Chapter Thirty
Vicki jumped, goose bumps assaulting her skin. River stopped in his tracks and twisted around. The woman’s scream coming from within the house had been shrill and agonized. A cry of terror, desperation.
She shifted her focus to the porch, and her breath lodged in her throat. Bright moonlight illuminated the front door.
“Blue rectangle,” she whispered. She glanced down at the Malibu’s smoky passenger window where she’d caught her reflection. Where she’d stared into her own steel-gray eyes and triggered a vision of her own destiny.
How is that even possible? I’ve seen myself in the mirror thousands of times and never had a vision. Why this time? She lifted her gaze to the house again, apprehension stabbing her chest and filling her lungs with icy fear.
River pulled out his cell phone. “Punch two. That’ll autodial Dauscher.” He slid it across the Malibu’s hood to her. “Tell him to get his ass here and bring backup.”
She caught the phone. By the time she straightened, he stood on the porch with his gun in hand. An overwhelming sense of helplessness swept over her. The intricate cogs of fate had begun to turn, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
She jabbed the button marked two and held the phone to her ear. But instead of Dauscher’s voice echoing over the line, the phone beeped three times. Vicki checked the display. “No service?”
River stood at the door, his hand on the knob. Afraid to call out, Vicki waved in an attempt to catch his attention. But before she’d taken three steps around the car, he slipped into the house.
A moment later, the porch light flickered.
She clutched the cell, checked it for service again. But the screen was black, the power off. After tapping a few buttons and producing no change, she squinted at the phone. Just a moment ago, it was fully charged. What the hell happened?
Her gaze shifted to the blue door. Dread curdled her stomach. Icy pinpricks skittered down her spine. Vile waves of nausea rolled through her. Whatever evil dwelled inside that house had caused the power drain.
The killer is inside. And so is River. On stiff legs, she strode over the walkway toward the house. This is it. The visions, the symbols. My fate is locked with River’s.
She climbed the half dozen steps onto the wide porch. Dim interior light shone through the narrow crack left by the partially open door. Shuffling forward, she pressed her hand to the blue rectangle, a block of ice beneath her palm. She shivered. The moment she stepped over the threshold, there would be no turning back.
Through gritted her teeth, she inhaled a breath for courage. With a gentle push, the door swung inward, silent on its hinges.
River’s inside. The cell’s died, so there’s no cavalry on the way. But I’ll be damned if I let him go it alone.
* * *
River stood in the foyer of the house, the Glock 22 in his hands pointed toward the floor. Training evened his breath, forced his nerves calm. His ears strained to catch the slightest sound that might indicate the location of the copycat killer.
The front door had given him pause when he’d noticed the color. Vicki had told him his first symbol was a blue rectangle—and it just didn’t get any more rectangular or bluer than that. But how many blue doors were there in Savannah? Might be hundreds of them. What made this particular one the door to his destiny?
Duty had pushed him inside the house. Instinct told him the murderer was somewhere inside, but for the moment, he waited, his heart knocking against his sternum. Evil permeated the air, oozed thick and oily over his skin. He’s on the premises. Breathing the same air. Somewhere nearby.
The lights flickered. River glanced around, searching for the source of the disturbance. He scanned the immediate area, scrutinized the pockets of shadows. Uneasy with remaining in the confined entryway, he crept forward, his shoes silent on the parquet flooring. When he reached the front room, he stopped. A rancid scent curled into his nose. Rotten eggs mixed with the smoke bombs he’d set off in his youth.
Sulfur? His jaw clenched as the memories of high school chemistry returned to him. Is burning sulfur a part of this psychopath’s ritual?
The front room cleared, River moved farther down the hallway. Something squished beneath his shoe, and his foot slid forward. Catching his balance, he looked down.
Aw, shit. Blood.
A wet, sticky swath trailed toward the back of the house. Between the rancid sulfur and metallic scents, his stomach lurched, and he swiped away the bead of sweat that had formed on his upper lip. Damn. Where did all this blood come from? This isn’t the murdered police officer’s. That had been cleaned earlier this morning after samples and photos were taken. This is fresh.
Streaks and spatters along the floor indicated someone or something had been dragged over the parquet. He followed the slick mess to a large open area at the back of the house. The tips of bare toes peeking out from behind the corner of a wall propelled him forward. He skittered over the hardwood and found a woman lying facedown near the kitchen bar.
Raising his gun, he pivoted three-sixty to ensure the killer didn’t lurk in the shadows. The room cleared, he risked kneeling next to the injured woman. The mass of red hair indicated the victim was probably the waitress who’d been kidnapped. But why did the killer bring her back to her own home?
With great care, he turned the woman over. Her shredded nightgown molded to her body, the fabric steeped in blood. Beneath the tattered cloth, her chest had been slashed in the same X pattern as previous victims. Revulsion shot through him, and he swallowed hard to keep down the pizza and beer he’d consumed.
Oh, shit. With a shaky hand, River reached for the waitress’s wrist, desperate to find a spark of hope in this damnable mess. Pressing his fingertips to her skin, he located a weak pulse. Thank God I gave my cell phone to Vicki to call for backup. The waitress might stand a chance if an ambulance arrives fast enough.
A shift in the air raised goose bumps on River’s neck. His body tensed, and he twisted around, his finger on the Glock’s trigger. But before he caught sight of the madman he hunted, something slammed against his skull, and a thunderous crack filled his ears. Pain ripped through his head, down his spine, and his body weakened, slumped. Darkness enveloped him.
* * *
What the hell am I doing? The killer’s in here. Vicki’s breath hitched, and her body quaked with fear. How am I going to help River? I don’t even have a weapon.
She snatched an umbrella from the cylindrical urn near the door. A bat would’ve been better, but she’d take what she could. At least the end was pointy.
Pausing at the first room, she peeked inside. Empty. Unnerved, she tightened her grip on the umbrella and moved farther down the hallway. A flutter of air had her spinning back toward the entryway, brandishing the umbrella like a rapier. Her heart thundered, knocking with such violence her sternum ached. She bit her lower lip to stop her breath from rasping through her mouth so she could listen. Did something move behind me?
Quivering, she shoved her back to the wall and slinked down the hallway. She sidestepped over the wood floor, her heels scraping the baseboard. Where the hell is River?
A loud thump at the rear of the house brought her head around.
“River?” she called out in a hoarse whisper. Intent on moving toward the sound, she shifted her weight and stepped forward. But instead of a stable surface, her foot slipped from beneath her, and she tumbled to hardwood, landing in something wet and sticky. She lifted her hand. In the muted light, she caught sight of a dark-red substance coating her palm. Horror flooded through her.
“Oh God.” Panic grabbed her throat and squeezed. Is it River’s?
Desperate to find him, she followed the slick trail, scrambling on her hands and knees. When she rounded the corner, she found him sprawled facedown, unmoving. Dropping the umbrella, she hurried toward him.
A sharp shudder of wind sliced behind her. Before she could turn, something tangled in her tresses, jerking her head back. She gasped.
By her hair, the assailant dragged her to her feet and swung her around. She lashed out, her fists catching nothing but air. Twisting, she tried again. Then, to her astonished horror, her feet lifted from the floor. She kicked wildly, punched and thrashed, the pain in her head and neck excruciating.
She tried to glimpse the monster attacking her. The barest hint of a bloodied shirtsleeve flashed in her peripheral, and icy despair coiled in her stomach. Is that River’s? Am I too late?
Without warning, her assailant swung her in a wide arc, slamming her into the wall. She screamed. Pain racked her body, tears pricking her eyes as she gasped for breath. She slumped as her vision doubled and darkened. I’m so sorry, River.