Ted Dekker - The Bride Collector

Nikki took another sip and set her glass down on the etched-glass coffee table. “Because I would have pegged you more as the kind who went after perfection. I mean, look at this place.”

“Well, yes, I like to keep things clean.”

“Clean? Okay, this is not clean.” She made a dismissive gesture with one hand to accentuate not. “This is immaculate.”

“I don’t like dust.”

“And what about your closet? Don’t tell me… All your socks are lined up. Sorted by color.”

Brad felt himself blush. Thankfully only two lamps lit the living room, providing some cover. He managed an apologetic smile. “It makes things easier to find.”

“It’s more than that, though, isn’t it? The way you keep your office so ordered, the way you wipe down the counter at work, the way you go over files again and again, reading and rereading. We have a term for people like you.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Borderline obsessive-compulsive personality. Not OCD as in disorder, mind you, but personality. Big difference. Thankfully.”

He shrugged, feeling awkward.

“It’s okay, Mr. Brad Raines. I happen to find your attention to detail attractive and endearing.” She crossed to the drapes in bare feet, having left her black heels by the door. “You like original. But you also like perfect. So which is it? Or is that what the hold-up is, your search for that perfect original?”

She swept the drapes wide, and two images struck Brad at once. Nikki’s well-toned body, hugged by a short, sleeveless black dress, silhouetted by Denver’s bright lights-a vision of its own kind of perfection.

And the piece of paper taped to the outside of the window.

Nikki gasped. Brad’s attention shifted to the piece of paper, and in the space of a single breath knew what it was. The Bride Collector. The killer had found a way to tape a note to the outside of his window, five stories above the street.

Outside of his window? Why? How?

The possibilities crowded Brad’s mind. A ladder. A window washer on a ladder. He’d done it this way to avoid surveillance cameras. A window washer in the middle of the day, or a repairman of some kind. A city worker. However it was done, it required careful work.

This note, then, was important to the killer. Assuming it was from him.

“Brad?”

He broke from the thought gripping him, set his glass down, and stepped up behind Nikki. The white paper was dimmed by the tinted glass, but it had been taped flat at the top and bottom with Scotch tape, and the Bride Collector’s handwriting was unmistakable.

They’re trying to kill me, everyone is trying to kill me.

But the advantage of being God is that I get to change my mind. Why did you move my bride? My time. Have you killed Jack lately? The snake waits in the garden, seeking a new bride to join him in the hole. Perfect twice. Me.

Paradise lost. It takes one to know one. To know the insane. When the jack is in the whole. Does jack want me to hide from you? No, I’m not sick, I’m just better than you.

I’m the sunshine and you’re the Rain Man.

A chill bolted through Brad’s body. He stared at the writing, then reread the note.

What could he say? It was suddenly all very… personal.

“Flight of ideas, but hemmed in to make an odd kind of sense,” Nikki said, her voice shaky. “How did he get this note up here? Surely he was seen.”

“We’ll canvass and take a look at any surveillance data in the area, but I’m sure he covered his tracks.”

“No one can see in here?”

“No.”

“But he obviously knows where you live. For all we know he watched us tonight. Or is watching us right now!” She sounded a bit frantic. Not surprising, all things considered, but not typical for her.

Brad scanned the office building across the street. Most windows were dark, only a few lighted. A parking structure four buildings to the right could make a decent perch for a man with strong binoculars. But none of that mattered. At night his apartment’s glass would look black from the outside.

He snapped open his phone, called the agent on duty, and requested an evidence team join them as soon as possible.

Nikki paced in front of the window, hands on hips, rereading the note. “This is getting crazy. What do you think?”

It wasn’t like him to be easily disturbed, but this was significant. Brad set his phone on the sofa table, hands shaking, then stared back at the note, trying his best to ignore the pins pricking his skin at the back of his neck.

Paradise lost. The Bride Collector was referring to the Old Testament story of the snake in the garden. The fall of man, paradise lost. But the coincidence between his use of the word and Brad’s connection with Paradise at the CWI was uncanny.

“Paradise,” Nikki said.

“Yeah. Paradise. Who’s Jack?”

She faced him, face drawn. “He knows you went to see her?”

“Not necessarily. But he clearly knows we moved the body.”

“Let’s assume he is referencing her, Paradise.” She spoke quickly, tense. “So first he makes some oblique reference to the women in your life, possibly me. Then you go to CWI with the body of his victim, and he goes to great lengths to leave a note, this time with a direct threat. So what, his fixation is now you? Every woman you come in contact with?”

It wasn’t uncommon for pattern criminals to develop unhealthy fixations with those they saw as adversaries. In psychopaths’ minds, the blame for their ruined lives lay not with their behavior but with whoever threatened their ability to engage in that behavior.

“He knows I’m trying to stop him. He sees me as a competitive threat, and in his world, that means women.” Brad glanced at her. “How does that sound?”

“It’s tough to know how the insane think.” She faced him. “Tell me more about Paradise.”

“What do you mean?”

“Humor me. I mean, you’ve seen her, what, three times now? You spent half our dinner talking about her. If I didn’t know who she was, I might be jealous.”

What? The revelation came out of the blue.

“She’s part of the case. We only discussed her for a few minutes.”

“Whatever, I’m just saying. Not that I have the right to be jealous.” She forced a sharp chuckle. “Listen to me, I’m pathetic. She’s…”

“She’s what? A mess? Is she? Unlike us?”

Nikki’s right brow shot up. “Come again?”

It was his tone. In one moment he had dismissed Paradise, and in the next he was sounding desperate to defend her. In some strange way he felt like he should defend her. She was defenseless. Abandoned by a world that had brutalized her.

“Come on, of course I feel for her.” There, he’d said it. “Who wouldn’t? She’s a victim of the monster in all of us.”

Nikki nodded. “I feel sorry for them, too. But there’s a difference between empathy and affection. I hope you understand that.”

“Actually, I don’t think it’s either empathy or affection.” He studied the note again. “I think it’s more respect.”

“In what way?”

“She sees things I don’t. She’s the fastest study I’ve ever met. A natural.”

Nikki broke off her stare. “I can see that.” But her tone wasn’t reassuring. I can see that rather indicated that she saw something totally different.

“I’m just a little unnerved by all of this.” She waved at the note. “Point is, this guy isn’t kidding around. He’s pressing through with this, and he’s not even thinking about quitting.”

“Unless…”

She walked up to him and read the note over his shoulder. The scent of her perfume was still pleasant, a hint of spice in flowers. Her breathing came soft near his ear. “Unless what?” The sound of her voice, light and clear. He was a fool, wasn’t he? In so many ways Nikki was the perfect woman for him. He should be pursuing her now, regardless of the case.