Ted Dekker - The Bride Collector

“It’s not as threatening as it looks.” The guard handed the IDs back. “They installed the barbed wire and monitors last year after someone broke in and raped two of the residents.” He hit a switch and the gates rolled back. “Head up the driveway, visitor parking to the left. You’ll find Allison in the reception room.”

“Thank you, Bob.”

“No problem.” He sat down and picked up his phone, probably to report their arrival. A Brad Meltzer novel lay open at his fingertips. Plenty of time to read out here.

They rolled past the trees toward a circular driveway that rounded a white stone fountain. To their right, a woman wearing a yellow flowered dress and a large sun hat was trimming bushes that had been sculpted into perfectly formed poodles, a larger one trailed by three smaller puppies. She waved as they passed, then stopped to watch them.

“Nice,” Brad said.

“Very nice.”

“Is she…”

“Clearly.”

He pulled into a parking spot reserved for visitors and stepped out into clean, cool mountain air. Birds chirped above them. Shadowed by a cheerful sun, mountain ramparts towered against the near distance. A loud, distant voice carried to them from deeper inside the compound. With a glance back, Brad met the eyes of the woman in yellow, who was still staring at him with fixed interest.

She must have mistaken his glance as an invitation, because the moment she saw his look, she started to walk toward them. Nikki got out and the woman pulled up, looking from one to the other. Cheerful and harmless looking, she was maybe in her sixties, with gray hair and bright eyes.

Her eyes settled on Brad. “You are very wonderfully built. I could do you, right here in the bushes. Would you pose for me? You like my poodles? I started on them this morning, because Sami said he hated dogs. I love dogs and I love pigeons but it takes twenty-seven pigeons to fill one poodle. Poodles aren’t like rats, because rats breed quickly and eat crackers. My favorite crackers are sodium-free.”

She said it all with a warm smile.

“Thank you, Flower.” Another gray-haired woman, probably in her early fifties, had appeared from the administration building. She possessed the lean, compact features of so many foothills residents. Piercing blue eyes, slim wrists sporting a dozen silver bangles and bracelets of the most intricate design. She was dressed in jeans and a white blouse. Three silver chains, one supporting a rhinestone-studded cross, hung from her neck. She looked like someone who fully intended to take what life owed her, but she managed to pull it off without appearing gaudy.

“I think this kind gentleman would look wonderful on our front lawn. What a nice offer.” She looked at Brad with knowing eyes and winked. “What do you say, Mr. Raines? It would only take her half an hour, she’s quite skilled.”

He was caught flat-footed. This must be Allison Johnson. Was she serious?

“No?” she asked. “We’re in a bit of a rush, are we?”

“Actually, yes, we are a bit pressed for time.”

The administrator addressed Flower, who stared motionless, awaiting a verdict. “I’m sorry, Flower, he’s in a hurry. Can you do him from memory?”

A grin flashed on Flower’s face, and she spun away without another word. She marched toward the hedges, stopped after ten paces, and measured him up using her hands to approximate his height and dimensions, then continued in a brisk stride.

“Welcome to CWI,” Allison said. “Please come with me.”

Allison Johnson struck Brad as the kind of woman who’d seen it all and remained both uncompromised and unflappable, a wise woman who wore her experience with beauty and grace. He found himself immediately drawn in with an ease that unnerved him a little.

She led them into what looked more like a living room than a reception area. Two high-back chairs in plaid and a gold sofa surrounded an oval coffee table made of wood. An unlit fireplace beneath a large painting of a seaside Mediterranean village filled the brick wall adjacent the couch. Large windows looked out to the inner courtyard, and beyond that to a large lawn with another fountain, several wrought-iron benches, and two sprawling maples. A few residents loitered about the grounds, some dressed in jeans, others in slacks, one in what appeared to be night clothes or a smock.

Allison faced them. “Would you like to sit inside, or would you rather wander the grounds with me?”

“Well…” Brad still felt oddly off balance.

“They won’t bite, Special Agent Raines. My children are rarely violent.”

“Rarely?”

“Well, come on-we all like to throw a tantrum now and then.”

Brad nodded at the lawn. “After you, then.”

“A good choice.” She turned and pushed open a glass door. “We are very proud of our home.” A light breeze rustled through the massive maples’ leaves above them. The setting was entirely serene. Calming.

“So, Mr. Raines, tell me how I can help you.”

“This is Nikki-”

“A forensic psychologist who works with you, yes, she told me. I suspect she knows more than most about what goes on here.” She paused. “You’re looking for a killer?”

He felt an oddly unsettling sensation. Being stared at. He glanced around and saw that indeed, all eyes from the residents standing or sitting about the grounds were now fixed on them. It struck Brad that he and Nikki were the spectacle in the zoo at the moment, not the other way around. To the residents’ way of thinking, he was the intrusion into a perfectly normal world.

“Yes. A pattern killer we’ve dubbed the Bride Collector. He’s taken four women in the last month. We have reason to believe he intends to take three more. Our team cross-referenced a note he left with mental health care providers in the state and found a connection to your facility.”

“Residence,” she said. “And please don’t use the terms patient or mentally ill around them. It doesn’t sit well with the Monkeys.” She smiled and winked. “May I see it?”

“See what?”

“The note.”

Brad caught Nikki’s inquisitive eye. She seemed fascinated. Perhaps amused. He withdrew a copy from his pocket and handed it to the administrator. She read it as she strolled, then handed it back. Her smile softened, but he noted that her eyes had brightened.

“How does he kill them?” she asked.

“We haven’t shared any of this with-”

“Mum’s the word, FBI.”

“All right. It seems that he takes women he considers beautiful, fixes them up to appear without blemish, and then drills into their heels. He glues them to the wall and lets them bleed to death.”

“Dear me. That’s a ghastly image, isn’t it? The note would suggest classic schizophrenia. What makes you think he’s highly intelligent?”

Nikki responded. “Despite apparent delusions of grandeur indicated by his note, he’s clearly capable of avoiding the typical mistakes in cases like this. If not for the note, we wouldn’t at first focus on anyone with a history of mental illness. As you probably know, most pattern killers aren’t mentally ill.”

“Then apart from his use of the words center and intelligence, you have no reason to suspect any connection to the center,” Allison said. She pointed to a round building across the lawn. “That’s our hub. Game room, gathering room, television, the cafeteria, it’s all centrally located. On either side are two wings, one reserved for men, one for women. We run a structured schedule and environment to help our residents avoid any confusion. Our primary objective is to facilitate their reintegration by helping them learn to live with their gifts and challenges. The world’s a hostile environment. We hope to give them the skills they need to navigate it using all the brilliance God has gifted them with.”