Silver Falls (22 page)

She headed for the attached garage, and finally her luck had changed. Whoever lived in this spotless house had a classic 1967 Mustang, in pristine condition, parked in one of the three bays. No key, of course, but with a car like that she didn't need a key. She'd learned to hot-wire engines years ago, and it was like riding a bike. You never forgot.

She gunned the engine, searching for an automatic garage-door opener. It must have been in one of the other cars, and she got out again, frantic, looking for a button of some sort.

She was too panicky to find it. The Mustang was a muscle car, the house was a new McMansion with shoddy construction. She got back in, put the car in Reverse and floored it.

The garage door splintered as she sailed through, and a moment later she was tearing down the road, heading toward the only place she needed to be. He had her daughter up at Caleb's place. She didn't know how or why, but after his veiled conversation she was absolutely certain of it.

It couldn't be too late—she was somehow part of the equation. She was going to get there in time, and then she was going to kill David Middleton. Not for making a fool out of her. Not for making her sleep with a psychopath. But for even threatening to hurt her child. She was going to slice him to ribbons.

 

David surveyed his handiwork, pleased with himself. He'd been forced into this, and there was always the possibility that he wouldn't succeed, but he had faith that everything would come out the way it ought to. He'd worked too hard for it to all fall apart, and besides, with his intellect it should be simple enough for him to outsmart the police. As he had for all these years.

His father suspected, but Stephen Henry would never betray him, for the simple reason that it
would take attention away from the old man himself, and he wouldn't be able to bear that. If the world discovered how very clever David had been, for all these long years, no one would care about the old man and his pretentious poetry and his overweening vanity. As long as he was the center of attention he'd turn a blind eye to his real son's real accomplishments.

He whistled beneath his breath as he finished with the ropes. He'd expected better of Caleb. His brother had walked right into his trap, taken one look at little Sophie and forgotten who he was dealing with. His skull may have been smashed in—there was blood seeping into his shirt, and David shuddered. He hated blood—it made him physically ill. Any blood but his own, that was. His body was a crisscross of scars, some old, some new, the elegant razor tracings a road map of pain. He'd made a mistake a few weeks ago, and cut too close to his testicle. He'd been unable to perform under any but the most extreme circumstances for the last few weeks, and he'd been afraid Rachel would say something.

She'd never been particularly satisfying in bed—much too active, when he wanted her to lie still. And she wanted to touch him, when he couldn't bear being touched. She'd been docile enough the first few times, and he'd really begun to believe it
would work out. He could keep her until Sophie was old enough, and then a believable accident would take care of things. He hadn't wanted her to suffer—she was Sophie's mother, after all.

But right now he wanted her to suffer. He wanted to flay her flesh from her bones, he wanted to burn her alive. She'd done nothing but get in his way, and he'd seen her face when they found her in the motel with Caleb. She'd had sex with him. He could smell it on her, see it in her eyes, in Caleb's eyes. Noisy, dirty, foul sex, and she loved it.

He ought to bless her for it. Any hesitation he'd had vanished in the morning light. Any pain he could inflict, any fear he could drive into her, would only be righteous and well-deserved. He no longer had to hold back—he could do anything he wanted and it would be justified.

Not that he should need to justify his actions. He had complete faith in his preordained path.

He yanked the ropes tighter, cutting into Caleb's flesh, but his brother didn't move. Maybe he'd never regain consciousness, never feel the fire eating through his clothes, making his skin crackle and pop like pork fat in the flame. It was only a small disappointment. Rachel would be awake. Rachel would know.

He rose. The meager afternoon light was fading, and he glance at his watch, pouting. What was tak
ing her so long? He'd told her where they were—she should have been here by now. Didn't she care about her daughter?

There was always the possibility that she'd gone to the police after all, but he didn't think she was that stupid. If he saw flashing lights or heard anything unexpected he'd kill Sophie before anyone could get close enough to stop him. He had Caleb's gun—how typical of his macho older brother, to think something as pathetic as a gun could stop him. He probably thought David didn't know how to use it. He'd always underestimated him.

No, Caleb had always thought David didn't have the stones to do what needed to be done.

