Krista dug inside her soul, rummaged around in all the dusty files she kept there, and tried to find something meaningful to say in reply. But again she found nothing. She should never have come here today. She should get up now and call Carla, and let her finish this conversation.
But Jesse hadn’t asked Carla. She had asked Krista, who had a point of reference. A dead sibling. A horrible evil that had changed her life forever.
Krista fought the tears pooling in her eyes. “Maybe…” she whispered. “Maybe it’s so you and I will find the miracle of courage, and God will use us to help those others who still have a chance. Maybe you’re talking to me because of what happened to Ella, and someone will talk to you because of what happened to your brother and mother, and that someone will talk to that little girl…”
Jesse’s brown eyes glistened. “What will we say?”
Krista paused and thought. “We’ll tell them that this life isn’t all there is.”
It wasn’t good enough. Jesse rolled her eyes and got up. “First we got to believe that.” She pushed through the glass door, and Krista watched through the window as she walked back into enemy territory, where violence ruled and people served drugs rather than God. Where cruel fathers raped their own children.
Where evil stalked.
These girls lived in war zones where young men didn’t live past their twenties and young women were abused until they turned mean themselves.
What had made Krista think her family was favored, immune to that evil? What made her think the same God who watched over these girls would give extra care to her sister?
Why had she believed that God owed her better?
She looked through the glass, her gaze following Jesse until she turned down a street, disappearing from view. She hadn’t given her a reason to hope. She wasn’t sure she had one.
Instantly, she banished that thought from her mind. Of course there was hope. She knew it in her gut, in her heart, in her soul. It should have brought her peace.
But that rage that simmered beneath the surface was foaming over, burning her beliefs like acid. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold it in.
Eight
Daylight gave way to twilight as Krista pulled into her garage. Her father’s car wasn’t there. She couldn’t imagine what he’d been doing with his time since Ella’s death, but he was rarely home. She went into the dark house but didn’t bother turning on the light. She got her laptop and opened it, letting the screen provide the only light in the room.
She typed her way to GrapeVyne.net and clicked on the link to open a new profile. Though it was against the rules to have two profiles, she entered information for a fake persona—Maxi Greer. The name sounded sassy and young. She tabbed to the Age box and typed 15.
Using Ella’s taste as a reference, she entered her favorite bands, her favorite songs, her favorite books, and even typed in a few quotes that she thought a fifteen-year-old might use to express herself.
Finally, she opened another browser window and went to a site where she could download photographs of models for a small fee. She paged through the faces until she found one that would work. The photo was in profile, mostly hair and nose and teeth. Not enough for anyone to recognize it and say, “I know that girl.” She paid the fee and downloaded it, made a few changes to it through her photo program, then uploaded it to Maxi’s GrapeVyne profile. Then in the School box, she typed, Homeschooled and lonely, and really interested in making friends.
When she finished designing her page, she made it active. Immediately, it was there, open to anyone she “Friended.”
She spent the next hour clicking on Friends she found on Ella’s site. Within minutes, some of them had accepted her friendship, and their faces began springing up on her page. It looked like the page of a normal fifteen-year-old girl.
Maybe the predator would find it soon. She hoped he didn’t just watch the interactions, but that he would engage enough for her to draw him out.
She could make herself bait for the sake of her sister…and for the sake of Jesse and all the young people who had no one to fight for them. She would risk her life if it meant bringing him down.
She wasn’t even afraid.
Nine
Standing in line at airport waiting for cab. Flight was good. Home soon.
Megan Quinn sent her Thought Bubble and dropped her Blackberry back in her pocket, hoping to protect it from the rain. No one had warned her that it was pouring in Houston, so she hadn’t brought an umbrella or raincoat. The red coat she’d gotten for Christmas was somewhat waterproof, so she stood with her hands in the pockets, shivering and trying to stay warm.
How much longer for the cab?
New York had been cold during winter break, but she’d hoped it would be warmer when she returned to Houston. But this rain was miserable.
There were several people in line in front of her, waiting for cabs. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too much longer. She took her Blackberry back out of her pocket, turned it around, held it at arm’s length. Making a sad face, she took her own picture. Then she sent another Thought Bubble.
Me at Houston-Hobby in freezing rain, waiting for the cab.
She clicked Send, and it rocketed through cyberspace.
A cab came and four people tumbled in. She moved with the line. Only five or six more groups in front of her.
“Miss, can I give you a ride?”
She turned and saw a man with an umbrella. He was wearing a long black raincoat and looked clean-cut and dry. “No, that’s okay. I’m waiting for a cab.”
“I have my town car right over there.” He pointed to a black sedan parked across the street. “Where are you going?”
Thunder clapped and lightning flashed. “Rice University,” she said over the noise.
“That’d be forty bucks,” he yelled back. “A cab would cost you the same.”
She realized he was a professional and not just some doofus trying to pick her up.
“It’s very comfortable,” he added. “Much better than a cab.”
