Heaven Preserve Us (32 page)

"Are you ... you're not... " Nah. I'd recognize the voice. Wouldn't I?

"Allen?" I asked.

"Allen? That's the name of your stalker? Isn't that the guy from
your first night on the Helpline?"

Jude had been standing right in front of me when I'd been on
the phone with Allen that night at Heaven House. Of course he
wasn't my stalker.

He continued. "Oh, that's perfect. No, I haven't been following
you. God, you're full of yourself."

"Hey, wait just a tootin' minute there," I protested. "It's not my
fault someone targeted me."

"Well, it's working out pretty well for me." His lips turned up in
an unpleasant smile.

"Not really," I fudged. "They caught him, last night. The Cadyville Creep. So blaming him isn't going to work."

"This Allen guy was the Cadyville Creep?" More of that smile.
"So why did you wonder if I was this Allen character just now?
Maybe they got the wrong guy. Maybe you're still in danger after
all. Everyone will be so sad they didn't do more to catch him. I
could tell you were scared when you were talking about him today.
How he was contacting you all the time, and how you'd see him
on the street, but you didn't want to tell anyone, your housemate
or your boyfriend, because you didn't want to worry them."

He was really getting into his story now. It was coming together a tad too well for my taste.

"How did you do it?" I asked. "How did you get Philip to eat
the beets?"

Jude grimaced. "He was a pig. Ate all the time. He liked beets.
Heck, he never met a food he didn't like. When I was looking
through the preserves George's wife had put up, looking for
something for the exchange, I saw the jar those beets were in.
Foam. Funny color. Bad seal. Next thing I knew I'd put them on
my dear cousin's desk. Off they went to his kitchen, and then
down his gullet."

"But didn't he see they were bad?"

"I put them in another jar, all clean and pretty. It wasn't vacuum sealed, but he didn't know any better. His mother never had
to can their food. My mother did, but not his. His mother had a
cook to make little Philip's grilled cheese, a maid to make his widdle bed." His obvious bitterness rode under every sarcastic word.

"How could you be sure they'd kill him?" I couldn't let it go.

"Nothing is certain. Except, as I said, he was a pig. If it didn't
work, he never knew where they came from. I was still safe."

"And if he served your poison to someone else? Did you think
about that?"

His eyes were stony as he gazed at the rain falling on the other
side of the windshield. "Collateral damage."

Astonishing. He truly didn't care who he hurt in his bid to take
over Heaven House and wreak revenge on Nathaniel's favored
grandson. His dismissive attitude infuriated me. My fingers gripped
the steering wheel so hard they turned white. I felt as if I could rip
it right off the column

Jude pointed. "Turn here. Go down the alley."

He'd threatened Erin, and I had no doubt he meant it. Could
she be protected? With enough warning, yes. Meghan would be
furious, but that was better than letting Jude kill me. Better than
letting him get away with killing his cousin and hurting both Barr
and Ruth.

I turned.

Halfway down the alley, I screeched to a stop, opened my door
and ran like my hair was on fire.

I'd be able to outrun Jude, non-athletic, bumbling, foot-shuffling Jude. Footsteps pounded on the pavement behind me, and I
glanced over my shoulder. He was a lot faster than he looked. I
veered between two buildings, determined to hit the street in front
of HH before he caught up with me. There would be people there.

I panted like I was hauling a pack of rocks. I really needed to
get more exercise. Maybe take up jogging or get a stationary bike
or something. Six more steps. Almost there.

My head jerked back, and my feet left the pavement. The sight
of buildings reaching up to the gray sky filled my vision.

Jude had grabbed my braid and pulled, really freakin' hard.

I landed on my butt in the damp muck of the alley. For a moment I couldn't breathe. Panicked, I flailed my arms and forced in
a wheezing lungful of air. Pain shrieked up my neck.

He firmed his grip on the base of my braid and hauled me upright. Handling me like a rag doll, he forced me to stumble and
trip into the back entrance of Heaven House.

