremely lucky, finding the barn was next to impossible.

Mark was odd, that one, but still she liked him. She couldn't
put her finger on why that was, she just did. Maybe it was his
passion or his determination. Or his love for his wife. Even if
he did cheat on her, Jess could tell he still loved her. She didn't
know how she would react if he was her husband, but knowing
what she knew of him and hearing him tell his story, she could
tell he was sorry. If she knew that part, she'd probably take him back. But, then again, it hadn't happened to her, and she really
didn't know what it felt like to be betrayed by the one you love
most in the world.

She still liked him, though. Guide him, Father. Lead him to
that barn.

And now, there was Hickock. Shortly after Mark had stormed
out of the station, Hickock had called saying he wanted to meet
with Jess; he'd said it concerned Mark and was urgent. The way
he'd said it, Jess wondered if Hickock suspected Mark was the
abductor or, at the very least, was an accomplice of some kind.
Did he have proof? Or was it just a scenario he wanted to entertain? If it was, having her drive all the way out here just to talk
sure seemed odd. It had to be more than that. He had to have
some evidence or proof he wanted to show her. He better have,
anyway. The search teams were already gearing up to comb
Allegheny County, and she wanted to be a part of it.

Steering her cruiser off U.S. 220, she headed down a winding
well-beaten two-lane road that snaked through patches of farmland all the way to Rocky Gap State Park. Hickock said he'd
meet her on the turn-off for the La-Ho hiking trail.

Five minutes later she pulled into the turnoff, gravel crunching
and popping under her car's tires. Hickock's white, unmarked
cruiser was there, in the far corner, facing the tree line. There
were no other cars. She steered her car in behind his, the headlights silhouetting his form in the front seat. She then killed the
engine and climbed out. The area was eerily quiet. It was a still
night, and not even the creaking of dry branches or the rustle
of leaves broke the silence. Only the sound of her boots on the
gravel and the steady tick of cooling metal.

Hickock opened his door and stepped out, unfolding his lean
frame to stand erect and face her. "Jess, thanks for coming," he
said, his voice even and flat.

"Sheriff. What's this about?"

He approached her with a slow gait, boots grinding gravel. It
was too dark to see his face, but Jess could tell by the position of
his arm that he was stroking that mustache of his. "I need you
to do something for me."

Something wasn't right. Jess's police instincts were screaming
at her, warning her. This isn't right! Get out of here! But she
brushed them aside. It was Hickock... Sheriff Hickock. If
anything wasn't right, it was the news Hickock was about to
share with her, possibly indicting Mark Stone in the abduction
of his own wife and two other women. She didn't want to believe
that Hickock would drag her all the way out here if it wasn't
urgent ... and if the evidence wasn't solid. But what evidence?

She hooked her thumbs in her belt. "What do you need?"

Hickock stopped maybe three feet away from her, his face
still too dark to see any details, then walked past her toward the
tree line. "Follow me. I want to show you something."

She followed close behind until they reached the edge of the
woods where gravel met grass.

Hickock motioned her closer. "What do you think of this?"
He was pointing to something on the ground. "I want your
opinion before I go any further with this."

Jess moved closer, past Hickock, and bent at the waist to see
what it was he was pointing at. It was too dark, though. She
reached for her flash-

A bomb went off in her head, and she collapsed to her knees.

Was she shot? Had someone shot her? Someone waiting in
the woods for them? Stone? She thought of Hickock. Had he
been shot too? Clouds moved in and scrambled her thoughts.
She had to move, find cover, but her brain wouldn't process the
information, wouldn't send the order to her muscles. Move!
She was on all fours, head hanging limp on the end of her neck. A warm liquid filled her eye, blurring her vision. Her
head throbbed. She tried to move, shift her weight, push up,
anything, but-

Another explosion in the back of her head dropped her to her
stomach. Numbing pain radiated down her neck and back, over
her shoulders and arms. Her vision faded to black. She could
still hear, though ... gravel biting. She tried to lift her arm, but
nothing happened. Tried to move her hand, reach for her gun,
but ... nothing. Her fingers ... nothing.

The pain eventually dulled, and all that was left was her
hearing. Gravel crunched again, but it sounded far away,
muted. A hand pressed into the front of the neck, gently. Then a
voice, but it was distant and low, muffled. "Sorry... none ... personal... " The voice was fading quickly. Something touched the
back of her head, a light touch. "Sorry..."

