Stained (24 page)

1:25 A.M.

 

THERE'S A BANG FROM the attic above us.

I rip out of Nick's arms, lift up my jean leg, and yank the knife from my sock. “Dad?” I yell.

“I'm right here, sweetie!”

It's probably just the wind. I edge to my doorway, knife raised, and stand there, listening. Lightning flickers through the dark sky like a jagged tear in the world, bright and deadly.

Nick comes up behind me. “I heard it, too.”

Dad appears at the top of the stairs. “You okay?” He cocks his eyebrow at my knife.

“I thought I heard something in the attic. It's probably nothing, but—”

“It's just the storm, sweetheart,” Dad says. “But I'll check it out if it makes you feel better.”

I try to smile. “Yes. Please. But be careful, Daddy.”

“You got it, honey,” Dad says, touching my cheek, and he starts up the stairs.

Downstairs, Mom is cleaning the kitchen, clanging pots and pans together, but it's a friendly, comforting noise. I strain my ears, but there's no other sound. I wait, Nick beside me, the knife in my hand. My heart's jittering in my chest like a wind-up toy.

Dad comes back down the stairs. “It's all clear, Sarah. It was just a shutter that got loose. I've fastened it.”

“Thanks.” I sag, the tension draining from me.

“Well, I'll leave you two be.” Dad winks. “Call me if you need anything.” And he leaves.

Nick rubs my back, his warm hand relaxing my muscles. “Your dad really loves you.”

“Yeah, he does.” I shove the knife back into my sock and sit down on my bed.

Nick sits beside me. “I know you've been through hell. It's okay if you need to take your time with us.”

“I wasn't trying to get out of kissing you!”

“I know,” Nick says, and he sounds like he does.

I lean closer to him and kiss him gently, but I can hardly feel his lips this time. My head and heart aren't in it. I pull away.

“It's okay,” Nick says before I can say anything else.

“It's not you. I was having a good time before . . .” Something's nagging at me. Something I noticed without realizing I did. Something out of place. I slowly walk over to my desk. There's a photo tucked under my homework, just the corner sticking out. I pick it up.

It's me—half naked, blindfolded, lying on the floor, my face twisted in fear and anger.
Oh, shit.
I drop it, and it flutters to my desk.

“What?” Nick asks, rising.

“Brian's been here. In my room.” I'm shaking again.

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “I don't know when. It could have been weeks ago . . .” But my skin crawls like a spider is skittering across my back.

And then I realize something else. It's quiet in the house. Too quiet. I don't hear Mom banging pots and pans around anymore.

I yank the knife out of my sock. “Mom?” I call.

No answer. I stand, clenching the knife. Nick's watching me like he's not sure what's going on. I don't blame him.

A floorboard creaks in the hall. “Dad?” No answer. “Dad!” I yell.

“Right here,” a voice says.

I stiffen, my heart skipping a beat.

I know that voice. And it's not Dad's.

1:27 A.M.

 

I KNEW HE WOULD COME, yet part of me can't believe he's really here. I don't know what to do, but my hands seem to. I start the video recorder on my laptop and turn it to face the doorway. Then I get a better grip on my knife.

Brian's shadow appears in the doorway. His scent fills the room, taking up all the space in my mind.

I feel like I'm moving in slow motion. I raise my knife.

Brian looms in the entrance, his gaze locking on mine. Torn strips of rag are tied around his shoulder, dark brown and red patches showing where he bled through. He laughs—a short, hard bark. “A knife, Sarah? Really? Do you really think you can win a fight with me?”

No. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't try.

Nick makes a strangled sound.

Brian raises his eyebrows. “Well, well. This is a surprise. Two for one, is it?”

“Oh, shit,” Nick whispers. He scrabbles across my bed for my Wonder Woman paperweight and hefts it up as he jumps back across.

Brian points a gun at him, pain crossing his face, the red on his bandage spreading. “I wouldn't if I were you.”

Nick shudders to a stop.

I can't let Brian hurt Nick, but he's too far away to stab. “Everyone will know you did this,” I say.

