Forbidden Passion (16 page)

Wrapping her coat around her shoulders, she grabbed her umbrella, then rushed up the front steps to her house, unlocked the door, and fell inside with a sigh. Despite her fatigue, adrenaline pumped through her, and she had to take deep breaths to calm herself.

But suddenly a noise jarred her. A creak from upstairs. A rocking sound as if someone’s foot was tapping repeatedly.

Then a low, keening cry like a baby’s.

She clamped her teeth over her lower lip and dropped the umbrella. Gerald? Prudence?

She tugged her cell phone from her purse, grabbed the fire poker, and tiptoed toward the stairs. Slowly, she inched upward. A quick check showed that the bedrooms were clear.

The attic again? Gerald? Had he come back for help?

Dust motes floated in the haze of the stairwell, a dank odor seeping from the corners, but she forged ahead, then to run if necessary. She tried the light switch, but the light was out, so she picked her way up the stairwell until she reached the clearing at the top. A tiny sliver of moonlight wove through the treetops and spilled through the narrow window, just enough to illuminate a figure in the room.

A man huddled in the corner with his knees pulled to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs and was rocking himself back and forth.

Gerald Daumer.

When he looked up at her, his eyes gleamed an odd shade of burnt orange, and the raspy gurgle that erupted from his throat sounded inhuman and terrifying.

Dante met a CSI team at the Mulligan woman’s apartment. The manager of the complex let him inside with his master key, and Dante scanned the front room, mentally logging the details.

A combination kitchen and den. A green floral sofa, pine end tables, a mismatched chair, a small wooden table with dried flowers in a vase in the center. A painting of a farmhouse on the wall. A bookshelf overloaded with paperback novels, psychology books, and travel magazines. A small desk in the corner with a laptop on it.

 
He pulled on gloves, then strode through the den to the bedroom on the left, once again cataloging the contents and looking for anything out of place. Bed made neatly with a dark green comforter. Yellow and green towels hanging haphazardly in the small bath. Hairdryer, curling iron, makeup case—all the things he’d expect to find in a woman’s apartment.

 
He checked the drawers, the medicine cabinet, the closet. Women’s clothes, lab tech jackets, sensible shoes, and toiletries.

 
No sign that a man had lived here or stayed over.

 
He returned to the den and checked her phone log. The lab. A few unknowns. Nothing that created suspicion. He located a small address book on the counter and flipped through it. The number for the local dry cleaner’s, police, fire department, pizza delivery place, BloodCore, the psychiatric hospital where Marlena worked, and a few numbers whose area code indicated they were from Chattanooga. Probably college friends or acquaintances.

 
Hoping to find something helpful on her computer, he booted it up, then checked her email log, but it had been erased. Suspicious.

 
He searched to see if she belonged to any online groups, chat rooms, or single clubs but found nothing. No Facebook or MySpace page either.

 
Odd. Had the killer erased any evidence of her social networking life to protect himself?

 
Other than living in the same town, was Brenda connected to Jordie in any way?

 
Maybe the CSI tech team could recover the deleted files and they’d find a link, maybe a club or singles group where the killer might have met the victims.

Remembering that Marlena said Brenda kept a journal, he rummaged through the desk drawers in search of it, but found nothing except a few bills and brochures on local tourists sights. He shut down the computer, then checked the kitchen drawers and the end tables and felt between the sofa cushions.

A journal was private—where would a woman keep it?

Her bedroom?

Pulse racing, he hurried into the bedroom and checked the bedside table. A Bible had been tucked inside the drawer, but no journal. Hoping the
 
killer hadn’t found it, he walked over to the closet, searched through the pockets of her coats, felt along the top shelf, then looked inside the shoeboxes on her floor.

Eyes narrowed, he turned and peered across the room, and suddenly moved to the bed. He felt beneath the pillows, then lifted the mattress and skimmed his hand between it and the box springs. His hand brushed across a rectangular leather-bound book.

Maybe her journal would finally give him a lead.

Marlena took a step back, bracing herself to run and call for help.

“So cold, so cold, so cold,” Gerald whispered. “Make the voices be quiet. Make them be quiet.”

Marlena released a pent-up breath, but kept her distance. She had to remember that Gerald might be a killer, or he could just be a frightened mentally ill patient who needed her help.

“Gerald,” she said softly. “It’s Dr. Bender. What are you doing here?”

 
His crying continued as if he hadn’t heard her, and he started beating at his temple just as he had in her office.

 
“Gera1d,” she said again. “Can you hear me?”

 
Slowly, his cries softened, then he looked up at her with swollen, bloodshot eyes. His skin was ruddy and chapped as if he’d been out in the elements too long. His teeth were chattering, his hair damp and matted, and beard stubble grazed his face. The scent of sweat, body odor, and smoke wafted off of him.

 
Fear mingled with an adrenaline rush and the need to help him. He was her patient. She wanted to help him, convince him to turn himself in for questioning before he got hurt.

 
“Gerald, tell me why you’re here,” she said, lowering her voice. “I thought you were going to stay at the hospital for treatment.”

 
“No, no hospital,” he cried. “They do awful things to me there. They lock me up and tie me down. Then he can get to me.”

 
“Who can get to you, Gerald?”

 
“The devil. He’s after me. He tells me to do bad things and if! don’t, he’ll kill me and send me to hell where he’ll torture me for eternity.”

 
She touched his arm. “Let me get you a blanket and something hot to drink, Would you like that?”

 
“Don’t leave me.” His eyes darted around nervously. “He’s here now. He’s watching.”

