The Widening Gyre Page 23

  But could he chance it? Peyton would be left alone with some psychopath kidnapper.

  He couldn’t call them.

  And he couldn’t call Detective Taggart, either. He was free and clear, but he didn’t want to deal with the police again anytime soon.

  Zach kicked the gravel, sending a few rocks flying into the shadows. There was nothing he could do except wait for the man to call again.

  And when he did, exactly two minutes after the first call, Zach hopped in his car and headed east, following the directions the bastard had given him.

  Zach’s phone, crushed by a rock as he’d been instructed, lay in pieces at the side of the road.

  He was now truly alone.

  But if what he’d seen in his dream at the house was true, Zach knew there was at least one other person making the journey with him. A man who was once named Mitch Bannock.

  47

  She was aware of sounds.

  They were distant, but familiar. Tires rolling across gravel. She could sense motion, vibration. She was in a car.

  She felt pain, a dull throbbing in her head, and could almost see the blood vessels expanding and contracting as the blood pulsed, each beat of her heart sending a lightning bolt of pain through her skull.

  She could feel her feet, tingly and numb, hard to move. Her hands, numb as well, were stuck behind her, and her wrists hurt. She was on her side, and could feel rough carpet against her cheek.

  It was dark. She felt like her eyes were open, but she saw only blackness.

  Slowly, awareness returned. The fuzziness began to fade, and in its place came waves of fear, memories of what had happened. They slowly crashed ashore, bringing with them a flotsam of broken, disjointed visions of horror, coalescing together into a sickening realization of where she was.

  Justine remembered.

  There was a man in her house. She’d turned on the kitchen lights, and there he was, moving at her with a gun in his hand.

  And he’d hit her with it.

  She was tied up, bound and gagged, and was in the back of a vehicle. She’d been kidnapped. No, it couldn’t be; this only happened to other people. No one had any reason to take her like this. She and Rick didn’t have any enemies, and they really didn’t have anything anyone would want.

  Unless he only wanted her.

  How many times had she watched the crime shows about women getting abducted, then raped and killed? Watching it on TV was scary enough, but it was a very different feeling when you realize it’s happening to you.

  She was alive, though, and for that she was thankful. He didn’t kill her right away, and that gave her a chance to fight back.

  But what about Peyton?

  There was no way Peyton would’ve stayed upstairs if she’d heard any commotion downstairs. Peyton had to have heard something.

  Justine grew sick, thinking about her niece. What had this psycho done to her?

  Justine was able to look around and see that she was, in fact, in the back of a vehicle, a SUV, as far as she could tell. She was in the cargo compartment behind the backseats. Peyton wasn’t there with her.

  Did he rape her? Leave her there at the house? Was she hurt, or worse, was she dead?

  Justine knew her first priority was to stay alive. She had to get away from this man, and only then could she worry about Peyton. She had to bide her time, wait for an opening, and take it.

  Her head pounded furiously, and she fought the urge to moan. It was difficult to stay awake, and to think clearly. She did remember one thing, though, right after the man had attacked her and as she lay on the kitchen floor. If she could free her hands before he stopped the SUV, she might be able to call the police.

  She’d had her phone in her hand when the man hit her, and luckily, she hadn’t let go. In a brief moment of lucidity before she passed out, she’d slipped it into her front pocket.

  Hopefully, it was still there.

  Justine passed in and out of consciousness as the gravel crunched beneath the SUV’s tires, replaced by the steady whine of a paved road. He was taking her away from Twin Creek, but to where? Her injuries were serious, but not life threatening. She would sleep until they got to their destination.

  Directly in front of her, bound and gagged in the backseat of the Jeep, was Peyton. And she was waking up.

  48

  It had been decades since Vic had been on this street—and it had been daytime then—but now that he looked around, it seemed like only days. The memories were still fresh.

  He saw the bank. The Twin Creek Savings and Loan, where his brother had died.

  He remembered the faces of the people he’d killed, every single one of their faces, men and women, young and old. But he remembered one face more distinctly than the rest. He’d watched the man die, lying next to a woman and her child. He’d watched the light of life dim from his eyes after he put a bullet into his head—an incredible sight!

  “I know you.”

  Her voice startled him, and he swerved off the road momentarily. He glanced into the rearview mirror after he’d brought the Jeep back ono the pavement.

  The girl—Peyton—was sitting upright. The tape had slipped from her mouth, and she was staring right at him in the mirror. Even in the darkness, he could see her eyes—they shone with a peculiar phosphorescence in the darkness, like the eyes of a nocturnal hunter. Piercing. Fierce.

  Vic quickly pulled the Jeep to the side of the road and stopped.

  “What did you say?”

  “I know you,” Peyton said. “I know who you are, and what you did here.”

  Her voice was steady, controlled, not at all what he expected from a teenage girl. Sure, she’d fought him hard back at the house, and had almost ruined his entire plan, but she was still a kid. It was almost as if a different person were talking.

  “You don’t know shit,” Vic said. “Shut your hole.” He reached for the door handle.

  “And then what? Are you going to kill me?”

