Page 64 of The Survivor
CHAPTER 14
“Does he make you happy?”
The voice pulled Sam from her dreamless sleep. A quiet voice, but to her throbbing temples it sounded like a foghorn. As a searing pain sliced through her head, she whimpered and tried to lift one hand so she could rub away the ache. Her hands wouldn’t move.
“Does he make you happy?”
Fighting back another sharp pain, Sam managed to crack open one eye. She blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Hoped she was just imagining all this, that her mind had conjured it up for some sick reason or another.
No such luck.
As her vision focused and her head cleared, she knew she wasn’t imagining a thing. She was lying on a small cot, her hands and feet were bound and the silhouette of a man loomed over her. Wherever she was, it was dark. Dark and cold, and it smelled like flowers.
Oh, God.
“Stop playing games, Anne, and answer the question,” the voice said softly.
Sam tested the ropes binding her hands together. She tugged and twisted, but the knots stayed in place. She heard footsteps, and the silhouette moved closer, causing her pulse to quicken. No.No. Not again. This wouldn’t happen to her again. She wouldn’t let it.
As she lay on the cot fighting with the rope, the footsteps stopped and suddenly a humorless laugh filled the damp air. “It’s no use. You’re not going anywhere.” Benson sounded annoyed. No, she had to remind herself. Not Benson.
By no means had she given up, but Sam knew there was no point struggling with the knots. She’d need to figure out another means of escape.
Blinking again, she turned her head and stared at the Rose Killer. A tiny window somewhere above her brought a gust of icy November wind into the room, along with a thin shaft of light that, as if on command, illuminated his face. He didn’t look pleasant anymore, as he had in the car. Now his face was hard, his nondescript features twisted in anger.
The friendly “cop” from the car was gone. He’d become the monster from her nightmares. Flashing red eyes. That repulsive smirk she’d always imagined.
She stared at his face, wondering how this plain-looking man had become a crazed killer. Then she turned away, unable to look into those eyes a second longer.
“Don’t turn away from me,” he snapped. “And answer the damn question. Does he make you happy?”
“Does who make me happy?” she said hoarsely.
He sat on the edge of the cot. She tried not to cower. “Ted. Does he make you happy, Anne?”
God, who the hell was Anne?
Sam had read enough thrillers to know that stalling a killer usually worked about as well as dry glue, but she gave it a shot anyway. “Anne isn’t here,” she choked out. “But if she were, I’m sure she’d tell you that Ted didn’t make her half as happy as you did.” There. That sounded reasonable. Maybe he’d be placated by the words and let her go.
Fat chance.
His eyes darkened as he absently ran his fingers over shoulder. She shuddered.
“Then why did you slice your wrists?” he challenged, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness as he grinned at her.
It was obvious that he was disturbed, delusional, and Sam had no idea how to talk to him when he kept referring to her as another woman. When he looked at her with those tortured eyes and saw someone else.
But she had to try. The longer she kept him talking, the more time Blake would have to find her. And Blakewouldfind her. She was absolutely sure of that.
Sam cleared her throat. “I don’t know why she killed herself.”
He slid his hand from her shoulder to her neck, and for one terrifying second she thought he would strangle her. He didn’t, just touched her cheek so gently she almost threw up, and held her chin in place so that she couldn’t look away.
“Twenty years, Anne. I gave you twenty years of love and marriage and friendship and companionship. And then you went out and screwed a man who didn’t even care about you.” His fingers tightened over her jaw. “I’ll bet you feel foolish now, don’t you, sweetheart? I’ll bet you want my forgiveness.”
Her throat was so tight she couldn’t get any words out. Not that it mattered. This monster had obviously stopped listening to reason a long time ago.
“Well, it’s too late. I won’t forgive you, but I will—” he lifted his thin lips in a smile “—punish you.”
