He lifted the knife up to examine it, then removed a tool and began to sharpen the edge. The sound of metal against metal echoed in the quiet but helped to disguise her uneven breathing as she worked to loosen the ropes. Finally, she felt the rope fray, and she gently jerked her hands free, beginning to steadily unravel the knots at her feet.
“Monday’s child is fair of face. Tuesday’s child is full of grace. Wednesday’s child is full of woe. Thursday’s child has far to go. Friday’s child is loving and giving…”
She knew she was going to be Friday’s child.
Slowly, she loosened the ropes from her feet. He was looking at the flowers now, lost in total madness, in the fervor of what was about to unfold.
Spurred on by fear, she stood, her head rushing with the movement, then turned and fled into the forest, as fast as her feet would carry her. Maybe she’d find help. A hiker. A ranger. A path back to the road. Anything.
Footsteps echoed behind her. His howl. Bushes being slashed with his knife as he chased her.
The need to survive overcame her, and she picked up her pace, slogging through the slushy ground and knee-high weeds. Wet moss made her trek slippery, and mosquitos swarmed her face, but she let the sound of the river nearby guide her. Patches of briars and poison ivy clawed at her bare legs, sharp stones jutting between the damp grass.
Her limbs felt heavy, her body weak from lack of food and water, the earth shifting sideways as a dizzy spell nearly overcame her.
Clawing at the trees to stay on her feet, she pushed on, weaving between the tall pines towering over her. The sharp brittle pinecones stabbed at her bare feet as she ran, the scent of rain and wet ground cloying.
“You can run, but you can’t hide.” The voice of the monster who’d taken her drifted through the trees. He was right behind her. Closing in.
Her feet sank into mud, and tree branches slapped her in the face, but she forged ahead and found a rough trail.
“You won’t escape.” His voice resounded through the woods again.
Bile clogged her throat as she followed the overgrown path, suddenly coming to a cliff. The sight of it robbed her breath. The ground dropped hundreds of feet into the icy river below. Jagged rocks and overflowing water awaited her, and the current was so strong she’d probably never survive.
She turned to run back the other way, but his silhouette appeared in the shadows a few feet away. The blade of his knife blade glimmered as he lunged toward her.
Glancing at the drop-off again, she gauged the distance, and her chances. Certain death if she jumped and hit the rocks. If that didn’t kill her, the paralyzing temperature of the water would.
He caught her arm, but she swung her fist up and knocked him backward, turning and throwing herself over the edge. Her scream died in the wind as she plunged into the depths of the raging water below.
One Hundred Three
He teetered on the edge of the cliff, enraged that she’d gotten away from him. “No, Cathy! No, no, no, no, no.”
As her body disappeared below the surface of the raging water, he looked for her to surface. Balling his hands into fists, he banged them against his thighs then ran along the embankment in the direction the current would carry her.
Wind spun through the trees, shaking them and tossing twigs down into the river, but as far as he could see she didn’t surface. Below there was nothing but murky water. With the steep drop off, she’d probably hit rocks when she landed. The sheer impact of the fall would have likely killed her.
Sweat soaked his shirt and hair as he continued to follow the current nonetheless. What if she wasn’t dead? What if she survived and told everyone where he’d kept her? What if she could identify him?
“Cathy!” he bellowed. “You shouldn’t have left me!”
Jumping over rocks and broken tree limbs, and pushing through the tall briars, he followed the river for miles, chasing the current and stopping every few feet to see if her head appeared or if she washed up.
But after four heart-pounding miles where he hadn’t seen her surface, he knew she had to be dead. She’d been weak already––he’d made sure of that. There was no way she could have swum underwater that far without him seeing her come up for air. Even if she survived the fall, the raging current would have swept her under. And hypothermia would get her.
Shaking with rage, he ripped vines from the ground with his bare hands, throwing a clump of them over the edge of the cliff and watching them fall into the rocky water.
She had just messed up his plans. She thought she was smart, running like that. Thought she’d escaped him.
But he was smarter.
He’d covered his tracks. Hidden his face from her.
And he had another. One who was even more fitting to be Friday’s child than she had been. She’d served her purpose.
It was time for her to meet her fate.
One Hundred Four
Elm Grove
Finton no longer lived above the funeral home. He owned a house although the outside of it looked as bleak as the funeral home. Made of stacked stone in a dull gray, with overgrown weeds and backed by the woods, it seemed to disappear into the foliage. Kudzu had taken over, snaking up the sides, winding around the railings.
Derrick had called to request warrants for Finton’s home and computer while Ellie drove, his address easy enough to find. He’d also downloaded a photograph from the funeral home’s website. In the picture, Roy Finton was dressed in a gray pinstriped suit with his hair clipped short and a sympathetic smile on his face. On the surface he looked like a nice, empathetic undertaker—With our loving hands, your loved ones will rest in peace.
But if what Cord said was true, it was all a lie.
“I don’t see any cars,” Derrick said as she parked.
“No lights on inside either. If he’s not at the funeral home or here, where is he?”
“Who knows? The man might have a life. A girlfriend.”
“No one in their right mind would want to be with a creep like him,” said Ellie, with a shudder.
“That’s assuming McClain is telling the truth.”
Ellie threw a glare at him, then opened her car door and climbed out. He followed, examining the property for any signs Finton was around. An outbuilding sat to the side of the house, but it was dark and windowless.
Braced for an attack, they drew their weapons and eased up the drive. A stray cat loped across the front yard, then darted into the woods, and wind tore through the ancient trees, slamming a shutter on the house back and forth.
Cobwebs clung to the window to the side of the porch and Ellie noted rotting window casings that looked termite-infested. She reached the door and knocked, while Derrick continued to scope out the property. Set apart from other houses by at least a couple of miles, it would be easy for Finton to hide here or hold a victim without anyone being aware. If she screamed, the sound would dissolve into the wind and trees.
Ellie knocked again. There was no answer, so she jiggled the door. Locked. Derrick used his lock-picking tool and opened the heavy wooden door. The interior was an inky black, an odd odor permeating the air.
Freezing for a second, the darkness closed around Ellie and choked the air from her lungs. Dammit, she was working hard to overcome her fear, but sometimes it snuck out and curled around her like a snake winding its way around her throat.