Chapter 6

 

Heart pounding, Ruth opened the bathroom door. Her captor stood out of reach, a mocking smile on his unshaven face. He raised a beer bottle in casual salute. “Most thoughtful hosts we have. Look what I found in the fridge.”

Ruth launched toward him, whipping the aerosol can to point at his face. Her finger jabbed the spray button.

One-handed he knocked her improvised weapon aside and clamped her wrist. He spat a string of curses, his grip tightening with each one.

Her free hand clawed at his fingers. She kicked out blindly. He twisted her arm down. She fought for balance.

His beer crashed to the floor and he wrenched her upright. The vice on her wrist forced the can up to her own face, and his other hand twisted into her hair and pulled tight.

Pain flared in her scalp, and she couldn’t stop the tears. She fought to turn the spray can, to kick him, to get away.

He yanked harder on her hair. “So that’s how you want to play it, huh?”

His fingers jumped to cover hers on the can. The spray hit full in her face. Ruth screwed her eyes shut and stopped her lungs. She raised her free hand to block the stream. Her nostrils burned and her chest heaved.

Suddenly it ended. He kept hold of her hair, but she felt the rest of him pull back. She risked a peek through her fingers, eyes burning.

Harry held her at arm’s length. He dropped the can and fanned in front of his own face. “Empty.” He gave her hair a vicious twist and let go. As he stepped back his eyes bored through the haze in hers. “Don’t mess with me.”

She tried to breathe through her sleeve, then scrubbed her face with it, blotting her streaming eyes and nose. What did he expect her to do, surrender without a fight?

Harry retrieved his beer. “Good thing I’d almost emptied this or you’d be cleaning.”

He jerked his head toward the living room. “Over here. I want to see if we made the news yet.” He flopped onto the couch and picked up the television remote.

Ruth perched in the rocking chair, keeping as much distance between them as she could. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and tried to clear her nose.

The television clicked on, revealing a partially clad couple locked in a passionate embrace. Ruth’s stomach churned. She threw a terrified glance at Harry.

His hard, blue eyes bored into hers. A wild light flared in their depths. “Now, that’s more like it,” he drawled, sitting up and leaning toward her.

Ruth squeezed her eyes shut. If he wanted her to be afraid, she must somehow conquer her fear. Father, please let me know You’re here with me. Help me draw courage from You.

She opened her eyes. Harry leaned back on the couch, one foot on the coffee table. He was still watching her, but he seemed farther away now, as if an invisible wall stood between them. She met his gaze without flinching. The fear had dimmed, even though the danger remained.

He snorted and aimed the remote at the television. Munching one of the sandwiches he’d taken from the store, he clicked through a string of late night movies, sports, and international news coverage. There was no local news. He switched off the TV and dropped the remote onto the couch beside him.

Ruth glanced at the clock over the fireplace. Quarter past midnight. What was Tony doing now? Lorna and Alden would be on their way, stunned as they relived the pain of losing their daughter to Silver. They would still be en route, even if he’d phoned right away. Did he at least have someone with him for support, or was he facing this ordeal alone? Father, let him feel You near him.

Her captor rose. He stretched his arms in the air, then brought his hands together overhead and cracked his knuckles, watching her. His lips drew back, exposing his teeth in a wicked smile. The hypnotic intensity of his stare pinned her.

He snatched her hand, and she went rigid. He turned it over, forcing her fingers open, and pressed his lips into her palm. His chin whiskers bit into her tender skin. When he looked at her, the blue light in his eyes froze the breath in her lungs.

“Come on, sweetheart, time for bed.” His hand tightened on hers. Before she could pull away, she was on her feet and in his arms.

Ruth’s heart lurched against her ribs. She fought to breathe. A feral, growling sound vibrated in her captor’s throat. She shoved hard against his chest, but his hold was a band of iron.

His mouth brushed her ear. “The fear will win. It always does. There’s no way out for you.”

Ruth drove her shoeless heel down on his instep. He pulled her tight against his body, too close for an upwards jerk of her knee. His fingers wound into her hair again, snapping her head back. “You don’t learn, do you? Try to hurt me, and I’ll hurt you ten times worse. And that’s just to warm up.”

She read the promise of death in his eyes, inches from her own. But Harry Silver never killed quickly or cleanly. She couldn’t squelch a whimper.

He licked his lips, grinned, and propelled her backwards. Ruth’s leg banged the side of the sofa, and she anchored her foot underneath it. He jerked against the extra weight, and the heavy piece of furniture scraped across the floor. Pain shot through her leg. Another jerk and her foot slid free.

Screaming, she kicked at the doorframe as Harry pushed her into one of the bedrooms, but he only laughed and held her tighter. He slammed the door behind them with his foot, picked her up, and threw her onto the bed.

Ruth scrambled into a sitting position and inched away from him, her eyes fixed on his face. Her heart jackhammered against her ears. She clamped her lips together, fighting a sudden need to vomit.

Harry ran a rough hand down the side of her face, then pressed a finger against her lips. “I told you.”

He picked up the telephone cord he’d left on the floor and stretched it taut between his fists.

Ruth shrank against the bed, shaking. She had no words, to plead or to pray. No tears. She barely had breath.

Harry grabbed her shoulder, pushed her face-first into the soft quilt, and pinned her wrists together behind her back. He yanked the cord tight around her hands and feet, and dropped her onto the rug beside the bed.

He walked out, and Ruth heard him moving around in the bathroom. Then he was back, and the door banged shut.

Her breath froze, but he ignored her and walked to the far side of the bed. She lay on her side facing it, numbly watching his feet as he pulled off his clothes and dropped them on the floor. The bed creaked as he climbed in. Then silence. Ruth’s heartbeat pounded in her ears.