David couldn't help it—he giggled. If he wasn't more careful with his beloved antique straight-edge razor he'd definitely be missing one himself. He had to watch it, but it was getting harder and harder to find areas of his skin that weren't already marked with scars. He had to be careful—Rachel had never felt the elegant tracings when she'd disobeyed him and tried to put her arms around him when they had sex. He couldn't afford to let anyone see them—it would raise too many questions with his next girlfriend.

He was going to have to get rid of Sophie, which saddened him. Because of that bitch he'd married, everything was too rushed, and Sophie knew he'd
taken her. She'd fought him before he managed to knock her out with the chloroform, and he'd almost strangled her right there and then.

But he had self-control, when so many people didn't. And for Rachel, knowing that Sophie would die wouldn't be nearly as painful as seeing the girl in his control. Caleb and Rachel would suffer as they'd made him suffer.

He'd be gentle with Sophie, because he knew that she loved him. Oh, she pretended she didn't, because she knew her mother would be jealous, but he could see beneath her standoffishness. She was younger than the other ones, and he liked that. He liked the innocence. That silly teenager in San Francisco, the one who'd led him to Sophie, had been exciting. But nothing compared to sweet, sweet Sophie. He looked over at her. She was still unconscious. He'd forced the stuff down her throat, to keep her quiet, and he may have given her too much. Which would be a shame—he wanted her awake. But if she didn't wake up, there'd be others.

He wondered how young he could safely go. He didn't want to hurt himself if they were too small. That wouldn't be very pleasant.

He heard the crash of metal on metal from a distance, and a smile wreathed his face. Caleb had left the car, his car, the one he'd bought for Rachel, halfway down the driveway. Rachel must have slammed into it.

It couldn't be the police—he would have heard the sirens. She was coming. He was really quite cross with her, the most uncooperative of women. She'd tried hard in the beginning—he could give her credit for that. But it hadn't taken her long to start rebelling, trying to change his ordered life and his ordered house.

Though she had given him Sophie, and for that he would always be grateful. She was still going to suffer—she'd know that the fire would take her and she would die screaming.

Part of him would regret that, quite sincerely.

He heard her running up the front stairs, loud and graceless, and he made a face. Sophie would never be so clumsy. Sophie would never be so rude.

He knelt down beside the young girl, pulling her limp body into his arms, stroking her long, golden hair.

And when the front door slammed open, and Rachel stood there, muddy, furious, he smiled up at her, as he stroked and he stroked her daughter.

“I was afraid you wouldn't get here in time,” he said. “Close the door behind you. It's chilly. You wouldn't want our Sophie to catch a cold.”

And to his utter amazement, his wife came at him, a kitchen knife in her hand.

R
achel froze where she was. David was sitting on the floor, her baby daughter cradled in his arms, and he was holding a gun to her head. Her silky blond hair flowed over his arm. His expression was almost genial.

“Do drop the knife, Rachel,” he said. “I don't want to shoot her. I despise blood, but you'll find that I can't be pushed. Drop the knife, kick it out of the way, and then sit, right where you are.”

She had no choice. She could see Caleb on the floor behind him, unconscious, bleeding, tied up, and she could only hope he was still alive. She kicked the knife out of the way and sat, cross-legged, prepared to leap if given half a chance.

But David wasn't going to do that. He lay Sophie down on the plywood floor very carefully, and she could see that her daughter was alive, seemingly undamaged, and unconscious. It was a small blessing. He rose and turned to her, the gun
looking quite natural in his small, well-manicured hand. “It took you a great deal longer than I would have expected, Rachel,” he said in a mild tone. “I thought you would have been up here at least an hour ago. Here I was, rushing to get Caleb properly trussed, afraid that the drugs would wear off and Sophie would start being difficult. I was really getting quite cross with you. Don't you care about your daughter?”

“I didn't have a car,” she said in a dull voice. “I had to break into someone's house and steal one.”

David laughed. “How enterprising of you. But I told you that I didn't mind if you drove the BMW.

I trust you.”

“I didn't trust you.”

He laughed. “But the BMW is perfectly safe. It does still retain a hint of Melinda—I never would have guessed it would be so difficult to get the smell of putrefaction from a car trunk.”

She wasn't going to throw up. “Who—
Melinda?

Then it wasn't a dead deer?”

“Don't be naïve. I kept Melinda in the trunk for weeks. I thought I'd been careful—she was wrapped in layers of plastic and I sprinkled half a dozen boxes of baking soda back there to absorb the odor, along with some of those sprays. I have to tell you that those air fresheners are useless.”

