She did as she was told, opening her legs as wide as she could with the tape binding her ankles and calves. Staring straight ahead, she feigned indifference while his hands and the washcloth traveled up her thighs. She concentrated on a particular tile across the room. It was cracked, with a spiderweb of damage spreading across it from the center to the edges.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked with a small smile.

She didn’t know what would please him more, a yes or a no. She said nothing and returned her concentration to the spiderweb. She tried to visualize herself out of the water and on the web. She would be the spider, not the trapped fly.

He wrung out the cloth, lifted it up to her throat, and tied it around her neck from behind. “Ruth enjoyed the way I bathed her. Did she ever tell you?”

“No … she didn’t,” she stammered, feeling the cloth tighten around her throat.

He removed the threatening bandanna and dropped the cloth down to her breasts. “I find it hard to believe she didn’t even mention it.”

“Maybe she did.” She kept her eyes ahead.

He left her breasts, bringing the rag to her face. “Open,” he said.

She opened wide, and he fisted the cloth past her battered lips. She stifled one gag after another as he drove it deeper, grinding it into her mouth while he leered at her. The cloth tasted of mildew and soap.

“That should take care of that lying tongue.” He finally pulled the cloth out of her mouth, and she released a whimper of relief.

“I’m not lying,” she said weakly.

“Nonsense.” He reached between her open legs to immerse the washcloth. “I know you’re lying, but I’m going to take pity on you and let you live a little longer.” He draped the cloth over the side of the tub, leaned close to her ear, and dropped his voice to a whisper. “You behaved so nicely during your bath, I’m going to cut your hands free and let you scrub yourself—under my direction. For my entertainment.”

When he left her side to retrieve the scissors, locking the door after him, she slouched against the back of the tub and swallowed a sob.

Chapter 36

THE KILLER IS moving down a dark, narrow space. A hallway. Pictures line both walls, but Bernadette’s sight doesn’t allow her to make out their details. They’re smears of color corralled inside a series of tall rectangles. They could be priceless works of art or framed beer posters.

He enters a bedroom and walks through it so quickly, she hardly has time to take it in. Is it the bedroom she visited during her first round with the scarf? She can’t tell. He comes up to a door and inserts a key in the lock. He turns the knob and pushes the door open. Closes it behind him.

White walls. White floor. White ceiling. A glass shower door. A toilet and a pedestal sink. It’s a bathroom. Why would he keep a bathroom locked? There’s a mirror over the sink, and Bernadette wills the killer to step in front of it. He doesn’t, of course.

He goes down beside the tub, and Bernadette’s heart sinks. Water doesn’t mix well with this guy. It’s an old claw-foot like her own; she’d recognize the sleighlike shape anywhere. Someone is reclining against the tub’s sloped back. Long brown hair. Small oval face. The bather is a woman. She’s motionless. Is she dead? Did he get another one while Bernadette was changing clothes and Garcia was eating a salami sandwich?

The bather sits up and raises her hands out of the water. He’s got her tied. The bastard has a girl locked in the bathroom, tied in the tub. Bernadette braces herself, waiting to witness a drowning. Instead, she sees the killer’s hands reaching for his prisoner’s. Something flashes, a glint of steel. A knife? Is he slashing them now before he submerges them? Why isn’t the woman fighting back? Has he drugged her?

He’s cutting her binds, hacking at them. The prisoner helps, unraveling whatever is wrapped around her wrists. The stuff is gray. Must be duct tape, endorsed by homicidal maniacs everywhere.

She rubs her wrists while he watches and then points across the room, to the toilet. He hesitates, standing frozen with the blade in his hand. Then the girl leans back against the tub while he dips the knife in the water. He’s working at slicing something at her feet. More duct tape. She raises the leg closest to him, and he unravels her binds. Drops them on the floor. She sits forward and does the other leg, extracting more gray matter from the water and dropping it on the floor.

Grabbing the edge of the tub for support, she raises herself out of the water. Wobbling, she uses a hand to steady herself against the bathroom wall. The woman is grossly thin, her milky figure lost against the white wall. Either she’s one of the anorexic chicks this psycho favors or her captor has starved her to fit the part.

The psycho stands and offers her his free hand. She takes it and steps out of the tub. He turns to take a towel off a bar, lowering his knife hand as he does so. He spins back around.

Stick Woman is standing with the blade in her hand; she’s snatched it! Bernadette fears for this girl; she’s obviously too weak and slight to take this bastard. He doesn’t move while the girl backs away from him, inching toward the door. Still facing him, she puts her hand behind her, feeling for the knob. Is the door locked? No. She pulls the door open and slips through while still holding the knife in front of her. She’s gone. He starts after her. The door slams in his face. He throws it open and runs after his loose prey.

Bernadette sees the pale figure bounding through the bedroom and escaping out the door. Down the dark hall, bony arms and legs flapping madly. An animated Halloween skeleton. As she runs, she looks behind her. Big mistake. She stumbles into a hallway table, knocks it over, and nearly goes down. Rights herself and keeps going.

He’s on her heels. Reaching out, he snags her hair. Her head snaps back. She spins around with the blade in her hand. He halts and holds his palms up in a gesture of surrender, taking a step back from her.

She turns her back to him and starts down the stairs. He goes after her. It’s a long open staircase that takes a turn at a landing. The woman makes it to the landing but stumbles into a potted plant. Falls to her knees. The knife. What happened to the knife?

He’s standing over her now. As she’s scrambling to her feet, he plants his shoe on her lower back. She pitches forward and tumbles down the steps. Landing at the bottom with arms and legs splayed, she resembles a splatter of white paint against the wooden floor.

Bastard is taking his time coming after her. She must be so badly hurt, he’s confident she can’t run off. As he makes his way down the stairs, he looks past the pale, prone figure. What he sees sickens Bernadette: his captive has almost made it to the door.

He comes up next to Stick Woman and pokes her in the hip with the tip of his shoe. She stirs. Good. She’s alive.

Slowly, she gathers her arms and legs under her and crawls to her feet. She looks him in the face. Her mouth is red, and it isn’t lipstick. As she stands before him, she starts to totter and stagger backward. He steps toward her, catches her by the shoulder. Holding her up with one hand, he cranks back the other and punches her in the stomach. As she folds, he knees her in the face. She flips onto her back and curls into a tight, white ball. He kicks her again and reaches for something on the floor.

The knife.

______

BERNADETTE INHALED sharply and instinctively opened her hand, dropping the scarf and inadvertently severing the connection. She retrieved the fabric and closed her fist around it again. “Return to me, return to me.”