Genesis (47 page)

The door stayed closed.

Faith's hands were sweating so badly that her fingers couldn't stay
on the buttons. She hissed a curse as she dialed in the number wrong.
She was trying again when she heard the closet door squeak open behind
her.

She spun around, her gun pointing straight at Darla's chest. Faith
took in everything at once—the false door in the closet wall, the
washing machine on the other side, the Taser in Darla's hands.

Faith lurched to the side, not bothering to aim as she pulled back
on the trigger. The Taser hooks sailed past her, the thin metal wires
shimmering in the bright light as the hooks bounced off the wall.

Darla stood there, the spent Taser in her hands. A chunk of
sheetrock had been taken out over her left shoulder.

"Don't move," Faith warned, keeping the gun trained on Darla's
chest as she fumbled for the doorknob. "I mean it. Don't move."

"I'm sorry," the woman whispered.

"Where's Tom?" When she didn't answer, Faith screamed,
"Where the fuck is Tom?"

Darla would only shake her head.

Faith threw open the door, still pointing the gun at Darla as she
backed out of the room.

"I'm so sorry," the woman repeated.

Two strong arms wrapped around Faith from behind—a man, his
body hard, his strength palpable. It had to be Tom. He lifted her off
the floor and, without thinking, Faith pulled the trigger again, firing
the Glock into the ceiling. Darla was still standing in the closet, and
Faith pulled the trigger with purpose this time, wanting to put a bullet
in the woman that could be traced back to her gun. The Glock
missed, and Darla ducked away, shutting the false door behind her.

Faith fired again and again as Tom backed her out into the hallway.
His hand clamped around Faith's wrist like a vise, the pain so
sharp that she was sure her bones had snapped. She held onto the gun
as long as she could, but she was no match for his strength. Dropping
the weapon, she started kicking with all her might, reaching out to
grab anything she could find—the edge of the door, the wall, the
knob on the basement door. Every muscle in her body screamed
from pain.

"Fight," Tom grunted, his lips so close to Faith's ear that she felt
like he was inside of her head. She could feel his body responding to
the struggle, the pleasure he was deriving from her fear.

Faith felt a surge of fury tighten her resolve. Anna Lindsey.
Jacquelyn Zabel. Pauline McGhee. Olivia Tanner. She would not be
another one of his victims. She would not end up at the morgue. She
would not abandon her son. She would not lose her baby.

She twisted around and scratched Tom's face, digging her fingernails
into his eyes. She used every part of her body—her hands, her
feet, her teeth—to fight him. She would not give in. She would kill
him with her bare hands if she had to.

"Let me out of here!" someone screamed from the basement. The
noise was a surprise. For a split second, Faith stopped struggling.
Tom stopped, too. The door shook. "Let me the fuck out!"

Faith came to her senses. She started kicking again, flailing, doing
everything she could to free herself. Tom held on, his powerful arms
like a clamp around her body. Whoever was behind the basement
door was beating it, trying to break it down. Faith opened up her
mouth and screamed as loud as she could. "Help! Help me!"

"Do it!" Tom yelled.

Darla stood at the end of the hallway. The reloaded Taser in her
hands. Faith saw her Glock at the woman's feet.

"Do it!" Tom demanded, his voice barely audible over the banging
behind the door. "Shoot her!"

All Faith could think about was the child inside her, those tiny
fingers, that delicate heartbeat pressing up and down against her
baby's tissue-thin chest. She went completely limp, relaxing every
muscle in her body. Tom hadn't been expecting her to give in, and he
stumbled as he took on her full weight. They both dropped to the
floor. Faith scrambled across the tile, reaching for the gun, but he
yanked her back like a fish on a line.

The door splintered open, shards of wood flying. A woman half-fell
into the hallway, screaming obscenities. Her hands were at her
waist, her feet chained, but she moved with almost laser precision as
she slammed her body into Tom's.

Faith took advantage of the distraction and grabbed the Glock,
twisting around, aiming at the bodies thrashing on the floor.

"Fucker!" Pauline McGhee screeched. She was kneeling on Tom's
chest, leaning over him. Her hands were cuffed tight to a belt around
her waist, but she had managed to wrap her fingers around his neck.
"Die!" she screamed, blood spraying from her torn mouth. Her lips
were shredded, her eyes wild. She was forcing all of her weight into
Tom's neck.

"Stop," Faith managed, her breath rasping between her lips. She
felt a deep, searing pain in her belly, like something had torn. Still,
she kept her gun trained at Pauline's chest. There was at least half a
magazine left in the Glock; she would use it if she had to. "Get off
him," Faith ordered.

Tom bucked, hands clawing at Pauline's. Pauline pressed harder,
pivoting on her knees, putting her full weight into his neck.

"Kill him," Darla begged. She was curled into a ball by the bathroom
door, the Taser on the floor beside her. "Please . . . kill him."

"Stop," Faith warned Pauline, willing her hand not to shake as
she gripped the gun.

"Let her do it," Darla pleaded. "Please, let her do it."

