He was on me, his hands circling my throat and pressing down his weight. I sunk a good inch or so into the mattress, and all I could see was the terrifying smile, the empty eyes, and behind the hood, the frizzy, fake hair. My mouth was wide open, but I couldn’t get any air in my lungs.
Panic tried to dig its claws into me, but I couldn’t cave to the terror. Before he could trap my legs with his, I rolled my hips, pulling my leg up. With everything I had in me, I shoved my knee in its groin.
It grunted as its fingers loosened. Air streamed into my throat, and this time, I pulled both my legs up, slamming the heels of my feet into his legs. His weight shifted, and I was able to roll out from underneath him.
I pushed off the bed, wheezing in air as I ran across the bedroom. I threw open the door and my feet smacked off the hardwood floors of the hallway.
“Linds’!” I screamed her name over and over, fear amplifying when there was no answer.
Had he done something to her? Was she hurt?
I reached the stairs just as I heard his booted feet connect behind me. The hairs on my arms rose as I raced down the steps, taking them two at a time. Two steps up from the last, my foot slipped and I went down. Catching myself on the banister before I broke my neck, I ignored the screaming pain as skin and muscle tore up my skin. Straightening, I gained my balance as I reached the foyer.
Weight crashed into me from behind and I went down, my knees and hands cracking off the floor. A hand burrowed into my hair, roughly trying to turn me around. My fingers dug into the floor as I twisted at the waist, brought my knee back, and kicked him in the chest.
He let go, and I launched to my feet. On his, he went around me, blocking the front door. His chest was moving up and down, the hood fallen on broad shoulders, the wig slightly askew.
I almost charged him—almost went with a punch to the throat, but he reached behind him, brandishing something that glinted in the foyer light.
A knife.
A long and thick and wicked sharp knife—the kind serial killers coveted.
Screw that.
Whipping around, I darted for the nearest exit, through the garage. I screamed for Linds, and I just screamed. Every step I took I could practically feel the knife slicing through my back, ripping through cloth and flesh.
I slid across the kitchen floor, slamming into the door leading to the garage. Yanking on it, I realized it was locked. Pulse in stroke territory, I reached down, turning the little lock. As I opened the door, I glanced over my shoulder.
Clown Face wasn’t there.
Not wasting any time, I stepped into the dark garage, letting the door shut behind me. I dragged in a breath, and immediately I started coughing. At first I couldn’t make sense of the gas smell, the sound, or why I couldn’t breathe.
The car in the garage—a Lincoln sedan that belonged to Linds’ mom was running.
Pulling up the loose collar of my robe, I coughed into the material as I started to turn away, looking for the button to open the door, when I realized the car wasn’t empty.
There was a form in the driver’s seat.
Eyes starting to burn, I ran to the side, across chilly cement, and then cried out in horror.
Slumped behind the wheel was Linds.
Oh my God…
Somehow there was a part of my brain that was still functioning, that knew these fumes had built up in the garage, that it was deadly, that it had been on purpose, and that I needed to get Linds out of the car, into fresh air. I reached for the door. It was locked—so were the passenger and the back doors. A new kind of fear took hold, settling in my gut, adding to the weight already pressing down on my chest. Instinct spun me around, and I rushed back to the wall, slamming my palm down on the button.
Nothing happened.
I hit it again, and then again, and again, and still, the door wouldn’t open.
Hacking now, deep body shaking coughs, I whirled around, searching for anything. Spying a shovel in the shadowy corner, I grabbed it and went back to the car.
Arms shaking, lungs seizing up, I swung it back, shoving the heavy, sharp edge into backseat. Glass shattered. Tossing the shovel inside the car for nothing more than having a weapon nearby, I crawled through the window.
Tiny pieces of glass snagged my robe, scratching my skin as I wiggled through. Once inside, I grabbed Linds by the shoulders, and it seemed like forever before I was able to get her out of the seat, shoving her into the passenger seat.
Climbing over the center manifold, I gripped the steering wheel. The inside of the car was starting to spin, my arms almost too weak to hold up so that I could reach the gearshift. Squeezing my stinging eyes shut, I slid the gear into reverse and slammed my foot on the gas.
The car roared to life, jerking backward, and then the tires squealed in the darkness. It lurched and sped out, hitting the metal garage door. It rattled, but did not give.
God, this could not be happening—this could not be happening.
Hand tingling, I slipped the gears into drive, went forward, and then slammed it back into reverse. The car roared back, and this time metal and plastic gave way. The car flew into the driveway as the airbag deployed, popping into my face and pushing Linds’ body back. White dust clouded everything and, for a moment, I couldn’t see. One side of the car went up over a brick flower box and then down before the car coasted to a stop, half on the driveway and half in the grass.