  “I said shut up.”

  “I know what you’re planning to do. You’re going to kill me.”

  Her next words left Vic speechless.

  “Just like you killed me before. In the bank.”

  Vic stared at her, his hand resting on the door handle. Shaking.

  “That’s right,” she continued, “in the bank. The bank you just passed. You remember it, don’t you? Your robbery didn’t quite go as planned. Your partner died, didn’t he? Your brother? That’s right, your brother took a bullet, and you got away.”

  Vic grabbed his pistol from the passenger seat, turned, and pointed it at her. “Stop talking or I’ll put a bullet in your head.” He couldn’t believe what the girl was saying—she couldn’t know what’d happened at the bank.

  “Go ahead,” Peyton said, taunting him. “Kill me now. Do it. Kill me before you get to the farm.”

  The farm. There was absolutely no way the girl could know about the farm. No way in hell.

  Vic lowered the gun. He was scared, and his mind was racing.

  “That’s right,” Peyton said. “You can’t kill me yet, can you. You can’t kill me because you’re a pathetic puppet following your master’s instructions, just like the worthless dog you are.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Whether or not I live, you’re still a dead man,” Peyton continued. “You’ve sold your soul—you realize that, right? If you think he’s going to save you, you’re wrong. Dead wrong.”

  Vic opened the door, and the dome light illuminated the girl’s face. She was smiling at him, the strip of duct tape hanging from her cheek. He couldn’t look away from her.

  “He’s a liar,” Peyton continued. “Once I’m dead, he’ll have no use for you. Think about it and you’ll know I’m right.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” Vic replied. He was surprised at how scared he sounded.

  “I know you killed a lot of people in that bank. You didn’t know any of them, but I did. There was a child, a boy
about eight years old. You remember, he was wearing a red baseball cap. Your brother killed him with a shotgun. Did you know his birthday was just a few days away?”

  “Stop it. Shut up.”

  “By the time you heard the shooting from the back, the boy was already dead. But it wasn’t over yet, because you kept shooting. You shot a woman, too. A pregnant woman. She died, and so did her unborn baby. It was going to be a girl, in case you’re interested. You killed a tiny, baby girl still warm and safe in her mother’s womb.”

  Vic did remember the boy, and the pregnant woman. How did this kid know all of this?

  “And then you killed the woman’s husband, who’d just watched you kill his wife, son, and unborn daughter. He was looking right into your eyes when you pulled the trigger. Remember him?”

  It was as if the girl had been in the bank all those years ago, watching the whole thing. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t. “You can’t know that, you can’t!” Vic screamed.

  “But I do,” Peyton said. “And I know this as well.” Her voice was steady and strong as she continued. “You’re going to die. And after you’re dead, you’ll burn in Hell. Forever.”

  That was it. He couldn’t take any more. Vic opened the door all the way and jumped out of the Jeep. He wrenched open the back door, then took a quick step back.

  Peyton wasn’t sitting up anymore. She was lying on the backseat, silent, as if she’d never moved. And the tape was still firmly stretched across her mouth.

  Vic was shaking now, and breathing heavily. Had he imagined the whole thing? He quickly opened the back hatch and made sure the other woman—Justine—was still knocked out. He wasn’t sure why he’d decided to take the older woman, too, but figured having two of them might be useful if the shit hit the fan. She was still asleep, too.

  His mind was playing tricks on him, that’s all. It had to be.

  Vic got back into the front seat and slammed the door shut, returning the interior of the Jeep to darkness. He glanced at the rearview mirror again, and was glad that he didn’t see the girl staring back at him.

  He held his phone with shaking hands, checking the distance to the farm. The turnoff was only a mile ahead.

  Once he got there, he’d wait for the boy to arrive, which should be in only an hour or so. Then he would kill Zach and Peyton, as his Master desired, and probably the other woman, too. His job would be over.

  A minute later, he spotted the old, rusted mailbox on the side of the street he’d been told to look for. FULLER was on the side, in crooked, faded metallic stick-on letters. This was the place.

  Vic pulled off the main road and crept up an old gravel driveway toward a long-abandoned farm. He could see the barn on a hill, a large shadow looming against a starry background.

  He was here.

  And now, he would wait. It shouldn’t be long.

  49

  They hadn’t found Zach yet, and Taggart was frustrated.

  Taggart had called Jack and convinced him to start pinging Zach’s phone—which the State Patrol had just found, smashed at the side of the road by a gas station right outside of Twin Creek.

  He’d called Peyton to let her know Zach was on his way there, but got no answer. Nothing but voicemail. He should’ve gotten the aunt’s number, too, but he’d never asked Peyton for it.

  Maybe they’d hit the road early, and were heading for Omaha right now. That would be the best-case scenario, but . . .

  He had absolutely no reason why he felt Peyton and her aunt were still in Twin Creek, but he did. He called Peyton’s number again.

  Voicemail.

  He quickly called his partner, who answered on the third ring.

  “Peyton isn’t answering her phone,” Taggart said.

  “Think they left already?”

  “Maybe, but why wouldn’t she be answering?”

