Paradox Lake Read online

  The rains have started again, and by the sound of it, a wall of water is dropping from the sky. A bright flash of lightning lights up the night sky like it’s midday, the white light leaking in from the still open Bilco door. The thunder crash that follows is so loud it makes his ear drums ache.

  What big ears you have.

  The better to listen to your pounding pulse.

  Another series of electric lightning strikes, the thunder concussions that follow immediately after reverberating across the lake and against the mountains that surround Paradox. He senses something then. The new storm is so severe that it’s likely tripped the house’s power. For all he knows, maybe all of Paradox is without power now.

  Just to make sure, he reaches out with his big hands and finds the long string that triggers the overhead light bulb. He pulls on the string, but no light ignites. He knows that, eventually, someone will come down into the basement to check on the breaker box. He knows that with Rose out on her date with his boss, the person who will descend those basement stairs will be Rose’s daughter, Anna.

  The Big Bad Wolf couldn’t imagine a more perfect situation. He doesn’t have to chase down the prey. The prey is about to come to him.

  CHAPTER 35

  THE RAIN IS coming down so hard it’s amazing Tim can see even ten feet ahead of the truck’s front grill. I’m going in and out of consciousness now as we speed along the storm-ravaged Paradox Lake Road. Quite suddenly, we come upon a tree that’s fallen in the road and Tim has no choice but to swerve around it at the last second. I want to scream, but I can’t. It’s impossible for me to make any noise at all. Did the wine truly make me like this? Or did Tim or someone else slip something in my wine glass while I went to the bathroom? What do they call it in the detective novels? Slipping someone a mickey? I’ve heard of this kind of thing happening before. A man slipping his girl a date rape drug that makes her immobile and unable to move or even talk. Yet she is still somehow awake, even if only semi-conscious.

  But Tim has no reason to slip me a drug just so he can take advantage of me. I’ve already told him I love him, already given myself over to him. Tim has been such a saint. He even prayed the rosary in church. He’s been so kind and loving to me and Anna. How could he do something like this? Why would he do something like this?

  He turns onto the two-track that will take us deeper into the forest and to the Moore house. It’s not even seven thirty in the evening and yet the sky is black. Jagged streaks of lightning are striking everywhere like we’re being attacked by aliens. The truck rocks from the thunder claps. I am so frightened I can hardly breathe. Still, I have no choice but to sit in this passenger seat at the mercy of Tim.

  While he drives, he places his hand on my thigh. He squeezes the thigh and touches my sex.

  “Don’t be afraid, Rose,” he says. “The night is young and we’re just getting started. It’s too bad you didn’t eat all your dinner. You’re going to need your strength later. Trust me.”

  What the hell is he saying? What’s he doing? Who is this man? He’s nothing like the Tim Ferguson I’ve gotten to know this past week. What does he have planned for me? Why will I need all my strength? And my God, what is happening with Anna? Has he somehow managed to do something bad to my daughter?

  If only I could scream. If only I could grab my phone, dial 911, then dial Tony, tell him to get in his Jeep and drive up here immediately. I was so wrong to betray him, so wrong to be deceitful. He worried himself to death about us, and I just chose to ignore him.

  Tim pulls the truck over to the side of the road. He doesn’t shut off the motor, but instead, throws the transmission into park. He gazes at me with a smile that’s no longer so nice, but instead, hungry, psychotic. He’s the Dr. Jekyll who has suddenly turned into Mr. Hyde. With his wide eyes and clenched teeth, he looks like a rabid animal.

  I can’t move, can’t say a word. He picks up the doggy bag, sets it on the floor. At the same time, he grabs hold of my legs, twists me around so that I face him. He hikes up my skirt past my breasts, grabs hold of my panties and tears them off. He yanks my bra off, too. If only I could scream.

  He draws his pistol, sets it on the dash. He then unbuckles his belt, and unbuttons his jeans, pulls himself out. Grabbing hold of the gun, he presses the barrel hard against my right temple.

  “This,” he says, “this won’t hurt a bit.” Then he smacks me across the face with the pistol. “But I bet that hurt.”