Pushing the air bag down, I dragged in deep gulps of clean, cool night air. Stunned, dizzy from the lack of oxygen, I leaned back against the seat, and turned to look at Linds.
She was half in her seat, half against the floor, her head turned away from me, and she wasn’t moving, and I didn’t know if she was alive or…
I reached for her, my fingers brushing her clammy skin. “Linds,” I croaked. “Linds, wake up.”
Nothing happened, and in my foggy thoughts, I knew I should get her out of the car, get her into even more air. I had to—
There was a knock on the driver’s window.
Screaming hoarsely, I twisted at the waist, my stomach tumbling as a familiar face peered inside the car at me.
Brock stared at me. “What in the hell are you doing?”
Hands shaking, I hit the unlock button and pushed open the door. I all but fell out, and would’ve eaten grass and cement if he hadn’t caught me. What was he doing here? I tried to think past the pain in my chest and head as he steadied me.
“Ella? Jesus Christ, is that Linds in there?” His voice pitched. “What’s going on?”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, stumbling free.
“I live two houses down.” He glanced at the wrecked garage door. “I was just getting home. I heard the screams.”
He heard the screams, but as no one else came rushing to help us, had no one else heard? It didn’t matter right now. Stumbling around the front of the car, I barely held myself up. “You need to the call the police. He was here. I think Linds is hurt.”
“What?” He started to lean into the car.
“Call the police!” I shouted until my voice gave up.
“Okay. Okay!” He backed up, pulling a slim phone out of his back pocket.
I stopped paying attention to him as I reached the passenger door. By some luck, I’d hit the unlock all button, and the passenger door sprung open.
I reached for Linds. “Please be okay,” I whispered, getting my hands under her arms. “Please, please be okay.”
Breathing in the fumes had weakened me, and I couldn’t lift her. Raising my head, I swiped at the tears. “Please help me.”
Brock was beside me in an instant, slipping the phone in his back pocket. “Move out of the way.”
I didn’t want to, but I did.
“The police are on the way,” he said, reaching in and easily scooping Linds up. Her head lolled against his chest like there were no bones or muscles in her neck at all. “I didn’t know what to tell them.”
When he placed her
in the grass, I dropped to my knees beside her, glancing up at the house. Then I placed my hands against her neck, not really sure if I was hitting the right spot, but when I found a pulse, I almost collapsed. “He was here,” I said, my voice scratching out of my throat. “He was inside the house. He did this.”
“The… the guy that attacked you before?” Brock glanced behind me, and I could make out the distinctive hum of voices. “He was here?”
I nodded, folding my hands around Linds’. Turning my attention to her, I held on for dear life. “Please be okay. Please. Please.”
It wasn’t long at all before the sounds of sirens grew close, and then there were police covering the lawn, hands pulling me away from Linds as EMTs rushed forward.
“She was in the car—in the garage with the car running,” I told them, my mouth dry. Those hands turned me around, and I was suddenly staring up at Shaw.
“Ella, what happened?” he asked.
“He was here—he was inside the house, while I was taking a shower.” The story spilled out of me as tears rose, blinding me. “I couldn’t get the garage door to open, so I drove the car through the door.”
“That was good. That was smart.” He started leading me away from where the medics were working on Linds. Another ambulance was pulling up on the street. A crowd was gathering at the sidewalk, their dark forms blurring together.
I dug my feet in, coughing. “Is she okay? Please, tell me she’s okay.”
“They’re doing everything they can.” He wrapped an arm around my waist, turning me around. “We need to get you looked at.”
“I’m okay,” I wheezed.
“Doubtful. You were in that garage, too. And you’re bleeding.”
I was?
Shaw handed me off to an EMT, and after curt instructions, an oxygen mask was shoved on my face. The EMT, who had spent an ungodly amount of time shining a bright light in my eye, helped me tighten the belt around my waist. God only knows how many people had gotten a look at my goodies, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
As the medic inspected the scratches on my knees and hands, Shaw had Brock cornered by a Japanese maple tree. Other officers were there, huddled. They were demanding to know what he was doing here.
Brock gave them the same answer, but my stomach churned relentlessly. Could be his convenient answer. Could be what happened.
But then they were wheeling Linds out, and under the street lamp, her normally mocha colored skin was a deep, hideous gray.
“Is she okay?” I asked, moving the mask.
“She’s alive.” The medic placed the mask back on my face.
