Jack hung up and pushed the accelerator to the floor. He dialed Laura’s number again.
“Please, Laura, pick up…”
CHAPTER 69
Michael reached across the countertop and grabbed the ringing phone, ripping the cord from the wall. He smashed the receiver on the ground and kicked it across the floor.
It had taken him less than a minute to bind and gag Laura where she lay. He used the same framing wire he’d taken from the art classroom. It hurt, and it didn’t give. Laura’s eyes remained closed, her breathing was short and slow.
Rebecca hadn’t moved the entire time, she sat wedged in the corner, her hands over her ears. She hoped this was just another nightmare, that any minute she’d wake up in her bedroom. The dream started off wonderful, especially the bike. But now she wanted it to end, this was the worst one ever.
He stared down at Laura, satisfied with the job he’d done. She rolled onto her back, her eyes flickered.
Laura moaned through her gag, then suddenly — as if the blow to the head had merely hit the pause button — she came to with a jolt, picking up right where she’d left off. Her head lurched forward and snapped back. She quickly realized she was immobile; she screamed through her gag with an awful, muffled cry that vibrated the walls. Rebecca covered her face and wept.
Laura saw Rebecca coiled up in the corner and her eyes went wide. She lost all sense of self and started rolling back and forth, squealing, desperate. She pulled with all her strength, but Michael had wrapped her bindings too tight to even wriggle. She could feel blood running down her hair and into her ear. She fought, like a weightlifter who had reached fatigue, trying to summon that last ounce of strength for one more rep. She lurched and spasmed several times, much to Michael’s amusement.
“Go ahead, I could teach a class on that. You’re not going anywhere.”
Laura stopped, exhausted. She struggled to get air through her clogged nose, her nostrils puffed in and out like gills on a fish. Blood started to seep into her eyes, it stung.
Michael heard a voice coming from the den. He entered the room, the TV was still on, a reporter at Bishop’s arraignment was speaking:
“With the apprehension of Edward Bishop, the public can finally exhale, knowing a killer who has had this community on edge is no longer roaming the streets.”
Michael watched with a smug expression.
CHAPTER 70
Carl sat at the back of the courtroom as Bishop stood before the judge. The room was wall to wall with onlookers, many of them recognized Carl from interviews he’d done on TV. And as the charges were read aloud to the judge, everyone turned to gawk at Carl’s reaction.
“Of the rape and murder of Teresa Mason, how do you plead?”
Bishop’s lawyer held up his hand to keep his client from answering, but there wasn’t much chance Bishop would break his silence. His lawyer’s theatrics were all for the cameras, he’d hit the 15 minute celebrity jackpot and would be checking his reflection for hairs out of place for the next two years.
“My client pleads not guilty by reason of insanity.”
“And of the charge of rape and murder of Angelina Rosa, how do you plead?”
“My client pleads not guilty by reason of insanity, your honor.”
The judge continued to read down the laundry list of charges against Bishop. Carl was a burning cauldron of seething rage, his lips started to quiver as raw hate boiled to the surface.
But outside, a situation was brewing. There was a murmur building, growing stronger and louder by the second. As if perhaps someone important had arrived, a celebrity maybe? Curiosity built to a fever pitch, until everyone was standing to get a better look at what was going on.
It got so out of control that the judge had to bang his gavel. “Bailiff? What’s going on out there?”
One of the large courtroom doors slowly opened, reporters and bystanders nearly fell over each other following an officer, who signaled for someone inside the courtroom to get Carl’s attention.
Carl slowly stood, as people pressed him to move forward. Others got out of his way so he could exit the row of seats to follow the officer who had an odd grin on his face. The whole slew of onlookers that had filtered in bristled like they had a secret they were bursting to tell. People flooded in behind Carl with anticipation.
Carl was led into the main hallway as the curious crowded around. Cameras and microphones fought to get close.
“Please, what is going on?” Carl asked, his legs growing unsteady.
“There’s a call for you, Mr. Rosa,” the officer said, handing him a cell phone. Carl slowly brought it up to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Rosa, this is Officer Jennifer Brown, I’m calling to inform you that your daughter, Angelina, was found alive. She’s being rushed to Liberty Medical Center as we speak.”
Carl felt his heart stop and start.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“No sir, Detective Jack Ridge asked me to call you personally and relay the news. I’m sending a car that will escort you to the hospital.”
Carl’s head grew heavy, he collapsed to his knees. It was the same reaction he’d had when he’d been told his daughter was dead. This time it was joy, not pain, that overwhelmed him. He shook with rapture and elation.
“Oh my God, Oh thank God…”
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. The entire courtroom was now in chaos, everyone wanted to get close to Carl to congratulate him, share in his happiness.
Carl clasped his hands in thankful prayer. “Thank you, Jack… Bless you.”
CHAPTER 71
Jack’s car screamed into Laura’s front yard. He opened the door and nearly fell out, scrambling towards the house, his adrenaline pumping furiously.
He spotted Ketcher’s tan car parked in the street, it matched the description given. Jack drew his gun and checked the chamber, creeping up to a window. He peered inside to the den, the room empty. He stayed low and made his way to the side door.
He crouched with his back against the wall, clutching his gun with both hands prayer-like, panting for breath. The screen door had been knocked from its hinges, just hanging by a thread. He placed his hand on the peeling paint of the old wooden inside door. Pressing gently, it opened with a creak. He entered, gun ready.
He checked behind the door and moved through the living room, past Rebecca’s artwork still laid out on the table. He stepped over the broken bowl of melted ice cream and entered the kitchen. It was tossed — broken glass, chairs and table upended. There was blood on the floor, the phone ripped from the wall, smashed into pieces.
His expression grew desperate, intense. He glanced at a picture of Laura and Rebecca up on the refrigerator, afraid his victory would be counterbalanced by failure and misery. Once again, his job had taken precedence over protecting those he loved.
Yes, he loved them. And for a moment he regretted ever taking that file from Leonard, involving Laura and Rebecca in his investigation. He’d led the killer right to their door.
Angelina was saved, thanks to Rebecca. There was zero doubt about that now. But at what price? What sacrifice? Jack felt the oppressive force of evil working its malevolence on his small section of the universe. What horror lied in wait? Please, not them, please don’t save one and sacrifice the other.
The thoughts caused Jack to stagger, he had to brace himself along the wall. He made a fist and threw a shadow punch at it in slow motion, wanting so much to hit it hard — holding back, grinding his teeth in bitterness. He made a promise to himself, right then and there, that before he shuffled off this confusing mortal coil, he’d spend the remainder of his days making peace with Robert. He would leave the past behind, empty himself of all the anger and pain, like a wounded airplane dumps fuel when it knows it’s going down.