But she knew with iron-cold certainty they wouldn't. How could they? A judge, a police commander, several respected attorneys, a police lieutenant, and a court official.
How could they afford to let her live?
Judge Boynton had boasted that none of their previous victims had complained, and there could be only one reason for that. She thought of Sarah Hargitay and Jennie McLellan and Kay Padowska and Helena Carlsson. All of them independent, strong, and very attractive women, and all of them had disappeared without a trace, except for Sarah Hargitay's shoe, which had been discovered at Bridal Veil, only a few miles from here.
Oh God, Daisy. Oh God, let them do what they like to me but don't let them kill me. What will little Daisy do if they kill me?
Holly felt something soft and heavy touch her cheek, like plums. Instantly she jerked her face away, but then something else brushed her other cheek, something harder, and then her shoulder. She felt a man climb onto the bed beside her, then another, and another. She could feel them, she could feel their weight and she could feel the heat of their bodies, and she could smell them too: a strong, rank smell, stale sweat and Gucci aftershave and alcohol. They were all naked, all of these men, all hairy, and they were rolling and massaging their penises all over her body, even the soles of her feet, as a way of exciting themselves.
Wildly she kept on jerking her head from side to side, but that only encouraged them to press their penises against her even harder. Even though she was tied so tightly, she managed to twist her hips and buck herself up and down on the bed, but again that only seemed to excite the men even more.
She felt warm slime against her left cheek, and she was so disgusted that she retched. She knew that she couldn't break free, but she wasn't going to let them think that she was ever going to give in to them. She was trembling uncontrollably with effort and she could feel the blood banging inside her head, but she kept on struggling and grunting and more than anything else her soul screamed out,No!
Fingers started to stray all over her, tugging at her nipples and sliding right inside her, single fingers at first, then three and four fingers at a time. There was nothing she could do but shake her head and let out furious noises, like an animal.
Oh God, let this be over. Oh, please, God, let this be over.
There was another pause. She tried to catch her breath again, but the smell of sexually aroused men was so repulsive that she gagged again, and bile ran down the back of her throat. Then a heavily built man climbed onto the bed and positioned himself between her legs. She could feel his hairy thighs against her skin. He opened her up with his fingers, and then she felt the swollen head of his penis pressing against her.
Please God.
Something happened-something so jumbled and unexpected that she couldn't work out what it was. The man bounced on the bed and struggled off her urgently, as if he had found a snake in the sheets. Some of the other men started to struggle around too: She felt three or four of them collide with the side of the mattress. She couldn't imagine what was going on, but they all seemed to have totally lost interest in their orgy in a matter of seconds.
She thought she faintly saw two or three flashes through her blindfold, and then she smelled something smoky and acrid.Don't tell me the house is on fire and they've just left me here, all tied up,she thought. She grunted and pulled at the ropes around her wrists, but the men had knotted them so tight that she couldn't even begin to loosen them.
Then she felt a hand placed on top of her head, firmly but very gently, as if somebody were trying to reassure her to stay calm. Her head was lifted from the pillow and the blindfold tugged free.
To her surprise, the house was in darkness, except for a dim illumination from the windows. A shape was standing over the bed, something huge and very black. She stared up at it, still gagged, unable to cry out. Her heart almost melted with fear. This was a hundred times more frightening than the Justice League. This was the thing that took all of your happiness away. This was bad luck incarnate, and now it had caught up with her at last, and it was greedy for her misery.
Outside the bedroom window the lightning flickered on the peak of Mount Hood, and she saw black shiny feathers and eyes that glittered in the darkness like beetles.
Another black shape appeared in the doorway, and then another. The lightning flickered again. She should have known that the mountain would eventually draw her to her death.
It was then, though, that her gag was untied, and one of the black shapes approached the foot of the bed. She saw a knife shine, and her ankles were released, quickly followed by her wrists. The huge black figure picked her up off the bed and wrapped the throw around her.
Only a second later all the lamps came back on again, and Holly found herself sitting on the bed next to George Greyeyes. He was dressed in a black leather jacket, but the black gleam that she had imagined were feathers were simply his greased-back hair. At the end of the bed, folding up his jackknife, was another Indian whom she didn't recognize. He was twentyish, broad-faced, good-looking, with a plaid shirt that didn't conceal his bodybuilder physique. A third young Indian appeared, slighter and skinnier, with glasses and with a leather tool pouch attached to his belt.
George Greyeyes took hold of Holly's hand. "Are you okay? Look: Your clothes are all here. Why don't you get dressed?"
She nodded, numbly. "Oh, George. Oh, God. They were going to-"
"Shh, everything's okay now. But we have to get out of here."
Holly stared at him. She still couldn't quite believe what had happened. "I have to find Daisy."
"Daisy's fine. Apparently somebody nabbed her while she was walking home and drove around with her for a couple of hours. But after that, they dropped her back at the end of the street, safe and sound."
"How did you find me? How did you know what they were going to do to me?"
"Shh," said George. "Let's leave that till later. We'll give you a couple of minutes to get dressed and then we have to go."
"I thought you were Raven. I really did."
"If it hadn't been for Raven, I may not have found you. But come on, hurry."
When she was dressed, she went back through to the living room. There was blood sprayed everywhere, all up the walls, all over the furniture. Judge Boynton lay facedown on one of the leather couches, white and skinny like a Roswell alien, with most of the back of his head blown off. Randolph Bruckman was folded up in the corner with a hole in his big hairy belly. Three other men lay dead and naked in the kitchen doorway, a tangle of arms and legs.
"Mickey Slim" was close to the open patio door, facedown, his steel-colored eyes wide open, as if he were making a microscopic inspection of the carpet. Blood crept out from underneath his chest.
Holly slowly approached him. She stood over him with her hand pressed over her mouth while George Greyeyes kept a cautious eye on her.
Mickey's arms were dotted with dozens of small circular scars, pale and wrinkled, and his back was decorated with faded white ridges. These weren't the kind of scars that a cop would sustain on the streets. They hadn't come from bullets or knives or gangland beatings. But Holly knew what they were. Holly had seen marks like them so many times before, only fresher, on the arms and backs of children whose parents had stubbed out cigarettes on them and lashed them with belts and canes.