Turn To Me (41 page)

Terror made my heart race.  “You won’t get away with this,” I bluffed.  “You’re despicable and a disgrace to this country.”

“Like I give a shit,” Ryan snorted.  “I’m just doing my time until I can get out and get a real job.  Completing this mission ensures I have a very plum job waiting for me.  Always wanted to work in politics.”

Seizing my chance I took the fork I still had in my hand and brought it down with as much force as I could on his thigh.  Ryan jerked, grunting in pain.  I scrambled away, climbing across the booth, panic pushing me.  To my dismay, I was brought up short by Ryan’s fist closing over my belt in my jeans.  In a flash, he’d hauled me back next to him.

“Nice try, you fucking bitch,” he seethed, yanking the fork out of his leg.  It hadn’t penetrated very deep, the thick denim and my lack of leverage stopping it from doing any real damage.  I struggled to get out of his grip.

The cold press of metal pushed against my skin and I froze.

“You see that happy little family over there?” Ryan hissed in my ear.

I looked over to see a man and woman eating dinner with two kids, a boy and a girl.  The boy was older, maybe ten, and the girl was perhaps five.  She had the curliest blonde hair I'd ever seen.

“Make any more scenes and those kids will be orphans.”

I watched, unable to take my eyes off the family, as the little boy hid his peas under his potatoes and the man refilled the woman's wine glass.  The little girl swung her feet, encased in hot pink sparkly tennis shoes.  I obeyed Ryan, stilling my efforts to get free.

Ryan threw a couple hundred dollar bills on the table and stood, pulling me up with him.  He walked us toward the door where the maitre d’ stood.  This was my last chance to get help.  Ryan nudged his gun against my ribs.

“Try it and I’ll kill him,” Ryan hissed at me, making the words I’d been about to say die on my lips.  We passed the man as he held the door for us, smiling affably and wishing us a good evening.

Once we were outside, I looked around, scanning the area for anyone or anything that could help me.  Ryan jerked me along to his truck, pushing me up against the side and stepping back slightly.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he said calmly, reaching into his pocket.  I froze in horror, wondering if he was going to kill me right then, but he removed a small packet.  I watched as he shook out a cigarette and lighter.  “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” he asked sardonically.  I recognized the same brand that had been left on the ground outside my apartment.

He lit up and took a deep drag.  I didn’t move, watching him as I would a snake, waiting for him to glance away and give me a split second.  I knew I wouldn’t get far if I ran, but being shot in the back was preferable to just standing here waiting to die.

Ryan took a deep drag of his cigarette, knocking the ashes to the ground.  Looking at me, he opened his mouth to say something.  I never knew what it was because just then his head exploded.

Chapter Fifteen

For an endless moment, I couldn't move.  I watched as if in slow motion as Ryan's headless body collapsed to the ground, the cigarette he'd lit still burning in his lifeless grip.

Blood and gore were streaked on my clothes, in my hair.  I dropped to my knees next to Ryan's body, reaching a hand toward him...to do what, I didn't know.  He was beyond my help.

Another gunshot hit the truck above my head.  I collapsed onto my stomach.  A scream clawed its way up from my chest.  I couldn’t think what to do, then I remembered my cell phone.

My fingers scrabbled at Ryan’s pockets, the horror of touching his dead body overcome by my panic and fear.  Another shot hit the truck just as my hand touched the smooth metal of my phone.  I yanked it out, then crawled underneath the big truck, pulling myself forward on the rough asphalt until I reached the other side.  Stumbling to my feet, I ran.

I didn't know where I was going, my mind was in a turmoil of shock and terror.  Fumbling with my phone, I dialed.

“Help me,” I gasped when the line picked up.

“What's happening?” Kade shot back.

“I don't know,” I replied, pausing to duck into an alley.  I gasped for air, my hands shaking violently.  “They shot Ryan.”

“Who?” Kade asked.  “Who shot Ryan?”

“I don't know!” I sobbed.  “His head just exploded.  And now they're after me.”  I was fighting hysteria as I looked down at the blood stains on my shirt and arms.

“Take it easy,” Kade said soothingly.  “Breathe, Kathleen.  Keep it together.  I'm coming for you.”

“K-k-kathleen?  Are you all r-r-right?”

I spun around at the unfamiliar voice, my heart in my throat, then nearly collapsed in relief.

