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good.
 Was he alone?
The cabbie nodded.  Yeah, it was just him but he had
one of those big rolling suitcases with him. I figured his wife
kicked him out.
 How big was the suitcase? Was it big enough for your
fare to be in?
The cabbie gave it some thought.  Yeah, it was big
enough. It would've been a tight squeeze but she would've
fit.
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Fourteen
Marisa woke in a cold sweat, her eyes burned and her
throat was parched. Her body ached, but only seconds
passed until she figured out why. She was in a small box.
What was going on? Of course, she knew that he'd captured
her, and she could tell by the sounds, that she was in a
vehicle. Time passed and the miles clicked away and each
mile took her farther from civilization, farther from help.
When she squirmed, the box flexed and she moved her hand
an inch or so to feel a zipper. She gave it some thought, she
was so confined that she couldn't budge, but if she was right,
then she was in the big rolling suitcase from her closet.
The vehicle stopped and her heart sank. The motor
went silent, a door opened and closed and footsteps walked
on hard ground. She heard a trunk or hatch when it popped
but all that told her was that she was about to endure
several days of hell before he finally killed her.
The suitcase bumped and shook as he pulled it over
rocks and through something that felt like sand. She heard a
door as it opened, then silence and a jolt that left her reeling
in pain. If she hadn't known better she would have thought
that he dropped her off the roof of a house. She'd be lucky if
she didn't have broken bones. She heard weird stepping
sounds then shoes on concrete. When she heard the zipper,
adrenalin rushed through her body like a tornado through
Oklahoma. She took a deep breath, balled her fists and came
out swinging when he flipped the lid open and reached for
her. She battled him in the darkness, and her right fist
ripped through the open gash on his head.
 You stupid bitch! he growled.
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His fists pounded back blow after blow. She felt like
Rocky Balboa was fighting back out of the darkness. That
was okay, however, he'd have to kill her before he raped
her. She'd made up her mind that Jonathan McCord was the
last man to have her and it would damn well stay that way.
She kicked and scratched and tried like hell to put her finger
through his eye. Time after time, she pounded the wound on
his head until he finally landed a solid fist on her head that
sent her thudding against a concrete wall. His footsteps
disappeared, and a sound above her was evidence that he'd
made his way out of the room.
Marisa heard a moan, and fear swept over her. The
room was dark, and the surface was cold concrete. She sat
silent for several minutes; she wasn't quite sure what to
make of the moans only feet away. The sobs were
distinguishably female.  Hello? she finally whispered.
The last thing Marisa remembered was being tackled
by The Breaker. She had to assume that he'd taken her to
his hiding place. The same place where he'd raped and
tortured his other victims before he killed them.  Are you
okay?
 I'm alive, a fragile voice said.  You fought, he
doesn't like that.
 Who are you? Marisa asked.
 Sally Franks, she said, her voice defeated and
scared.
Marisa felt the surface around her.  Have you seen
this room with the lights on?
 Yes, Sally answered.
 What is it?
Sally's voice cracked.  I think it's an old basement.
The only way in or out is directly overhead.
Marisa looked up but her eyes only met more
darkness. She'd toured the dungeons at Ft. Jefferson in the
Dry Tortugas out from Key West, and they weren't a bit
darker than this room. It was easy to see how a man could
go mad in a dungeon. At least she had Sally Franks to talk
to, but she couldn't imagine what Sally had gone through
until she arrived.  Are you hurt?
 I'm alive, Sally repeated.  The less you fight, the
less he'll hurt you.
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Marisa cringed.  I'm coming to you.
 He's going to kill us, you know.
Marisa crawled toward the sound of Sally's voice.  How
long have you been here?
 Three days. Three days of hell.
 What do you know about him? Marisa crawled
cautiously toward Sally's voice.
 He's horrible, Sally cried.  He has the coldest eyes
I've ever seen.
 How often does he come in here? Marisa asked.
 Too often, but only during the daylight hours.
 There are two of us, we can beat him, Marisa said
with a promise of hope in her voice.
When Marisa wrapped her hand onto Sally's ankle the
woman jumped.  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.
 My grandfather was a policeman and I've tried to
remember the stories that he told me, Sally offered.  I just
can't seem to figure a way out of here.
 Jonathan will find us.
 Jonathan?
 Detective Jonathan McCord. Marisa smiled into the
darkness.  He will find us.
 You know him? Sally asked.
 Know him. Marisa squeezed Sally's hand.  I love
him.
 Well, I hope you're right. I'm not sure how much
more of this I can take.
 There is no light above, Marisa said.  Is he not
home?
Sally took a deep breath.  He doesn't stay here. I can
hear his vehicle go and come. There's no building overhead,
when the sun rises you can see everything in here.
 Are there stairs?
 No, Sally informed, her voice tired.  When he goes
and comes he puts a ladder down here.
Marisa looked up again. If only she knew more. She
knew her time was limited; she had to find a way out of this
God forsaken place before the monster returned.  I'm sorry
to keep asking questions but I need to know. How tall is this
room?
 At least ten feet. I've tried everything, there's no
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use.
 You listen to me, Marisa said as she turned to Sally,
feeling then pulling her hands down the woman's wet
cheeks.  Until we're dead, we will try to get out of here.
 He won't be back tonight. He's a creature of habit.
 He doesn't come at night?
 He's already been here, Sally cried.  Once he's
finished, he won't be back 'til morning. Most of the time, he
stays here all day.
Marisa hoped that Sally couldn't hear the sigh of relief
that left her body. She was terrified to be facing the things
Jonathan had described. She wondered how many of those
things Sally had already endured. Three days of hell, Sally
had called it and that led Marisa to believe poor Sally had
lived it all.  What's in here?
 Four or five old school desks, a pad locked trunk, a
box of old quilts and a box of magazines.
Marisa's heart raced as vivid memories of old cartoons
entered her mind. It had been silly to think of such things at
a time like this, but it seemed cartoon characters could make
a ladder out of anything.  Could we stack all that stuff up
and reach the top?
 I'm sure it's possible if you could see what you were
doing. But the only time that it's light enough to do it, he's
here, Sally said.  But, I'm not really able to climb anymore.
 What's wrong? What did that bastard do to you?
Marisa ground out.  You can tell me, I'm in the boat with
you.
 Well, he spends the day in here. He brings one of
those portable DVD players and watches snuff films and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]