All the Dark Places(92)

I take a deep breath and reach behind my back to the cement wall. I’ve got to be ready. He’ll kill me when his call ends. My frozen fingers run along the chain and the loose pipe fitting. I work my fingers until I stir up some warmth, enough to do what I have to do when the moment comes. I’ll fight him. I’m not a helpless child anymore. I’m not six-year-old Melinda crying in a dark cellar, soaked in my own urine.

I sigh, clear my throat, and think about Jay, try to capture that feeling of being together to keep forever. For the five years he was part of my life, I felt totally loved and protected. If I survive this, what will my new life be like? Jay would want me to be happy, to fight for that happiness. I wipe a tear from my cheek as memories of Jay flood my mind. His laugh, his arms around me, my hand in his as we walked the streets of Paris.

The creaking stops. Everything’s quiet. Maybe Cal left. Maybe whoever called changed his mind. But then the floorboards creak again, the sound moving toward the door above the ladder. He’s coming.

My teeth chatter with cold and fear and with such force that my head bobs. He’s at the open door, looking down on me.

“My sons,” Cal says. “It was sweet of them to call.” He sighs. “But they’re better off without me. You know? This is better.” He closes his eyes momentarily, as if reliving a last lovely memory of family life.

Cal turns his back to me and starts down the ladder. He walks quickly, like a man on a mission, to where I huddle against the cold, damp wall. “Little Melinda, you thought you’d escaped the cellar all those years ago.” He chuckles. “But my big brother couldn’t do anything right. Couldn’t finish what he started. But not me.” He shakes his head.

I take a deep raspy breath. “Don’t you want to live for your kids, Cal?”

He paces away from me, then back again. Beads of sweat cling to his upper lip, despite the cold. The blood, which had started to dry on his temple, now begins to drip along his cheek.

I work my fingers behind my back, furiously trying to keep the feeling in them.

“Oh, I plan on living, Melinda. How else will I get to appreciate my handiwork?”

“But your boys?”

He walks away again. “I’ll make them famous, and they can visit me if they want to. They’ll write a book about their dad, what it was like to grow up in the perfect family. How no one had a clue what depraved thoughts swirled through the mind of their handsome, successful, athletic dad.” He turns in my direction, his gaze seeking mine. “All the best serial killers led normal, even exemplary lives, Melinda. That’s the beauty of it, being smarter than everyone else.” He pulls the gun from his pocket and sets it on the floor, too far away for me to reach it.

Then he slips his hand into his other pocket and pulls out a knife, clicks a hinge to open it, and I catch my breath. Cal slides down next to me and places the tip against my throat. I go completely still, swallow, sweat dripping along the sides of my face. He lowers the knife, slides back the sleeve on my left arm. I feel the roughness of his fingers as they work their way over my scar.

“My brother’s work. His brand,” Cal says and snorts. “Terrible work, as usual.” His eyes meet mine. “But you’ve probably had something done. Laser treatments to try to erase it all?”

I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

Cal drops my arm and stands. “I had a chance to examine it closely when I first brought you here, unconscious. Really, Melinda, you were always wearing long sleeves, and I’d been dying to get a look at it. Keith told me he’d put his mark on you. Claimed you as his own.” He waves the knife in front of my face. But I’ll do him one better, afterward.” He leans over and places the tip of the blade against my chest. “Right here, over your heart. You’ll be mine at last.”

My pulse is beating in thick, heavy thumps as Cal places the knife on the floor next to the gun and grabs the dirty blankets lying next to me. He spreads them out and stands, legs apart, so close I can smell him. He pats the front of his pants. “Let’s do this.”

I swallow and clench my trembling jaw. Snot drips down my upper lip. “Please, Cal, don’t.”

“Sorry, Melinda. It’s part of it. I need to possess you. Make little Melinda, the girl in the cellar, all mine. So a little interlude before the end.”

I glance up at the window and see the pantlegs of people as they stride by. Cops? My heart hammers. Please let them find me. Hurry. Hurry. I open my mouth to scream, but Cal is bending over me, so close he could easily break my neck with his hands before the cops could get down here, so I stay quiet and hope to hold him off until they find me.

He pulls a small key from his pocket, reaches for the handcuff. I pull a great breath, as though I’m getting ready to dive into the deep end. This is it. I gather my strength, think of Jay, and bolt to my feet.





CHAPTER 71


Rita


WE’VE JUST CLEARED ANOTHER BASEMENT WITH NO LUCK. WITH each house, we’ve entered the front door anxious and on alert, only to be let down. My ankle is throbbing. I’d turned it maneuvering through debris, catching my foot on a kid’s rusted bicycle, but I suck it up. I’m going to see this through. I’ll find Mrs. Bradley or break my leg trying.

Outside, the air’s frigid, and the smells of the city surround us in the early-morning haze. Joe and I huddle against a wall as the team leader reports back on his radio. We’ve got one more house to search to clear this block. I try to push away the doubts that threaten to crawl into my mind.