Brian laughs. “Of course they will. Because you told them in that oh-so-charming press conference you held.” He smiles at me almost tenderly. “Do you remember my promise to you?”

Oh, god. Mom and Dad. I think I'm going to puke. “What did you do to my parents?”

“Just tied them up. They're waiting downstairs. I wouldn't want you to miss their departure.”

He didn't mention the officer. I have to hope he's still free.

“But now that your boyfriend is here—and you so obviously care about him—I think we're going to have to do him first.”

“No!” I say. I try to think. “You said you wanted to give me freedom. Nick doesn't have anything to do with that. I'm the one you want to release.”

“Sarah!” Nick says, gasping.

“How sweet,” Brian says. “But you're forgetting what I said I'd do if you left.”

Sweat stings my eyes, pricks at my armpits. I glance at Nick, at his wide, fear-stretched eyes, his pale face. “I didn't forget. But Nick isn't family. You can let him go.”

“Nice try,” Brian says, sounding like he's enjoying this.

I take a step toward Brian. If I can just stab his eyes, or maybe his throat . . .

Brian looks pointedly at the knife I'm holding. “Do you really think you're going to do anything with that?” He strides forward and wrenches the knife out of my hand, then twists me around. He shoves his arm under my throat.

I yank against his grasp. He makes a hissing noise as he pulls me tighter, his arm choking off my air, his chest pressed against my back. My throat burns.

I go slack, willing him to let me breathe. He loosens his grip a little, panting, but I can still feel him behind me.

I shudder. I hate the feel of his body against mine, the scent of his piney cologne tinged with coppery blood.

He lowers his face to mine, his sour breath making me gag. “You know better than to fight me. Besides, a dull knife like that can only maim,” he says, like a caress. He tosses my knife away, and it clatters on the floor. “I always keep my knives sharp.”

“Don't!” Nick cries, his voice breaking. “Or I'll—”

“Hit me with a paperweight, puff boy?” Brian says. “Don't even try it, or I'll kill her now.” He tightens his hold on my neck. “Victims need to be saved. But not the way you think.”

I feel him tuck his gun behind him, then pull something else out. He slides one arm down to my shoulders, and then presses a warm, sharp blade against my throat. “You will watch your boyfriend die, and then your parents. But first I'm going to teach you a lesson.”

I stomp on his foot and try to twist away.

Brian presses the blade harder against my neck. “Are you trying to make me slip up? I wouldn't want you to pass too soon.” He drags the knife along my neck from one ear to the other, pain lighting through me. “Normally I help a girl leave quickly. But you made this personal. You're going to beg me for your release,” Brian says huskily.

“I'll never beg you for anything.” My voice quakes.

“You will.” Brian drags the knife along my neck again, the blade shuddering through my flesh, bright and hot.

I stay very still, my breath shallow.

“Hmm,” Brian says. “You're no fun anymore.” He shoves me away from him.

I stumble, then right myself, but Brian already has Nick in the same hold he had me in, his knife to Nick's throat. I know if I beg him it will only spur him on. But if I pretend indifference, he'll see right through me.

I've got to keep him talking. Talking, not acting. “You're not saving anyone by doing this—you're just creating more pain. Do you really think your mom felt better after your sister died? She went so crazy with grief, she couldn't take care of you. They had to lock her up.”

Brian presses his knife into the hollow of Nick's neck. “Don't you talk about my mother!”

“Why not?” Sweat trickles down my back. Part of me thinks I should shut up, while another part thinks this is my only chance to save Nick. I have to try. “You didn't help your mom, or any of the families whose girls you killed.”

Brian jerks the knife.

Nick winces as blood trickles down his neck. His eyes are scared, but they never leave mine, like he trusts me.

God, I hope I'm doing the right thing.

“I can see I let you linger too long. It will be a pleasure to help you find your freedom, after your friend here.” Brian traces his knife over Nick's neck.

I can't stand to see him hurting Nick.

“The police know who you are!” Nick shouts. His face is shiny with sweat.

Brian snorts. “So? They'll never stop me. I'm doing what they want to do but can't.”

“Like you did with Judy Evans?” I say.

