Scream (29 page)

Suddenly, her face twists into something that resembles a
demon in some horror movie he once saw. She points a finger
right at him. "You! How dare you show up here?" Her husband
is patting her on the shoulder and whispering frantically in her
ear. Dad is saying something, Mother is talking too, hurried
voices, hushed and serious, but he hears none of it. He's a prisoner to the demon that sneers at him, begs for his soul. (Take it,
go on, you ole devil, take it and be done with it!)

"Get out of my sight!" Mrs. McAfee yells. "Get out of here!"

The words rip through him like a saw, and he panics. He
breaks away from Mother and Dad and runs across the cemetery, dodging tombstones and knocking over plastic flower
arrangements. He doesn't know where he's going; he just runs.
He runs until the funeral party and the McAfees are out of
sight and his lungs burn like they've been stripped raw and his
heart feels like it's made of lead, then he collapses against a gray
tombstone and cries.

Judge stood over Cheryl, watching her sleep. If she only knew
how drastically her world was about to change. He felt a sudden
pang of guilt, or maybe just nervous jitters. Either way, he was
having second thoughts. He could still get out of this. Leave
the apartment without a trace, go and unlock the barn door,
and drive away. Amber and Virginia had seen his face, though.
No matter; he could hand in his resignation at work and be out
of town by the time anyone suspected him. No, that was crazy
thinking. It would never work. He was in too deep now. They'd
seen his face. That was stupid, very stupid of him. There was no way out. Guilt or no guilt, jitters or not, he had to go on with
the plan. For Katie. Always for Katie.

He reached out and took a strand of Cheryl's hair between
his fingers. It felt like silk.

Sweet dreams, dear one.

He doused the cloth with the anesthetic and leaned over
Cheryl. It satisfied him a little that at least he still had a conscience.
There were those who did what they did with no conscience at
all. Maim, rape, torture, murder, victimize, violate-all without
even a bat of the eyes or flutter in the soul.

He wasn't like them. They were the monsters, not him.

Seconds later he was replacing the cloth and smiling.
Cheryl's breathing had deepened; a puddle of drool collected
in the corner of her mouth. Quickly, efficiently, he removed
the book and placed it on the dresser, then returned to the
bed and rolled Cheryl onto her stomach. He then gathered
the quilt around her and rolled her back over so she was lying
on top of the blanket. After gathering the four corners in his
hands, he slung the quilt over his right shoulder and lifted
Cheryl as if she were a duffle bag.

He managed to make his way back through the apartment
and out the patio door without disturbing anything. Like he'd
done it a hundred times. The only problem was locking the
sliding door again. There was really no way to do it from the
outside. It would have to be the one clue, the only sign of his
presence. But there were other reasons why a patio door would
be left unlocked.

With Cheryl concealed in the blanket and the blanket
dangling from his shoulder, he shuffled across the lawn and
popped the trunk of his car. He then backed up to the trunk
and dropped Cheryl into it. Mission accomplished. Now to
deposit her in the barn, safe and sound. For now.

Amber started and opened her eyes at the sound of a car door
shutting. The car door. She'd grown accustomed to the sound
of judge's car, the whine of its engine, squeal of its brakes, ticktick of its engine cooling, click of its door shutting. Since the
visit when he'd shown his humanity he'd stopped by once with
more supplies-toilet paper, apples (always the apples), another
box of Cheerios, two cases of water bottles, a six-pack of white
women's briefs, four pairs of white athletic socks, and a box of
tissues, the kind with aloe in them. The briefs were too small
for Ginny, but with a little "encouragement," she made them
fit OK. Seeing how judge had brought them everything she'd
asked for, she now regretted not asking for cold medicine, or a
bottle of Tylenol at the very least.

Amber had tried talking to him, thanked him for the supplies,
and asked him how much longer they'd be in the barn. The
previous visit, she'd seen a glimmer of hope. He was human
after all. He felt pain and sorrow, had feelings and emotions.
If she could zero in on that and humanize herself and Ginny,
make some kind of personal contact with him, their chances
of surviving this ordeal would increase dramatically. But he'd
simply dropped the grocery bag on the floor of the barn, spun
around on his heels, and left without so much as a glance in her
direction. He hadn't even spoken to the dogs.

