Chapter 36
She would have been so glad if she could have been cut to pieces, body and soul, to show what joy this pain caused her. What torments could have been set before her at such a time which she would not have found it delectable to endure for her Lord’s sake?
—S
ANTA
T
ERESA DE
J
ESÚS
,
The Life of Saint Teresa of Ávila by Herself
T
he bathroom, with its sunken whirlpool tub, was separated from the rest of the room by a Chinese screen. But Cherry had discovered that if she adjusted the screen, she could watch the TV while she took a bubble bath.
She felt incredibly decadent, soaking in lavender-scented foam while watching
Weeds
.
There was little enough to do besides sleep, read, or watch TV, and at least the bubble bath component was a novelty.
The sunlight in the dormer window was fading. The sky was streaked with crimson and pale blue as indigo crept in.
Cherry was grateful to have the upstairs room for another reason; she was terrified of windows on the first floor. It didn’t matter if the shades or curtains were drawn—Kerberos could be standing right on the other side of the glass, his eye pressed close to peek into the smallest opening.
Even if he couldn’t see her, she could imagine him listening to every movement.
Up here, she didn’t have to be afraid of the windows. She could watch the sky turn colors as the sun faded away.
Cherry wasn’t sure what to think about Gina. As a woman detective, she was formidable enough, but Cherry remembered her as
bella rosso
—had seen her at the club with Quinn, doing hard, edgy play that scared the bejesus out of her even as it made her wet to watch. They did the kinds of things she fantasized about but would never have the courage to actually do.
She wasn’t sure which of them scared her more: the man who could do such things, or the slave who would willingly allow him to do them to her.
Cherry had never seen her as Lady Gee, but she’d heard about her, of course. Jason actually played with Lady Gee, and he worshipped her. He would talk about her for hours if you didn’t shut him up. Robyn used to tease him about “Lady Gee Whiz.”
Now she was hiding in Lady Gee’s house from a man who had raped her and murdered two of her best friends. Three, if you counted Gunther. God, she just wanted all of this to be over, to get back some semblance of a normal life.
Weeds
was over. She turned the TV off with the remote.
She pulled the drain in the tub and got out as suds began to swirl downward.
She missed her own towels at home; these were scratchy on her skin. She wanted her own towels, her own bed, her own kitchen—
She heard a door open downstairs and was glad she hadn’t eaten yet. Maybe Gina would order pizza again. She’d had cereal for dinner last night. She didn’t think Gina realized just how little food there was in the house.
She slipped into a clean pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt. Barefoot, she padded down the stairs.
“Gina, have you had dinner yet?”
The downstairs was dark but for the light over the kitchen sink.
Something in the stillness made her heart slip in its rhythm. She stopped on the bottom step and peered into the dim light.
“Gina?”
When there was no answer, she moved back up another step.
Somewhere down there in the shadows, a board creaked.
The bungalow, built in the forties, was full of creaks, but this hadn’t sounded like
that
kind of creak. This had sounded like a person walking over a loose board.
Stop being stupid. There are policemen just outside, watching the house.
She was safe . . . wasn’t she?
But she was sure she’d heard someone coming in the back door.
If it were Gina, she’d have answered, wouldn’t she?
Gina would have turned a light on, wouldn’t she?
Cold fear flooded her body, and she couldn’t decide whether to go forward or back.
I should run. Run for the front door as fast as I can and down the steps and even if it’s nothing and I look like an idiot, it’s still okay, because I’ll be safe . . .
Yet the urge to turn and run back up the stairs was stronger. She knew there was no one up
there
. She wouldn’t have to run through shadows and darkness in which anything might be waiting.
She was afraid to move. Afraid of making any sound that would give her away. It was as if a cowardly little voice in her head was pleading with her not to do anything, anything at all.
If you just stand here very, very still, you’ll be all right.
He can’t chase you if you don’t run.
There it was again. That creak. Such a small sound became a shout in the silence closing around her—
She jumped the two bottom steps and ran—
Her hip banged against a heavy piece of furniture. She yelped, spun, and then slammed into the front door, fumbling for the knob.
Why wouldn’t it open?!
The deadbolt, you idiot! Open the deadbolt!
Her hand fell on it, turning it until it clicked. She pulled the door open—
Someone fell into her back, slamming the door shut with a sharp crack.
She screamed as fingers snarled into her hair, yanking her backward with enough force to make her lose her footing.
“No! No! No!”
She nearly went down, but he had an arm around her throat now. He was pulling her backward, away from the door.
She beat against his arm with a fist, then sank her fingernails into his flesh. When she felt something warm and slippery, she screamed wordlessly with a savage joy.
“Bad girl!” he shouted. “Very, very bad girl!”
His other arm went around her waist and lifted her off the floor. Her legs kicked wildly as she twisted.
She reached behind her, felt his ear under her fingers, and grabbed it. She twisted viciously, and he howled.
Suddenly he stumbled. As he fell, she found her feet again and jerked free.
She ran the only way she could—away from him.
Up the stairs, some of them two at a time, every step pounding as loudly as her heart in her ears.
