The Search (11 page)

     “Tell me honestly, Big Sailor. Do you think I’d ever let Joel into my pants?”

     “No.”

     “Then you have nothing to worry about. And as for the other women in the compound, some of them are single. And Joel is a good looking and charming guy. They just might enjoy Joel’s advances. And maybe a new romance would blossom.

     “I mean, Glenna fell in love with Marty. Why couldn’t it happen again?”

     “Maybe I just don’t want to have to watch him like a hawk.”

     “Oh, stop it. Either you trust me or you don’t. And if you do, which you should because you know damn well I’d never cheat on you… then you don’t have to watch him at all. You can just rely on me to keep him in check.”

     “We still can’t make that decision. We are the ones who put the group’s government into place, and we can’t just change it whenever the mood suits us.”

     “Honey, you know as well as I do that everyone in the compound has a heart bigger than the state of Texas. They took Glenna in because she and her kids had nowhere else to go. They did the same with Frank and Eva.

     “And they’ll do the same with Joel. Especially when they hear what a hero he was.

     “The man saved my life. I wouldn’t be here talking to you right now if he hadn’t put his own life in peril to save mine. Little Markie would be motherless and you’d be a widower. The least I can do is give him a place to go. Give him a new family. Surround him with people who will care for him and watch out for him.”

     “Honey, I told you I liked him too. I didn’t say I didn’t agree with you. I just pointed out that it’s not our decision to make.

     “I’ll tell you what… let me go back to the compound and discuss the matter with the group. I can’t imagine anyone objecting after they hear what he did for you. So I expect it to be a unanimous vote. But we have to go through the motions, even when we know it’s just a formality.”

     “Thank you, honey. I love you so much.”

     “Hey, don’t thank me yet. There’s something you have to do for me.”

     “What?”

     “I want you to give our friend Mr. Romeo a message. I want you to tell him that if he comes to live with us in the compound, I will indeed watch him like a hawk. And if he starts chasing you too vigorously, I will hide his legs.”

Chapter 22

     Sarah regained consciousness on her third night of captivity.

     She was lying on an upstairs four poster bed, completely naked. Her legs were free, as was her right hand.

     Her left hand, though, was bound around the wrist by a handcuff, which was secured to the bed post.

     She was puzzled. The room was darkened, but the light from the full moon outside allowed her to see around her. Nothing looked familiar to her at all.

     The bound left arm was causing her pain. She’d laid for many hours in the same position. She rolled to her left to take some of the stress off the arm, and found that by being closer to the bed post she could bend her elbow. That seemed to help.

     She noticed as she turned that the bed was covered in plastic sheeting. It was cold and damp beneath her body and she shivered. She wondered for a moment why the smell of urine permeated the room. But her mind wasn’t able to connect the dots.

     On the night table were seven bottles of water. Five of them appeared to be empty. At least they looked that way in the moonlight. Only two of the bottles had caps.

     Had someone been giving her sips of water while she slept? She couldn’t remember.

     She thought about calling out, but was too weak.

     So instead she laid there and studied the bottles of water.

     She was incredibly thirsty. And her mind was a fog. She didn’t know where she was.

     Or who she was.

     Her new position on the bed eased the pain in her arm.

     The pain was what woke her up. Now that it wasn’t as strong, she was able to relax.

     She closed her eyes again. She was so very tired.

     As Nathan Martel walked up the stairs to check on her, she drifted back to sleep.

     Martel opened the door and turned on the light, startling her awake again.

     For the first time, he was able to see her pretty brown eyes.

     “Well, lookie there. Look who woke up.”

     He smiled. But it wasn’t a smile of benevolence. It was a smile of satisfaction. He hadn’t killed his prey after all. She’d be of some use to him.

     She was damaged, but not destroyed.

     Sarah wasn’t angry.

     She didn’t know that this was the man who’d harmed her.

     She hadn’t a clue that he was the one who’d stripped her naked and taken her away from her home against her will. Away from those who loved her. Who were desperately searching for her.

     She didn’t know any of that.

     The last thing she remembered was picking flowers in the forest.

     Flowers for… who, or what, she didn’t know.

     “Hello,” she called out to the big man in front of her. “Can you help me? I can’t move my arm. Someone tied it to the bed.”

     Instead of complying, Martel asked his own question.

     “What’s your name?”

     “I… I don’t know. Who are you? Are you my husband?”

     He laughed, thinking she was kidding.

     Then he saw something in her face. Something that told him she was serious. And there was something else too. Something she didn’t do. She didn’t scream as he expected her to. She didn’t appear to be afraid or angry about being handcuffed to a bed completely naked.

     She just seemed confused and puzzled.

     “Are you serious? You don’t remember your own name?”

     She put her free hand on the bridge of her nose and pinched it slightly, as though that would miraculously bring her memory back.

     “No… wait a minute. I’m sure it will come to me. How did I get here? Why am I handcuffed? Was I bad?”

