Five minutes later, he drove past the store. He noted its location, and continued down Front Street, passing the dirt road he’d taken to the beach only a few hours earlier, then turning his eyes towards the grounds of Beast House. His gaze followed the rear fence until the building got in the way. On the other side, he picked it up again. He turned his head, watching the fence until the hillside rose up to block his view. From the two angles, he was almost certain he’d seen the entire length of the fence. Brian’s body was gone. He hadn’t noticed the other two, either, but of course their bodies wouldn’t be easy to spot at this distance.
He’d half expected to find a gathering of police, but the region back there looked deserted.
Perhaps they had already completed their on-scene investigation and departed. That seemed unlikely, though. Surely there would still be officers scouring the area for evidence.
He continued up the road. Marty’s old Plymouth, shrouded by morning shadows, was still parked on the shoulder where he’d left it. No police cars there. No coroner’s van.
He rounded a bend, then made a U-turn. Coming back down the road, he kept his gaze on the wooded slope. The instant the rear fence appeared, he raced his eyes along it. From this vantage point, he could see almost to its far corner.
His doubts vanished.
The bodies had been removed.
But by the police? He didn’t think so.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Janice rolled in her sleep and tumbled. Shards of pain tortured her awake. She lay motionless on her side, gasping, eyes squeezed shut.
Oh God, she thought, it hurts.
She whimpered from a searing rush of pain inside, and curled up. Her knees pushed against something soft and yielding.
What happened to me? her mind screamed.
Clutching her belly, she felt tape. She explored it with shaky fingers. It seemed to be holding a pad in place. A bandage? It ended just below her ribs. Moving her hands higher, she touched strips of tape on the underside of her left breast. The bandage started just above her nipple, covered the top of her breast and wrapped over her shoulder. The flesh beneath it felt burning. Her other shoulder was bandaged, too. Her right breast was bare, but tender as if bruised. Another bandage ran along her side to the hip. There, she found an elastic belt. She traced it to her groin and fingered the thick pad of a sanitary napkin.
What happened to me?
Raped. She must’ve been raped. The awful hurt inside. What did he use, for Christsake, a tree?
She started to sob, and the jolting spasms sent blasts of pain through her.
Who did this to me? God, why?
Brian? Did Brian? She remembered being with him, but…had he gone nuts or something?
Where am I, a hospital?
It didn’t smell like a hospital, it smelled like a zoo. And she knew she wasn’t on a bed. She was on the floor, a soft nap of carpet against her bare skin.
She opened her eyes. In the dim blue light, she saw a heap of pillows beside her. She must have been lying on that until she rolled off.
Blue light. Pillows.
Where am I?
Gingerly, gritting her teeth as pain ripped through her, Janice got to her hands and knees. She forced herself to stand. She swayed, and raised her arms for balance. Then she turned slowly.
Nobody here. Just me.
The room was slightly smaller than her own bedroom. Looking up, she saw that the ceiling was covered by mirrors. Except for the carpet and pillows, the room was bare. No furniture, no windows…
No windows!
The Kutch house?
“Oh God,” she whispered.
Flinching with each step, she staggered to the single door. She reached out an arm, slapped the jamb, and tried to brace herself. The arm folded. She fell against the door. But she grabbed the knob and held on tightly until the worst of the pain subsided. Then she tried to twist the knob. It wouldn’t budge.
I’m locked in.
It came as no great surprise.
Still, she rattled the knob and yanked it, shaking the door in its frame.
Finally, she gave up.
She was out of breath, shuddering with pain.
She sank to her haunches. The bandage on her breast had pulled loose at the bottom. Blood was trickling from under it. She tried to press the tape down, but it wouldn’t stick. Her skin was too slippery. Raising the bandage like a thick blue flap, she blinked sweat and tears from her eyes and stared at the wounds.
Her shoulder was torn and raw as if she had been gnawed by a dog. Below that, her flesh was ripped by four long scratches. Smoothing the bandage gently into place, she looked at her other breast. The skin was unbroken, but dark with bruises like a crescent of half a dozen dots. She lifted it and found a similar half-circle under the nipple.
Teeth marks?
But not from the teeth of a man.
Some kind of wild animal? A coyote, maybe?
Who are you trying to kid? she thought.
It was the beast.
Elizabeth Thorn’s beast.
She couldn’t remember any of it, but she knew it had to be so.
Oh God, the thing had raped her.
Quavering, she hugged her belly and leaned forward. She pressed her forehead against the door.
It had raped her. But it hadn’t killed her. Someone had bandaged her wounds. And now she was a prisoner in the windowless house of Maggie Kutch.
It’ll be back, she thought.
It wants me again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hardy, a distance up the sidewalk, paused near the fence and took a photo of Beast House. As he lowered the camera, Nora waved. He nodded a greeting, and came forward. In spite of the mild breeze, Tyler thought he must be stifling inside his sport jacket. She was too warm, herself, and wished she’d worn shorts or a skirt instead of her corduroys.
“You remember Tyler,” Nora said.
“Of course. How could I forget such a lovely creature?”
Reluctantly, she shook his offered hand. “This is Abe Clanton,” she said.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hardy. I’ve read your books.”
Hardy looked surprised as he took Abe’s hand. “In the plural?”
“Sure. There were some thirty before Horror at Black River Falls?”
“Forty-eight, in fact. More than a few under pseudonyms. I’m delighted to find a man who knows I existed before Horror. Delighted and stunned.”
“I especially liked your Death Defiers series. Always kept an eye out for them in the PX.”
“Ah, you’re a military man. I should’ve guessed. That straight-shouldered bearing. A Marine, no doubt.”
Abe looked amused. “That’s right.”
“The author of Death Defiers is Matt Scott. May I ask how you saw through my nom de plume?”
“They had your name on the copyright page.”
“A singularly literate fellow,” he said, and turned to Jack. “Another leatherneck?”
“Used to be. Jack Wyatt.” They shook hands. “I saw your movie.”
“Ah.”
“I’m a singularly illiterate fellow.”
Nora laughed. “Hey, we met a guy last night you’ll want to interview. Captain Frank. He lives in a bus over there.” She pointed toward the woods along the far side of Beach Road.