 
“Who’s watching?”

 
“Zion. He’s here. He keeps whispering in my head. He wants me to kill for him.”

“Whom does he want you to kill?”

 
He pressed his hands over his ears, slapping at them.

“Stop it, make him leave me alone!”

“Gerald, tell me what happened. Did you kill Jordie?”

“Blood. Blood. Blood. So much blood everywhere,” he screeched. “He likes to bite his victims, sink his teeth in deep, and watch the blood spurt out. It’s everywhere.”

“Did you see the person who killed Jordie?”

“He killed them,” Gerald cried. “He told me how it felt. How the blood tasted so succulent and delicious that he was dizzy.” He suddenly lurched up, the childlike voice disappearing as a roar of rage burst from him. “He wants me to kill the rest of them. He says you can’t save them, but you have to.”

Marlena backed up, gripping the fire poker tighter. “Save who?”

“You,” he shouted. “And I have to obey him.” Then he lunged toward her, his teeth bared, his eyes gleaming, wild and delusional.

Marlena screamed and swung the fire poker to fend him off.

“Gerald, stop, don’t do this. I can help you. Let’s sit down and talk.”

“No, he says I have to kill you! Finish what he started. Finish what be started.” He ground his hands against his ears. “The devil says do it!”

She jabbed the poker into his stomach, and he doubled over with a wail. Her heart racing, she turned and ran down the steps, but he charged her from behind, and they both tumbled downward. Her shoulder hit the steps, her knees scraped the wood, and he slammed his fist against her head.

Stars swam in front of her eyes, and she screamed as he yanked her hair. “He’s going to get you, Marlena. He’ll kill you if I don’t.”

“Stop it, Gerald!” Marlena kicked and fought, one foot connecting with his knee. He rolled her to her back on the landing, and she clawed his face.

He howled as blood trickled down his cheek, then lifted one hand to wipe at it, his lips curling back over his teeth in a sinister look at the sight of the crimson stain. The momentary reprieve allowed her to escape. Heaving for breath, she stumbled up and raced down the steps.

A second later, footsteps pounded behind her. She grabbed her purse and ran outside, fumbling with her keys. Gerald was on her tail, reaching for her, when she jumped into the car, started the engine, and fled down the mountain.

With a trembling hand, she dug her cell phone from her purse and punched in Dante’s number.

“Dante, Gerald Daumer was just at my house,” Her breath hitched. “He tried to kill me.”

Dante’s deep voice boomed over the line. “Where are you now?”

“In my car.”

“I’ll call Hobbs and order a search team out to your property. Meet me at my house.” He gave her the address. “I’m on my way.”

Marlena checked her rearview mirror, grateful not to see a car following her. In fact, she hadn’t seen one in her driveway. Gerald must have been on foot. Had he been hiding out in the woods behind her house?

Where would he go now? Would he murder some other poor unsuspecting female because he’d failed to kill her?

The rain picked up, pelting the windshield, the wind jarring the windows. She veered onto the side road leading up the mountain to Dante’s, the night sounds of the woods growing more eerie, the property so isolated that for a second she questioned her sanity in coming to his house.

Thick woods and dense trees clouded the house, which had been built underground, as if the stone structure were literally carved from the side of the mountain. The only windows she could detect were skylights, and the big, gnarled branches of the giant trees towering overhead gave the exterior an ominous and sinister feel.

 
Suddenly a wall of blinding rain fell in front of her, and she hit a pothole. She braked, but the car skidded and fish-tailed toward a hulking oak tree. She tried to steer into the skid, but rocks spewed, the rain thickened, and her tires squealed as she struggled to maintain control.

Through the foggy haze, the silhouette of a man in a black cape appeared in front of her like a ghostly image that had materialized from nowhere. But he wasn’t a man—not exactly.

His features were grotesque and distorted. A halo of red surrounded him in a hazy glow, his cape billowing out like wings. Sharp fanglike claws protruded from his fingers, and his skin glowed a fiery red.

Terrified, she clenched the steering wheel and swerved to avoid hitting the creature. An animal’s howl rent the air, then the creature leaned forward and blew a puff of fire at her.

 
Marlena screamed. The rain should have extinguished the flames, but the fireball rolled toward her as if untouched by the rain. She swerved to avoid it, and the car skimmed a row of trees, bounced over the gravel driveway, and skated toward another copse of oaks. She tried to brace herself as the vehicle spun out of control and slammed into a thicket.

The impact flung her neck back, the air bag exploded and slammed into her chest. She screamed as the creature leered at her through the window, then her head spun, stars swam before her eyes, and darkness swept her into its abyss.

Dante’s jaw ached from grinding his teeth as he sped up the drive to his house. He spotted Marlena’s car jammed into a tree, and panic assaulted him.

Cursing, he threw the SUV into Park, jumped out, raced to her, and yanked open the car door. Her face was pale, her head slumped forward against the air bag, and blood dotted her lip.

 
His chest clenched as he felt for a pulse. “Marlena?”

 
Relief surged through him as he heard her shallow breathing and felt her pulse beat beneath his fingers. He removed his pocketknife, slashed the air bag, then gently stroked her back. “Marlena?”

 
She groaned, and he gently eased her head back against the seat to examine her. Fortunately, the bleeding was minimal, just a trickle where she must have bitten her lip. “Marlena, can you hear me?”

Slowly she opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her pupils were dilated, and she looked dazed and confused.

“Marlena?” He cradled her face between his hands. “I’m here. I’ll call for help.”

 
She clutched his arm in a panicked grip. “No, please don’t leave me..