You Only Die Twice (4 page)

For
whatever reason, he wanted her alive.
 
At least for the moment.
 
She
assumed it was because he wanted to toy with her before he killed her.

Before
he
tries
to kill me.

It was
the only thing that made sense.
 
Otherwise, why would he have strapped the phone to her hand?
 
Why had he stopped beating her when a
few more kicks to her chest, legs, stomach and head would have ended her
life?
 
He wanted her alive for a
reason, and as far as she was concerned that reason was because he was here to
hunt.
 
She was his game.
 
On some twisted level she’d never
comprehend or understand, he wanted her to live because with her alive, she was
his to play with until he grew tired of the game and he could finish her
forever.

She
needed to think.
 
Strategize.
 
She looked around her, but all she saw
was forest.
 
There was no sound of
traffic, which meant he had planted her deep into the woods, which also made
sense.
 
When he killed her―if,
for instance, he planned to shoot her―it was unlikely that anyone would
hear the
shot or the passing of her own life.
 
And even if they did, the shot would be ignored.
 
Right now, after all, it was hunting
season.

Again,
movement to her left.
 
A gentle
press of a footstep that was meant to go unnoticed, but the sound of which
carried with it the weight of danger.

She
wanted to call out to him, make a deal with him and end this, but those were
the thoughts of a fool, and after what she’d been through in her life, Cheryl
Dunning was no fool.
 

After
being murdered and raped and losing a child she never meant to carry defined
who she was today.
 
Even with the
faint ring of the scar that carved around her throat, which caused many to
stare but not to question because most in this town knew what once happened to
her, she was tougher than people knew.
 
Beneath the smiling, agreeable facade she brought with her to work each
morning because she needed a job in order to create an existence for herself,
she was cynical, untrusting and deeply sad for all that was lost to her the
night Mark Rand literally stole away her life, and also how she viewed life
now.
 

Rand was
sent to prison for his crimes, but because of what he did to her, Cheryl also
was sent to a prison of her own.
 

She
wanted to trust people again.
 
She
wanted to be rid of the hate that lived within her.
 
In spite of her fears to the contrary,
one day she did want to be open to a potential relationship.
 
She did want to get married, have children,
have that normal life other people took for granted, but the risks, she felt,
were too high.
 

Regardless
of what her therapist and Patty said to her, it was safer to shut people
out.
 
It was safer to be that
smiling secretary who worked hard and nodded politely at her boss’s whims, but
who went home alone at night, terrified that someone might jump her when she
hurried from her car and into her apartment.
 

Now,
inexplicably, nine years after the event with Rand, here she was again, on the
cusp of being undone by some unknown man.
 

The
movement in the woods drew closer.
 
She couldn’t
just hear it now―she could feel it.
 
A part of her knew that was
intentional.
 
He wanted her to know
that he was close.
 
He wanted her to
run now.
 
He was ready for his game
to begin and she had no choice but to begin it for him.
 

There
was a trail in fro
nt of her and behind her.
 
A wild of woods was to her right and to her left.
 
Obviously, she couldn’t go left―he
was there, waiting for her to emerge.
 
Choosing the path would be easier, but she would be exposed, which could
end in a quick death if he had
a gun.
 
But if she could cut through the snare
of woods off to her right, she might be able to get ahead of him and conceal
herself as she ran into the deep they provided.

And so
that’s what Cheryl Dunning did.
 
She
ran.
 
And the moment she ran, she
heard a burst of activity behind her.
 
Trees bent.
 
Branches
snapped.
 
Then his voice:
 
“That’s a girl!
 
You run now!
 
You run, whore!”
 
He clapped his hands, the sound of which
licked at her back as she pushed through the woods, the twigs flicking across
her face and her outstretched hands like merciless whips.
 

“Make it
fun for me,” he said.
 
“Come on now,
Cheryl.
 
Don’t disappoint!”

CHAPTE
R SEVEN

Patty
Jennings woke that morning alone.

She was
flat on her back, the covers were pulled close to her face, and she was sore,
unusually so.
 

She
looked to her right and wondered what time he left.
 
Or if, in fact, he had left.
 
He might be in the living room or in the
kitchen, but she doubted it.
 
During
the few times in her life that she’d taken home a man, they usually just left,
which Patty didn’t mind.
 
She
preferred it when they left.
 
No
awkward good-byes that way.
 
No lies
that they’d see each other again.
 
No being set up for disappointment.

She laid
there for a minute and tried to remember the night befor
e.
 
She and Cheryl went to The Grind.
 
It was her thirtieth birthday, she
remembered coaxing Cheryl to do shots with her, and then she met―what was
his name?
 
Jake?
 
Jack?
 
She couldn’t remember.
 
Whatever his name was, she met him when
she came out of the
bathroom and while he was younger than she, she couldn’t help
noticing that he was awfully good looking and built.

