Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 149

Kristi's only hope of escape was down the very stairs he would ascend into the attic.

His footsteps thudded as he ran down the length of the hallway. Hers were silent. While every instinct told her to run in the opposite direction, she quickly tiptoed to the chimney and melted against its far side, the rough bricks pressed hard against her back.

How could she have been so foolish? So stupid as to trust him?

She reached into her backpack and fumbled until she found the pepper spray. Then she waited.

And felt sick when she saw the beam of a flashlight. So much for hiding. So much for surprising him.

Not daring to breathe, she waited.

"I know you're up here," he said, standing in the doorway, sweeping his flashlight to the farthest reaches of the garret. In the illumination, she saw a rat scamper into a hole in the roof, and she bit back a gasp.

"You know, Kristi, you are such a tease. After everything I've done for you, now you're going to hide?" There it was again, that s.e.xy, c.o.c.ksure tone that she found nauseating. "You know I've got Eve, don't you? Your half sister."

What? Half sister?

"Funny thing about that. She's my sister too. Did you know that? My twin. She and I have the same mother, you two share the same father. How incestuous is that? We're all just one, big, happy, sick family."

Don't listen to him. He's talking crazy.

"Now wouldn't that make one h.e.l.luva story?" he asked nibbling on a pinky nail.

She was sweating, waiting for him to step deeper into the attic.

"I guess your dad never got around to calling and telling you the news. Maybe that's because he's not really your dad, now, is he? Old Rick is really, what? Your uncle? Isn't that how it works? Your mother f.u.c.ked around with a priest, right? Good old Father James. If only he could have kept his pants on."

How does he know all this? Her heart was pounding, her muscles strung tight. Her heart was pounding, her muscles strung tight. Don't let him bait you. That's what he's counting on. Do not listen. Don't let him bait you. That's what he's counting on. Do not listen.

"So the story is that your mother wasn't the first woman that let the good priest into her panties. Oh, no. Father James was nothing if not persuasive and charming. Faith Chastain, a woman of...well, less than high moral standards, went for him too. Of course, it didn't hurt that she was mentally disturbed. Did that stop the good priest? h.e.l.l, no! And bingo, she got pregnant. My mother, oh, make that my adoptive adoptive mother, she saw them, you know. Told me how Faith screwed the priest, really shook my mama's faith." He snorted as if the idea were absurd. "She considered herself a good, G.o.d-fearing Catholic, but it didn't stop her from coming into my room at night now, did it?" he said, his voice rising with emotion. mother, she saw them, you know. Told me how Faith screwed the priest, really shook my mama's faith." He snorted as if the idea were absurd. "She considered herself a good, G.o.d-fearing Catholic, but it didn't stop her from coming into my room at night now, did it?" he said, his voice rising with emotion.

Kristi felt her stomach lurch. She had to fight to keep from throwing up, to stay still and quiet. "So what's really interesting," he continued, his voice causing her to shrink against the rough bricks, "is that somehow Faith managed to hide her pregnancy from just about everyone."

The guy was nuts! Insane! Kristi swallowed back her fear. Tried to keep a clear head.

"So you see...You and I, we're blood, little sister. I can call Father James 'Daddy' too!"

No. This was unbelievable. No friggin' way!

He swept the beam across the floor again and stepped into the room. "Come on, Kristi. Where are you? Believe me, you do not not want to make me mad." want to make me mad."

You are mad. Crazy. Insane! But there was a grain of truth in his words, enough fact woven into his fiction to give her pause and make the skin on the back of her skull tighten in revulsion. But there was a grain of truth in his words, enough fact woven into his fiction to give her pause and make the skin on the back of her skull tighten in revulsion.

He turned the flashlight toward the ceiling, as if he thought she might be in the rafters. She clenched the pepper spray in a death grip.

He took one more step, and she sprang.

Just as he turned and shined the light right in her eyes. Blinding her.

"Stupid girl," he muttered, and she blasted him with the spray, shooting a stream straight into his eyes.

He dropped the flashlight. It rolled onto the floor, shining in a wide arc.

For the first time, she saw the gun.

Pointed straight at her heart.