She regarded the line in front of her. It could be a while. “Okay,” she said. “Deal.”
He grabbed her suitcase and her carry-on bag and rolled them across the street. She followed behind him. He opened the back door, let her in. As she heard him putting her suitcases in the trunk, she got out her Blackberry again.
Got a cab. Really a town car, woo-hoo. Can’t wait to get back to the dorm and change out of these wet clothes.
The man got into the car. His brown hair was too long in the back for a man his age. He needed a haircut.
“All right. Where at Rice do you live?”
“Just off-campus, at Bard Apartments on Shakespeare Street. I’ll show you when we get there.”
He pulled the car out and didn’t say anything else. That was fine with her. She preferred quiet in a cab. Nothing was worse than trying to make conversation with a stranger. She checked her text messages, saw Thought Bubbles from several of her friends.
I’m at Walmart looking for cough drops.
Just got out of the shower—an hour before Rod comes. Will I ever make it?
Trying on the pale blue blouse with the high collar, but thinking my black blouse might be a better choice.
She texted her roommate Karen, who had the clothing issue:
I like the black one. Go with that one.
Karen texted back immediately:
You always say that.
But it makes u look classy.
R u saying I need help with classy?
Yes, that’s what I’m saying. And that you’re fat.
Megan almost laughed aloud at herself.
Then came the answer:
Ur so funny. How long before ur here?
Thirty minutes or so. Should be there by six.
She looked at the man in the front seat, caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. Had he been watching her? She glanced out the window and realized he was getting off at the wrong
exit.
“Um…this isn’t the right way. It’s the Broadway Boulevard Exit onto I-45.”
“I know, but my GPS says there’s traffic ahead. This is a quicker route.”
“Oh, okay.” She went back to her messages. Brennie had found her cough drops. Jill was drying her hair. She navigated to her GrapeVyne page, to see if anyone had left comments on this morning’s blog post. There were a few responding to her thoughts about the stress of being with family during the holidays.
She glanced back up. The night lights were fading now, and the car was moving rapidly through some rural area. She frowned. “Excuse me, but could you tell me what route you’re taking? We’re not going in the right direction.”
He chuckled then. “Trust me. We are. There’s a turn-off in about a mile that will turn us back in the right direction. We’ll be at Rice in ten minutes.”
That didn’t sound right. Uneasy, she looked down at her phone.
“Is that a Blackberry?” he asked, looking at her in the mirror again.
“Yes.”
“Mind if I look at it? I’ve been thinking about getting one.”
“Sure.” She handed it to him across the seat. He looked down at it as he sped down the rural road. Was he going to miss the turn-off? She watched out the window for him, but there didn’t seem to be any roads to turn on. Surely they’d gone a mile by now.
He looked back up, caught her eyes in the mirror again. “Nice phone.” As he spoke, his automatic window lowered. “But you won’t be needing it.”
He tossed it out the window.
She gasped. “What are you doing?” She looked back. “Stop. I have to go get it!”
The car rocketed faster down the long, lonely road as his window slid back up. She leaned up on his seat.
“Why did you do that? Why won’t you stop?”
She saw through the rearview mirror that his eyes had grown hard.
Her heart thudded. Why had she gotten in this car with him?
“Stop, I said! Let me out!” When he didn’t slow down, she tried to roll down her window, but she couldn’t. He must have locked it. She could jump out. She might break something, but at least she could go for help. But the door wouldn’t budge. There must be a child lock on it.
Terror came over her as she rammed her body against the door. She was going to be a news item—a missing person who was later found raped and murdered on an abandoned road. She’d be just like that Carmichael girl.
“Let me out!” she screamed. “People know where I am. I’ve been texting them every step of the way. They know what kind of car picked me up. They know what you look like.”
“Car’s not registered in my name. They’ll never find it,” he said in a steely voice. “You didn’t tell them what I look like. I’m one of your followers, Megan. I get all of your Thought Bubbles. I saw what you posted, right here on my own phone.”
The blood drained from her head, and she thought she was going to faint. She looked around frantically for an escape. “What do you want from me?”
“I just want to have some fun with you, Megan. You’re always having so much fun.”
“I’m a black belt in karate,” she blurted out. “I can defend myself.”
“No, you aren’t, Megan. I’d know if you were. I know when you wake up in the mornings, what was on your last test, what you got for Christmas, what you gave everyone else…I’ve been tracking you for the last six weeks. No karate, sweetheart.”
She grabbed the back of his hair and screamed into his ear. “Let me out of here, you psycho!”
He lifted his hand, pointed a gun at her. “Get back! Now!”
She fell back on the seat, tears burning her eyes. “You won’t get away with this. I have people who love me. They’ll come looking for me.”
He laughed.
She put her hands over her mouth, trying to muffle her crying. Think, she told herself. Think!