  He laughs.

  I begin to cry.

  CHAPTER 36

  FOOTSTEPS COMING FROM up inside the kitchen. Slow, tentative footsteps. More lightning flashes outside the house. More thunder. More driving rain. It’s an unbelievable storm. A storm sent by God himself. It’s perfect for a night like tonight. A night for hunting. For ravaging.

  Coming from outside the house, the Big Bad Wolf makes out the distinct sound of a vehicle pulling up. Is it Tim? It’s too early for Tim to arrive. It must be someone else. Maybe someone come to check on Rose and her sweet daughter, Anna, because of the severe weather. The Wolf chooses to ignore the vehicle since there’s nothing he can do about it.

  The basement door opens. The Wolf knows that Anna is about to make her way down here in the dark. He couldn’t have planned it better if he tried. He inhales deeply, smells her body, sniffs her ripe sex.

  What a big nose you have.

  The better to smell your trembling body with.

  She slowly descends the wood staircase, one step at a time, her breathing coming and going in shallow spurts. The Wolf waits patiently, his body perfectly still, perfectly silent. He is the beast hiding in the rough, readying himself to pounce on his prey … his Little Red Riding Hood.

  He watches her shuffle across the packed dirt floor, her hands feeling along the wall for the breaker box. When she finally comes to it, she opens the metal panel cover, and feels for the switches. The basement is so dark, it’s impossible for her to see anything. Why didn’t she think to use the flashlight app on her cell phone? But when the lightning flashes, she spots him standing in the middle of the floor.

  The Big Bad Wolf, with his thick hands by his side, his mouth opened wide, his sharp teeth exposed.

  “Hello, Anna,” he says. “Did you read Little Red Riding Hood? I left it for you on the front door.”

  The thunder crashes.

  Anna screams.

  The Wolf lunges at his prey.

  CHAPTER 37

  I WAKE UP with a start. At first, I’m overcome with confusion. I have no idea where I am. I smell burning embers and the room is entirely dark. Darker than dark, like the power is out. When lightning lights up the night sky, I see immediately that I’m down in the small living room of the Moore house. How the hell did I get here? When did I get here? Who put me here?

  Bits and pieces begin to come back to me. I remember driving home in the raging rain with Tim. Not Tim, the kind, perfect man. But Tim the monster. I recall trees being struck by lightning. I recall Tim’s hands on my body. I feel his fingers violating me.

  My body is trembling. But at least I can move. I sit up and realize my dress is hiked up over my waist. Where are my panties? Where’s my bra? I feel the side of my face. It’s tender to the touch, like someone punched me on the jaw. Then, in my head, I see Tim slapping me with his pistol, not once but several times, the smile on his bearded face growing wider and wider with each pistol whipping.

  Anna …

  “Oh Christ, Anna,” I whisper.

  Standing, out of balance, I nearly fall backwards onto the couch.

  “Anna!” I cry out in a dry, hoarse voice. “Anna!”

  No answer.

  I go to the staircase, climb. I’m still frail and feeble. I grip the wall-mounted bannister and use my arm strength to help pull myself up the stairs.

  “Anna!” I call out again. But my voice is so weak, I can barely hear it.

  Coming to the top of the stairs, I go to her room. I try the light switch, but there’s no p
ower. If only I had a flashlight or the flashlight app on my cell phone. Did I bring my cell phone back to the house with me? Did I bring my leather bag?

  I go to the bed. My racing heart slows a bit when I see that she’s buried under the covers. Set on the table beside the bed is another now empty carton of the cheese and macaroni Tim brought us. Her cell phone is also set on the table, it’s power either purposely turned off or it needs a charge. Knowing Anna the way I do, the latter is more likely the case. I can’t help but notice that her rare edition of Little Red Riding Hood has been placed on the pillow beside her. The book is open, both the front and back cover face up, like she was saving her place without damaging the pages by dog-earing them.