Faith groaned as she staggered to her feet. She put the gun to
Pauline's head, made her voice as steady and strong as possible. "Stop
right now or I will pull this fucking trigger, so help me God."

Pauline looked up. Their eyes locked, and Faith willed every
ounce of resolve into her face, even though all she wanted to do was
fall to her knees and pray that the life inside of her was going to continue.

"Let him go right now," Faith demanded.

Pauline took her time obeying the order, as if she hoped that one
more second of pressure would do the trick. She sat back on the
floor, her hands still clenched. Tom rolled over, coughing so hard
that his entire body spasmed from the effort.

"Call an ambulance," Faith said, though no one seemed to be
moving. Her mind raced. Her vision kept blurring. She had to call
Amanda. She had to find Will. Where was he? Why wasn't he here?

"What's wrong with you?" Pauline asked, giving Faith a nasty
look.

Faith's head was spinning. She sagged against the wall, trying not
to pass out. She felt something wet between her legs. There was another
twinge in her belly, almost like a contraction. "Call an ambulance,"
she repeated.

"Trash . . ." Tom Coldfield muttered. "You're all nothing but
trash."

"Shut up," Pauline hissed.

Tom rasped, " 'Put now this woman out from me . . . and bolt the
door after her . . . ' "

"Shut up," Pauline repeated through clenched teeth.

A guttural sound came from Tom's throat. He was laughing.
"'Oh, Absolom, I am risen.'"

Pauline struggled to get to her knees. "You're going straight to
hell, you sick bastard."

"Don't," Faith warned, raising the gun again. "Get a phone." She
glanced over her shoulder at Darla. "Get my phone out of the bathroom."

Faith snapped her head around as Pauline leaned over Tom.

"Don't," Faith repeated.

Pauline smiled a grotesque Jack-o-lantern sneer down at Tom
Coldfield. Instead of wrapping her hands around his throat again, she
spit in his face. "Georgia's a death penalty state, motherfucker. Why
else do you think I moved here?"

"Wait," Faith said, bewildered. "You know him?"

Raw hatred flashed in the woman's eyes. "Of course I know him,
you stupid bitch. He's my brother."

W
ILL LAY ON HIS SIDE ON JUDITH COLDFIELD'S KITCHEN
floor, watching Judith sob into her hands. His nose was itching,
which was a funny thing to bother him, considering the fact that he
had a kitchen knife sticking out of his back. At least he thought it was
a kitchen knife. Every time he tried to turn his head to look, the pain
got so bad that he felt himself start to pass out.

He wasn't bleeding badly. The real threat came from the knife
moving, shifting away from whatever vessel or artery it was
damming and causing the blood to start flowing in earnest. Just
thinking about the mechanics of the thing, the metal blade pressing
between muscle and sinew, made his head swim. Sweat drenched his
body, and he was starting to get chills. Oddly, holding up his neck
was the hardest part. The muscles were so tense that his head
throbbed with every heartbeat. If he let go for even a second, the
pain in his shoulder brought the taste of vomit into his mouth. Will
had never realized how many parts of his body were connected to his
shoulder.

"He's a good boy," Judith told Will, her voice muffled by her
hands. "You don't know how good he is."

"Tell me. Tell me why you think he's good."

The request startled her. She finally looked up at him, seemed to
realize he was in danger of eventually dying. "Are you in pain?"

"I'm hurting pretty badly," he admitted. "I need to call my partner.
I need to know if she's okay."

"Tom would never hurt her."

The fact that she felt compelled to make the statement sent an icy
dread through Will. Faith was a good cop. She could take care of herself,
except the times when she couldn't. She had passed out a few
days ago—just dropped to the pavement in the parking garage at the
courthouse. What if she passed out again? What if she passed out and
when she finally came to, she opened her eyes to see another cave, another
torture chamber excavated by Tom Coldfield?

Judith wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I don't know
what to do . . ."

Will didn't think she was looking for suggestions. "Pauline
Seward left Ann Arbor, Michigan twenty years ago. She was seventeen
years old."

Judith looked away.

He took a calculated guess. "The missing persons report filed on
her said that she left home because her brother was abusing her."

"That's not true. Pauline was just . . . she made that up."

"I've read the report," he lied. "I saw what he did to her."

"He didn't do anything," Judith insisted. "Pauline did those
things to herself."

"She hurt herself ?"

"She hurt herself. She made up stories. From the moment she was
born, she was always making trouble."

Will should have guessed. "Pauline's your daughter."

Judith nodded, obviously disgusted by the fact.

"What kind of trouble did she get into?"

"She wouldn't eat," Judith told him. "She starved herself. We
took her to doctor after doctor. We spent every dime we had trying
to get help for her, and she repaid us by going to the police and
telling them awful stories about Tom. Just awful, awful things."

"That he hurt her?"

She hesitated, then gave the slightest of nods. "Tom has always
had a sweet nature. Pauline was just too—" She shook her head, unable
to find words. "She made things up about him. Awful things. I
knew they couldn't be true." Judith kept coming back to the same
point. "Even when she was a small child, she told lies. She was always
looking for ways to hurt people. To hurt Tom."

"His name isn't really Tom, is it?"

