43

Fischer stood back in the trees and watched the activity at his home. There were six police cars in the yard, and people were scurrying around like ants after their mound was kicked and destroyed. Movement caught his eye, and he saw an ambulance drive into the yard. His heart jumped. Was Mum alright? A cold rage immediately replaced his concern. If anyone had hurt her, he would make them all pay for it.

He kept his vigil until he saw the EMTs wheel a gurney from the house, slide it into the back of an ambulance, and drive off. He spun on his heel and raced through the woods to his truck. He had to find out where they were taking her. Once he knew she was safe, there would be time for any reckoning that was in store.

Back in the van, he reached behind the passenger seat and raised one edge of the canvas that covered his cargo. Cheryl stared at him, her mouth sealed shut with duct tape. He checked her bonds to ensure she was secure. He slammed the side door, circled the truck, and got in. When the motor started, he put it in gear and drove down the tree-lined lane to the main road. He sighed with relief when he saw the ambulance disappear over a rise. He followed.

_________________

Fischer studied the hospital grounds, paying particular attention to the area near the emergency entrance. Vehicles from the local police, Sheriff’s Department, and the Maine State Police were scattered around the parking lot. Several other cars were unmarked but bore government plates. “Shit.” He wondered if the unmarked cars belonged to the FBI. Most likely they did not have to ask the Feds to interfere; he had crossed the borders of three states with his women, and that was all the Feds needed to stick their noses into the investigation.

He was sure that his identity was now common knowledge to the cops. If they had not figured out who he was, the damned woman would have told them. He should have killed that last bitch when he found her in the house; Cheryl was another issue—one he would deal with in time.

He turned his attention back to the building. There was no way he was going to get in using the door. He pounded the steering wheel in frustration.

If you don’t calm down, you’ll never get inside.

Fischer stared at the entrance to the building. “Shut up, old man.”

That attitude is what’s going to be your downfall, dummy. Get under control and scout the area.

Willard took several deep breaths, calming himself. Eventually, his heartbeat slowed.

Willard took the keys from the ignition, got out of the car, and tried to appear nonchalant as he walked toward the hospital. Fortunately, it was not a major facility; it was a single-story building intended for emergency and minor afflictions—major cases they sent to bigger hospitals, such as Southern Maine Medical Center in Portland. A row of mature fully bloomed rhododendron bushes created a dense hedge surrounding the building like castle walls. A closer inspection showed a two- or three-foot gap between the plants and the building—an ideal place for him to get close enough to search the rooms through the windows. Even though his thought processes were impaired from lack of sleep, he realized how big a risk he was taking. It was daylight, albeit early morning, and until he reached the cover afforded by the blooming rhododendrons, he would be exposed. Nevertheless, Mum was in there somewhere, and he was going to do his best to find her. He strolled up the walk that led to the emergency entrance and stopped beside the shrubbery. Fischer pulled the visor of his cap down to hide his face, looked around to ensure that he was unobserved, and then slipped inside the bushes.

He crouched as he scampered between the hedge and the brick wall and took care to remain unobserved as he stopped at each window and peered inside the rooms. The first seven windows had shades drawn, making it impossible to discern what was inside. He continued checking every window until he finally found her. He used a pocketknife to pry the window open and studied her for a few seconds. Lying in the uncomfortable-looking hospital bed, hooked up to several different machines and bottles, made her seem smaller and frailer than when he took care of her. Her eyes seemed to have sunken into her head, and her prominent hook nose pointed toward the ceiling. He surveyed the room. It was semi-private, and the second bed was unoccupied, although from the state of the bedding, it appeared to have been recently occupied. “Mum?” he kept his voice low so he would not be overheard.

So you finally got here? His mother admonished him.

“I got here as soon as I could. Cops were crawling all over the house.”

Excuses always sound good to the person makin’ them. Did you find the women?

“I got one of them.”

Who got away?

He stared at his feet. “The new one. I got Cheryl.”

His mother’s voice was filled with resignation when she said, Well, I guess all that we can do now is run. Get me out of here.

“I can’t, Mum. Where can I put you that’s safe?”

You’re useless, just like your father. What are you going to do, leave me here with a bunch of heathens? Look at me! Her voice changed, as if she had realized that he was right. It would be impossible for him to care for her while living out of his truck. I guess you are right, son. Nevertheless, you need to find that woman before the police find you.

“But, Mum, it won’t matter because the cops already know who I am and where the house is.”

Witnesses, you friggin’ moron, those women are the only witnesses. Kill them, and they got nothing on you. His father reproached him.

His words stung. He turned to his mother for support. “Mum . . .”

Don’t “Mum” me. As much as I hate to admit it, your father is right. Now get on out of here—you got work to do.

“What good will it do to kill Cheryl? I’m sure that they already found the ones in the reefer. Besides, they can’t make a wife testify against her husband.”

When did you marry that slut? As for them bodies, they got no proof you put them there. They got to prove you took them harlots, and if the other two are gone, there ain’t no one to link you to them. Now go on, do what needs doing. I’ll be fine. You can come for me once the chore is done.

Fischer said, “Bye, Mum. I’ll be back for you. I promise.”

Get some rest, and then go find that woman.

He walked to the window, and as he exited, he heard his father’s angry voice, Useless! Woman, I oughta beat you silly . . .

_________________

Fischer tossed and turned. With every movement, the puncture in his shoulder and the gash across his back sent stabbing pain racing through him. He rolled over, taking his weight off the wounds, and cursed. He reached for the aspirin on the nightstand, shook five from the plastic container, and washed them down with a glass of water. Then he went into the bathroom, where he bent over the bathtub and checked Cheryl’s bindings. He sat on the toilet and looked into her eyes. “I trusted you,” he said, “and you were disloyal. Now we got to start at the beginning.”

She muttered into the duct tape that covered her mouth, it sounded like a mumble. He ripped the tape from her mouth. “What?”

“I’ll be good, I promise.”

“You got to pay for going against your husband.” He realigned her position in the tub and turned the shower on just enough for water to drip, hitting her on the forehead. “Your first punishment. You lay still until I say otherwise. Not a single movement!”

A slow flow of water dripped from the showerhead, hitting her forehead. Cheryl’s eyes closed, and she flinched with each drop.

He replaced the tape over her swollen lips and left the bathroom door open when he exited. He paced back and forth, spanning the cheap hotel room in three strides. Wistfully, he thought of his own room. He sighed. Thinking of home made him think of Mum—and the horrible thing he had done. He was certain Mum had taught him that the Bible spoke against a son deserting his mother. He couldn’t remember where it was; maybe it was in Revelations. Yes, he was sure—it had to be; that was her favorite book. He felt lost, alone, and adrift. For the first time in his life, he had no place to go and nobody to help him. He cursed the cops and Anne Bouchard for putting him in a position where he had to leave Mum in that hospital. Now, he was certainly doomed to spend eternity in Hell. Anger built. Anne Bouchard had made it so he would never feel the Lord’s love.