Amber sniffed and tried to subdue a cough. Her condition
was worsening every day. She was sure she had a full-blown
sinus infection. Her sinuses felt like they were packed with lead,
her throat protested at even the feeblest attempt to swallow, and
her head felt like it was wedged in a vise, being squeezed tighter
with each turn of the crank. The fever would come next, and after that, if she didn't get out of here, pneumonia would probably set in and then ... well, that was a long way off. Hopefully.

Amber heard another click and sat up in the straw. Sounded
like the trunk opening. She looked over at Ginny and could
barely make out her fuzzy form in the dark. She wasn't moving,
and Amber could hear her steady breathing. Still asleep. That
was probably good. Ginny still wasn't handling things well.
Most of the time she sat in the corner, head leaned against the
rough planks of the wall, staring out a tiny half-inch crack.
Her eyes were permanently bloodshot and swollen from crying
on and off all day. Her hair was still a tangled mess and every
day looked worse and worse. She barely ate, had noticeably lost
weight, and only spoke when Amber spoke to her first. It was
obvious she'd given up.

Outside, there was a rustle and a grunt. The dogs were there
too, around the car, whining and yelping. Ginny stirred and
propped herself up on one elbow.

Judge's heavy footsteps grew closer until they reached the
door. The lock disengaged with the sound of scraping metal
and a clink, the cinder block fell away, and the door opened.
Moonlight poured in through the opening, silhouetting judge
when he stepped through the doorway. He was bent forward at
the waist, carrying something large over his right shoulder. He
took four or five steps and lowered the bundle to the floor behind
him, pausing for a few seconds to place his hands on his hips
and straighten his back. His dark, backlit figure seemed to be
staring at them. Amber could hear his heavy breathing, pulling
in the odor of the barn and then releasing it. She wondered if
he was about to say something. But her question was quickly
answered when he turned and left without a word.

Seconds later the trunk closed, the door slammed shut, and
the engine revved to life. Within a minute the rumble of the engine disappeared in the distance, and she was once again
surrounded by the silence of the night.

Amber turned her head and looked at Ginny. She was sitting
up now, her head turned toward the bundle on the floor. Ginny
just stared silently at the intrusion, as if she were waiting for it to
introduce itself. Amber thought the bundle looked about the size
of a woman. An eerie dread crept over her like an inky shadow.
Another woman. She'd asked Judge, How many were there? But
he hadn't answered her. Was this poor woman, bundled in what
looked like a blanket, the last one? Or would there be more?
God forbid there be more. And if so, how many more?

Amber looked at Ginny again, then stood and walked over
to the bundle. Kneeling beside it, she saw that it was indeed a
blanket, a quilt to be exact, white with red and blue patchwork.
She ran her hand over the length of it and was surprised by the
sudden sob that burst from her throat. It was another woman.
She could definitely make out a shoulder and hip, tapering into
thin, firm legs. Quickly she pulled the blanket back enough
to expose the head. Blonde hair, pretty face, sleeping soundly.
Probably drugged like Ginny was.

Amber turned to Ginny. "Help me with her. We need to get
her in the straw."

Ginny stood and shuffled over.

"Grab the end there," Amber said, motioning to the feet. "I'll
take this end and we'll drag her."

Ginny walked around to the feet and gathered the blanket
in her hands. Amber gripped the other end. On the count of
three they both leaned back and pulled. The blanketed woman
slid surprisingly well over the straw-covered worn floorboards.
When they reached their nest, Amber straddled the woman,
slipped her hands under the shoulders, and lifted her onto the
straw, between where she and Ginny slept.

"Thank you, Ginny," Amber said, hoping the younger woman
would at least take an interest in the new arrival. But there was
no response. Ginny lay down and turned her back to the new
woman. And that was that.

Amber lay down on the other side of the new woman, facing
her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. We'll talk in the morning."

RIGHT LIGHT SWIRLED IN HER HEAD, SPIRALING
toward her in convoluted waves, then spreading out in
flowing tendrils until everything was washed in white. It
was then that she realized she was awake. Her eyelids were too
heavy to open, though, as if they were glued shut. She tried to
move, and a grunt slipped past her tongue and escaped through
her lips. At that moment three things registered in her foggy
mind. One, her body felt like it was a hundred pounds heavier.
Either that or the gravitational pull of the earth had suddenly
increased. Two, something was poking the top of her head and
her left temple. And three, she must be outside. She could hear
grass rustling, birds whistling, geese honking. How had she
gotten outside?