Chapter 39

She awoke with a start and lay still, listening. Something—a noise, a change in the air—had awakened her. A distant thud of a door slamming echoed from behind the locked metal door of her cell.

He was back!

Her heart thudded so hard she feared it would burst out of her chest.

A metallic screech rent the air as the bolt was drawn back.

She flinched, and inhaled a breath, digging deep for strength, preparing. This was it. Her last chance. D-Day.

Another scrape of metal, and the door swung open. “Well, hey there, hi there, ho there, Candy Girl.” Abraham grinned. “Did you miss me?”

“What do you want?” She refused to play his games. Even if he beat her, she wouldn’t bow down before him. Not anymore. She was stronger than that. She gulped. At least she hoped she was.

“You haven’t figured that out yet?” He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his cargo pants and smirked. “And I thought you were smart.”

She gripped her hands so tight her fingernails dug into her skin.

“This —” He pointed at first her and then himself. “—you, me, we’re a circle.” He chuckled. “You can call it the circle of life, if you like. Father started the circle when he recruited those girls all those years ago, but the police raided the farm where he was keeping them and ruined his plans.” He scowled, and the furrow between his dark brows deepened. “Father didn’t like loose ends. I don’t much either.”

Her breath whooshed out at the menace shadowing his dark eyes. This was the end, the moment he killed her. Unless she stopped him.

Keep him talking. Distract him. Do something. Anything.

“You must be proud of your father.” She nearly gagged at her words, but she needed to convince him she was going along with his insane plans. “Isaiah and his exploits were all over the news. He’s famous. The media still runs specials on the anniversary of the Forgotten Five’s rescue.”

He puffed his chest out with obvious pride. “His name really wasn’t Isaiah. His real name was Martin Strawski. The name Isaiah was given to him by the Prophet one night in a dream.” His eyes gleamed. “Before Father passed, he made me promise I’d finish his life’s work. Close the circle, like I told you. Once I’ve done that, everyone will know my name too. I’ll be famous. I bet they even make one of those true-crime documentaries about me.”

She shuddered at the light of insanity glowing in his dark eyes. His father had kidnapped young girls and kept them in horrendous circumstances, abused and beat them. Now, in his quest to fulfill his father’s insane plans, Abraham had followed the same evil path. “How many others have there been?” She had to know every vile act he’d committed.

“A few.” His gloating smirk transformed to a glower. “You and that cop boyfriend of yours ruined everything. I had it all planned. I chose the girls I wanted, and I organized everything. I found the perfect disposal places in case—” He smiled, revealing sharp canines. “—you know, in case the girls didn’t follow the rules.”

“It was you!” A rush of blinding shock swept over her, threatening to drag her down into oblivion. “You did it. You killed that girl and left her body in the cave in Creighton Springs State Park.” Why was she so shocked? He was crazy. Life meant nothing to him in his insane quest to complete some sort of senseless circle of life his father had started. She squeezed her eyes closed. She couldn’t look at him a second longer, not without throwing up.

His rank body odor thickened the air, and she opened her eyes. He loomed over her, so close the scuffed toes of his boots brushed her thigh. “You should be honored, Candy Girl. You’re one of the chosen.”

She spotted the festering stab wound on his arm, and a small glimmer of hope flared. He wasn’t invincible. She’d hurt him once; she could do it again. Without giving herself time to realize the stupidity of what she was about to do, she fisted her hand and punched as hard as she could upwards into his crotch.

He grunted and hunched over, cupping his hands between his legs, and fell to his knees, landing with a thud on the hard floor.

She swung her fists, punching his kidneys, his stomach, his face, wherever she could reach, as hard as she could, again and again.

He collapsed onto the floor.

In a blur of motion, she scissored his body between her legs and squeezed. Her ribs screamed, but she fought through the blinding pain and tightened her hold. All those years of running had hardened her thigh muscles, and she pressed.

He fought back, and in seconds was free, springing to his feet, snarling. “You bitch.”

She scrambled to her feet and slammed her fist into his rock-hard stomach, his chest, his back…landed another blow between his legs, one to his nose. Blood spurted. Another punch glanced off his bearded chin. Her hands throbbed, her chest heaved, but she fought on, knowing that if she stopped, he’d kill her. He landed a blow to the side of her head, and she screamed at the flash of pain. Tears burned her eyes.