"You just have to keep fighting me, don't you?" he muttered as
he pushed me over to Maryjake's desk and began rooting through
the drawers. My head was pulled back at an awkward angle. I had
to arch my back and neck in order to stay upright. A sad state of
affairs, that staying on my feet had become the best case scenario.

"What did you expect?" I grated out through my humiliation.
"That I'd meekly cave? Is that what you expect from women? Or is
that what you expect from everyone? And if they don't give you
what you want, you poison them, or beat them up, or-"

"Shut up." His tone was curiously flat, but I complied because
I didn't know how to finish the sentence.

In his pocket, his cell phone rang. He fumbled it out, looked at
the display, then answered.

"Heaven House Helpline."

I opened my mouth, and he yanked on my braid. "Help!" I
yelled.

But he flipped the phone closed and put it back in his pocket.
"Too late. They hung up. Must not have been important."

The phone rang again. This time Jude ignored it altogether.

So much for community service.

Back to the desk drawer. "There it is," he said under his breath.
I craned in his grasp, slewing my eyes to the right. He held up a
key so I could see it. "Philip's apartment."

"Are we going to unload your things now?" Couldn't quite keep
the sarcasm out of my voice.

"Yes. At least I am. Somehow, I don't think you'd be much
help." He went back to rooting through Maryjake's junk. "I saw it
right here the other day..."

I swung my fist behind me, but my unseeing aim was off. I hit
his leg.

"Damn it!" He grabbed my wrist and let go of my hair, swung
me around, and grabbed my other wrist. It was fast. I fought again,
as I had in the driveway at George's, but he was just too strong. I
opened my mouth and screamed as loud as I could.

A tiny smile quirked up the left side of his mouth. This old
brick building was well sealed and insulated. We might as well have
been in a tomb. No one would hear me, and we both knew it.

And then he was wrapping scotch tape around my wrists, over
and over again.

I laughed, and pulled. Stopped laughing. Like Jude, the thin
transparent tape was a lot stronger than it looked.

He grabbed my braid again, let go of my hands, and turned me
to face away from him. At least my hands were in front of me.

The drawer slammed shut, and I found myself being steered to
the far side of the room. Jude stooped in front of a red metal box,
tools spilling out of it onto the painted concrete by the back wall. I
had no choice but to bend, too, my hair still firmly in his grip like
a rope handle.

Then I saw the small hammer he'd used to pound the picture
hanger into the wall of the game room. It lay diagonally across the
top tier of neat metal compartments.

My hands crept toward it.

Ever so slowly.

Jude muttered under his breath some more. Whatever he was
searching for continued to prove elusive.

My fingers were only inches away.

"Where the hell is it?" His voice cracked with anger. He gave
my head a slight shake, as if I were keeping something from him.

"What are you looking for?" My fingers touched the handle of
the hammer.

With a sudden movement, he upended the entire contents of
the tool box onto the floor. Wrenches clanged and bolts traced
crazy circles.

The hammer slid away before I could curl it into my clumsy
grip.

But there: a big fat adjustable wrench. I lunged for it, but Jude
had seen it already and jerked my braid. My head snapped back so
hard I thought my neck would break.

ow!

He didn't respond, simply stood, pulling me up with him, and
started marching toward the stairway to the top floor. Only now
he had a roll of silver duct tape in his hand.

Staying on my feet was about to become a thing of the past.

Fear spurted through me. I couldn't let that happen.

I twisted in his grasp, pain shooting through my shoulders,
then dropped my head and let my legs buckle. For a moment my
weight was suspended from my hair. Then I was on my knees. He lost his balance and his right arm propellered as he let loose with a
stream of obscenity that under other circumstances I would have
found quite impressive.

But he didn't let go.

He did, however, turn to face me.

As hard as I could, I brought my clasped fists up between his
legs. He grunted. Doubled over.

And loosened his grip enough for me to pull away from him.

I rolled onto my back and aimed a kick in the exact same spot
I'd just punched. The first blow had connected directly, but I only
had so much strength in my arms. I wanted to hurt him for good.