I started to lift it again. “I want to go with—”
“You’re staying right there.” Shaw’s head snapped around like the Exorcist. “Sit there, shut up, and suck up the oxygen.”
Damn.
I sat there, I shut right up, and I sucked up oxygen until the medic checked my pulse and then pulled the mask off.
“You’re lucky,” the EMT said, standing up. “Only a few scratches and some bruises. You could be dead.”
Not like I needed that wake up call. “I want to see—” I trailed off as one of the deputies came out the front door, carrying the clown mask. I climbed out the back of the ambulance, my legs shaking.
“Whoa,” the medic grabbed my arm. “I want you to sit still for a little while longer.”
The officer carrying the mask halted in the driveway. “Oh, look, state boys are finally here.”
Within seconds, green uniforms swarmed the front yard. I recognized Trooper Ritter. He took one long look at me before heading toward were Shaw was standing with Brock.
My stomach cramped as the new officers communed around Brock, and then Shaw broke apart, striding toward me.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
Wrapping my arms around me, I willed my teeth to stop chattering. “I’m okay, but Linds—”
“They took her to the hospital, and you’ll be able to go check on her soon, but I need you to focus on me right now. Okay?” When I nodded, he shifted his stance. “When did Brock show up?”
My gaze darted over to him. “After I drove through the garage door. He knocked… he knocked on the car window.”
“Did he say why he was out here?”
I licked my lips. They felt impossibly dry. “He said he lives a few houses down. That he heard screaming…. Wait.” I took in his shrewd gaze. “Do you think Brock…?”
“I want you to stay here.” He clamped a hand down on my shoulder and continued without answering my question. “I’ll call your—”
“Don’t call my mom,” I pleaded. “Please. I don’t want her to see me like this—see the garage and all the police.”
He shifted again, jaw locked hard. “Okay.”
“Can you… can you call Jensen?”
Shaw stared at me a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, I can call him.” He started to turn and then stopped. “You got some clothes in there?”
“In the bathroom.”
“I’ll send someone up. Meanwhile, follow me.”
I followed him over to where his cruiser was parked. Popping the trunk, he pulled out a dark blanket.
“It’s clean,” he said, shaking it out. “I promise.”
At this point I didn’t care if it had been in a crack house. I stood still as he dropped the blanket over my shoulders. It covered more than the robe. Relieved, I tucked the edges of the blanket close.
I didn’t want to stand out here by the flashing lights of the cop cars, too close to the prying eyes of the neighbors. I saw Shaw on his phone, and I hoped he was calling Jensen. He spoke briefly to another deputy who turned and headed up to the open front door.
I shivered.
Had they called Linds’ parents yet? I squeezed my eyes shut, rocking back slightly on my numb feet. I should be there with her so that when she woke up she wasn’t afraid. And she would wake up. She had to. I couldn’t allow myself to think anything else.
A few minutes later, an officer came to stand with me. I didn’t recognize him. He was a deputy by the looks of his uniform. I was learning all of them had different colors and oddly hats. He didn’t speak, and I realized dumbly that I was probably under guard.
“Holy shit!” yelled a voice from within the garage.
I turned just as a deputy stumbled out, bent at the waist, and clasped his knees. He gagged. Someone yelled something. The officer standing with me frowned. “Stay here,” he ordered.
He rushed over, joining the cops who were standing at the back of Linds’ mom’s car. Officers raced back and forth on the driveway, and whatever they were saying was lost in the roaring of the blood in my ears. I stumbled forward, my arms and legs shaking. No one noticed me as I approached the group huddled around the back of Linds’ car, the same car she had been trapped in, might’ve died in.
No. Linds was alive. Shaw said as much.
“What’s going on?” Brock demanded from where he stood by the tree, but his voice sounded so very far away. “Come on, someone tell me what the hell is going on.”
Legs trembling, I crept forward, drawn to whatever it was that had the cops freaking out. An officer stepped aside, turning his head to speak into a microphone attached to his shoulder. “We got a signal 18 out here. I need the M.E. stat.”
I could see around him, see inside the trunk; see what was folded up in there, waiting to be found.
“Oh, my God,” I whispered, my hands rising to my mouth.
“Shit.” Shaw spun around and was suddenly in front of me, blocking the view of the trunk, but it was too late. He turned me away, but I’d already seen it.
I saw Monica folded into the trunk, her hands tucked under her chin like she was sleeping, and that’s how she looked. Peaceful. Asleep. All except for the cardinal shoved in her mouth.
Chapter 18
Lightning flashed across the sky, splintering the darkness. A