Chapter 69
“It won’t hurt, you know.”
Heather tried not to look at the man who no longer bore any resemblance at all to her father.
He’d pulled the motor home off the road into a picnic area, a spot so secluded that even if a car passed on the road a few yards away, she knew the van probably wouldn’t even be noticed. And if someone did see it, why would they come to see if something was wrong? People parked motor homes everywhere, and nobody ever thought about what might be happening inside them.
The man had pulled all the curtains closed and turned on the generator.
Heather hadn’t dared even to move out of the passenger seat.
Part of it was the look in the man’s eye. The warmth she’d always seen in her father’s eyes, the gentle love she’d always felt when her father looked at her, was gone. The eyes that now stared cruelly from her father’s face had a dead look to them, glazed over as if hiding the fact that there was no soul behind them, no human spirit that might show her any kindness. Was it that look of death that had made her slowly come to believe he hadn’t lied to her, that he truly was Richard Kraven?
She knew what Kraven had done, knew how many bodies had been found in the area to which this man who was not her father had brought her tonight. She’d read the descriptions of the corpses they’d found, their breasts torn open, their hearts ripped out. It was what he’d meant when he said he wanted to touch her heart, and as the meaning of the words sank in, her terror had inexorably paralyzed her.
She couldn’t run, couldn’t bring herself even to try to bolt from the motor home. He would catch her before she even reached the door. And even if she made it out into the raging storm, what would she do? Where would she go?
He was getting something out of one of the cupboards now. A plastic bottle, filled with a liquid. He’d taken a rag out of a drawer, and was soaking it now with the liquid from the bottle.
She could smell it, smell the fumes that were filling the confines of the motor home.
He was moving toward her, holding the rag in his hand, his eyes fixing on her the way those of a rattlesnake fix on its prey in the moments before it strikes. She felt hypnotized by his gaze, and when he reached out to press the rag over her nose and mouth, her fear robbed her even of the power to turn away.
Taking a deep breath, Heather closed her eyes and prayed that Richard Kraven hadn’t lied to her, that at least she would feel nothing as he reached inside her body to touch her heart.
Touch her, and kill her.