Prologue

Thursday Evening, August 18

Now that she was deprived of sight, her other senses were intensified. She stood in the darkness, seeing nothing but hearing the persistent roar of the Atlantic Ocean in the distance and the soft flapping of wings right above her. Her nostrils flared at the smell of must and decay. The ground was damp and cold beneath her bare feet, her toes curling in the wet, sandy dirt. She felt something brush against her ankle and prayed it was only a mouse and not a rat.

Three days in this dank chamber were enough. If she had to stay any longer, she would surely lose her mind. Still, when they found her, as she fantasized they would, the police would want to know everything. To survive this, she’d have to be able to recount every detail of what had happened.

She would tell the police how he’d leave her alone for what seemed like hours at a time. She would tell them how he’d gagged her when he left so nobody would hear her screams and how he would lower the gag only to press his mouth against hers when he returned.

The police would want to know what he’d said to her, but she would have to tell them that she had stopped asking him questions after the second day of captivity because he never answered. He’d expressed what he wanted by touch. She’d be sure to tell them how he’d caressed her and lifted her up, how he’d maneuvered his body against hers, how she had known she must follow his lead.

As she continued to mentally organize the information the police would surely need from her, she felt a familiar rumble from her stomach. She had eaten sparsely of the meager provisions, but that didn’t really bother her. Hunger was a familiar friend. She knew the ability to survive with minimal sustenance was one of her most impressive strengths, though, of course, her parents didn’t see it that way. Nor did her former friends or teachers or the health care professionals who had worked so hard to steer her away from the path she had taken. They didn’t see what to her was only obvious. Not eating was the ultimate control.

As she listened to a pigeon cooing from the eaves above her, she thought more about her parents. They must be frantic with worry. She imagined her mother crying, and her father pacing and cracking his knuckles, over and over, his annoying habit whenever he was upset. Was everyone in town out looking for her? She prayed they were. She hoped that anyone who had ever wronged her, anyone who had ever snubbed her, anyone who had ever hurt her was worried about her now.

The low rumble of the waves rolled in and out, and she began to rock to the rhythm, trying to soothe herself. It was all going to work out. It had to. She would tell the police what had happened, how he’d silently pulled her to her feet. Without words, he’d shown her what he wanted her to do by the way he moved his body next to hers. She had danced in the dark for him. Danced again and again, trying desperately to please him. Dancing for her life.

Four Hours Later, Ocean Grove, New Jersey

The security guard raised his arm and pointed the flashlight at his wrist. Still an hour to go before his shift was over. Time for one last patrol.

Strolling along the empty paths, George Croft pulled his handkerchief from his uniform pocket, wiping his forehead and the back of his neck. Except for the excessive heat, it was a night like many others in the quiet oceanside town. An occasional throaty snore emanated from the dwellings he passed. The association rules permitted no loud talking after 10:00, and most lights were off by 11:00 P.M. The combination of sun, heat, and salt air had left the summer occupants ready for a good night’s sleep.

Finishing up on Mt. Carmel Way, the guard cut across the grass and stopped to check the doors of Bishop Jane’s Tabernacle and the Great Auditorium one last time. The massive Victorian-style wooden structures were locked up tight as drums. The illuminated cross that shone from the top of the auditorium, serving as a landmark for passing ships, beamed into the night, signaling that all was well.

He was satisfied that everything was in order, but he still had another fifteen minutes before he was officially off duty. God forbid something happened before 2:00 A.M. and he wasn’t on the grounds. He’d lose his job over that. And, although she didn’t live in his patrol area, that young woman was still missing. If some sick nut was intent on abducting another Ocean Grove girl, the guard wasn’t going to have it happen on his watch.

Lord, it was hot. Longing for a drink of cool water, George turned his flashlight in the direction of the wooden gazebo that protected the Beersheba Well. He knew the first well driven in Ocean Grove had been named for a well in the Old Testament. Beersheba’s waters had been good enough for the Israelites back then, and good enough for his town’s founding fathers, but he preferred the bottled stuff. Still, the gazebo was as good a place as any to wait it out until his shift was over.

With no breeze blowing in from the ocean, the night air was especially still. He trained the yellow light on the lawn in front of him and walked slowly, trying to kill time. Noticing one of his shoes was undone, he put the flashlight down in the grass and stooped to tie the lace. It was then that he heard the scratching sound.

The fine hairs tingled on the back of his clammy neck, and George spun the flashlight in the direction of the noise. He squinted, trying to identify what he was seeing. A dark mound, motionless, at least as far as he could see, lay at the base of the gazebo.

George stepped a little closer. Just when he heard the scratching again, he detected slight movement coming from the form. Slowly, slowly, he approached until, finally, the glare of the flashlight reflected off the pale skin of a female face, blindfolded and gagged.