Paranoid(67)

Xander eyed the tall fence. Over six feet, it surrounded the property that had once been St. Augustine’s church, school, and hospital.

“It’s too high,” she said.

“Nope. Just wait here.”

“What? No!” She was frantic. For a wild, horrifying second she thought he was leaving her.

“I’m just going to move my Jeep.”

“What?”

He loped to his rig, climbed inside, switched on the ignition, and then reversed to the spot near where Harper was standing. “I’ll climb over first. Then you.”

Before she could ask any questions, he had made his way onto the hard top of his Jeep and placed his hands on the top of a post, then vaulted to the other side. He landed with a hard thud.

“Come on,” he called to her in a low voice.

Great. Harper didn’t like the idea, but wasn’t about to be left, so she did the same, scrambling onto the roof of his Jeep and standing up to peer over the fence. Xander was in the school yard, looking up, arms outstretched. “Come on,” he whispered and motioned quickly with his fingers. “I’ll catch you.”

This was nuts.

Crazy.

But she placed her hands on the post, hesitated an instant, then swung one leg over the top of the fence, straddling it for a second, then finally getting her second leg across. As she let go to drop to the ground, she felt strong hands at her waist, just before her toes touched the uneven ground.

“See, easy peasy. Come on.” He took one hand and they skirted the quiet school yard, where beneath the gaseous light of the lone security lamp, she spied pieces of broken play equipment, clumps of weeds, and piles of junk scattered between the school, hospital, and church.

Fear skittered up Harper’s spine.

This was wrong. So wrong.

She strained to listen but now heard nothing but an occasional car passing on the street and the soft sough of the wind over the frantic beating of her heart.

Where?

Where was the woman?

Maybe she’d left.

Perhaps she hadn’t been here in the first place.

And then she heard it. No words. Just a low moan that seemed to crawl through the night air.

Xander took her hand and pulled her toward the chapel. He placed a finger to his lips and she moved along beside him, trying desperately to tamp down her fear.

Creeeak!

That awful sound again. But there were no big trees, no strong wind.

Oh. God.

Fear chasing her, Harper kept up with Xander as he crossed the yard. They should leave. Now. Just call the police and let them take care of whatever they might find. An injured person? Or a crazed lunatic? What?

The door to the chapel hung open, sagging on one hinge, revealing the stygian darkness inside.

“I don’t think—” she started to whisper, but Xander gave a quick shake of his head and stepped through the opening.

Her throat dry, every nerve strung tight, she followed, through a small, rotting vestibule and into a larger space, what had once been a nave, a few pews remaining on either side of the aisle, the altar still intact. Above it all, a huge cross was still suspended. Though not Catholic, Harper sketched a sign of the cross over her chest.

What would it hurt?

A rat scurried across the dusty boards of the aisle and Harper let out a sharp scream.

“Shh!” Xander pulled her farther inside.

She held fast to his big hand, squinting to see in the dark.

What if someone else was here? Watching them? Maybe from the tiny choir alcove over the vestibule or . . .

Creeeak!

Her stomach dropped.

This was all wrong. Fear sizzled through her and she was sweating nervously, seeing images in the cracked stained glass windows, imagining killers lurking between the broken pews or behind the altar.

Xander pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight app.

Another groan echoed through the vast space and Xander released her hand to sprint forward.

“No!” she cried after him, thinking that an attacker might be nearby, watching and waiting. With Xander’s phone as a beacon, an attacker could zero in, find them, hurt them. They could be walking into a trap!

Screw it!

She whipped out her phone and punched in 911.

If she got into trouble—and she would—tough!

“Oh, Jesus!” Xander said as another raspy groan seemed to ooze through the chapel. He took off, running to one side of the altar, through a door that hung awkwardly on only one hinge, his footsteps pounding loudly as if he were climbing stairs.

“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?” an operator asked.

“Someone’s hurt. In the church at St. Augustine’s. This . . . this is Harper Ryder and I’m here and someone’s hurt . . . on Hawthorn Street. I don’t know the address, but send someone fast. . . .”

“Holy shit!” Xander said. “It’s a woman. Oh, God. Lady, I’m here, I’ll help you.”

Harper was already dialing her father’s cell as she climbed the few steps to the bottom of the bell tower. Then she stopped, her hand on the phone freezing, her eyes bulging.

From a long rope, a woman was hanging upside down by one leg, her hair sweeping the floor of the tower, her eyes blindfolded as she groaned and spun slowly.

“For Christ’s sake, Harper, help me!” Xander ordered. “We have to get her down!”