Nick stepped out into the hall as Laurant picked up the receiver.
"Our Lady of Mercy," she said as she reached for the pen. "May I help you?"
She heard the giggling, and then a little boy’s voice asked, "Is your refrigerator running?"
She knew the joke and decided to go along. "Why, yes it is."
Another spurt of laughter followed, and then another voice shouted, "Then you better go catch it."
Laughter rang through the phone as Laurant hung up. Nick was watching from the doorway.
"Kids playing phone games," she explained.
The phone rang again. As she waited for the third ring to end, she said to Nick, "I guess I shouldn’t have encouraged him. I’ll be firmer this time."
"Our Lady of Mercy. May I help you?"
"Laurant." Her name was said on a low sigh.
"Yes?"
The voice on the other end of the line began to sing a bastardized version of "Buffalo Gal."
"Green-eyed girl won’t you come out and play, come out and play, come out and play. Green-eyed girl won’t you come out and play… Like my singing, Laurant?"
"Who is this?" As she asked the question, she whirled around and looked at Nick.
"A heartbreaker," the voice taunted. "I’m afraid I’m going to have to break your pretty little heart. Are you scared?"
"No, I’m not," she lied.
She cringed when she heard his laughter. It stopped as suddenly as it had begun and then he whispered, "Do you want to hear another song?"
She didn’t answer. Nick was rushing toward her; she could hear sounds coming from upstairs, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Pete watching her from the dining room, yet she was frozen by the voice on the phone. She was gripping the receiver so tightly in her hand that Nick had to use considerable force to pull it away and listen with her.
It dawned on her then that someone was taping or tracing the call, and that was why Pete had told her to let it ring three times. She should keep him talking as long as possible she thought, but oh God, the sound of his voice made her want to throw up.
"Is the song as stupid as the one you just sang?" she asked.
"Oh, no, no, this one’s sure to please. It’s so pure and… original. Listen close now."
She heard a click, and then a woman’s bloodcurdling screams. It was the most horrific sound she had ever heard. If Nick hadn’t been holding her up, she would have dropped to the floor as the tortured screams pierced her ear. They were almost inhuman and seemed to go on forever. Then, Laurant heard another click, and the screaming stopped.
"Aren’t you going to tell me to leave her alone? I have, you know. I’ve left her in a grave, even put a little stone on top so I’d remember where she is if I ever want to dig her up again. I do that sometimes, you know. I like to see what they’ve become. This one was a poor substitute for you, Laurant. Are you ready to play yet?"
Bile was rising to her throat. She could taste it.
"Play what?" she asked, trying her best to sound bored with him and with the conversation.
"Hide-and-seek. You hide and I seek. That’s how the game is played."
"I’m not playing any games with you."
"Yes, yes, you are."
"No," she countered, her voice hard. "I’m going home."
He shrieked, but she couldn’t tell if she’d just angered him or made him happy. Jerking the phone away from Nick’s hand, she straightened up and shouted, "Come and get me."
Chapter 14
Some things in life were simply too good to pass up. Like an icy cold glass of lemonade on a blistering hot and humid day. Or a lady in distress standing on the side of the highway, just begging for a little attention. Only this one hadn’t been a lady, and he’d ended up feeling a bit sorry he’d wasted so much of his valuable time on her.
Still, he had put the tape to good use hadn’t he? Perhaps his valuable time hadn’t been completely wasted after all. By God, they’d gotten his message loud and clear. Heartbreaker was a man of his word.
He wondered how long it would take them to find her. Hell, he’d done everything but post directions. Poor, poor Tiffany. He burst out laughing then; he couldn’t contain it. The bitch had never gotten to use the new phone she’d shoved in front of his face while she bragged about it. He’d used the phone though, to call his sweetheart, and he’d stayed on the line long enough for the mules to figure out whose name the phone was listed under.
He’d given her what he considered a fitting burial. He left her on a shallow grave near the highway. The scrub surrounding the gully obstructed the view. Eventually the mules would find her, and they’d know with one look what kind of woman she had been.
He broke her heart, and then he stole it. The spontaneous action worried him for a couple of minutes, but then he realized how careful he’d been not to get any of the blood in his van. Those amazing Ziploc bags really did do a good job, just like the commercials boasted. He’d have to remember to send the company a note praising their clever little product.
Filth. That’s what she’d been. Pure filth. And that was why he hadn’t kept the memento. He didn’t want to remember her, so he’d thrown it away.
Usually, whenever he encountered a worthy prospect, he entertained the notion of keeping her and training her, but at first glance he could plainly see that this one had been used, and he immediately ruled her out. The replacement had to be pure and innocent, clean, and adoring. Oh, yes, she’d be adoring all right, or a lasting relationship would never, ever work. No sirree.
He had done it before and he could do it again.
A burst of raw anger caught him unaware, shocking him. He realized then that he was gripping the steering wheel and forced himself to relax. All his time and effort had been wasted. Wasted! He had created the perfect mate, and when she died, he grieved.
He didn’t relish the chore of finding and training a replacement, but he couldn’t put it off much longer. No, he’d have to get started soon, which meant hour upon hour of careful, meticulous planning. He would have to see to every detail, every tiny wrinkle. And research. There would be so much research involved. He would have to know everything about her. Everything! Who her friends and relatives were, who would miss her, and who wouldn’t give a damn. Then he’d have to isolate her, alienate her, and once he finally took her, the real work would begin. He’d keep her locked away. The slow, agonizing training process would begin, day in and day out, endless training. He would be cruel and relentless until she became exactly what he wanted. There would be pain, lots of pain, but she would come to understand and forgive him once he had broken her and then molded her into the perfect mate. Why? Because she would adore him.
anger wouldn’t let him alone. Rage was steadily building, gnawing at his gut like hungry maggots. He couldn’t let it get out of control, not now. He took a deep breath and ordered himself to think about something pleasant.
Little Tiffy had been as easy as she’d advertised. No challenge at all. He didn’t even have to sweet-talk her into getting into his van. No she’d just strutted over to the door and scrambled right on up inside, with her tight little skirt hiked up above her crotch. She’d wanted him to see she wasn’t wearing panties. No modesty, that one. God only knew what diseases she’d been carrying. He’d had to wash three times just to get rid of the stench of her.
He made a mental note to remember to tell his buddies on the Internet that killing whores wasn’t what it was cracked up to be.
She couldn’t dirty talk her way out of what was happening to her. No, sir. Killing her had been a kick, but it hadn’t given him the rush he craved these days. He knew why of course. She hadn’t been clean.
"Green-eyed girl, won’t you come out to play…"
Oh, how he hated to start all over again. Such time! Such work!
"Calm down, calm down," he whispered. "You’ve done it before, you can do it again."
It wasn’t a project he was ready to undertake just yet. If he’d learned anything over the years, it was that you finished one job before you took on another.