“God, Frankie, you scared me.”

Frankie stood near me, the light from the street behind him casting his face in shadows.  He didn’t say anything as he moved closer toward me.

“Frankie?”

“What’s going on?” Kade asked, his voice urgent in my ear.  “Who the fuck is Frankie?”

“I’m s-sorry, K-kathleen,” Frankie stammered.

“What?  What do you mean?”  It was then I noticed him carrying a rifle.  I had a split second warning, gasping “No!” before everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was the second time in as many days that I’d gotten knocked upside the head with something, and waking up this time was no better than before.

I groaned.  My head was splitting with pain, making me seriously reconsider opening my eyes.  It was freezing, wherever I was.  My hands were nearly numb and the cold bit into my skin.

The smell hit me next and nearly made me gag.  It smelled like rotten meat, wherever I was.  I forced my eyes open, realizing I was lying on a cold, concrete floor.  There was very little light, just enough for me to make out my surroundings.

I was in a small room, the walls dark and dank.  The meager light seemed to be coming from a glassless transom window over the one and only door.  I painfully rose to my feet, making my way to it.  It was made of a heavy, sturdy wood and had no inside knob.

Turning, I jumped when I saw another person in the room with me, hidden in the shadows.

“Frankie?” I asked tentatively.  The person didn’t answer.  “Who are you?”  Still no answer.

Tentatively, I moved toward the figure, realizing as I did so that the smell was becoming stronger and more potent the closer I got.  Awareness shuddered through me, but I made myself keep going. 

Sinking down next to the person, I tentatively reached out.  At my touch, they slumped over on the floor and I shrieked in surprise, stumbling backwards and falling.  Light now shone on a man’s dead face and I could see an empty eye socket, the other eye wide and staring at me.  As I watched, maggots crawled from his open mouth.

My stomach rolled and I turned over, retching and vomiting until there was nothing left in my stomach.  I wiped my mouth with hands that were shaking violently.  Without the strength to stand, I crawled on my hands and knees as far away from the dead man as I could get.

“I s-s-ee you’ve m-m-met my other g-guest.”

I looked up to see Frankie had opened the door and now stood in the opening.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.  None of it made any sense.  Why had Frankie kidnapped me?  Why was he keeping a dead body in his cellar?

“For my f-father,” he said.

“Your father?” I was utterly confused.

“My f-father and I c-c-con-converted to Islam.  He w-went to Iraq to f-fight.  I'm g-g-going, too, as s-s-soon as I k-k-kill his m-m-murderers.”

Frankie stammered, but the hand holding a gun trained on me was steady.

“Frankie,” I said, trying to reason with him, “you're not a murderer.”

He laughed, and the sound sent a chill down my spine.  “Wh-who do you think k-k-killed Ron Freeman?  Or the m-man n-next to you?”

I was horrified at his confession.  Frankie had seemed so sweet, offering me free rides, always being there when I needed him...

“Oh my God,” I breathed.  “You’ve been following me.”  I knew it had to be true.  It was too coincidental, now that I looked back on it, how Frankie and his cab had always been nearby.  He’d been there when my car had the flat tire, and when I’d fought with Blane right after finding Stacey dead.  My eyes widened in shock and realization.  “Did you kill Stacey?”

“You led me t-t-to her,” he admitted.  “I p-p-put a t-t-tracker in your p-purse the night I t-took you home.”

The blood left my face in a rush.  I’d led Stacey’s killer right to her door.  I couldn’t think or process all that he was telling me.

“You followed me and Blane to the Christmas tree farm,” I said numbly.  “And took the photos you sent to Blane.  And all that time I thought it was luck that you were around when I needed you.”

“S-s-stupid whore,” he said contemptuously. 

“Why?” I asked, my voice a thin thread in the room.  “Why me?”

He didn’t answer for a moment as he studied me.  “You l-l-look like my s-s-sister.”

I remembered Frankie telling me that, the first night we’d met.  I frowned in confusion.  “Then why are you doing this to me?”

“Because you’re just like her!” he suddenly shouted, making me jump.  His face was blotchy and red and he used the gun for emphasis, pointing it jerkily at me.  I instinctively recoiled, cringing against the wall.  “She used to be s-so g-g-good.  P-pure.  Then she s-spread her legs and l-l-let him f-fuck her!”

Spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes were bright, almost feverish.  They were wet as well, but I didn’t think he noticed.