He was coughing. Tears streamed from his handsome face, but he didn't seem to mind. He grabbed hold of her arm and forced her down the stairs, the gun pressed into her back.

She thought he was taking her to the third floor, but he pushed her farther and farther down the stairs, through the foyer on the first floor, past the dining room, and into a horrible place that was once the kitchen. Near the back door, he prodded her around the corner, where he yanked open a door to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

Her heart sank, and she nearly stumbled on the stairs and half fell into a long hallway. Kerosene lamps had already been lit along the tiled corridor. They pa.s.sed by darkened rooms that looked more like cells, and Kristi's imagination ran wild as she thought of the patients who had been isolated here, below ground.

"Stop," he said and nudged her into a room where a lantern burned and ancient tools and equipment hung from hooks screwed into the molding tile. She spied an electrical prod, a straitjacket, and a tray of time-dulled surgical instruments. Lights protruded from the ceiling, and she imagined the room had been one where surgical procedures had been performed. Her stomach churned.

A. J. plucked a grimy straitjacket from the wall. While pointing the gun at her head, he held the jacket out to her with his other hand and said, "Slip your arms through."

"No." She shook her head, her skin crawling at the thought. "I can't."

"Do it, Kristi, or I promise you, I'll shoot you. Not in the heart to begin with. I'll start with your femur, shatter the bone. Then I'll shoot you in the hand." He smiled through his tears and running nose. "Consider yourself lucky. That's as s.a.d.i.s.tic as I get. If you would have run into my buddy, Ronnie Le Mars, he would have brought his knife. Done exactly what I told him to do. He thought I was G.o.d, did you know that? I had to look long and hard to find someone with ties to the hospital, someone who remembered Eve, someone who was psycho enough to play into my hands. And along came Ronnie. Released from prison. Someone I knew about from my mother who worked in the laundry at Our Lady of Virtues. I kept track of him, because he was perfect, and when he was released, everything I worked for could happen." His eyes, still red and glistening with tears, actually gleamed, and he smirked with satisfaction. "But you won't have to worry about Ronnie or his weapon of choice, because I put him out of his self-inflicted misery." His face suddenly hardened again and he sniffed loudly. "I won't hesitate to put you out of yours, so do as I say. Got it?"

Ronnie Le Mars was dead? Killed by A. J.? Stunned, she had to keep trying to make sense of this, find a way to best him. Desperate, she tried another tack. "I thought you were my friend."

"Brother, Kristi, get it right," he said, angrier than ever, his nose still running. "No, we were never friends. You were using me, that was all, and I saw through it from the beginning. But it worked for me, so I went with it."

"And used me," she said.

"Yeah, how's that for irony?" He shook the straitjacket. "Put this d.a.m.ned thing on. Now!"

She didn't move fast enough, so he took the gun and fired it point blank at the wall.

BLAM!.

The shot cracked in her eardrums and split the tile.

"Watch out! The bullet could ricochet!" she yelled, jumping backward. He caught her with the hand holding the gun, wrapping one strong arm around her and forcing the sleeve of the straitjacket on her with his other hand.

She started to struggle until the gun barrel pointed at her, cool against her cheek. He was a cold-blooded killer. She believed that.

Once her arms were inside the sleeves, he set down the gun and tightened the straps, forcing her to hug herself, rendering her hands and legs useless. Dear G.o.d, what did he plan for her? She felt helpless and knew if she didn't do something, she would die.

But your legs are still free.... Don't give up. Remember. Never give up.

Crack!

A gun blasted.

Eve screamed. Sweet Jesus, what was happening? She shuddered to think.

She could only a.s.sume the monster had murdered someone. Possibly someone she knew.

Her stomach quivered and her head pounded. Trembling, she tried to somehow hold onto her thoughts. Think, Eve, think! Save yourself. Before he kills again! Think, Eve, think! Save yourself. Before he kills again!

One. Two. Three...

She had no idea why he hadn't killed her yet, but she knew that it was only a matter of time, probably minutes rather than hours, until he'd end her life as well.

Unless she did something...took action.

Heart racing, she tried to swallow back her dread and think.