Then it was gone. Everything was gone.

Wiley Hickock knelt beside Jess's still form, his hand resting on
the back of her head. A lump was already growing there. Her
hair was wet and sticky with blood.

"I'm sorry, Jess. It's not personal."

And it wasn't. He liked Jess, he really did. Best deputy he
ever had. But that was a preference, and this, the mission, was
bigger than personal preferences. He had to stay focused; he
had to set emotions aside. Justice had to come first.

Katie had to come first.

He stood up, slid his baton back into his belt, removed a
handkerchief from his back pocket, and wiped his hand clean.
Bending over, he rolled Jess onto her back and pressed his fingers
against her carotid artery. He had to hit her so hard to subdue
her, he was afraid he'd killed her. But the pulse was there, weak, but there, tapping against his fingertips like a slow and steady
drumbeat. Moving around to her head, he slid his hands under
her arms and lifted her so everything but her heels was off the
ground. He then dragged her across the parking lot, her heels
leaving parallel trails in the gravel, and maneuvered her into the
backseat of the car. He grabbed a jug of water from the floor in
the back, shut the door, and retraced his steps, sweeping clean
the trails left by her heels and dousing the ground with water
to wash away the blood droplets. No need to leave any evidence
behind. All they would find was Deputy Foreman's patrol car,
sitting empty, with no sign of Jess. It would be as if she just up
and disappeared, abducted by aliens maybe. Who knows what
they would come up with?

He returned to his car, slid in behind the steering wheel, and
turned the key. The engine revved to life.

He glanced at the backseat. Jess was lying on her back, her
head dropped to one side, left arm hanging off the seat, right
arm crossed over her chest. She was the fourth. The final piece
to the puzzle. The time had finally arrived.

The time for justice.

"This isn't personal, Jess," he said again. But he said it more
for himself than for her. He had to remind himself that it was
about the mission, about justice, not about the individuals. It
wasn't personal with any of them. He didn't even know them
except by name and appearance and a few other personal
markers like the car they drove, where they worked, and the
schedules they kept. But it wasn't about the women. It wasn't
about women at all. He wasn't one of those perverts who went
after women like they were chunks of meat. He'd hunted jerks
like that and caught them. He knew the type, and he wasn't
like that.

"I'm not a monster." He said it aloud. For Jess. For himself.

Cheryl stood dumbly, holding Amber's black leather belt in
her hand. She had been voted to strangle the dogs because she
was the fittest-and healthiest-of the three. Amber would
bait each dog and keep its attention long enough for Cheryl to
loop the belt around its neck and pin it to the wall. Then it
was all up to Cheryl. How it would all happen, she didn't know.
She didn't even know if she could pull it off. Was she strong
enough? Dobermans were big, muscular dogs. Could she kill a
living, breathing beast with her own hands? She'd never killed
anything before, and the question nagged her. Was she capable
of killing even if it was to save her own life? One thing she
knew: she'd soon find out.

Cheryl drew in a long breath of the barn's stale air, closed
her eyes, and tried to focus on the task at hand. Ginny's idea
was crazy, yes, but crazy enough that it just might work. Of
course, there was no guarantee-anything could go wrong.
And there was one major risk: Cheryl would have to expose
both her hands to the dogs while she looped the belt. She didn't
like that part. An image of the Doberman grabbing hold of her
hand, clamping its razor teeth into her flesh, and shaking its
head back and forth like it was playing tug-of-war with a hunk
of rawhide had settled in her mind and wasn't leaving anytime
soon. But this whole situation was one big risk. Judge could
return anytime and kill all three of them, and then what?

And then what? The question suddenly struck her as odd but
very valid. She could die tonight. These could be her last few
minutes on this earth, breathing air ... living. And then what?
Obviously, then she'd be dead. But what did dead mean? Was
there more? Was there an afterlife? Heaven or hell?

And then it struck her; she'd never even thought about it before. How absurd. She'd spent her whole life living ...living ... but never thought about dying. What happens when the
body dies? Is there a soul that lives on? She knew there was, had
no idea how she knew, she just knew. There had to be more.
She believed in God, and she believed in heaven, she'd always
believed. But what about hell? If there's a heaven, wouldn't it
make sense that there's a hell too? And where would she go?
The question marched through her head in her own voice:
Where will you go, Cheryl? You could die tonight, and where
will you wake up?