Brian Freeman - The Burying Place

'Go to hell.'

'Think about it. Running won't get you where you want to go. But I can protect you.'

She felt humiliated and furious. She wanted to cry and, just as badly, she wanted to destroy him. This was the man who stood between her and the rest of her life. Between her and all her plans.

'I love watching your mind work, Kasey,' he told her. 'I told you. I know exactly who you are.'

'What if I kill you right now?' she demanded.

He smiled, taking a step, and his long gait brought him inches closer to her than he had been before. 'Then you'd be free, wouldn't you?'

'Come any closer, and I'll blow your head off,' she warned him.

'If you had a gun, I'd already be dead.'

She took a step backward, and he took another step toward her, and again the distance between them shrank. But he was still beyond her reach. She was conscious of his size and strength. His eyes never left her. His gloved hands dangled at his sides. She kept the knife hidden in her pocket, but her fist was curled round the hilt.

'What do you want with me? Do you want to kill me like the others?'

'The others meant nothing to me,' he told her. 'This is something else, Kasey. I have special plans for you.'

'What plans?'

'You'll find out soon enough.'

She stared into his black eyes, and her heart filled with bloodlust. There was only one thing to do. Fight. Attack. Murder.

'Why are you doing this?' she asked. 'Who are you?'

'My life story doesn’t matter. It only matters that I am who I am, and you are who you are.'

She took another slow step backward, but this time she let her weight settle on to her right leg. She readied herself to charge.

'I don't deserve to die. Not now. Not like this.'

'Neither did Susan Krauss. Neither did any of the others. But our paths crossed. Life is random like that.' He added, 'Or maybe God sent you to me. Did you think about that?'

'There's no God,' Kasey told him.

She pushed off with a scream, springing across the short space. She whisked the knife through the air in front of her and imagined it slicing across his skin. Felt it burying deep through skin and bone and organs. She was so close.

But it was futile. He was waiting for her, as if he was inside her mind and could see her thoughts. As she reached him, his hand twisted, revealing a black device barely larger than a cell phone. She was barely conscious of it, barely knew what it was, before she heard the sizzle of electricity. The knife spilled from her limp fingers. In the next millisecond, pain exploded throughout her body, savaging her nerve ends and cascading her off her feet. Her blood became fire. She twitched in the snow, in agony, her brain scrambled into floating fragments.

He loomed above her, out of focus, doing cartwheels in her eyes. She wanted to resist, but she felt like a helpless rag doll, with useless arms and legs stuffed with sawdust. She was his toy. He owned her now. He had owned her since that night in the fog.

She was aware of being turned over. Felt snow and dirt pushing into her mouth. Felt her hands being taped. Felt him stroke her hair and whisper in her ear: 'Bad girl.'

He stood up, lifted her limp body into his arms, and carried her across the snowy ground.

Valerie heard the front door open. She hadn't moved from where she sat near the fire. Her tears had dried on her cheeks. She heard the footsteps of her husband on the floor of the foyer, and the pounding of his leather heels felt like nails driven into her palms. He didn't call her name. He walked around the house the way a ghost would, ominous and unseen. She dreaded seeing him in the flesh. It was as if, all these years, he had hidden behind a disguise, and now she had finally seen his real face.

The footsteps stopped. When she looked up, she flinched, watching his tall frame fill the doorway. He brought a smell of cold and sweat. His suit was wrinkled, his tie loose. His angular jaw was dark with a long day's growth of beard.

'I need a drink,' he said.

He went to the wet bar and dropped ice into a lowball glass. He poured an inch of whiskey, drank it down in a single swallow, and gritted his teeth as the burn hit his chest. He poured more, draining the rest of the bottle.

'You heard?' he asked. When she didn't answer, he added, 'I'm sorry.'

He made no move to come to her or comfort her. Thank God. She couldn't bear for him to touch her. He sipped his drink and ignored the hostile silence. Her head swirled with words to say, but none of them felt right. It was like being caught outside in the rain, only to realize it was really the deluge.

'Is that all you have to say?' she murmured. 'You're sorry?'

'What else do you want from me? I don't have anything to give you right now.'

That was true. He had never had anything to give. Not from the very beginning.

'I want you to tell me what you did,' she said. 'I want to hear it from your mouth.'

He put down his drink and shook his head. 'Ah, fuck, not you, too.'

Valerie pushed herself off the floor. 'I always wondered how a father could hate his daughter,' she told him. 'Secretly. Deep in my heart. I never admitted it to anyone, even when I saw how you were with her. Denise used to tell me that she was scared, that I shouldn't leave Callie alone with you. I told her she was crazy, but somewhere inside, I wondered.'

'This is crap. I never felt that way. You've been brainwashed.'

'You're right, I have. By you. I've worn blinders for years. I wouldn't allow the thought into my brain. I willed it away. Even when Callie disappeared, I convinced myself that the rest of the world was wrong about you. Blair Rowe was wrong. Your lovers were wrong. You didn't really say what you said to them, about wishing Callie had never been born. Not you. You couldn't think that. No man could think that.'

'Valerie, I didn't mean it like that.'

'How did you mean it?'

'I was angry. I was blowing off steam. That's all it was.'

'Angry? At a little baby girl?'

'Angry at you.'

She tensed. 'OK. I deserve that. I cheated on you.'

'Oh, Christ, it's not that. I'm no saint, and I never pretended to be. Hell, if Tom Sheridan could make you happy, good luck to him, because I sure as hell could never figure out how to do it. I gave you all the money you could ever want. You had a life that every woman in this town envied. But that wasn't enough. You walked around this house like you were an empty shell. Once a week, you spread your legs and let me inside like you were doing me some kind of favor. Get it over with, Marcus, so I can get back to feeling sorry for myself. Yeah, I was angry. I'm still angry.'

'You could have divorced me,' she said. 'You could have found someone else. Why did you have to take your anger out on Callie?'

'I did not do that. And I don't want a divorce.'

'Were you waiting for me to go away?' she asked. 'Did you need a night when I wasn't in the house?'

'You're out of control. Let me get you a sedative.'

'Absolutely. Drug me up. That's the answer.'

He didn't reply.

'At least tell me it was an accident,' she whispered. 'Tell me you're not really that cold-blooded.'

'I'm tired of accusations,' he told her bitterly as he turned for the door. 'I'm going to bed.'

'You stand there and listen to me !' Valerie screamed.

He froze and slowly turned back. Valerie stalked across the room. Her face was twisted in fury.

'Did you ever love me, Marcus? God, look who I'm asking. You can't love anyone but yourself. I knew you were selfish, but I had no idea how far you'd go to keep me focused solely on you. Was that the problem? Were you jealous that Callie made me happy and you didn't?'