“You should write the company a letter of complaint.”

“You're making fun of me—but you know, I just might do that,” he said, moving toward her.

She could dive for the knife, but he'd shoot her first and then there'd be no one to help Sophie.

“That's right, my love,” he said. “I really don't want to shoot you. It's just a matter of personal taste. I could certainly get away with it—it's Caleb's gun, after all. He's going to be blamed for everything, and if you have a bullet in your skull it won't make any difference. But I told you, I don't like blood, and I don't like loud noises.

You're a very noisy person, did you know that, Rachel? Clomping around in those boots—I thought I'd gotten rid of them. Even in bare feet you always moved around the house like a storm trooper. You rattle dishes, you sing, you close doors too noisily, you drive too fast.”

“Is that why you're going to kill me?”

Sophie had moved behind him, just the slightest stirring, and Rachel silently prayed.
Get up, baby. Get away from here, fast.

“Of course not,” he said, affronted. “I could have trained you properly. Things just got out of control. You can thank my brother for that. We were doing just fine until he came home. We could
have had three good years together, waiting for Sophie to mature and take your place, if he hadn't barged in. Fortunately I'm a brilliant man, and I was prepared for any eventuality, and Caleb's always had a bad habit of interfering with my particular pleasures. I must have known subconsciously that he'd come back when I met with Jessica. I'd planned to take her out of state but I changed my mind at the last minute. I'm intuitive, you know. I must have sensed his presence.”

Rachel just stared at him, sick inside. How could she have gotten her daughter into this? “But why, David?” she said, her voice desperate. “Why did you kill that girl?”

He looked at her with a pitying expression. “Because I had to. And I got away with it, time after time. I happen to be brilliant. My IQ is sixteen points higher than Ted Bundy's.”

“You checked?”

“Of course I checked! He's the gold standard against which everyone is measured, but I can assure you, I'm far brighter than he ever was.”

“I'm sure you are,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “Smart enough to know that this has gone too far. You're going to get caught.”

“Don't be absurd. I've been setting Caleb up for years. My father will give me an alibi—he can't bear the thought of his golden son going to jail.”

“But what about Caleb?”

“Oh, he'll already be dead. He chained you up, strangled and raped Sophie and threw her over the falls, and then set fire to his house in a fit of remorse. I've set it up perfectly. His ropes will burn off in the fire,” he said, pulling out a pair of handcuffs, “but these will still be wrapped around your scorched corpse. You're such a horse, my dear. I had a hard time finding handcuffs that would fit you.”

“Can't they trace them to you?”

He shook his head. “I told you, I'm much too careful. You may as well stop arguing. I've thought of everything. Please move back against the wall, next to that pipe.”

“And if I don't?”

“Don't be tiresome. I'll put a bullet in your mouth and drag your body over there. The fire I've set will burn so hotly that no one will be able to tell that you were shot before you were burned.”

She scooted back against the wall. Sophie was moving a little bit more—if she could just keep David talking it might give her enough time to come to.

He took her arm and slapped the heavy manacle round her wrist, then closed the other one around the exposed pipe. “She's not going to wake up in time, Rachel. She may get a little more active, but
not enough to actually get away. Consider it a blessing. She'll never know what happened to her.”

“Won't that ruin all your fun?” she said in a furious tone.

“Of course not. I'm a very considerate man. I make it quick. And I make love to them afterward, so they don't have to deal with the shame beforehand.”

“You're not going to touch my daughter.”

“Of course I am. No one can stop me. When I'm done I'll throw her body over the falls and take the back way down to my father's house, where we'll have a nice dinner and a good bottle of pinot grigio, and when Maggie Bannister comes to tell us what happened we'll both be distraught. It's a shame you won't have a chance to see it—I'm really very good.”

“I know you are, David. You fooled me completely.”

“Ah, but you aren't much of a challenge,” he said with a condescending smile. He rose, stepping away from her. “I could make this painless for you. I'd be willing to shoot you, despite my dislike of blood, so you won't have to deal with the pain of burning to death. After all, you did love me, and I can be generous.”

“I didn't love you, David,” she said, her voice flat. “I married you to provide what I thought was
a safe life for Sophie. You're absolutely right, I was an idiot, but you were simply a means to an end.”