  “Because you told her to stay put, and she didn’t?”

  “I don’t think so, Jack.”

  There was a pause on the line, then Mauger continued. “I’ll contact the sheriff and have a unit head over to their house, see if everything’s okay.”

  “Right. I’m heading there, too. Call me when you find out anything.”

  Taggart knew something was terribly wrong when he pulled up to the Harmons’ address. There were flashing lights, and more than one sheriff’s car. There’d been a break-in, and both Peyton and her aunt were missing. The aunt’s car was still in the driveway, and there’d been a struggle. Spent bullet casings. Blood on the floor.

  Taggart cursed himself for not getting here quicker, as he might have been able to stop whatever had happened.

  He didn’t want to think that Zach Regan could have done this.

  But maybe he had.

  Taggart stood in the front yard—the old Bannock house, he reminded himself—completely at a loss for what to do next.

  50

  It was hot, and she was sweating.

  Justine opened her eyes and saw nothing but darkness through the SUV’s side window. She remained still for a minute, making sure her abductor wasn’t in the car.

  She was alone.

  Had he abandoned her in the vehicle somewhere? Had second thoughts and took off? Yeah, if I were only that lucky. Justine looked around and saw that her initial suspicions were correct. She was in the back of a mid-sized SUV, with duct tape wrapped around her ankles and wrists, which were behind her back. There was also a strip of tape across her mouth.

  Her head hurt terribly. She moved slowly, carefully, tried to sit up. In the moonlight, she could see the side of a building out the SUV’s back window. Old, weathered, a barn? He’d parked the car next to an old barn, probably out of sight from any main roads.

  A million different possibilities danced through Justine’s mind, fueled by every crime show and movie she’d ever watched. Maybe this was his hiding place, where he’d drag her inside, place her on a steel table in a room with plastic tarps all over the floor, and—

  No, just stop. You’ve got to think. Justine balanced herself against the side of the cargo area and peeked out the window.

  She knew this place.

  She’d come here as a kid, and had actually been in this barn before.

  It was Fuller’s farm, a place where they all went to drink when they were kids. The barn was the only structure left standing, and it was supposed to be haunted, too. How ironic is that?

  The sweat stung her eyes as it rolled off her forehead. Sweat. A hot and humid Nebraska night. She wiggled her wrists, and found the tape was loose—still holding tight, but not as much as before. She struggled with her wrists, twisting and turning, and the tape began to loosen even more. Her own sweat was loosening the duct tape.

  She looked at her front jeans pocket, and saw the outline of her phone.

  She had put it in her pocket.

  If she could get her hands free, she could call 911. And better yet, the asshole had barely taken her out of town. She could tell the cops exactly where to go.

  As she fought to get her hands free, she wondered if he was still here. Maybe he had left.

  One hand was almost free. The tape was cutting into her skin, and it hurt, but she was almost there. Come on, come on!

  She heard something from outside the SUV.

  He was coming.

  She used every bit of strength she had against the tape, felt it slipping, slipping . . .

  Footsteps on gravel. Getting closer.

  There! Her hand was free! She pulled her phone from her pocket, dialed 911. She ripped the strip of tape from her lips as she saw him out the side window, looking inside.

  “911, what is your emergency?”

  “This is Justine Harmon! I’ve been taken hostage! I’m at Fuller’s farm!”

  He opened the back hatch.

  “Fuller’s farm! Hurry! The barn!”

  Then he was standing there, illuminated by the dome light. He was a smallish man, not as large as she had first thought when she saw him coming at her f
rom the kitchen. He was older, too, maybe middle aged. He had a gun in his hand and was pointing it right between her eyes.

  Justine could hear the 911 operator’s voice as he grabbed the phone from her hand and threw it to the ground, smashing it under his boot.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

  Then he came for her.

  51

  Stars, she was looking up into the stars.

  Peyton struggled to open her eyes, and what she initially thought was a night sky was instead a rotted roof, pinpoints of moonlight shining through.

  It was still nighttime.

  She tried to move, and immediately knew she’d been tied up. She couldn’t move her arms or legs. Her hands were tingly, and she couldn’t feel her feet. She tried to scream, but the sound was trapped behind something covering her mouth.

  She could smell something dirty, rotten, and watched dust particles float in and out of the tiny rays of moonlight coming through the roof, brightening for a moment, then floating away into the shadows.

  She was in a barn. He’d tied her up and taken her to an old barn.

  She moved her head to the side, and immediately regretted it as a sharp pain flashed behind her eyes. He hit me, she remembered. He was on top of me, and he punched me. She ran her tongue across the inside of her teeth and couldn’t feel anything broken, but she knew she’d been hurt enough to lose consciousness. But for how long? Where was he? Where had he taken her? And what did he do to Justine?

  Peyton tried to roll over on her side, to look around, but her body screamed in protest. Her ribs felt like they were broken, or maybe cracked. It even hurt when she breathed.

  Then she heard him.

  She quickly closed her eyes, played dead, and listened.

  He was dragging something across the barn’s floor, something heavy. Peyton heard a thump as he apparently dropped whatever it was.