He shoved her hard, and she tripped over the chain and fell with a hard thud that knocked the wind out of her. Before she caught her breath, he landed on top of her, suffocating her with the weight of his big body. Pain shot through her, and spots filled her vision. She blinked away the darkness and fought on, twisting, kicking, spitting…

He laughed, a deep-throated belly laugh, so unexpected she stopped struggling. The expression on his face staggered her. He was toying with her. He wanted her to fight him. The rage drained out of her, and she sagged beneath him.

He’d won. She couldn’t win this fight, not against the man’s insanity. It was over. All over.

His hot, stale breath blasted her. “Well, that was fun.” He grinned. “Stupid, but fun.” His eyes turned cold. “You have to be punished for your disobedience. You know that, don’t you?”

She shuddered, struggling to mask her fear, refusing to give him the pleasure. Gathering saliva in her mouth, she spat. The gob of spittle landed on his bushy beard. “You bastard!”

He reeled back and wiped his beard with the back of his hand. His eyes narrowed, and if looks could kill, she’d be dead. “You’re gonna regret that, Candy Girl. Oh, yes you are.”

She braced for his attack, but then froze. Somehow during their struggle, the chain attached to her ankle had wrapped around his legs. A plan formed in her panicked brain, a crazy plan, one with no chance of success, but a plan all the same. The timing had to be perfect. Heart pounding, she waited for him to move, to shift his weight.

He planted his hands on the floor on either side of her head and pushed to his knees.

She tensed. Any second now.

Just as he realized the chain was wrapped around his ankles, she jerked her legs hard and yanked him over.

He fell, landing with a thud on the hard cement floor. His head struck the ground with a hollow thunk. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened. Fury raged in his eyes. He jammed his hand on her neck, cutting off her air.

Her lungs, starved of oxygen, burned. Dark spots blurred her vision. She flailed, desperate, her fingers prying at his cruel grip. Darkness loomed. She needed air. Now! Her hand brushed something hard and metal. In the dim recess of her mind, she knew it was the metal chair. She grabbed it by a leg and dragged it closer.

He was so intent on killing her, he seemed oblivious to her efforts.

She stopped trying to pry his fingers from her throat and, with the last of her strength, lifted the chair with both hands and slammed the heavy metal on his head with a sickening clunk.

He grunted, released a gust of fetid air, groaned, and his eyes fluttered closed.

The pressure on her throat eased, his hand fell away, and he collapsed, sprawling atop her like a suffocating blanket.

Gasping, sucking air into her lungs, she shoved against his unresisting bulk. Inch by inch, she pushed off his heavy body. Panting, exhausted, her injured ribs screaming, she climbed to her feet, the desperate need to escape driving her.

His eyes were closed, but his chest was moving up and down. He wouldn’t stay unconscious for long.

She crouched over him and fished in the front pockets of his pants, searching for keys. She touched cold metal. Yes! Dragging out the key ring, she inserted a key into the lock on the metal band encasing her ankle and twisted. The lock didn’t open. She tried another key. That one didn’t work either.

His legs twitched, and he groaned.

Her hands shook as she slid another key into the lock. With a quiet click, the manacle sprang open. Scrambling to her feet, she stumbled to the door and wrenched open the heavy door.

He groaned again, a low feral growl, and crawled to his knees, staggering to his feet. Blood dripped from his nose into his beard. “You goddamned bitch! You’ll pay for this. Mark my words. You’ll pay.”

She whimpered and slipped through the opening and slammed the door behind her.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the other side of the closed door.

No time to slide the bolt in place. Heart in her throat, she fled up a short set of wooden stairs and down a narrow, dark hall and burst into a small room. Light seeped through the warped slats of a single boarded-up window and filtered across the dirty, planked floor. A bedroll, with a sleeping bag on top, lay against one wall. The crackle of flames came from a rusted iron wood stove set in the center of the room.

A loud wrenching screech echoed as the metal door opened.

He was coming!

She raced across the room, stumbling over the uneven floorboards, toward a wooden door. Grasping the handle, she flung the door open, and plunged through the opening. A blast of cold air struck first, and then a blinding swirl of snowflakes blowing in the frigid air.

She was outside! She’d done it. She’d escaped. But now what?

“You can run, but you can’t hide from me, Candy Girl. Your sister tried to escape too, but she learned her lesson. She didn’t get very far. No siree. Father saw to that.”

Heart racing, a scream building in her chest, she ran into the blizzard.