She heard him running up the steps behind her, but she was faster. She reached the top of the stairs and slammed the heavy oak door shut.
She turned the lock and the deadbolt just seconds before he began pounding on it.
“Open the door!” His voice was deep, breathless, and angry, though he didn’t shout. “You know I can break it down if I have to.”
She dragged a bookcase across the room until it was blocking the door, while all the time he pounded his fist hard enough to shake the door frame.
Then the pounding stopped.
“You’ve disappointed me so badly,” he said. She could tell he was breathing hard. “Come out and take your punishment like a good girl.”
She snatched her cell phone from the bedside table, clutching it to her chest as she stared at the door.
How long would it hold? How long until he was in here, with her?
He hit the door again.
“I’m tired of playing games with you! Open the goddamned door, girl!”
Her eyes scanned the room desperately for something to defend herself with, but there was nothing—
She stumbled to the closet and crawled inside, as far back under the slanting roof as she could, pushing clothes and shoe boxes out of her way.
Her hands were shaking so bad she had to try twice to dial 911.
“Please,” she told the dispatcher on the other end. “Someone is trying to kill me; he’s in the house—”
“What is your address?”
Cherry began to cry hysterically.
“It’s on Holly Street—but I don’t remember the number! There are supposed to be police outside watching the house, it belongs to a detective named Gina Larsen—”
Outside, he hit the door again, and this time she thought she heard wood splintering.
“Call Detective Tom Hanson! He knows where I am—”
In the light from the cell phone, she could see a shoe box that had fallen open near her feet, exposing a pair of flat sandals.
“Calm down and tell me your name.”
“Cheryl Gavin—Please hurry!”
She tore open another box, praying for a pair of stilettos, but it was only a pair of Nikes.
“We’re tracing your call now, just hang on. Can you get to a safe place?”
“I locked myself in the upstairs bedroom—oh, my God, he’s breaking through the door!”
She grabbed wildly at boxes with one hand, not looking now, only feeling for anything sharp and pointed.
Her hand fell on something harder and colder than a shoe. She held it up to the cell phone—
A gun.
The car skidded to a stop, the front tires hitting the curb just inches from the parked cruiser where Officers Jamison and Silvy sat, looking bored.
“What the fuck are you two doing?” Hanson slammed his hand against the window, making the younger uniform spill a Coke down his shirtfront. He hissed rather than yelled, not wanting to give warning to Billy Knolls inside the house. “She just called nine-one-one saying the bastard is in there with her!”
Officers Jamison and Silvy stared at him, slack-jawed.
“That ain’t possible—” Silvy began.
Hanson ran past the cruiser, toward the house, his gun unholstered, as Silvy and Jamison scrambled out of the cruiser and nearly collided with Griggs and Gina.
“Did you leave your post?” Griggs whispered violently. “Goddamn it, you did, didn’t you?”
“We just drove around the block to Subway—”
“Oh, fuck me!” Griggs swore.
“It ain’t our fault!” Officer Silvy’s face was red. “We been here since six a.m., and our relief never showed. We just went to get something to—”
“Griggs, you take the back, I’ll go in the front,” Hanson directed. “You two assholes stay out here and if someone comes out that ain’t us, shoot him!”
Griggs slipped around the side of the house as Hanson moved cautiously up the front steps.
“You can’t come in here,” Hanson hissed at Gina as she crept up behind him with her Beretta in both hands.
“The fuck I can’t! It’s my house.”
The door was unlocked. He turned the knob and pushed the door gently.
The door swung wide with an ominous creak.
“Billy?” Hanson yelled, edging through the door. “Billy Knolls? This is the police. Come out where we can see you.”
Gina hit the switch by the door, and the room burst into light.
“Cherry?” Hanson called. “Where are you?”
He heard muffled sounds from the back of the house.
“Billy,” he called again, trying to keep his voice calm. “Come out with your hands up.”
“This doesn’t concern you!” a male voice shouted. “Get out!”
“Cherry?” Gina called. “Are you all right?”
“He’s got your gun.” Cherry’s voice, high and terrified, shaking like something about to shatter, answered. “The one from your closet—”
Cherry screamed in pain.
“I told you to keep your mouth shut!” Billy hissed, then raised his voice. “Yes, I have your gun! The girl was gonna shoot me with it, but she didn’t know how to take the safety off.”
“Fuck,” Gina hissed. “He’s got my backup.”
“Is it loaded?”
She grimaced and nodded.
“It sounds like they’re in the downstairs bedroom,” she said. “I think he’s trying to get her out the back door.”
He felt his stomach lurch, thinking that guys like Billy Knoll often opted for the murder-suicide option when cornered.
“Hey, Billy,” Hanson called. “Any chance you want to talk about this? We don’t want anybody to get hurt here.”
“I’m only here taking what’s mine! Why don’t you and your girlfriend just leave us alone!”
“Keep him talking,” Gina whispered, and before he could say anything, she had slipped around the corner and back out the front door.
“You know we got people outside, right, Billy?”
Hanson slipped into the bathroom and picked up a handheld mirror from the vanity. “My partner’s at the back door, and a tactical team is gonna be here any minute—”