The knife eases away a fraction from Nick's neck.

“And Heather?” I add.

The knife shakes.

“And your sister, Samantha?”

Brian's whole arm shakes.

I try to remember what I learned in self-defense. My mind is blank. But he's already off balance. I've got to keep him that way. “I know what you do. You kidnap girls with birthmarks on their faces. And then you kill them—all because your mother couldn't handle how your sister looked.”

Brian jerks the knife back up. “My mom was a saint! She loved my sister; she loved us both.”

“Maybe. I'll bet she loved your sister, but I'll bet she hated how your sister looked, hated the way people treated her child—”

“It hurt her!”

The stairs creak, and I talk louder, hoping he won't notice.

“So you killed your sister, didn't you, to make things easier on your mother? To gain her attention?”

Brian stiffens, and I know I've hit a sore spot.

“Sarah—what are you doing?” Nick hisses.

I ignore him. “You were jealous of Samantha, weren't you? Jealous of the relationship your mother had with her . . . because when there's something wrong with one of her kids, a mother channels all her love and attention into that one kid, doesn't she? Practically smothers her. And you—the first child—were left all alone—”

“All right, all right, I killed her!” Brian screams, the knife bouncing against Nick's throat. “But she was begging for it; I could see it in her eyes. Sami was so unhappy. People stared at her everywhere we went. And Mom forgot how to smile. She forgot about me. All she thought about was Sami's ugly birthmark. So I helped her; I helped them both.”

I have a bad taste in my mouth, like I might throw up.

Another creak. I wince.
Hurry, Officer!
I wish my back weren't to the doorway, so I'd know when to make my move.

Brian shakes harder, like he's going to vibrate apart. “But Sami's in a better place now. And that's where you're going—”

“You know she's not,” I say. “She's probably watching over you right now, sad at what you're doing.” I don't believe what I'm saying. Don't believe in heaven or hell. But if Brian does, I'll use it.

Brian's shaking so hard, he can't hold the knife steady. His breath is coming in puffs, like a scared little kid.

“No,” Brian says in a low voice. “You don't understand!” He loosens his hold on Nick's throat. “They needed me.
You
need me. I have to make it right—”

A move from the self-defense class I took comes back in a rush. I leap forward, bringing the bottom of my fist down hard on his collarbone, next to his wound.

Brian shouts and staggers. I hit him again, putting all my fear and desperation into my punch. His knife clatters to the floor, his arm hanging uselessly from his shoulder.

Nick jerks out of Brian's grasp. I pull him away with me, sobbing.

There is a deafening bang. I flinch, crying out, but there is no pain, and then I see Brian stagger, see red bloom on his chest, spreading across his shirt, see him fall to his knees, smell blood and oil and gunpowder.

Officer Ridley bursts into my room. He kicks Brian's knife away, slaps handcuffs on him, then finds Brian's gun and rips it out of his waistband, while Brian cries like a child, protesting his innocence.

I take back every bad thought I ever had about Officer Ridley. Every single one.

1:45 A.M.

 

I SINK ONTO MY desk chair, my legs shaking, and turn away from Brian. I don't want to see him, don't want to listen to him, don't want to smell his blood.

A rush of dizziness hits me so fast, I think I'm going to fall headfirst, right off my chair. I put my head between my knees and breathe.

I should be relieved, even happy, but I don't feel anything. Nothing at all.

And then Nick is beside me, pulling me up, and we are holding each other so tightly, it's like we're one person. I press my face against his neck, breathe in his smell, feel his heart pound against my chest. He's alive. We both are.

“You guys okay?” Officer Ridley asks, straightening up and turning to us.

I nod weakly.

“Good thing I was making my rounds,” he says.

Brian lies groaning on the floor. The metallic scent of blood makes me gag.

The officer turns to me. “Your parents are still trussed up. I thought I should make sure you were okay first.”

“Thank you,” I say faintly. I start toward the door, Nick with me, then turn back. “It's all there on my laptop. Just hit stop on the recorder, then play; you should be able to hear the whole thing, and see some of it. Maybe it'll help you with his case.”