The bed creaked again. He poked his head over the side and flashed a mocking smile. “Not tonight. I’m tired from the drive, and you stink of aerosol. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you tomorrow. Dream of me.” He winked conspiratorially and turned off the bedside light.

In the darkness, Ruth bit her tongue to keep silent. Her stomach quivered with fear, but anger brewed there, too. Sadistic jerk.

She’d known he was cruel. The news reports’ graphic descriptions of the state of his victims’ bodies, and their speculation about his actions, had sickened her. Her imagination threw them back at her now at the memory of what she’d seen on his face, heard in his voice. Naked evil.

Horror gripped her, rattled her limp body like a wolf might shake a rabbit. She swallowed hard. It took every shred of willpower to keep from dwelling on the fear, but she couldn’t let it gain control. Terror and madness would destroy her before Harry had the chance to try.

She had only one hope, one anchor against the rising tide of fear. But even prayer took a conscious act of will, a deliberate choice—to believe God heard her through the haze of dread that made the very air feel heavy.

Ruth screwed her eyes shut, determined to focus, to string one silent word after another. She prayed for Tony, for Lorna and Alden and her nephew Ian, for her friend Norma, for the blond cashier at the store. Finally, for Harry Silver.

Praying for a man locked in prison halfway across the country had been safe, but praying for a killer lying close enough to touch her was just plain crazy. Ruth’s skin crawled with millions of invisible, icy feet. This couldn’t be happening. Any minute she’d wake at home in bed beside Tony.

Tears leaked from her eyes. The way she lay on her side, her upper eye made a hot puddle on the bridge of her nose until the tears slipped over the side. She tried to keep her breathing steady so Harry wouldn’t hear. God, please help me.

~~~

Ruth awoke to the hiss of a shower turning on in the next room. For a moment, she wondered why her body hurt. This wasn’t a firm mattress—she was on the floor. A chill of dread swelled in her stomach as she recalled the previous night.

She’d lain waiting for Harry’s breathing to say he was out, so she could try to escape. How could she have slept?

Now she strained against the cord that bound her hands behind her back. Her hands and feet were numb from being tied so long. The unyielding cord bit into her wrists. This would never work.

Maybe she didn’t have to get loose. She rolled onto her stomach and tried to draw her knees under her body. Fibers from the plush rug irritated her eyes and nose. This wasn’t working either. Think. Back onto her side, pull the knees up, then roll. Sweating, grinding her face and shoulder into the rug, she pushed herself to her knees.

She gulped clean air and used the bed as a support to get to her feet. At least he’d left enough slack that she could stand. Fire ringed her ankles. Below them, her feet were dead. How would she ever stay upright, let alone hop to safety?

The sound of running water stopped, and she heard Harry whistling. Out of time. Her first hop shifted the rug beneath her, and she fell against the bed. There was the buzz of an electric razor from the bathroom, then silence.

Ruth wiped hot tears on the side of the quilt and lowered herself to the floor. Better if Harry didn’t know she’d tried. Lord, please give me another chance. When the bedroom door clicked open, she closed her eyes. She heard her captor opening and shutting bureau drawers. He gave a low, satisfied grunt.

Moments later, she felt his eyes on her. She tried to take slow, regular breaths, defying her heart’s frantic pace.

“Don’t bother faking. I know you’re awake.” He squatted beside her, his fingers pulling at the knots that held her ankles. Then he grasped her wrists and rolled her onto her stomach. Rug fibers teased her nostrils, and she fought to control a sneeze.

Harry clucked his tongue. “You’ve done a number on these knots.”

Ruth’s thin socks protected her ankles from his touch, but when her feet were free he grabbed her wrists to work on the knots there. Each brush of his fingers burned her skin. She lay rigid, dreading the contact but needing his help. Finally the cord fell away.

With a sharp jerk on her arm, Harry pulled her to her feet. Her legs wobbled. She would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her.

“You can’t have been very comfortable last night.” His voice held no regret. He marched her into the living room and shoved her onto the couch. Wincing, Ruth inspected the ugly bruises forming on her aching wrists and ankles. She tried to rub them, but it hurt too much.

Harry sat beside her and surveyed his handiwork unsmilingly. He wore a dark blue designer tee shirt, his jeans from the night before, and black socks. His hair, still damp, licked at his collar.

Ruth studied him, trying to reconcile this hard-faced, cruel-lipped man with the handsome, charismatic race driver she’d seen so many times on television. A bit taller than average and well built, this was a man to turn heads wherever he went. His glamorous career gave him fame, wealth, and adoring fans. He’d had it all, and yet something had driven him to violence.

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you staring at?”

“I was just wondering why.” Ruth felt for words. “You had everything going for you. Why throw it all away? Why do such terrible things?”

Harry’s face darkened. He stood and stalked to the window. He twitched the curtain enough to glance outside. “It’s still raining. For all I care, it can rain until I’m gone. There’ll be plenty of sunshine waiting for me in my new home.”

“If you couldn’t control yourself long enough to get out of Canada, how do you expect to stay off the radar?” The white-hot darts of pain in her hands and feet dulled Ruth’s instinct for caution. Dimly, she sensed she was on dangerous ground. She stiffened, but he didn’t react.

“The people there are dark-skinned. My, uh, preference is for young blond women. I’ll be fine.” He roamed the room, seeming to give his full attention to the seascapes on the walls.

Ruth drew a ragged breath and braced against the agony of returning circulation. “So you’ll still be a prisoner, but not in jail.”

Her captor whirled to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This thing that has hold of you—you’re a slave to it. As if you were addicted to crack or something. You can’t escape by running away.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. Why couldn’t she shut up?

Harry stepped toward her, his face a dull red and his fists tight.

Ruth pressed herself into the couch, pinned by the fury in his eyes. Every muscle drew tight, waiting for him to strike.