Chapter 23

     Nathan Martel was a master manipulator. That was how he’d gotten his victims to trust him enough to let their guards down.

     Prostitutes were by nature a suspicious lot. They had to be, to keep from getting beaten up or robbed, or both. But for each of his murder victims, Martel had won their trust. He played an innocent, who’d never been with a woman before. Who asked an endless series of questions about how things worked, and came off as a rather nerdy nice guy.

     It had been a game to him. Some men fished or played sports. Other men hunted or played cards.

     When Martel went fishing, he did it in seedy hotel rooms. When he went hunting, it was for human prey.

     Most of the hookers saw through his ruse and walked out or told him to get screwed. And then they walked out, as he called out behind them, “That’s kind of why I’m here.”

     Then he’d laugh uproariously, as though he was incredibly clever. He’d chalk off the loss as just one who’d gotten away and go back to playing his game. There were plenty of other hookers, he’d reason. He’d polish his act, modify his behavior and then try again.

     Every once in a while… seventeen times over three years and seven states… he’d get a fish on the line and reel her all the way in.

     The prostitutes he murdered were usually tired and not on their own best game. Or it was late for her to be out. Three or four in the morning. Things were slow that night, and she had to hustle even harder to satisfy her pimp’s lust for money.

     Those were the factors which, when added together, caused the hookers to get sloppy.

     Sloppy enough to take their eyes off of their john.

     Not for a long time. Just long enough for him to sneak behind them and wrap his fingers around their necks.

     Martel had huge hands. Hookers commented on them all the time.

     For seventeen of them, those huge hands proved to be their undoing. For they were not only huge, they were powerful as well.

     Powerful enough to squeeze the life from their bodies, leaving them as little more than rag dolls, piled on the floor at Martel’s feet.

     Yes, Nathan Martel had been supremely successful in getting suspicious women to trust him. It was his only hobby, and an interest which pleased him immensely.

     And it was for that reason that he didn’t just beat the hell out of the young woman on the Huckabees’ bed before him.

     It was the reason he decided to have some fun with her.

     To see whether, despite being rusty for so many years, he still had game.

     To see if he still had it in him to make this woman believe he could be trusted.

     “Honey,” he began. “You don’t remember me? Your darling husband of seven years? You poor sweet thing. You must have hit your head really hard when you fell.”

     “I… fell?”

     “Yes, sweetheart. You fell down the stairs. You hit your head on the last step. It bled fiercely. It took me forever to get the bleeding stopped and to clean up the mess. You’ve been sleeping for four days now. You don’t remember any of that?”

     Tears formed in Sarah’s eyes and she said in a little girl voice, “No… I don’t. What… what is my name?”

     He went to her, as he knew a very concerned husband would. He sat on the edge of the bed and tenderly held her hand.

     “Oh my God, Becky. You really don’t remember?”

     “No. I’m sorry. I don’t. Is that my name? Becky?”

     She repeated the name slowly, as though savoring it.

     “Yes, honey. You’re Becky Martel. I’m Nathan. I’m your husband.”

     Something flashed in her eyes, but only for a moment.

     He wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. But he didn’t like it.

     “We’re married?”

     “Yes, my love. And very happily too.”

     “But… why can’t I remember?”

     “The blow to your head must have given you amnesia. But don’t worry, my love. I’m sure it’s only temporary. I’m sure that by tomorrow you’ll remember every little detail about our lives together.”

     She looked again at the handcuff on her wrist.

     “My arm hurts terribly. Why am I chained to the bed? And why am I naked?”

     “I’ve got you restrained for the safety of both us, my love. You see, you’ve been hallucinating ever since you fell down the stairs. The doctor from town, he came to see you. He said the hallucinations were only temporary, but that I must take measures to keep you from attacking me again.”

     “I… attacked you? But why? How?”

     “Oh, yes indeed. You came after me with a butcher knife. You almost had me, too, but I ducked out of the way just in the nick of time. The doctor told me to keep you restrained until the hallucinations have passed.

     “But my arm… it hurts terribly.”

     “I’ll tell you what, my love. How about if I switch arms? Give that one a break for a while and switch the handcuff to the other wrist. Would that help?”

     “Yes. Yes it would.”

     “Nathan?”

     “Yes, honey?”

     “The bed. It’s wet and cold. And it smells like pee. Have I been wetting myself?”

     “I’m afraid so, baby. Let me switch the handcuff, and I’ll go get a towel and soak it up, okay?”

     “Okay. Thank you.”

     He managed a sympathetic smile, when he really felt like laughing out loud and mocking her.

     “You’re welcome.”

     He removed the handcuff from the bedpost first, and then from her left hand. He never took his eyes off her, in the event she was playing him and tried to bolt.

     But she remained passive and offered no resistance.

     He placed the cuff on her right wrist, perhaps a bit tighter than it had to be, and placed the other end around the bedpost on her right side.

     “I’ll go get the towel. I’ll be right back.”