FORTY-FOUR
The moment Ben caught sight of the weather vane jutting out from the top of the barn, he pulled over to the side of the gravel road and shut off the engine. Without hesitating, he climbed out and stayed low as he crept along one edge of the road until he could see the front entrance to the farmhouse.
Parked in front of the house was Jessie’s car.
His heart sank. Who the hell was Forrest Bloom, and what was Jessie doing in there? The fact that she had told Olivia she would be home soon and now wasn’t answering her phone didn’t bode well.
He pulled out his cell and called the police, gave them the address, telling them that an armed and dangerous man was inside, holed up with a gun and plenty of ammunition. People were hurt and they needed an ambulance. Disconnecting the call, he then slid his phone into his back pocket and continued onward. If he ended up being wrong, then so be it. He’d learned from experience that he’d rather be wrong than sorry.
He made his way to the front entry, hoping he hadn’t been seen through a window. Slowly he turned the doorknob. Locked.
Standing still, he listened. Heard nothing. No sounds of appliances running, no radio or voices emitting from a television set. He backtracked down the porch stairs and made his way around the side of the house. He didn’t like guns and therefore didn’t carry one, but for the first time in his life he wished he’d put more thought into that decision.
As soon as he rounded the corner, he heard the grunts and squeals of hungry pigs. A dog barked in the far distance. The skinny dirt path took him the long way around the house. His senses were on full alert as he passed by a coffinlike box. Thinking he heard something, he took two steps back, leaned low, and rapped his knuckles against the plywood.
“Hello?” came a small voice.
His pulse raced. What the hell was going on?
His gaze swept over his surroundings before he sank to his knees. “Hang tight,” he said. “I’m going to get you out of there.” He felt around the lid until he found a spot where new wood met with old. He jammed his fingers into the tight space and pulled, gently at first.
“Help me.” The voice sounded weak and raspy, causing a rush of adrenaline to sweep over him and give him extra strength. Blood rushed upward through his body to his neck and face as he grunted and pulled and yanked the lid free. The metal lock was still latched, but the rotted wood beneath failed to hold.
The young girl inside the box was naked and so fragile-looking it broke his heart to see her lying there. She was somebody’s daughter, and he thought of Abigail. Dark shadows circled her eyes. As gently as possible, he scooped her bony frame from her makeshift grave and carried her in his arms as he ran back around the house and down the driveway to his car. He placed her inside, grabbed his water bottle from the front, and gave it to her, then rummaged through a pile of Goodwill donations Melony had asked him to drop off weeks ago. He found an extralarge T-shirt and slid it over her head. She didn’t blink or move or say a word.
He told her that the police would be there soon and to hang on just a little while longer.
Her body shook, but she said nothing.
He didn’t want to leave her, but the thought of Jessie inside that house with a lunatic was too much to bear. He couldn’t risk waiting for backup. “There are other people in there I have to help, okay?”
No response. The blank look in her eyes made him clench his jaw. He shut the side door and then ran around to the back to grab the tire iron.
Tears wet his face as he ran back to the house and up the stairs to the porch. Stopping at the front door, he launched a booted foot close to the door frame. Splintered wood rained down around him as he kicked his way through.
Jessie struggled to loosen the ropes around her wrist when she heard the thump thump thump of Forrest Bloom’s feet as he came down the stairs to the basement.
The monster was back.
Time was running out.
She yanked her arm as hard as she could, surprised when one of her hands slipped free of the ropes. Her breathing hitched. She needed to play it cool, didn’t want him to know what she’d done.
All was quiet as he came forward.
Chills crawled up her spine as she realized he only had eyes for Natalie. He was furious with Natalie for taunting him. It wasn’t until he passed by that she saw what he held behind his back—a butcher knife, the steel blade glittering in the semidark room.
“He has a knife,” Jessie warned.
But that only stirred Natalie to insult him further. “What’s the matter, Forrest? Don’t tell me that after all this time we’ve spent together, I finally managed to piss you off. The truth sucks—doesn’t it?”
“You’re just like your slut mother,” he said with a sneer. “The bitch knew my father was abusing me, and it turned her on—didn’t it? I watched her shake his hand, her eyes heated with desire as she looked at him. He could have taken her right then and there atop the kitchen table if he’d wanted to. Your mother was panting for it. But she was a used-up hag by then—wasn’t she? Your own father didn’t want her, and neither did mine.” He snorted.
“The difference between me and you,” Natalie said, her voice calm, “is that I know the truth about myself and my mother. My truth can’t be distorted by the words of a demented man who still cowers beneath his father’s larger-than-life shadow. You’re weak, Forrest. You couldn’t help yourself, let alone your poor, dear mother, and now everyone must pay.”
At the same moment he raised his hand, Jessie lunged for him, bringing the chair still fastened to her other wrist with her. She used her free hand to grab a fistful of his hair and then pulled back hard.
“Rip his head off!” Zee shouted, rooting her onward.
The knife dropped to the floor.
Enraged, he whipped around, picked Jessie up along with the chair, and tossed her to the side. Her head smacked against the wall. Pain sliced through her skull, and her other hand came loose as she hit the ground.
She crawled toward the knife, but he snatched it from the ground and turned back to Natalie, who remained pressed against the metal bars.
“Run!” Jessie shouted to Natalie.
But Natalie didn’t move a muscle, not even when he brought the blade down hard and swift, through the bars and straight into her chest.
“No!” Zee jumped up and down, her hands clasped around the metal bars as she shook them, shouting obscenities.
Natalie’s fingers held tightly to the knife’s handle as she stumbled backward, a smile on her face.
There was nothing Jessie could do for her now, and she looked away. Chaos surrounded her. Upset about Natalie, Zee was making a racket. An eerie howling came from the enclosed cell, and a loud crash sounded upstairs. She wondered if Forrest had heard the noise as he walked past her. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and picked up the bucket he’d set there when he first came down.
What was he up to?
“I usually interview the people I bring down here to my private study,” he told Jessie, speaking loudly enough to be heard over Zee’s anguished cries.
Jessie crawled toward the chair, hoping to use it as a weapon.
“But I learned enough about you when I sliced open your pretty face,” he said as he headed her way.
The dizzying pain in Jessie’s head slowed her.
“Leave us alone!” Zee cried.
Taking slow, casual steps toward Jessie, Forrest said, “I wish I could replay the look on your face when you saw the blood on your hands. A private eye who’s afraid of blood. Who would have guessed?”
“I hate you! I hate you!” Zee chanted.