Hope's Peak (Harper and Lane #1)(49)

She frowns. “He didn’t? That’s strange.”

Lester shrugs.

“Maybe he went off someplace,” Ceeli says, though her tone does little to hide the fact she is unconvinced.

Lester scratches the side of his face. “How’d he find out?”

“Julie next door, she told him. I think maybe she caught us up to something,” Ceeli tells him. She reaches out, takes his hand in hers, gives it a squeeze. “But don’t worry, honey. It’s out in the open now. We can be together. And there ain’t gonna be no worryin’ about Mack, Julie, or anyone else.”

Lester pulls his hand away. “Don’t want that.”

“Lester honey?

He puts his hands on her shoulders, forces her back on the sofa till she’s lying in front of him. She looks nervous, a little scared. And he can see it—she’s excited. “Thif if what I want,” he says.

“Oh, honey, I wish I could . . . I’m so sore.”

Lester lies on top of her. He kisses the side of her neck, his warped lips making sucking noises on her skin.

“Please . . . ,” Ceeli begs him.

He looks at her blackened, puffy face. Her sad eyes peering out from deep bruises.

“You want to know how it feelf?”

Ceeli struggles, but he is strong. He is experienced. She lets out the beginnings of a scream as he tears her clothes off and clamps his hand over her mouth. She tries to hit him with her right arm. Lester pins the arm up over her head, holding it against the armrest of the sofa.

He looks into her eyes. “You’re trouble. You’re all trouble. But they are different. They’re good. You . . . you’re nothing.”

Lester’s grip eases, and for the briefest second, Ceeli thinks he is letting her go, but then he brings a cushion down on her face. Pressing, pressing, pressing . . .

All those times he managed to restrain himself from killing her, from strangling her to death. Now he can follow it through. Lester lifts the cushion, throws it to one side, and grips her neck in his bare hands. Ceeli tries to pull his forearms away, but his arms are locked. She tries to fight, tries to breathe, suck in one last breath. Lester shifts his grip so he can manage it with one hand, and yanks down his bottoms to grant freedom to his throbbing cock. Ceeli passes out in front of him. Lester lets go, reaches into his pants, and removes the white mask, the belt. He puts it on and there’s a change in the air. He has arrived.

Lester slaps Ceeli around the face. Her eyes open, then widen at the sight of him with the mask on.

Now you’ll feel it.



Julie turns off all the lights and carries her book upstairs. She’s been a fan of Stephen King for years, but his latest fails to keep her attention. And yet sometimes books have a way of surprising you. You read fifty pages, thinking it isn’t connecting, and then something clicks and you’re in. She thinks she’ll give Mr. King another night or so of reading, to give him the benefit of the doubt, but it’s not looking hopeful.

Julie puts the book down and heads to the bathroom. She turns on the water, squeezes toothpaste on her electric toothbrush, and puts it in her mouth. It vibrates away as she works it around her mouth, massaging her gums, getting in all the nooks and crannies.

SMASH!

Julie stops the toothbrush and listens. All is silent. She puts the brush back in her mouth, turns it on, dismissing the sound. Maybe she’s hearing things. Maybe it’s something outside.

SMASH!

She stands there, looking in the mirror, as if her reflection can explain to her the noise coming from downstairs. She stops the toothbrush, spits into the sink, and steps out on the landing. The bottom of the house is dark. Still. Quiet.

Julie watches the stairs for movement, but there is none.

Call the police.

She doesn’t know what to do. What if it’s a cat that got in? That happened once before—she locked up for the night and didn’t realize a cat had gotten into the house during the afternoon. In the middle of the night, she woke to find it bouncing off the walls, smashing all of her china.

Julie throws the light on in the hall and starts down the stairs.

What if it’s not?

She hesitates, the step under her foot creaking with her weight. That’s when she sees him. He has a white hood on his head, belt tight around his neck. He looks up at her with dark eyes.

Julie backs up, blood turned to ice water. The man takes one step at a time. She can hear his breathing. She can feel his eyes burning into her. She backs up against something hard. It’s the wall next to the bathroom door.

Quick!

She darts inside the bathroom and slams the door, fumbling with the latch, trying to get it to move with fingers that are numb, hands that have turned to jelly. An incredible weight shoves the door toward her, smashing her in the face. Julie falls back, and the door thunders against the tiles on the wall. The man stands in the doorway. She whimpers, looking up at him, her heart jackhammering under her nightshirt. Tears fill her eyes as he walks toward her, as he dominates her vision.

“What are you going to do to me?” she whispers, her throat so dry she can barely form words.

The man bends down, face inches from hers. “What d’you think?”



He finishes and gets up. Carefully, he unbuckles the belt around his neck, then handles the delicate white material of the torn hood, almost as though he were cradling a newborn. She’s the first of his victims to get anywhere near it. He can’t believe she’s ripped it. Lester folds the hood, slips it into his pocket. On his way out of the bathroom, he flips the switch and the light goes off.