Four. Five...

She'd heard two sets of footsteps walk down the stairs. Whoever had been hiding in the attic had been caught. And killed. Holy Mother Mary, she couldn't imagine who would have been in the garret or why. One of the nuns? Someone hiding, seeking shelter, a homeless person? Or someone she knew?

But now, she was certain, it was her turn.

Dear G.o.d, help me.... Please, please, help me!

Pull yourself together, Eve. You're not dead yet!

Six. Seven. Eight...

Slowly her limbs began to tingle and ache. She could flex her fingers, straighten her toes.... She gritted her teeth, forced her arms and legs to drag her. Slowly. Inching. Her muscles rebelled, not listening to her brain. Come on, come on! You can do this! You have to! Come on, come on! You can do this! You have to!

With supreme effort, she started to move. Muscles straining, screaming in protest, she pushed herself ever so slowly across the grimy, dusty, blood-stained floor. Closer and closer. Toward the fireplace where she'd seen the glittering piece of gla.s.s.

Let me get there, please.... Please...

Her hand closed around the sharp-edged fragment.

CHAPTER 36.

Cole parked at the front of the hospital, pulled out a pair of bolt cutters from his toolbox, and went to work on the chain that held the wrought iron gates together. Rain poured down his neck and the wind slapped at him as he worked.

"Come on, come on, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d," he said, his jaw set, his shoulders and arms pushing, straining. "Come on!"

Crack!

He heard the m.u.f.fled report of a gun and then, faintly, a woman's scream.

Eve!

Adrenaline fired his blood.

Don't go there!

He couldn't think that she'd been shot. Wouldn't. He pressed hard again, his arms shaking, and the metal link snapped. The chain gave way, slithering like a dying snake to the ground. Cole shoved hard on the gates, and, with a horrific groan, they opened. In an instant he was through and running up the drive.

He couldn't lose Eve.

Wouldn't!

Oh, G.o.d!

Once before he'd seen her lying in a pool of blood, a gunshot wound at her temple. But not this time. Oh G.o.d, not this time!

The monster returned.

Holding a flashlight in one hand, he pointed a gun at Eve and grabbed her by the shoulder she'd injured earlier. "Come on, let's go. You should be able to walk now." He yanked her to her feet, and pain screamed down her arm. Still, she held on to the shard of gla.s.s, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't notice her fist was clenched. Dozens of questions raced through her mind, but she asked none, instead pretending to be duller than she was, a zombie.

Face red, eyes gleaming with evil malice, he was sniffing, snorting, and coughing as he prodded her with the gun to the stairs.

"Move it!" he yelled.

Her legs were still unsteady, and she had to catch herself on the railing, cutting her hand in the process. Still, in the darkness, blinking as if he'd been crying, he didn't notice, not even when blood began to drizzle down her fingertips and onto the stairs.

Give me strength, oh, Lord, please, give me strength.

Down to the first floor and then around the corner and through the kitchen to the bas.e.m.e.nt steps where he unlocked the door. She cringed inside, her blood running cold as death. Oh, how she hated dark, dank places. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as he pushed her down the creaking, filthy steps.

Don't let your fears get to you....

One, two...

With the gun at her kidneys, he locked the door behind him. His flashlight aimed over her shoulders, illuminating the cobwebs and filth as he shepherded her to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Quivering, her skin pimpling in fear, she walked along a long corridor lit by kerosene lanterns, their golden light glowing, dark smoke curling to the low ceilings and the smudged tile walls.

Eve could barely breathe. Her heart thundered in her ears and the gla.s.s cut her hand, but still she stumbled forward past rooms where unspeakable operations had taken place. If she listened, she thought she could hear the desperate, raw whispers of ghostly patients.

She swallowed hard, closing her mind to the horrors that had occurred here. "Stop," he ordered halfway down the shadowy corridor, and she froze.

He unlocked a door and as it creaked open, he nudged her inside with the nose of his gun. But he didn't lock the door, she noticed, as the lock was only on the outside, in the hallway, used to keep people inside.

Another woman was waiting, standing, wearing a filthy straitjacket where a single lantern illuminated the room.