Ted Dekker - The Bride Collector

Paradise shot her a stern warning. “Andrea!”

“I have to take a shower, Paradise.” Andrea’s face wrinkled in pain. “I feel dirty.”

“Then you’ll have to go on your own.” Her tone softened. “Our guest is depending on us to help him.”

This was like playing a game with children. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was some kind of rivalry brewing here. Surely not over him…

“Paradise?”

“Thank you.” She looked up at the three notes pinned to the right of the map. “It’s painfully clear that the Bride Collector is psychotic. He sees himself as God’s messenger, thwarting a terrible evil. It’s the most common kind of delusion suffered by even the most intelligent psychotics. Thoughts of grand plots to upset the war between good and evil invade his every waking moment.”

“This is more the who,” Roudy said.

“No, this is the why,” she returned. “Let me finish.”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry,” Andrea said. “Sorry, sorry.”

“As I was saying, the Bride Collector is doing the right thing in his eyes. He knows he’s evil, and thinks of himself as a demon who is enslaved and tasked to find the bride of Christ. This is why, Roudy. He is taking these women because God has chosen them, through him. If he decides, it’s God’s decision.”

Her theory was similar to Nikki’s, but somehow more complete and certain. And with only a few minutes’ exposure to the evidence.

“What else?” Brad asked, fascinated by her insight.

Paradise stared at the victims spread like angels on the wall of each crime scene. A tear from her right eye ran down her cheek. She walked up to the wall and traced the picture of the latest victim, whom she’d seen in person two days earlier.

“In his mind, taking their lives is a necessary act. He does it for their sakes as much as for God’s purpose. There’s no anger. No revenge. He wouldn’t take someone because he’s angry with them.”

“So he wouldn’t kill a victim out of, say, spite.”

“No,” Roudy said. “If you don’t mind me interjecting.”

“Go ahead, Roudy.” Brad walked up behind Paradise. The scent of her shampoo lingered in the air. She glanced up as he came close, then quickly looked at the wall again.

“The question is, Who’s next?” Roudy said. “We must fixate on that question. Who, who, who, not just the why. And I do have a theory.”

The man seemed to be contradicting himself. “Do you mind if Paradise finishes?” Brad said, looking down on her dark hair. It was parted in the middle and ran in long strands down either side of her head, recently combed but unevenly cut and with split ends.

“Don’t delay me much longer, Agent Raines. I have some light to shed here!”

“Of course. But I think Paradise has hit on something crucial.” He was deferring to her in part to show her a preference that would earn her trust, but it wasn’t all posturing on his part. Her analysis really was quite amazing.

“Don’t forget about me,” Andrea said, stepping up on Brad’s other side. He ignored her for the moment, at a loss.

“Please continue, Paradise.”

She looked up into his eyes, and again they shared a moment of connection. “Thank you,” she said.

Then, frowning at the wall of pictures: “No, I don’t think the Bride Collector would kill someone just to hurt that person. I don’t think he’s wired that way.”

“Be quiet!” Andrea whispered, looked at the corner. “I will.” Beat. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry.”

They ignored her.

“But he would see you differently, Mr. Raines. You’re not a woman. In his mind, you’re the one trying to stop him from doing God’s will. If he’s evil, you are even worse. And he will try to stop you.”

“How?”

“He’ll try to kill you.”

The room went silent. A hand gently touched his right palm. Andrea slipped her fingers into his hand. He felt frozen, standing with Paradise on his left engrossed in the case, and Andrea on his right obeying the voices that had told her to win his affection. It couldn’t be…

But one glance into Andrea’s big blue seductive eyes, and he knew it was. He’d never been hit on so blatantly by such a stunning woman, any woman for that matter. She clearly didn’t have the social sensitivities that kept most men and women at arm’s length. Brad tried to pull his hand free and had to tug to accomplish separation. Her face fell, then twisted in pain. “I need to take a shower, Paradise! I need to take a shower right now!”

“No, it’s okay, Andrea,” Brad said. Then he said something he was sure he’d regret later, but saying it felt right. “I need to… stay with Paradise, okay? Maybe Casanova can help you out.”

She stepped back, horrified. “Cass? Cass is a dirty old man!” she cried. “Is that what you have in mind? Are you going to rape Paradise? Is that it, FBI, are you going to take advantage of her when no one is looking?”

“That is totally inappropriate!” Paradise said, brushing past Brad. “Totally. Stop listening to Betty or whoever is whispering that nonsense into your ear. I know you are used to being the center of attention with all the men, but it’s not always all about you. So stop this.” Then she added, as if to make sure she wasn’t misunderstood, “We have a woman to save here. And Brad’s life might be in danger. He’s the victim here, not the criminal.”

“My, my, my, this won’t do,” Roudy said, massaging his scalp. “They’re waiting for my report!”

Paradise quickly pulled Andrea back in, speaking with the skill of a seasoned counselor. “We need you, Andrea. None of us can read the tea leaves the way you can. There’s a pattern here. Roudy is right about that. There’s a jack in the whole and you may be the one to help us find it, so please, please don’t listen to Betty.”

A jack in the whole? “What jack in the whole?”

“A pattern,” Roudy said. “That’s my point. He left us with a jack in the whole.”

QUINTON GAULD LOVED the feeling of doing what was right even if the potential cost was high. All of God’s chosen paid a price at some point in their lives, and his day to burn at the stake would also come. But as long as he was playing the role he was destined to play, he could revel in his higher calling.

A buzz swept through his mind, and he shook it free with a grunt. Preachers were idiots. Churches were dens of thieves. They talked about love and forgiveness, then turned their backs on any who fell short of the glory of God. Didn’t they realize that they were all snakes, all needing love and forgiveness? Were the Swaggerts and the Haggards any different from the pew sitters?

Hypocrisy was a form of mental illness. And, like the mentally ill, hypocrites were unable to see their own illness. It was no wonder God had rejected them as the bride. Depart from me for I knew you not, you snakes. I will spew you out of my mouth.

He shook another buzz from his head and blew some air out to ease the tension. Let not your heart be troubled. The bride is waiting and I will deliver her to her husband.

Feeling once again uplifted, Quinton brought his mind back to the task. He’d left his 300M back at the rest stop beside the eighteen-wheeler and now drove the police cruiser. It had taken a bit of doing to make his intention clear to Rodger, the policeman. The man didn’t want to give up his uniform, and Quinton needed it. He’d shot the man in the head and stuffed him into the trunk.

On the bright side, the man’s square sunglasses were stylish and his uniform fit Quinton well except for the length of the inseam. Rodger had been a good-size man with sawed-off legs and Quinton had opted for his own slacks rather than look like an utter fool. Above the waist, he was practically Rodger’s twin.