Just like you did, a guilty voice in her chided. And now, who knew if her mother would survive, she thought, pain-stricken.
“Let’s get the food to go,” Ellie said. She’d probably never be able to eat inside a restaurant in town again.
Derrick agreed and they quickly ordered, Lola shoving a disposable cup of coffee toward Ellie. “Here, you look like you could use this. I’ll throw in some pastries, too.”
Thanking her, Ellie grabbed their food and started toward the door, when Emily Nettles, the wife of the youth minister in town, stopped them. “Ellie, I want you to know the Porch Sitters have started a prayer chain for Shondra and for your mama.” She squeezed Ellie’s arm. “We’re also praying for you and Agent Fox.”
Emotion welled in Ellie, and she murmured thanks. Maybe soon enough she’d turn into a praying girl herself.
Hell, she closed her eyes for a brief second and decided to try it now. A quick prayer for her mother chimed in her head, and she glanced at the heavens, wondering if anyone up there was listening.
Seventy-Seven
Somewhere on the AT
Every cell in Shondra’s body hurt. Her skin was raw where he’d whipped her, the sting constant from the relentless beatings. Her eye was swollen shut, and she could barely move her jaw.
He’d taken her clothes now, leaving her lying on the floor of the cold metal cage, naked and alone for hours with nothing to do but dread his next visit.
He’d sworn he would break her.
She’d vowed he wouldn’t.
But she was growing weaker and weaker. She understood now. Once she begged, he would finally kill her.
Then the pain would end.
And so would her chance for a future. She had to escape, stop him from claiming any more lives.
Tears choked her. But how? He never let her off the chain and he had a camera watching her now. She imagined him sitting upstairs drinking whiskey with a smirk, watching as she lay curled on the floor in her own blood.
Her mouth was so dry it felt like cotton balls inside, and her throat hurt from holding back a scream. The water bowl he’d left for her sat in the corner.
A dog’s water bowl.
Humiliation climbed her neck as she dragged herself over to it. Metal clanged against metal, the thick band around her neck cutting into her already raw skin. She loathed the sheer idea of drinking from the dog bowl, but she had no choice––she had to survive.
She raised her head and stared into the camera, knowing he was watching, getting off on her pain. It was a twisted game to him. Her hatred for him made her stronger, and she gave him a determined half smile.
She wasn’t ready to give up yet.
Seventy-Eight
Crooked Creek
Anxious to escape prying eyes, Ellie and Derrick sat in the car and ate their sandwiches in silence. Ten minutes later, they met Angelica Gomez at the Crooked Creek Police Department to make a statement to the public about Holcomb.
Evening shadows clung to the building in the fading sun, and a slight breeze rocked a traffic light back and forth as leaves swirled across the park.
Angelica and her cameraman looked hungry for news. They rushed towards Ellie, the reporter’s face etched with determination and the realization that she was onto another big story.
Ellie motioned for her to step aside for a moment away from the camera. “You were right,” she told the reporter. “Hiram had a follower. That’s the reason we’re here.”
Interest sparked in Angelica’s eyes. “Are you ready to report on it?”
She had to. The people in Bluff County needed to be warned. “Yes, I’ll give a statement.” Angelica signaled to the cameraman to start filming. “This is Angelica Gomez coming to you live for WRIX Channel 5 news with FBI Special Agent Derrick Fox and Detective Ellie Reeves, who are investigating the case of the Weekday Killer. Already this man has murdered three women and is still at large.” She pushed the mic toward Ellie. “Can you give us an update?”
“The FBI, along with local Bluff County law enforcement, are doing everything possible to find this killer and make it safe for women in the county again. Currently we are exploring several leads and persons of interest, one of which includes escaped psychiatric patient Vinny Holcomb,” Ellie paused.
“Mr. Holcomb has a history of violence against women and is extremely dangerous. If you have any knowledge of him or his whereabouts, please contact the police.” She glanced at the clock in the middle of the square––every single second counted in a case like this. “Once again, he is considered extremely dangerous. Do not attempt to apprehend him yourself. Alert authorities immediately.”
Ellie’s mind turned to the photo of her, branded with a X. He might be coming after her right now.
“One last thing, Mr. Holcomb, if you see this, please contact us. No one else has to be hurt. If you want me, then call me and we’ll talk.”
As she wrapped up, Ellie noticed a muscle ticking in Derrick’s jaw. She didn’t give a damn if the killer came after her if she could save Shondra’s life.
Leaving Derrick to finish dealing with Angelica, Ellie ducked into the station.
Deputy Landrum looked up from his desk. “Are you sure you should be here instead of the hospital?”
Ellie battled guilt. “Right now, Shondra needs me more. I can do something for her––but I can’t help my mother right now.” She licked her dry lips. “There’s something I want you to do.”
He murmured agreement. “What is it?”
“Both Dr. Whitefeather and the therapist at the mental hospital suggested the killer might have worked in the medical field or a funeral home. I want you to look into those, any that are close by, and any medical personnel or funeral directors who’ve had complaints filed against them. Also compare those names to anyone connected to the Ole Glory Church. Even one of the body movers who transports bodies to the funeral home.” She rubbed her forehead.
“Still working on getting a complete list of the parishioners and staff of Ole Glory,” he replied. “Apparently, someone recently broke into their office and stole files, but the historian of the church is trying to compile a list from memory.”
That could take time. Time they didn’t have.
A text dinged on Ellie’s phone, and she opened it, her heart pummeling her chest when she saw what it was.
Dear God. It was a video of a young dark-haired woman somewhere in the woods, tied up in the midst of a cluster of weeping willow trees. Spidery moss hung to the ground, the willows’ limbs bowed with the weight. Terror filled the woman’s eyes and her cheeks were stained with tears.
“Please don’t kill me,” the woman cried, her voice jagged with desperation. “Please, I don’t want to die.”
Ellie gasped as the camera showed a man’s hand gripping a knife, glinting. “Thursday’s child has far to go,” the masked man sang creepily. “Too far to go for redemption.”
“Someone help me!” the woman screamed.
He swung the knife down in one quick motion, slashing the woman’s throat.
Blood spattered across the ground and dripped down her neck, staining the grave of wildflowers.