Kevin O'Brien Bundle (47 page)
Read Kevin O'Brien Bundle Online
Authors: Kevin O'Brien
At the front door, Chris glanced out the peephole, and saw a cop carrying something wrapped in an old blanket. It took Chris a moment to realize the guy was holding Erin. Her head was pressed to the policeman’s shoulder. Chris flung open the door.
“This little girl was locked in the trunk of the car next door,” the cop said angrily. “Do you know what’s going on here?”
Erin stirred and let out a feeble, sleepy cry. A piece of duct tape dangled from her cheek. Chris guessed the cop must have peeled it back from where it had been covering her mouth.
“That’s my sister,” he murmured. He opened the door wider.
The cop stepped inside and carried Erin into the living room. Chris shot a look over his shoulder toward the kitchen. He didn’t hear anything. He followed the policeman into the living room. The guy was about thirty, with wavy dark blond hair and a cleft in his chin. He carefully set Erin on her side on the sofa, and then pulled back the blanket. Someone had tied Erin’s feet together, and her hands were bound behind her with rope.
“Oh, Jesus,” Chris murmured.
“I was patrolling the neighborhood,” the cop said. Hovering over Erin, he patted her head, and then tugged at the rope around her wrists. It looked too taut to loosen by hand. “I heard whimpering coming from the Honda Accord in the driveway next door. Do you know who’s responsible for this?”
The policeman wasn’t looking at him. Chris had to tap him on the shoulder. The cop glanced back at him. Chris tried to mouth the words,
Get some help.
Get some help.
The man squinted at him. “What?”
Chris nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “Get help,” he said under his breath. “We’re not alone here. . . .”
Molly heard Chris talking to the policeman in the living room. Chris’s voice dropped to a whisper. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but obviously he was trying to tell the cop they were in trouble. Obviously, Jenna could hear Chris whispering, too.
“What does he think he’s doing?” she muttered. She started to drag Molly closer to the hallway.
With all her might, Molly elbowed her in the ribs. Jenna let out a gasp and doubled over. The gun flew out of her hand. It toppled onto the hallway floor and slid for a few inches across the hardwood.
Screaming, Molly pushed Jenna aside and ran for the living room.
“What the hell’s going on?” she heard the cop yell. He came out of the living room, drawing his gun. “Hold it right there!”
Molly stopped in her tracks. “She was going to kill us and take my daughter,” Molly explained, gasping for air. She pointed back at Jenna, behind her. “She’s killed several people—including my husband. . . .”
“It’s true,” Chris said. “She’s the one who did this to my sister.”
Molly noticed Erin on the sofa, her feet tied and her wrists bound behind her. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. She started to move, but the cop was pointing the gun at her. Molly hesitated.
Chris turned to the cop. “That’s my stepmother, she’s okay. It’s the other one. . . .”
The cop still had the gun trained on her—and Jenna. He nodded at Molly. “Kick that gun over here.”
“Goddamn it,” Jenna growled. But she stayed perfectly still.
Molly still couldn’t quite get her breath. She felt a bit dizzy, and her heart was pounding furiously. She obeyed the cop. The gun glided across the hardwood floor and stopped nearly right in front of him.
Chris went to his sister on the sofa and started to untie the rope around her wrists. Her eyes closed, she was crying softly—almost as if she were having a nightmare.
With a hand on her bleeding forehead, Molly stared at the cop. He retrieved the gun, did something to the safety, and then stuck it in his belt. He looked a bit familiar. He nodded gratefully at her. “That’s good, ma’am.”
But he still had his gun pointed at her and Jenna. He glanced over his shoulder at Chris. “Stop doing that. Don’t untie her. Get away from her.”
Baffled, Chris gazed up at him. “Why? What do you mean?”
The cop smiled a tiny bit. “Because,” he said. “You’ll just have to tie her up again—for me.”
That was when Molly noticed for the first time that his blue policeman’s uniform looked shoddy and fake. That was when she recognized the man who had carried a screaming Dakota Hahn down the block after the children had cut themselves. He’d obviously been hanging around the cul-de-sac, studying the layout.
“Oh, Jesus, no,” she whispered.
He stepped back into the living room. “Over there with the ladies,” he told Chris, nodding toward the hallway. He pointed the gun at Erin now.
Chris stared at him, half scared, half defiant. He didn’t budge.
“Do as I say,” the man said patiently. “Don’t try to do anything brave, because that’s just going to get someone killed.”
Chris finally looped around him and came over to Molly’s side. He held on to her arm. She could feel his hand was shaking.
Jenna sighed. “Just because her husband worked for a drug company, it doesn’t mean there are any drugs in the house. You’re going to be disappointed.”
“We’ll see about that,” the man replied, the gun still trained on Erin.
Molly said nothing. She knew he hadn’t come there to rob them.
“You,
stepmom
,” he said, nodding toward the light switch on the wall. “Is that for the lights outside and down here in the hall?”
stepmom
,” he said, nodding toward the light switch on the wall. “Is that for the lights outside and down here in the hall?”
She nodded. “Yes, both.”
“Turn them off, please. I don’t want anyone to see me working down here.”
Molly reached over and switched off the lights. The upstairs hallway light and a lamp in Jeff’s study were still on. She stood in the shadows with Chris at her side—and Jenna Corson behind them. Molly knew he planned to turn on all the lights in the house—once his work was done.
“I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said in a calm voice. “Just do as I say, and I’ll be out of here in a half hour. Now, I’ll need all of you upstairs. . . .”