“And she wanted to m-marry him, turn her back on our beliefs, our family,” Frankie sneered.  “Father was right t-to do what he did.” 

I almost didn’t dare ask the question, afraid as I was of the answer, but the words came despite myself.

“What did he do, Frankie?”

“He upheld our family’s honor.”  He seemed calmer now, which was even more terrifying.

“How?”

“We beat her.  Then we k-killed her.”

My stomach heaved and I thought I was going to be sick again.  Frankie had helped murder his own sister.

“I’m not Muslim, Frankie.”  I tried to reason with him, though I knew Frankie was far beyond logic.

“Even more reason you should die,” he said.  “One less American whore.”  He moved closer to me and I instinctively shrank away.  “B-b-but f-first, let’s m-make you useful.”

He pulled a phone out of his pocket and I recognized it as mine.  After turning it on, he punched a few buttons, and held the phone up so I could hear it ringing.  He’d put it on speaker.

“Kat, where the hell are you?” Blane answered, his voice anxious.

“I have her,” Frankie said.  “I thought you m-m-might want to s-s-say goodbye.”

A pause.  “Who is this?” Blane’s voice was like ice.

“The man who’s going to k-kill K-K-Kathleen.  Then I’m going to k-kill you and K-Kyle.” he said.  “Do you want to listen?”

My terror spiked when Frankie carefully set the phone on the ground before moving closer to me.  I couldn't look away from the gun still steady in his grip, and was taken aback when he grabbed my hand.

“No!  Stop!” I cried, trying to jerk away.  In the next instant, I heard a sickening crack as fierce pain shot through my hand.  I screamed.  He’d broken my finger.  I cradled it to my chest and bit my lip to keep from making any further noise.  Tears ran down my cheeks.

“Kathleen!  What the fuck are you doing to her?”

“She will pay for what she is,” Frankie said, speaking with utter conviction.

“I am going to hunt you down and kill you,” Blane rasped.  His voice reeked of menace and sent a chill down my spine.  I’d never heard him sound that way before.

“I'm going to shoot her and let her bleed like my father bled.  Then I'm going to burn the hair she's so proud of.  Then if she's still screaming, I'll cut her throat.”

Terror shot through me.  “No, please,” I managed, my voice strangled.  Frankie’s stammer was strangely gone, his demeanor preternaturally calm as he described how he would torture and kill me.

“Any last words, Kat?”  Frankie mimicked Blane’s nickname for me.  I looked at the gun in his hand, the look on his face, and realized that this was it.  I was going to die.  I would never see Blane again.

“Can you hear me, Blane?” I called out.

“Yeah, babe, I can hear you.”  His voice was gentle now, the sound of it breaking my heart.

“Blane,” I choked out.  I took a deep breath before quickly blurting out, “His name's Frankie.  He's driving a city cab, about 5’7”, twenty years old, hundred fifty pounds, clean-shaven-”

Frankie slammed the gun against the side of my head, abruptly cutting off my words as pain exploded in my face.  I cried out as I fell to the floor.

“Kat!”  I could hear Blane through the tinny speaker phone, but I was fighting to stay conscious and couldn’t reply.

“Time’s up,” Frankie interjected.

Before I could even shut my eyes, he fired the gun.  I screamed again, as the bullet tore into the flesh of my thigh.

Frankie walked toward me, standing over me.  His eyes were completely empty of all emotion.  They were the cold, remorseless eyes of a killer.

“I’ll see you soon, Kirk,” Frankie said.  He brought his heel down hard on the phone still lying on the floor, shattering the glass.

I clutched the wound in my leg trying to staunch the hot flow of blood, my flesh felt like it was on fire.  I’d never felt anything that hurt so badly in my entire life.

Frankie crouched down next to me.  I glared at him, hatred in my eyes.

“B-Because of your big mouth, I’m going to have to f-f-find him b-b-before he finds us,” he told me, stammer again intact.  “And once I do, I’ll b-be back to f-finish you.”

“He’ll kill you first, you sick fuck,” I hissed.  Pursing my lips, I spat at him.

The spittle hit his face and he flinched in surprise, wiping it off before backhanding me again. 

“Just for that, I’ll m-m-make him s-s-suffer,” he hissed.

He was gone before I could do more than make a feeble grab for him, the wood door slamming shut with a finality that made me want to scream.