She'd gotten to him. His face crumpled for a moment, and he looked like a little boy whose dog had died. Then he shook his head. “You're just saying that.”

“I jumped at the chance of separate bedrooms, David. I slept with your brother the first chance I got.” She glanced over at Sophie to make certain she was still unconscious. “I sucked his cock, David. He's much bigger than you, and he doesn't get limp. I fucked him and I liked it.”

“Stop it!” His voice rose in distress. “You know I don't like that language.”

“I was a whore, David. I did everything with Caleb that I wouldn't do with you.”

“I didn't want you to do those things…”

“Yes, you did. Deep inside, you wanted me to do all those things with you, but you were afraid, because you knew you couldn't get it up, not often enough to even begin to please me. You can only get it up with dead girls, isn't that it?”

He hit her then, slamming the gun across her face so hard that for a moment everything turned black. When the world came back into focus again he'd managed to regain his calm.

“You're an ugly, dirty girl,” he said. “And if I had time I'd show you how wrong you are. But I can only
count on the idiocy of the police to last so long, and I don't want to risk all this hard work for nothing.”

“David.” Caleb's voice was hoarse, muffled. She hadn't even realized he was coming to.

David whirled around, momentarily startled. “My brother awakens. I was afraid I'd killed you.”

“Untie me, David. You know you don't want to do this.” Caleb's voice was rough, pleading.

“Of course I do. I was just explaining to your whore here how much I want to do this. I must say she hasn't expressed much interest in you—she's more concerned about her daughter.”

“Let them go, David. You know this is between you and me, and always has been.”

David giggled, and the sound made her skin crawl. “Don't be naïve, Caleb. All you are is a scapegoat. I couldn't care less who gets blamed—you're just the easiest one to use. I'll find someone else once you're gone. Stephen Henry might be a good choice. He can walk, you know. He's been hiding that fact for years, just to get attention.”

“And he's been covering for you for years. Do you think he'll keep covering for you if you try to frame him?”

“Yes,” David said simply.

“Then just let Sophie go. She's too young—you never wanted to hurt anyone that young.”

“She loves me,” David said airily. “I know that
she does, she just hasn't been brave enough to tell me. I owe this to her.”

“Owe her death?” Rachel demanded.

“Shut up!” David shrieked in a lightning change of mood. “It's all your fault. I was going to wait until she grew up, I was going to start to train her, but you kept interfering, trying to turn her against me. If it weren't for you none of this would have happened. You're the one who's responsible for your daughter's death, not me.”

“And you're batshit insane,” Rachel spat back.

But David had regained his calm. “I'm finished arguing with you both.” He walked back to Sophie's limp body and hoisted her into his arms effortlessly. He was much stronger than he looked. “I promise you I'll wait until after she's dead. After all, she loves me.”

“She hates you. She thinks you're a disgusting creep,” Rachel said, desperate.

“Don't lie. She's just shy.” He started up the stairs to the front door, Sophie in his arms, her long blond hair hanging down. “You know, I'm really looking forward to this. It's been so long since I've enjoyed myself with a child.” And the door closed behind him.

Caleb immediately began to move, struggling against the ropes. “We have to—” the explosion silenced him. From a distance she could hear the
crackle of fire, see the sinister swirls of smoke as the house started to burn. He looked over at her, a bleak expression on his face. “I don't know how to get you loose.”

“There's a knife over there. You can cut yourself free.” She nodded in the direction of the kitchen knife David had made her kick away. It was an unexpected mistake. Maybe there was a chance he'd make more.

Caleb inched his way to the spot, somehow managing to pick the knife up with his hands tied behind him. He was cursing beneath his breath, and fresh red blood was running down the side of his head, and all she could do was watch, and pray, until a moment later his hands were free, and he was sawing away at the ropes that bound his ankles together. And then he looked up at her.

She forestalled him. “The only thing that matters is Sophie,” she said. “Don't even think about it.”

“I can't leave you here. You won't be able to get free.”

“You can't stay. Get the hell out of here. If I'm supposed to die then I'm okay with it. As long as Sophie is all right.”

For a moment he didn't move, looking down at her with a bleak expression.

“Get out of here!” she screamed at him, as she felt the heat coming at her from the back of the building.

He moved then, fast. He caught her chin in his hand and kissed her, hard and fast, and then he was gone.

Leaving her to die.