Chapter 70
Samantha found a policeman waiting at her door. When he saw her approaching, he asked whether she was Samantha Fine. She nodded, too flustered to say anything.
He asked, “Have you been at home yet this evening?”
“Not yet.” She held up her gym bag. “I was at the gym earlier, then dinner and a movie. What’s this about, Officer?”
He gave her what looked like an attempt at a reassuring smile. “I need to check your apartment to make sure it’s safe. This is only a precaution and nothing to be upset about. A detective will be here soon to explain what’s going on.”
Samantha’s hands shook slightly as she unlocked the door. Even though the officer didn’t say this was about the Nightmare Man, she knew it had to be about that.
“Should I come in with you or stay out in the hallway?” she asked.
“How about you stay out here until I tell you it’s safe.”
She watched as he removed his service revolver and entered the apartment. It was a small one-bedroom, and she heard him moving through it. Less than a minute later, he yelled out that the coast was clear. She walked in and found him grinning at her, relief washing over his face, his gun back in its holster.
“As I said, nothing to worry about,” he said. “Do you want me to wait with you until the detective shows up? He should be here in less than fifteen minutes.”
“That won’t be necessary, Officer.”
He took a step toward the door but frowned as he glanced in the direction of a hallway coat closet. “I missed that earlier,” he said. He grinned again at Samantha. “Better safe than sorry.”
The officer walked to the closet and opened the door. He froze before reaching for his service revolver. A gunshot rang out. Blood exploded from the officer’s chest, and he collapsed onto his back. Samantha’s natural instinct was to go to the fallen officer’s aid as opposed to fleeing, and she rushed toward him. A vaguely familiar-looking woman came out of the closet and pointed a gun at her.
Samantha was terror-stricken. Her voice came out as a whisper as she told this woman that the officer was still breathing. “I need to apply pressure to his wound. He doesn’t need to die.”
“I’m afraid he does. And I’ll be shooting you in the face if you touch him.” The woman was carrying a large gym bag, which she tossed to Samantha. Samantha thought she heard a squeal come from inside.
“You’re going to carry this,” the woman said. “And you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do, or I’m going to shoot you. Now turn around.”
Samantha had never stared down the barrel of a gun before, and it was frightening now doing so. She turned around and felt the barrel push into her spine.
“We’re going to walk to the stairs and exit the building from the back fire door. If you scream or try to run away from me, I will shoot you and leave you paralyzed. Do you understand me?”
Samantha bit her lip to keep from crying.
The woman must’ve taken out a cell phone, because Samantha could hear a phone dialing, then the woman arguing with someone before ordering the person to meet her at an alley behind the building. When the call ended, the woman ordered Samantha to start moving.
“You ask anyone for help, and I’ll shoot both of you,” the woman threatened.
She marched Samantha out of the apartment and into an empty hallway. None of her neighbors had bothered investigating the gunshot. Maybe they thought it was only the TV.
A promise that Samantha had made to her mom when she moved to LA was that she would take self-defense classes, but they never taught her what to do when someone was pushing a gun into her back. As she made her way down the back stairs, she tried desperately to remember something from her class she could use, but her mind was blank. She was just too frightened. After they left the building and were walking across the parking lot to the connecting alley, she remembered something. Would it work? She didn’t know, but it was all she could think of. Soon she was being marched down the darkened alley, and she steeled herself, playing out in her mind what she planned to do.
They made their way out of the alley, and a car tapped its horn. Samantha could almost feel the woman look toward the noise, and she acted then, throwing the gym bag into the air, then sweeping her left foot toward her right and then outward and back so that her leg was now behind the woman and she could feel the woman’s thigh against her thigh. An elbow in the face sent the woman toppling backward, and Samantha started running.
* * * *
Rosalyn Krate picked herself up off the sidewalk. Samantha was gone, and the blond freak had left the car and was giving her a dumbfounded look.
“You couldn’t stop her?” she hissed.
His head jerked back as if he’d been slapped. “It happened too fast.”
Useless. Absolutely useless. She heard police sirens in the distance. The gym bag had landed a few feet from her. She picked it up and heard the rat inside squealing. She got into the car’s passenger seat and ordered the freak to get back behind the wheel.
“What happened?” he asked.
“A change of plans,” she said. “Start driving.”
“Where to?”
“You know where.”
The freak drove five blocks before pulling into the back of a building and parking in an assigned spot. Without saying a word, they walked to the back door, then up three flights of stairs before using a key to open an apartment door. The apartment was a studio, and the only piece of furniture was a small bed. Once the door closed, the freak asked Rosalyn again what had happened, and she slapped him in the face.
Tears welled up in his eyes. “Why’d you do that?”
“You really have to ask me? You pull a dumb stunt like stalking Joplin, and you’re going to ask me that? You put everything at risk!”
He touched his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I made one mistake—”
She kneed him in the groin, and he fell to the floor, tears now streaming down his cheeks. She grabbed his earlobe and twisted it.
“One mistake? I caught you stalking me also. You really didn’t think I’d see that? How many of the others did you stalk? Samantha too?”
“I swear I didn’t stalk her! Only you and Joplin! I swear!”
She let go of his ear. She didn’t believe him. The police had visited Samantha’s apartment for a reason, and the only thing that made sense was that the freak had been seen stalking her. But it wouldn’t do her any good beating up this pathetic excuse for a freak. The Nightmare Man was too important. She could still salvage this.
She said, “You need to kill me now.”
His mouth dropped open as he stared at her. “I wasn’t supposed to kill you until the nineteenth,” he sputtered.
“It can’t be helped.”
“But what about the other two victims? There has to be five of them, right?”
“You’ll have to find two more on your own and complete the cycle on the nineteenth. You can do it, Duane. I made you a part of this for a reason. I can see greatness in you.”
He looked like he was fighting to keep from bursting out crying. He’d been planning to kill Jamie Siegel later that night, but he was still a virgin having not yet taken a life. Never really even hurt anyone badly. He told Rosalyn this.
“I thought I’d have more time to prepare myself,” he moaned.
“Tonight’s as good a night as any to pop your cherry. And you know you want to do it. You know you’ve been aching to do it.”
“I guess,” he said.
She laughed. “Duane, come on, show some enthusiasm. You’re going to be part of something great. Something Los Angeles will never forget. The Nightmare Man will live on forever because of you.”
A determination now showed in his face.
“After you kill me, you’ll need to go to my apartment and clean out the sacred room. We can’t allow the police to find it. But you’ll be safe doing this. The police won’t be discovering my body for days. If you want, you can punch me in the face and knock me out before tying me up and cutting off my clothing. Would you like to do that?”
His jaw was clenched, and his eyes now shone with a dark cruelty.
“Just make sure to use smelling salts on me every time I pass out. And follow the formula precisely—”
“How about you shut up already!”
The freak jumped to his feet and slammed a fist into Rosalyn’s jaw. He then carried her unconscious body to the bed.