She was looking somewhere over his shoulder, probably at the
handle on the knife. "Tom is his middle name. His first is—"

"Matthias?" he guessed. She nodded again, and for just for a moment
Will let himself think about Sara Linton. She had been joking
at the time, but she had also been right.
Find the guy named Matthias
and you find your killer.

"After Judas's betrayal, the apostles had to decide who would help
them tell the story of the resurrection of Jesus." She finally met his
gaze. "They chose Matthias. He was a holy man. A true disciple to
our Lord."

Will blinked to get the sweat out of his eyes. He told Judith,
"Every woman who is missing or dead has a connection to your shelter.
Jackie donated her mother's things. Olivia Tanner's bank sponsored
your community outreach. Anna Lindsey's law firm did pro
bono work. Tom must've met them all there."

"You don't know that."

"Then tell me another connection."

Judith's eyes scanned his back and forth, and he could read the
desperation in her face. "Pauline," she suggested. "She might be—"

"Pauline is missing, Mrs. Coldfield. She was abducted from a
parking lot two days ago. Her six-year-old son was left in the car."

"She has a child?" Judith's mouth opened in shock. "Pauline has a
baby?"

"Felix. Your grandson."

She put her hand to her chest. "The doctors said she wouldn't—I
don't understand. How could she have a baby? They said she'd never
be able to carry—" She kept shaking her head, disbelieving.

"Did your daughter have an eating disorder?"

"We tried to get help for her, but in the end . . ." Judith shook her
head, as if it was all useless. "Tom teased her about her weight, but all
little brothers tease their older sisters. He never meant her any harm.
He never meant . . ." She stopped, holding back a strangled sob.
There was a crack in her façade as she let herself consider the possibility
that her son might be the monster Will described. Just as quickly,
she recovered, shaking her head. "No. I don't believe you. Tom
would never hurt anyone."

Will's body started to shiver. He still wasn't loosing much blood,
but his mind wasn't capable of ignoring the pain for longer than a
minute at a time. His head would drop, or he would flick sweat out
of his eye, and it would flare up like hellfire. The darkness kept calling
to him, the sweet relief of letting go. He let his eyes close for a
few seconds, then a few more. Will jerked himself awake, groaning at
the searing pain.

Judith said, "You need help. I should get you help." She made no
move to do this. The phone started to ring again, and she simply
stared at the receiver on the wall.

"Tell me about the cave."

"I don't know anything about that."

"Did your son like to dig holes?"

"My son likes to go to church. He loves his family. He loves helping
people."

"Tell me about the number eleven."

"What about it?"

"Tom seems drawn to it. Is it because of his name?"

"He just likes it."

"Judas betrayed Jesus. There were eleven apostles until Matthias
came along."

"I know my Bible stories."

"Did Pauline betray you? Were you incomplete until your son
came along?"

"This means nothing to me."

"Tom's obsessed with the number eleven," Will told her. "He
took Anna Lindsey's eleventh rib. He shoved eleven trash bags up inside
her womb."

"Stop!" she shouted. "I don't want to hear any more."

"He electrocuted them. He tortured and raped them."

She screeched, "He was trying to save them!"

The words echoed around the tiny room like a pinball striking
metal.

Judith covered her mouth with her hand, horrified.

Will said, "You knew."

"I didn't know anything."

"You must have seen it on the news. Some of the women's names
were released. You had to recognize them from your work at the
shelter. You saw Anna Lindsey in the road after Henry hit her with
the car. You called Tom to take care of her, but there were too many
people around."

"No."

"Judith, you know—"

"I know my son," she insisted. "If he was with those women, it
was only because he was trying to help them."

"Judith—"

She stood up, and Will could tell she was angry. "I'm not going to
listen to you lie about him. I nursed him when he was a baby. I held
him—" She cradled her arms. "I held him to my chest and promised
him that I would protect him."

"You didn't do that with Pauline, too?"

Her face turned emotionless. "If Tom doesn't come, I'm going to
have to take care of you myself." She took a knife out of the butcher
block. "I don't care if I go to prison for the rest of my life. I will not
let you destroy my son."

"You sure you can do that? Stabbing someone in the back isn't the
same as stabbing them to their face."

"I'm not going to let you hurt him." She held the knife awkwardly,
gripped in both hands. "I won't let you."

"Put the knife down."

"What makes you think you can tell me what to do?"

"My boss is behind you with a gun pointed at your head."

She gasped, the sound catching in her throat when she whirled
around and saw Amanda standing on the other side of the window.
Without warning, Judith raised the knife and lunged toward Will.
The window exploded. Judith fell to the floor in front of him, the
knife still gripped in her hand. A perfect circle of blood seeped into
the back of her shirt.

He heard a door break open. People ran in, heavy shoes on
the floor, orders being barked. Will couldn't take it anymore. He
dropped his head and the pain shot through to his core. Amanda's
high heels swam into his vision. She knelt down in front of him. Her
mouth was moving, but Will couldn't hear what she was saying. He
wanted to ask about Faith, about her baby, but it was too easy to surrender
to the darkness.