She saw a dirt driveway up ahead, and she searched through the wet windows, looking for a house. He’d have to stop sometime, and when he did, she’d need to know where to go for help.
But she couldn’t see any houses anywhere.
He turned onto the dirt road, the back end of the car sliding on the slick street. She heard gravel under the tires, saw trees, thick and tangled as they went deep into the woods.
God, please help me…
She grabbed her purse and dug through it, searching for anything she could use. She pulled out a pen that she might be able to stab into his eyes, stuffed it into her coat pocket. Listerine spray…maybe it would burn his eyes. Keys…She stuck them between her fingers and balled her hand into a fist.
The car stopped, and he reached over the seat and grabbed the purse off her lap. He dropped it on the front seat. “You can scream if you want, Megan, but nobody will hear you. There’s no one for miles and miles.”
She screamed anyway as he got out of the car, unlocked the back door. His eyes were gleaming as he opened it and started to climb in. Sliding back against the opposite door, she tried to open it again. Still locked. She kicked at him, he grabbed her legs and pulled her out of the car. Her shoe came off, but she kept kicking. Her elbows hit the dirt before her back and head. She lashed, screaming, as he dragged her through the mud.
“Help me! Somebody help me!”
He dragged her in front of the headlights, cold, wet mud sliding through her hair, down her neck, her back. He smiled as rain glistened on his skin. She tried to sit up and kick free, but the more she fought, the more he enjoyed this. She tried to hit him with the keys in her hand, scratched at his chest, his arm. He grabbed her hand and almost broke her fingers getting the keys, shoved them in his coat pocket. He wrestled her red coat off of her, cast it aside, so she no longer had the pen or the breath spray.
Think, she told herself. Fight.
Her arms and legs flailed, her teeth bit, her body rocked. His fist cracked across her jaw. She felt it dislocate. Saw stars. Rain. Black clouds.
Heard thunder.
Another crack across her forehead. Then her mouth…her ribs, her kidneys.
She pulled herself into a fetal position. God…please God…
She heard the man’s heavy breathing as he bent over her. “You good Christian girls…so innocent…so naive. I’m going to enjoy getting to know you, Megan. And then I’m going to bury you alive…No one will ever find you.”
She tasted blood and balled herself tighter…bracing herself for what was to come.
Ten
Megan wished she were dead, so she pretended to be. She lay limp, her face and lips swelling, her sides an agonizing blend of splintered ribs and bruised kidneys, her knee torn, her legs bloody. She opened her swollen eyes and saw him, his back to her, as he shoveled into the wet soil.
Was he digging her grave?
She couldn’t just lie here, waiting for him to bury her. Somehow she had to get away. She sat up quietly, wincing at the pain, but not making a sound. She pulled her wet clothes back into place. Silently, she got to her knees, gritting her teeth to keep from crying out, then got her feet under her. Only one shoe…one foot bare…She managed to stand up, to take a step, pain slicing through her…then another.
He heard her and swung around, reaching for his gun.
Her last reserve of adrenaline shot through her, and she stumbled into a run, deep into the woods, searching for a branch that could be used as a weapon, or some place to hide. A shot fired, missing her, and she kept going. Either she would die running, or she would escape. She pounded through the brush, tearing it back and ducking under. She heard his breath and the sucking of his feet in the mud as he came closer.
She saw a fallen log, about two feet in diameter, and eight or nine feet long. Could she squeeze inside? Would he look for her there?
She threw herself to the ground at the opening and went in headfirst, sliding into cobwebs across rotten wood, fearing the creatures inside less than the one outside. She heard his footsteps as he ran
past, cursing. His voice faded as he ran farther away.
She lay still, trembling in the tomb of the tree trunk. He could still come back.
Nausea worked through her digestive tract, threatening to spew out. Would she have to lie here in her own vomit? No, she had to hold it back. She tasted blood in her mouth, and felt hot and cold at the same time, dizziness whirling in her head.
God, help me survive.
Something slimy crawled across her leg, and she tried to shake it off. Think about something else. She forced her mind back to her Sunday school days, when she’d memorized passages of scripture. She tried to remember Psalm 27.
The Lord is my light and my salvation; Whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the defense of my life; Whom shall I dread?
When evildoers come upon me to devour my flesh, My adversaries and my enemies, they stumbled and fell.
She couldn’t remember what came next, so she silently repeated those words again and again. She heard him coming back, lumbering through the woods, pausing near her log. Was she far enough in that he couldn’t see her feet? She dared not move. Her mind sought distraction, so she groped for more of the Psalm.
For in the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle;
In the secret place of His tent He will hide me;
He will lift me up on a rock…
Again, the next words failed her, and she struggled for more snippets of the passage she had once known.
Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice, And be gracious to me and answer me.
She heard the man moving past the log, heard the crackle of brush and the whisper of leaves. Was he going back to his car?
She waited, listening, heard nothing. She wanted to crawl out of the log, but knew the silence could be a trap. Where was he?