  I’m not entirely sure why I feel the need to do this, but I reach around her so I don’t disturb her sleep—truth is, I don’t dare wake her up and allow her to see me in this condition. Carefully, I pick the book up and gaze at the pages she was reading before she went to sleep, probably around the time the lights went out. The page illustration depicts the Big Bad Wolf. His black fur and sharp incisors aren’t even remotely hidden by his granny getup. If I hold the book close to my face, I can make out some of the words.

  The wolf said, “You know, my dear, it isn’t safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone.”

  I feel a chill when I read the words. Lightning flashes and the page suddenly lights up, the wolf’s teeth appearing all the more ferocious. Thunder follows and the rainfall seems to intensify, if such a thing is possible. It’s as if God is punishing us tonight. The wind blows through the open window. I close it, then set the book back down on the bed where I found it.

  Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, I close the door, but not all the way. Then I head into the bathroom, to clean myself up.

  I wash my face with cold water, feel the sting in my cheek. I’m glad the power is out, because I don’t dare look at my face. I soak the towel in water from the tap, and run it across my sex. The cold water stings. I run it over my scratched thighs. Drying myself, I feel the tears building in my eyes.

  My God, should I call the police? I’ve just been sexually assaulted by a man whom I was falling in love with. A man who is one of the most respected men in town. How could I have allowed this to happen?

  I go to the bedroom, put on a pair of clean underwear and a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I know I should be sleeping at this hour, but no way I’m sleeping tonight. Slipping into a pair of boots, I head back downstairs and look for my leather bag. I’m almost surprised to find it set on the floor by the couch. Picking it up, I bring it into the kitchen with me, and search for my cell phone. It’s there. The power bar indicates twenty-five percent power. No way I’m able to charge it with the power out.

  Someone has left me a series of texts. Could they be from Tony? When I press the text icon, I see that the texts are from Tim. My heart sinks and my stomach twists itself into knots. I almost don’t want to open them. But of course I can’t avoid it.

  The first text is a picture that nearly causes me to faint on the spot. It’s a photo of a girl. It doesn’t show her face, but instead, the back of her head. Her arms look like they’ve been pulled tight around her back. She’s wearing the red, extra large Lady Gaga t-shirt she uses as a nightgown.

  “Oh, my sweet Jesus,” I say aloud inside the empty kitchen.

  Lightning flashes and the thunder echoes across the lake. I hardly even notice it. Next picture. This one is Anna’s face. She is wide-eyed and looks frightened beyond frightened. Her face is pale and her eyes red, like she’s been crying. She’s wearing her silver cross. But there’s another cross that hangs from the leather lanyard. It’s the cross that hangs on the kitchen wall. Gazing up at the spot above the counter where it usually hangs, I see that it is missing.

  My eyes fill with tears. I become so dizzy, I need to press my hand onto the counter just to stay upright. I press on to the next text. This one is words only.

  Call the police and the Big Bad Wolf bites Anna’s face off … I love you both so much.

  I go to recent calls, find Tim’s number, press redial. But an automated operator comes on the line telling me the number I’ve requested is either temporarily disconnected or out of service. I attempt to text him back.

  Leave Anna alone you freak.

  The system won’t allow me to send texts either.

  “Oh God no, please no.”

  I try to call Tony. Same message about a disconnect or a temporarily disabled line. I try 911. I get nothing. The phone is useless and now I’m down to twenty percent power. Should I shut the phone off to save on power? I can’t risk being out of communication with my daughter even if her own cell phone is useless. Another lightning flash and more thunder. The rain spatters against the windows. The storm has got to be knocking out cell service.

  I slap the phone onto the counter. At the same time, I ask myself the one painfully obvious question. If that’s not Anna in her bed, then who is it?

  CHAPTER 38

  FIRST, I NEED a weapon. The most obvious choice is a knife. I find a long French knife in the drawer beside the sink, grip it tightly in my right hand. Pocketing my phone, I grab the flashlight off the counter, head out of the kitchen, through the living room, and back up the stairs. It seems to take me forever to climb the stairs, as if I’m not heading upstairs, but instead down into hell itself.

