Her palm opened and the knife tumbled to the floor. But before he knew it, she had twisted out of his grasp and shot back up the stairs.
He picked up the knife and started after her, but a muscle spasm seized his back. “Jesus!” he screamed, the pain a thousand times worse than when she’d stabbed him.
He lumbered up the steps one by one, applying pressure to his upper back as best he could with the palm of a hand. An upstairs door slammed and he heard a lock engage.
When he got to the top, he heard movement in her bedroom. He knew he didn’t have a lot of time. The woman’s friend, having heard her screams, had surely called 9-1-1 by now. He’d have to get out of there and fast. But he’d have to take care of her first.
“Come out, Hope!” he tried to yell, but it only came out as a gurgle. “Don’t make this any worse than it has to be,” he said, his voice louder this time.
“Stay away from me, you sicko!” she shouted on the other side.
“Come on out and I won’t hurt you. I only want to talk.”
“My friend already called 9-1-1. Save your sick ass and get the hell out of here!”
Sick ass?
Blood roaring in his ears, he lunged at the door with everything he had, sending it flying open. A white-hot pain shot from his back, deep through his middle. Squeezing his eyes closed, he howled in agony.
His knife drawn, he stepped into the bedroom to find Hope halfway out the window. He flew across the room, and just as she was about to let go of the windowsill, he dropped the knife, grabbed one of her arms, and yanked her inside.
She began screaming at the top of her lungs, so he shoved a hand up against her mouth. Pinning her down with his knees, he managed to shut the window. Then he lay on top of her, needing to catch his breath. Droplets of sweat fell from his forehead into her face, and he could feel her heart hammering beneath him.
Her face crumpled as she pleaded with him. He relaxed his grip on her mouth. “Why? I don’t understand! Why me again?”
He tightened his grip and tried to figure out how much time he had. Her friend had undoubtedly already called the police just like she said. And then there had been her mind-bending screams at the window and the possibility of a neighbor or passerby having heard.
He needed to do something . . . and quick. The pain in his back had lessened, but he was growing weak from the blood loss.
The woman struggled beneath him, but she was getting noticeably weaker, too. He watched, blinking, as she sank her teeth into his palm. But so much adrenaline was circulating in his blood, he couldn’t feel a thing.
He stared at the woman, relishing the chance to finally see her features up close. He took pleasure at seeing her eyes so full of fear. She deserved it after the way she had talked about him.
Bitch.
As he reached for his knife, his back went into another spasm. His body arched without his consent and he screamed. The woman scuttled out from beneath him, jumped to her feet, and started to run.
By the time he got back on his feet and reached the hallway she was already halfway down the staircase. Missing a step, she lost her footing and began tumbling down the remaining stairs. But once she reached the bottom stair, she leapt up and exploded toward the front door and out of the house.
He descended the steps one by one, screaming with each. By the time he reached the front doorway, she was limping in the middle of the street, screaming for help.
He started after her, but froze.
A car was coming around the bend, heading right for her.
Unfuckingbelievable! he thought, his heart hammering so hard, it felt like it was going to explode.
He couldn’t believe she was getting away.
CHAPTER 59
AN HOUR HAD passed since dinner ended.
Allie was in her room, still trying to make sense of the evening. The dinner had been disturbing. The food the woman served, the way she had behaved.
Suddenly her bedroom door opened and Miss Bitty appeared. She looked stricken and was alarmingly pale. “Get your shoes and jacket on now. We’re going out.”
“Where are we going?” Allie asked.
But before she could get all the words out, the woman had disappeared.
A few minutes later, Allie sat in the passenger seat as the old woman flew down dark country roads, the car’s suspension groaning in protest as it hit potholes at full speed.
“Miss Bitty, where are we going?” she asked for the second time, staring at the rain battering the windshield.
Silence.
“Miss Bitty? You’re . . . you’re scaring me.”
The woman kept driving.
Allie tried to hold back her tears. Miss Bitty had become her safe place, her everything, but now she was falling apart right in front of her eyes.
CHAPTER 60
BITTY STEPPED INTO the driving rain with the proper change in her hand. Opening her eyes that morning had been a herculean effort. Saying good-bye to her son had been even harder. And walking to the pay phone for the purpose of exposing him was the hardest by far.
She looked around, cold rain beating down on her head, and double-checked that there weren’t any security cameras. Satisfied, she slipped the change into the metal slot with trembling old hands and punched in the numbers. She waited for the call to go through, knowing that once she made it, there was no going back. It would impact her and her son forever. Most importantly, though, she tried to remind herself, it would help keep innocent women safe.
Finally her instinct for doing right over wrong was overpowering her maternal instinct—even if barely.
If only someone else would’ve turned him in. It would’ve been much easier on her old heart. Now she would have to forever live with the guilt of the women’s deaths and killing her own son, because she knew he would never let them take him alive.
He was no good indoors for more than a couple of hours at a time and, depending on how he was doing emotionally, sometimes that was even too rough for him. He would get antsy, pacing around. Opening windows.