Eighty
North Georgia
“This is Cara Soronto, your local meteorologist with an update of the storm system traveling through the southeast. Tornados have been spotted in Alabama and Tennessee with wind gusts of up to a hundred fifteen miles per hour. Thunderstorms are rolling through North Georgia and conditions in the next two days could be ripe for tornadoes in the mountain region. Stay tuned to your local news and weather station for updates.”
Ignoring the wicked-looking clouds gathering above, Derrick flipped off the radio, pulling his gun as he scanned the property north of Crooked Creek where Vinny had apparently been spotted. The clerk of the nearby country store had said the building he’d seen the man near contained abandoned chicken houses. The area was isolated, with tumbledown houses set miles apart, and many appeared to be abandoned.
Meanwhile, Sheriff Waters was going through the list of family members who’d lost children in the Ghost case, checking their whereabouts and alibis.
Looking around, Derrick didn’t spot any cars but saw an ATV parked to one side of the outbuilding. He remembered then that Hiram had used a similar vehicle to escape through the woods. Could it have been the same vehicle that had sped away the other day?
Slowly, Derrick crept through the property, shining his flashlight across the wild bushes and weeds choking the nearby farmhouse. Peeling paint and loose shutters gave it a run-down appearance and the sound of dogs barking echoed from a nearby barn. The outbuilding might be derelict, but the property wasn’t totally abandoned.
He inched up to the house and climbed the side steps to the porch, staying alert. The place sounded quiet, lights off, and looked deserted, but he eased to the door and carefully twisted the knob. A quick turn and the door opened with a groan. Derrick slipped inside, moving as quietly as possible, listening for sounds of Holcomb or a hostage in the place.
There was an old mattress where it appeared someone had been recently sleeping, and discarded food containers littered the room.
With the house empty, he headed back outside. Holding his gun at the ready, he crossed the yard to the barn. A rattling sound shattered the silence, followed by barking, and the noise grew louder as he approached. Pausing to peer through the cracks, he spotted several cages holding pitbulls. The animals were barking, howling and banging at the cages to get out.
Stepping inside, his senses were alert for Vinny, but the animals were the only creatures to be seen. A deep rage set in as he shined his light on the cages and realized that the animals had clearly been abused. Whips hung on a ladder propped against the wall, and the animals cowered as he approached. Their coats were missing patches of hair, burn marks and bruises marring their skin.
Someone was training them to be fighting dogs. It was a common problem in rural areas, where illegal dog fighting was on the rise.
“Don’t worry, guys, I’ll be back for you,” he said quietly to the barking and growling dogs, who were clearly terrified.
Next, he moved to the chicken house, looking through one of the low windows with his light. At first glance the interior appeared empty, the light illuminating the metal coops.
A sick feeling knotted his stomach as he entered the space. He expected more dogs, but there was another, larger cage in the corner.
Although it was empty, he spotted blood on the door and crouching, he examined it. At first glance, he assumed it was animal blood, and a dog collar and chain lay inside the cage.
But his pulse jumped. Strands of long, wavy, blonde hair were caught in the metal. Human hair.
Eighty-One
Bluff County Hospital
The sight of another dead woman on the trail and seeing Vinny’s mother brutally murdered was too much to handle in one day. With no word from her father, after Ellie had returned wearily from the trail and phoned her captain to update him, she stopped by the hospital and went straight to the Cardiac Critical Care unit.
Nurses’ voices, rolling medicine carts and endless machines beeping added to Ellie’s frayed nerves. When the ICU nurse buzzed her in, she found her father slumped in the chair by her mother’s side, his head lolled back, mouth slack with sleep.
Tiptoeing over to her mother’s bed, Ellie stared at the heart monitor and oxygen tubes, feeling helpless. When she was four, she had chicken pox, and she remembered Vera rubbing lotion on her arms and legs to keep her from scratching, then sitting and reading stories to her for hours to distract her. At eight, she’d had a bike wreck and had busted her knee. Her father carried her around when it hurt too badly to walk and had tacked a map on the wall so they could plan their next trip when she got better. But here she was, powerless to do anything to help.
A tear escaped her eye and she brushed it away, lifting her mother’s hand in her own. Vera’s fingers felt unnaturally cold, her complexion milky white, her normally coiffured hair mussed messily on the pillow. A strand of gray peeked through the brown, a sign the always-pristine Vera had missed her standing hair appointment at the Beauty Barn.
The image of Ellie’s childhood home being swept away in a blaze, flames engulfing so many memories, taunted her. She didn’t know if her parents could salvage anything from that fire.
Or if they could salvage their family if Vera survived.
Eighty-Two
Somewhere on the AT
She didn’t want to do it anymore. Could not live with the guilt. She’d traded her own soul to the devil, and watched the other women die.
He’d said to beg. And she had. Oh, how she’d begged. She’d begged for her life, begged to be spared, begged to survive.
She had to save herself. No one was coming for her. No one cared. They probably didn’t even know she was missing.
What was her life worth now? If she ever escaped, she’d carry the spine-chilling screams of the other women with her. She’d see their faces, hear their pleas to live, bear the smell of their blood. She would never sleep again.
Closing her eyes, she vowed to fight back this time.
Footsteps pounded above. She was in the locked room, the one that no one knew about.
The one that had, when she made her grave mistake, intrigued her.
Until she’d seen what was inside.
When she’d tried to run, he’d dragged her to the chicken house, where she’d lived alone in the cage and he’d beaten her down. Then he’d brought her here.
He didn’t let the others out until it was time for their death. Until he was ready to execute them.
But she had other uses.
The door screeched open, a splinter of light worming its way down the steps. In the other room, she heard Shondra banging against the cage. Oh, god, what he’d done to her…
And the other woman… what was her name?
She didn’t know. He called her Cathy. He called them all Cathy.
She had no idea who Cathy was, what Cathy had done to him, or why he hated her so much. But the name Cathy tore through the air every day, labeling the women with their fates.
Bracing herself to fight him this time, she straightened inside her cage and balled her hands into fists. His feet shuffled across the floor, then he shined a light into her eyes, blinding her.
“Come on, Cathy. I need you.”
She bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood as he yanked her from the cage, dragging her up the steps. The house was so dark she couldn’t see a thing, then he pulled on the choker around her neck. Pain shot through her as he hauled her into another dark room.