For twenty minutes, they sat on the floor of the upstairs hallway: he, Molly, and Mrs. Corson. Just a few feet away, the man sat near the top of the stairs with his arm around Erin, occasionally tickling her ear with the barrel of his gun. She’d come out of her stupor, and seemed to realize what was happening. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she was trembling.
For long stretches of time, no one uttered a word. Erin whimpered behind the duct tape he’d pressed over her mouth again. The only other sound was the tearing of sheets. He’d had Molly pull some bedding from the linen closet, and they’d started ripping them into wide strips for their own restraints. Chris felt like one of those people in the horror movies, forced to dig their own grave. He couldn’t help thinking this was more than just a robbery.
Every few minutes, Mrs. Corson broke the silence and tried to bargain with the bogus cop—killer to killer. “Listen, there are four other houses on this block, all empty, all ripe for the picking,” she’d said. “I can tell you which houses offer the best merchandise. I don’t give a shit about these people. You can take what you want, and do whatever you want. Just don’t tie me up. Tie up the others. Leave them here with me, and I’ll make sure you get away with a good haul. I’ll make sure there are no witnesses.”
“Keep tearing those sheets, honey,” he’d replied. “And be quiet. Otherwise, I’ll have to tape up your mouth—like the little one here.”
That had been a few minutes ago, and Jenna Corson hadn’t uttered a word since.
Now the man had the gun pointed at Chris. “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said again. “It’s up to you to make sure no one tries anything foolish. Starting with your houseguest here, I want you to tie up her legs at the ankles. . . .”
With several strips of the linen in his grasp, Chris obediently crawled over to Mrs. Corson. His hands shook as he tied her ankles together.
“No, don’t,” she murmured under her breath, squirming.
“Now roll her over on her stomach and tie her hands behind her,” the man commanded. “Make it good and tight, because I’m going to test it. Let’s see if you learned anything in the Boy Scouts about tying knots.”
“I wasn’t in the Boy Scouts,” Chris muttered. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the man had the gun pressed against Erin’s head once more. Chris knew his sister would be dead if he tried to lunge at the guy.
As he turned Mrs. Corson over on her stomach, she resisted and let out a pathetic cry. He struggled to tie her hands together. “No, no, no, no,” she whispered.
When he finally finished, Chris was out of breath. He glanced up at the stranger.
“Now, it’s your stepmom’s turn,” the man said, brushing the gun barrel against Erin’s nose. Trying to turn her head away, she whimpered in protest.
“Tie her up the same way you did the other one,” he said. “The quicker you do it, the quicker I’ll be out of here, and you folks can go back to doing whatever it was you were doing.”
Molly handed Chris some strips of linen as he crawled over to her. She rolled over on her stomach without any prompting. Chris tied her legs first, leaving a little slack. If she was able to pry her shoes off, she stood a good chance of slipping her feet out of the binds. Then he tied up her wrists. Chris couldn’t stop trembling. He was so scared he kept thinking he might throw up. He let out a grunt as he finished tying the knot—acting as if it was as tight as he could make it. But the linen restraints around her wrists were loose enough for Molly to wriggle her hands free—with a little effort.
He glanced over at the man again, who stood up. He held the gun down over the top of Erin’s head. He smiled at Chris. “Okay, your turn,” he said. “Tie yourself up at the ankles. . . .”
On the other side of Molly, Chris started tying his own ankles with the strips of bedsheets. He figured the man would pay particular attention to the work he did on himself, so he made the restraints fairly tight.
When Chris looked up again, the man had Erin wiggling facedown on the floor. “Okay, roll over on your stomach,” he said to Chris. “Put your hands behind you.”
Chris was obedient. He kept thinking it was too late to take his chances and pounce on the guy. He should have done that before his ankles were bound. But the son of a bitch had had a gun on Erin the whole time. With the side of his face pressed against the carpeted floor, Chris could only see him from the waist down as he stepped over Mrs. Corson, and gave the sheets on her wrists a tug. “Good,” he murmured. “Nice job.” Then he tested the restraints on Molly’s wrists. “This could have been a little tighter. . . .”
“I thought it was pretty tight. I—”
Chris didn’t finish. He felt a powerful blow to his side that knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t even cry out with pain. It took him a few moments to get a breath—and realize the man had kicked him. Doubled up in agony, he gasped for air. Suddenly the man was on top of him. His knee dug into Chris’s back as he pulled his hands together and tied up his wrists with the strips of linen. He made the restraints so tight, it almost cut off the circulation in Chris’s hands.
He stepped over to Molly and wrapped another linen strip around her hands. She winced as he tied up the knot.
“Now, not a peep out of anyone,” he announced, standing over them now. “I’m going to split you up. If you stay quiet and do what I tell you, no one will get hurt. You, you’re first. . . .”
Chris glanced over and watched him put his gun in his police holster. Then he grabbed Mrs. Corson by the shoulders. “You’re the guest,” he said, hoisting her to her feet. “So you belong in the guest room. . . .”
“Oh, God, no, please. . . .” Jenna Corson cried.
But he had her by the arm and led her into the guest room. With her ankles bound, she was forced to take tiny hops.
“Here we go, here we go,” he cooed, holding her up. “Thattagirl . . .” Once they were inside the guest room, he shut the door.
“Oh, Jesus, not the closet,” Mrs. Corson cried out. “You’re him, you’re him. . . .”
Chris suddenly realized—along with Mrs. Corson—that this man was the Cul-de-sac Killer. He heard Jenna Corson’s muffled whimpering in the next room and wondered if the man was stabbing her in there right now.
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