Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

For twenty minutes, they sat on the floor of the upstairs hallway: he, Molly, and Mrs. Corson. Just a few feet away, the man sat near the top of the stairs with his arm around Erin, occasionally tickling her ear with the barrel of his gun. She’d come out of her stupor, and seemed to realize what was happening. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she was trembling.

For long stretches of time, no one uttered a word. Erin whimpered behind the duct tape he’d pressed over her mouth again. The only other sound was the tearing of sheets. He’d had Molly pull some bedding from the linen closet, and they’d started ripping them into wide strips for their own restraints. Chris felt like one of those people in the horror movies, forced to dig their own grave. He couldn’t help thinking this was more than just a robbery.

Every few minutes, Mrs. Corson broke the silence and tried to bargain with the bogus cop — killer to killer. “Listen, there are four other houses on this block, all empty, all ripe for the picking,” she’d said. “I can tell you which houses offer the best merchandise. I don’t give a shit about these people. You can take what you want, and do whatever you want. Just don’t tie me up. Tie up the others. Leave them here with me, and I’ll make sure you get away with a good haul. I’ll make sure there are no witnesses.”

“Keep tearing those sheets, honey,” he’d replied. “And be quiet. Otherwise, I’ll have to tape up your mouth — like the little one here.”

That had been a few minutes ago, and Jenna Corson hadn’t uttered a word since.

Now the man had the gun pointed at Chris. “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said again. “It’s up to you to make sure no one tries anything foolish. Starting with your houseguest here, I want you to tie up her legs at the ankles. . ”

With several strips of the linen in his grasp, Chris obediently crawled over to Mrs. Corson. His hands shook as he tied her ankles together.

“No, don’t,” she murmured under her breath, squirming.

“Now roll her over on her stomach and tie her hands behind her,” the man commanded. “Make it good and tight, because I’m going to test it. Let’s see if you learned anything in the Boy Scouts about tying knots.”

“I wasn’t in the Boy Scouts,” Chris muttered. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the man had the gun pressed against Erin’s head once more. Chris knew his sister would be dead if he tried to lunge at the guy.

As he turned Mrs. Corson over on her stomach, she resisted and let out a pathetic cry. He struggled to tie her hands together. “No, no, no, no,” she whispered.

When he finally finished, Chris was out of breath. He glanced up at the stranger.

“Now, it’s your stepmom’s turn,” the man said, brushing the gun barrel against Erin’s nose. Trying to turn her head away, she whimpered in protest.

“Tie her up the same way you did the other one,” he said. “The quicker you do it, the quicker I’ll be out of here, and you folks can go back to doing whatever it was you were doing.”

Molly handed Chris some strips of linen as he crawled over to her. She rolled over on her stomach without any prompting. Chris tied her legs first, leaving a little slack. If she was able to pry her shoes off, she stood a good chance of slipping her feet out of the binds. Then he tied up her wrists. Chris couldn’t stop trembling. He was so scared he kept thinking he might throw up. He let out a grunt as he finished tying the knot — acting as if it was as tight as he could make it. But the linen restraints around her wrists were loose enough for Molly to wriggle her hands free — with a little effort.

He glanced over at the man again, who stood up. He held the gun down over the top of Erin’s head. He smiled at Chris. “Okay, your turn,” he said. “Tie yourself up at the ankles. . ”

On the other side of Molly, Chris started tying his own ankles with the strips of bedsheets. He figured the man would pay particular attention to the work he did on himself, so he made the restraints fairly tight.

When Chris looked up again, the man had Erin wiggling facedown on the floor. “Okay, roll over on your stomach,” he said to Chris. “Put your hands behind you.”

Chris was obedient. He kept thinking it was too late to take his chances and pounce on the guy. He should have done that before his ankles were bound. But the son of a bitch had had a gun on Erin the whole time. With the side of his face pressed against the carpeted floor, Chris could only see him from the waist down as he stepped over Mrs. Corson, and gave the sheets on her wrists a tug. “Good,” he murmured. “Nice job.” Then he tested the restraints on Molly’s wrists. “This could have been a little tighter. . ”

“I thought it was pretty tight. I—”

Chris didn’t finish. He felt a powerful blow to his side that knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t even cry out with pain. It took him a few moments to get a breath — and realize the man had kicked him. Doubled up in agony, he gasped for air. Suddenly the man was on top of him. His knee dug into Chris’s back as he pulled his hands together and tied up his wrists with the strips of linen. He made the restraints so tight, it almost cut off the circulation in Chris’s hands.

He stepped over to Molly and wrapped another linen strip around her hands. She winced as he tied up the knot.

“Now, not a peep out of anyone,” he announced, standing over them now. “I’m going to split you up. If you stay quiet and do what I tell you, no one will get hurt. You, you’re first. . ”

Chris glanced over and watched him put his gun in his police holster. Then he grabbed Mrs. Corson by the shoulders. “You’re the guest,” he said, hoisting her to her feet. “So you belong in the guest room. . ”

“Oh, God, no, please. . ” Jenna Corson cried.

But he had her by the arm and led her into the guest room. With her ankles bound, she was forced to take tiny hops.

“Here we go, here we go,” he cooed, holding her up. “Thattagirl. .” Once they were inside the guest room, he shut the door.

“Oh, Jesus, not the closet,” Mrs. Corson cried out. “You’re him, you’re him. . ”

Chris suddenly realized — along with Mrs. Corson — that this man was the Cul-de-sac Killer. He heard Jenna Corson’s muffled whimpering in the next room and wondered if the man was stabbing her in there right now.

“Chris, listen to me,” Molly whispered. He turned toward her so they were facing each other. He lifted his head off the carpet. “If he puts you in your bedroom closet, there’s a small knife in one of your brown shoes — the pair you never wear. I left it in there a few days ago. If he sticks you and your dad’s and my closet, I hid a knife just to the left of the door — underneath one of my slippers. . ”

Chris remembered seeing Molly on Friday night with a steak knife in her hand as she’d come upstairs. That had been the night before they’d found out his dad was dead. He’d heard that cop tell Molly about how the Cul-de-sac Killer stashed his victims in closets and then killed them one by one.

Dazed, he just stared at Molly and blinked.

“If you can cut yourself loose,” she said, “grab your sister and get out of here. Don’t stop for me. I’ll take care of myself. Just keep running. Don’t try going to one of the neighbors, because no one else is home.”

Chris heard Mrs. Corson sobbing. A door slammed shut from within the guest room — and then there was silence. It must have been the closet door. He thought perhaps Mrs. Corson was dead, but he heard a pounding noise — like she was kicking at the door. It was just like the cop had said.