She was heavy in her unconsciousness, but he half-dragged, half-carried her, to the bed where he undressed her. Turning her onto her stomach, he looped the pre-cut strings of utility rope he’d brought with him around her wrists and ankles, then tied her spread-eagled to her four-poster bed. Her pillowcases and sheets were red satin, befitting the slut that she was. He pulled a case off a pillow and over her head, tying it with a black ribbon.
He stood back, surveying the scene, making sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything. All seemed in order. She was secured and at his mercy—mercy that he would not grant until the end. He backed up and sat down in the comfortable chair in the corner across from her bed. There was nothing to do but wait. When she was conscious, he would begin.
CHAPTER 32
Brandon woke Jen the following morning to tell her he was leaving for school. She kissed him goodbye, then called the hospital to check on the condition of the hit-and-run victim and the sixteen-year-old girl. Both were still hanging on, their conditions unchanged. She was not expected at the building till noon, so she set the alarm for ten-thirty and drifted back off to sleep.
It seemed only minutes had passed before the alarm went off. Fighting her way out of a deep sleep, Jen wondered how ten-thirty had come so soon. Rolling over, eyes still closed, she punched the button down, but the ungodly noise continued. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and looked at the clock. It was nine-twenty. She was hearing the doorbell, not the alarm clock.
She swung her feet out of bed and reached for her robe. Whoever was at her door was leaning on the bell now, ringing and then ringing again without pausing for even a full second. She heard the person begin pounding on the door as she tied the robe around her, and her concern began to grow.
Will stood at the door. She had never imagined his face could look so pale and strange. She was shocked to see his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He grabbed her, holding her tight against his body, and she could feel him trembling.
“Thank God,” he mumbled into her hair. “Thank God.”
“Will, what’s wrong?” She pulled away with difficulty and looked into his face. “Brandon? Has something happened to Brandon?” She could hear the beginnings of hysteria in her voice and fought to control herself.
“No, baby, no, Brandon’s fine.” Will pulled her to him again and stroked her hair. “He’s fine. Thank God, so are you.”
“Will, what is wrong?” She pulled away again, staring at him in bewilderment, still groggy from sleep. “What is it?”
“It’s Trish.” He swallowed hard. “We just got the word. That maniac got Trish last night. She’s dead, Jen.”
As she stared at Will, his news sinking in, a kaleidoscope of scenes, stark and gruesome, flashed through her mind. She saw them again, Carla and Vicki, saw them from all the angles, in all the details. Only Trish’s face was superimposed on the bodies. She pressed her hands to her eyes to try to blot out the scenes. The room and the world grew cold as she realized that he had been out there last night after all. She began to shake and heard someone whimper, then realized it was herself.
She must have blacked out for a moment because she found herself being laid gently on the couch. Will squeezed onto it beside her, holding her tightly while she sobbed out her grief and fear. After a long time, she quieted, and they lay there, holding each other. She felt warm and safe and remembered her thoughts of the night before.
She stirred first. Sitting up, she rubbed her hands across her now dry eyes.
“Tell me,” she said.
“I don’t know much.” He sat up. “A detective named Jack Grove called it in around five till nine. I was in Lonnie’s office when he took the call. I didn’t stick around to hear any more.”
He stroked her tear-dampened hair back from her face, his eyes playing over her as if he couldn’t get enough of the sight.
“I had to make sure you were all right,” he whispered. “The thought that you might not be…”
He swallowed and didn’t finish the sentence. Pulling her to him, he buried his face in her hair.
“I have to see her.”
“God, Jen, don’t do that to yourself!” Will pulled back to look into her eyes, his own mirroring the horror she was feeling. “Al and Lonnie will be over there by now. There’s no need for you to put yourself through that.”
“I have to see her. I want to see her. I’m still assigned to the cases, aren’t I?”
“I’m sure you are.” Will looked troubled, but he must have seen something in her expression that told him there was no point in arguing. “Okay. If you insist, I’ll take you over there. I’ll give Don a call at the scene, and he can let the others know we’re coming.”
He slid off the couch to a standing position and helped her to her feet. She hesitated for a moment, her hand on his arm.
“It’s just something I have to do. Can you understand that?”
They were standing just inches apart, his troubled blue eyes boring into her green ones, as if he were searching her soul for an explanation.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “I guess I can.”
She took a quick shower, barely feeling the sharp cold spray, and dressed in a light gray pantsuit and white knit top. Lipstick was the only concession she made to makeup, and she didn’t bother drying her hair. It would have to dry on its own today.
They drove to Trish’s house in silence. Neighbors had gathered across the street from the scene, and three news vans were parked two houses down, the crews setting up equipment for their broadcasts. Several marked