  Heart pulsing against my ribs, my head buzzing with adrenaline, my entire body trembling, I head into Anna’s room. The body in the bed now illuminated in the flashlight’s dull glow, I slowly make my way over to it. Whatever or whoever is lying in the bed isn’t making a move. It hasn’t moved since I was up here minutes ago. Using the same hand I’m holding the flashlight in, I take hold of the end of the blanket and, with my heart now stuffed in my throat, peel it back.

  I scream and thrust my back against the wall. The knife drops out of my hand, slaps against the wood floor. All of my wind is knocked out of me. The body in the bed hasn’t moved because it’s dead. Blood is everywhere. It has soaked into the mattress, sheets, and blankets like a giant sponge. The body is naked. No, that’s not right. The body doesn’t have any skin. It is instead raw, red and white flesh.

  That the body belongs to a man, there is no doubt. A short, paunchy man, the body ghostly pale now that it’s lost all its blood.

  “Who are you?” I say through my tears.

  But I have no way of knowing who this poor man is since his head is missing.

  Throwing the blanket back over the body, I pick up the knife. I exit the room, close the door behind me. Lightning strikes close by. The thunder is immediate. Maybe I’m currently in a state of shock, because the horrible noise hardly registers. I’m trembling so badly, I grab onto the bannister with both hands as I rush back down the stairs.

  Here’s the strange thing: while I’m horrified with what I just witnessed in Anna’s bed, a big part of me is so very happy that the body does not belong to her. But then, who does it belong to? And who could possibly commit such a horrible act?

  Tim?

  It’s possible. But somehow, I don’t even think he would be capable of that.

  Ed?

  If Ed is the same Theodore who killed Sarah Anne Moore, then it’s possible he killed the man in Anna’s bed.

  When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I shine the light on the small living room. For the first time, I see the blood that stains the floor. It has to have come from the body upstairs. The trail of blood leads from the living room into the attached dining room. I find myself following it, even before I make the conscious decision to follow it. The trail runs the length of the narrow room, and all the way into my studio.

  Raising the flashlight, I shine it into the room. The clay bust of Sarah Anne Moore no longer occupies the sculpting platform. Instead, it supports a human head that’s been skinned of his face. But I can tell precisely who the head belongs to by the eyes, the teeth, and the mouth. I can tell by the white clerical collar that’s been
placed at the base of the neck.

  Father O’Connor.

  What follows after that, I can’t be entirely sure of. For certain I scream, and the floor seems to drop out from under me. All I know is I’m on my back, the knife having slipped once more from my hand along with the flashlight. When I come to, I pull my cell phone from out of my pocket and see that only ten percent of its power remains. How long was I out? One minute or ten minutes? I have no idea. All I know is I need to get away from the studio. That means getting back up on my feet and making my way into the kitchen where I can at least attempt to think things through.

  Retrieving the knife and the flashlight, I pick myself up and go to the kitchen. Setting the knife and flashlight on the counter, I go to the refrigerator, pull out a beer, pop the top, and drink half of it down while standing there. This is no time for drinking, but I desperately require the calming effects of the alcohol right now. I swear, if I had heroin in front of me, I would swallow it. That’s how rattled I am. My body is sweating, my t-shirt soaked. The sweat runs down my face. It runs into my eyes, burning them.

  Another look at my phone. Eight percent charge. The storm seems to have lightened up a bit outside. Maybe if I check the breakers, I can turn the power back on. But that means heading back downstairs into the basement. Just the thought of going down there makes my skin crawl even worse than it already does. But what choice do I have? I must at least try, not for me, but for Anna.

  But I do have another choice. I can grab my keys, head out to my car, and drive into town, head straight to the sheriff’s office. I don’t hesitate to give it another thought. Running into the living room, I grab my keys off the table beside the couch. Opening the door, I don’t even bother to close it behind me. Instead, I make way down the porch steps, then cross over the lawn to the Mini Cooper.

  Opening the driver’s-side door, I plant myself behind the wheel, punch the key into the ignition, press my right foot on the gas, and turn the key. The engine doesn’t start. All I get is a click-click-click.