Though
her head was still foggy from not enough sleep and too much alcohol, what she
also remembered is that he was a powerhouse last night.
 
Young or not, he was so good in bed, so
masculine for his age and in control, that she let him have his way with her,
which he did.
 
And did again.
 
Was there a third time?
 
She thought back, remembered there was
and couldn’t help a smile.

“Finally,”
she said aloud, “I’ve lived up to my reputation.
 
Good for me.”

She
swung the covers off her, used the bathroom, thought of giving Cheryl a call to
apologize for leaving her last night, but decided she’d do it after she made
coffee and fully woke up.
 

What was
it?
 
Saturday?
 
She looked at the time on the clock next
to her bed and saw that it was just past nine.
 
Knowing Cheryl, she’d still be in
bed.
 
Always the late sleeper, but
not today.
 
Today, Patty wanted to
take her to lunch because she felt guilty for ending the night without her.
 
She decided to call her in an hour and
see if she was interested.

If she’s
not, I’ll bring lunch to her.

She went
into the kitchen, which was so bright with sunlight, it hurt.
 
She made her way to the coffee machine
and found a note waiting for her there.
 
She didn’t have her glasses, but the idea that he’d left her a note was
kind of sweet.
 
She went into the
living room, reached for her glasses on a side table, put them on and read.

“Last
night was fun,” it said.
 
“Very
hot.
 
I’ve left something for
you.
 
Go to this Web address:
 
http://on.fb.me/kCZNl3
 
Hope to see you out again soon so you
can let me know what you think of it.
 
―Jack.
 
P.S., When you
took my load, I knew I found the
right one.”

She
stared at the last sentence in surprise.
 
Had she done that?
 
She never
did that.
 
How messed up had she
been last night?
 
Had they even used
condoms?
 

She went
into her bedroom, turned on the computer sitting on her secretary, and while
she waited for it to start up, she looked for evidence of condoms around the
bed and in the bed, but there weren’t any.
 
She checked the bathroom.
 
Nothing, not even used wrappers in the waste basket.
 
Could he have flushed them?
 
She knew better than that.
 
What man cleaned up after himself,
especially after sex?

She
wasn’t concerned about a potential pregnancy because Patty Jennings was unable
to conceive children.
 
What
frightened her was the potential of contracting an STD.
 

What
have I done?

She ran
a hand through her hair and wondered how she could have been so careless.
 
She had her share of drinks last night,
but she’d certainly had more in the past and they hadn’t affected her like
those drinks had.
 
Did someone buy
her a drink?
 
It was possible, but
she
wasn’t
sure.
 
If they did―if
he
did―did he slip something into it?
 

He must
have.

She
remembered most of the evening, but not all of it, which worried her.
 
Like what he said in his note about what
she did.
 
She couldn’t imagine ever
doing that.
 
She was
no
prude―she believed that consenting adults could do whatever they wanted
to do behind closed doors.
 
It’s
just that doing that wasn’t her thing and frankly, she considered it
dangerous.
 

Still,
she couldn’t ignore it.
 
She needed
to be tested.
 
Patty Jennings knew
she had a reputation for being a lot of things, much of which were negative and
not of her own making, but she also knew that at her core, she was a good
person who never would put someone else’s life at risk without being tested
first.
 
So, she’d be tested.
 
Decision made.

She went
back to the kitchen, made a cup of coffee, took his note and went to her
computer.
 
She opened a browser and
typed in the Web address he’d written down.

When the
page refreshed, it altered the course of Patty Jennings’ life.

CHAPT
ER EIGHT

Kenneth
Berkowitz knew next to nothing about Maine, but when he and Ted Carpenter
arrived in the state five weeks ago after they completed their last kill in New
Mexico, he came to know one thing intimately―the piece of land in
Monson,
about an hour northwest of Bangor, where Ted was currently hunting down Cheryl
Dunning for her life’s worth of sins.

Ted knew
the land just as well as Kenneth knew it.
 

For
weeks, each had walked it, studied it in person, and also via computer through
Google Maps and Google Earth.
 

Some in
their faith thought technology was a sin because it served as a catalyst for
pornography and other sites deemed unsuitable or sacrilegious.
 
But Kenneth and Ted were different.
 
They saw technology as God’s tool
to assist
them in their divine calling.
 
They
understood that technology was created by the Creator to help them do what they
were called upon to do―kill as many whores as possible before they were
called to heaven to be acknowledged for their work by Chr
ist
Himself.

They
quickly came to appreciate the land for all the complications it offered.
 
Only God could have composed such a
masterwork of pitfalls.
 
If someone,
for instance, suddenly found themselves in the midst of it, as Cheryl Dunning
did that morning, finding a way to freedom would be next to impossible if she
didn’t know in which direction to run.