I wanted to hurt him forever.

He saw it coming, threw his hips to one side, and I only kicked
him in the behind. The look on his face when he turned back was
one of naked fury. A tsunami of adrenaline washed through me,
and I was up on my feet and running.

Jude was right behind me.

Front door: locked. Back door: too far away. Upstairs: trap.
Only option: game room.

I veered inside and swung the door shut. It closed with a satisfying snick in his face, and I fumbled for the lock.

No lock.

Right. Okay.

Panting, I held the knob while Jude rattled it. It began to turn
in my hand. There, at the new table-a metal folding chair. I let go
and lunged for the chair. The door began to open. I slammed my
shoulder into it, closing it again. Jude swore some more. I jammed
the chair under the knob, mashing one of my fingers in the process. It's hard to be graceful when your wrists are bound together.

He pushed and he pushed, but the chair held fast.

I gradually backed away from the door. Had to find a way out. My
gaze swept the room. No phone. Nothing on the bookshelves.
Nardella and her Treasures blinking over in the corner. Three more
metal folding chairs. One of those would make an awkward weapon.

Why didn't I carry a cell phone like normal people? If I could
just get out of here, I promised, I'd join the twenty-first century.
I'd get a cell phone, an mp3 player, and any other technology I
could find. I'd renounce my neo-luddite ways, I really would.

The picture of Edgar Cady was framed behind glass. Maybe I
could do something with that.

Speaking of glass ...

The three south-facing windows let in a decent amount of
light, even at this time of year, even with the sky returned to its
typical winter dinginess. On the ground floor, they stared out at
the ugly painted teal cinderblock of the building next door.
Though not very big, I should still be able to wiggle through one
of them. Excited at the prospect, I hurried over to them.

Unlike the ancient painted-over window frame in Philip's office
upstairs, these windows had been replaced with modern security
frames. Obviously designed not to open. Disappointment weighed
like bricks in my stomach.

But windows are made of glass. Glass breaks. I eyed the folding
chairs again.

Near them, the Chase brothers had installed the dartboard
Maryjake had been so thrilled about. It was made of concentric
rings of cork, painted red and green, black and white. On the floor
below was a package of steel-tipped darts.

I wrestled them open and managed to extract one of the sharp
pointy parts. It quickly perforated the transparent tape binding my
wrists, allowing me to pull it apart and remove it.

The door shuddered as Jude kicked it.

I jumped.

"Careful," I called out, trying to sound confident. "If you make
too much of a mess then the authorities'll know you have a very
nasty temper."

The obscenity was even more creative than before. But the kicking stopped.

I finished screwing together the darts and added the flights. I
couldn't hit the side of a barn with one of those things on a good
day, but that wasn't going to stop me from trying if I had to.

A small door at the end of the game room revealed a small
storage closet. In Jude's idealized community center it would no
doubt contain sports equipment and games within a week. Now
all it contained was a vacuum and... a jar of pickled asparagus. I
recognized the label. This was the jar I'd left for Maryjake Friday
evening. She must have stuck it in there yesterday, meaning to take
it home, and forgotten it.

I took it out and hefted it. The quart jar fit nicely in my hand. I
would have preferred a hardwood baseball bat, believe me, but I
took it over to the table and set it next to the darts.

I picked up one of the chairs. Time to break a window.

Boy, I didn't want to do that. Sure, it made sense: break the
window, scream my head off, get the hell out of there.

Except if I could get out, Jude could get in, and I didn't know
where he was.

I heard voices out in the main room of Heaven House.

"Help!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. Lightheaded with hope,
I grabbed the folding chair and swung it at the glass. Hard. The
window cracked a little

God, what a wimp.

I shouted again. "Help! Please help me!" And swung again. The
glass shattered with a loud, satisfying crash and tinkle. I considered the gaping hole, lined with sharp glass teeth. The opening
seemed small. Winter blew into the game room, and I shivered.