Ted Dekker - The Bride Collector

He swallowed, looking guilty, and sat back down. “No, not entirely. Yes, in part, Allison did say that, but that’s not-”

“But you need to know, Mr. Raines, that I’ve been playing you as well.”

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t cross his legs or sigh or condescend to her. In fact, he looked genuinely embarrassed.

“You should feel shame for what you’re doing, I suppose,” she said, “but I’m guilty, too, so I guess we’re both in the same boat.”

“I don’t understand, you’ve been playing me?”

“Normally I would panic if a man showed interest in me the way you have. All those looks and winks… I would normally take off running. Didn’t Allison tell you? Men and I don’t mix too well.”

“She did say that, yes. But-”

“Normally I would flip out. But today a woman’s life is at risk and as a group we’ve decided to do our best, no matter what the cost, to save her life. So rather than flip out, which would cause Andrea to quit, you can be sure, I decided to let you play your games with me. And the only way to do that was to let you think you were being successful in accomplishing your goal.”

After a pause, “My goal?”

“To win my… my affection. My trust.” She was moving her knees back and forth like a girl who had to use the restroom, and she stopped them.

For a long drawn-out moment, he just looked at her, face shy and red like a kid caught with his hand in the jar. “I don’t know what to say,” he finally said.

“Me neither. I’m ashamed to have led you on like that. Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never done anything like it.”

She looked out the window and was struck by the realization that it would all come to an end. The idea of climbing back into her dark hole of loneliness, no matter how safe, terrified her. It wasn’t supposed to go this way! He should be stopping her, saying, No, no. I do love you, I don’t know what has come over me, but you’ve bewitched me. I look into your eyes and am swept away and I don’t know what to do about it!

But that wasn’t what he was doing. And why should he? She was right. It really had just been a game. A dream. A story. A nightmare.

She was not the princess. She was the toad.

“So what do we do?” he asked.

Paradise turned back to him, struggling not to betray her deep disappointment. “Well, for one, I can’t afford to freak out. Andrea will quit if I do.”

He looked like he was still at a complete loss. “It’s amazing that you see it that way. I mean, you’re being very gracious. And I’m very grateful. I really… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you through so much. I just… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s okay.” She blew out some air, fighting to control a black cloud of sorrow settling over her. “I just have to figure out how to go back in there and pretend that everything’s okay.”

“I don’t want you to pretend,” he said.

“Well, I have to do something. I suppose we could continue the charade. I think I might be able to do that until this is all over.” A foolish notion, but she’d said it already.

Brad thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think we should do that. I really didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.”

He moved to the edge of his couch and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, very close to her. Then he reached out his hands, palms up, as if inviting her to put her hand in his. Paradise felt her chest tighten with the first sign of panic.

“Listen to me, Paradise. It doesn’t have to be like this. I know you’re afraid and I would be, too. But I’m not here to hurt you. I’m not sure I could live with myself if I intentionally hurt someone like you. You. Hurt you.”

She was hearing him, but her eyes were on his open hands and she was wondering if he really did expect her to put her small ugly hand into his large powerful hand. The idea was making her feel nauseated.

“I don’t think we have to pretend,” he said. “I think that we’re just two adults who both have deep feelings when it comes to other people. I lost someone very close to me a long time ago, and I still can’t get over it. You lost part of yourself a long time ago, and you still can’t get over it. We’re both deeply wounded.”

Tears filled her eyes, though she tried to stop them.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “We don’t need to be like that. Neither of us is ready for the pressure anyway. Let’s just try to help this girl.”

He was right. He was so right and she loved him for those words. This was just ordinary. She was just an adult. They were two adults trying to save a life and help each other out. What had gotten into her?

Her tears slipped from her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

“Give me your hands,” he said, reaching out, supported by his knees. “Please.”

She hesitated, then did what she had never done. She reached out and placed her palms on a man’s palms. They were larger than hers by half. And warm. His fingers closed around hers.

“You want to know the truth, Paradise? The truth is I think you’re an incredible woman.” His voice was low and heavy. “I envy you in more ways than you could possibly know. I don’t want you to feel pressured to do anything. Seriously, I’m beginning to have my doubts whether Sherlock and Brains can break this down anyway.”

“Oh they will. Just give them time, they will. They’ll at least figure out what the killer’s jack is.”

“And what about you? Can you do this?”

Actually… She could, couldn’t she? The fear she’d felt earlier had somehow dissipated. She felt a bit blue and quite foolish but otherwise comfortable. Maybe Brad had done exactly what he’d set out to do without intending to do it. Maybe he’d just won her trust in a way no man ever had.

She looked into his gentle brown eyes, then at his hands, and allowed him to hold on to her. “I’m okay. I can do this. It takes one to know one. Right?”

Brad smiled. A bright, genuine, loving smile that frightened Paradise for the emotions it evoked. But she immediately set the foolish feelings aside and stood.

“So let’s try to save her.”

THE APARTMENT WAS nice enough on its own, but now Quinton had transformed the back bedroom into something majestic. A temple of sorts. The inner courts complete with his own altar.

Due to his change in plans, he’d decided not to use the barn east of Parker, which might still come in useful for the seventh, most beautiful bride. Instead he had set up in the apartment, hoping that the Rain Man’s idiots would soon crack his jack and find the hole.

He’d brought the sedated sixth here and injected her with half a dose of benzodiazepine, a psychoactive sedative that would help her accept the truth with less fuss. Then, working efficiently yet quickly, he’d prepared the room, covering the brown carpet with thick clear plastic that could easily be rolled up when he was finished. A gurney with a white mattress sat in the middle of the room. He would take the gurney with him, dressed in the same white smock he’d worn when wheeling the bride in. No one had seen, but the precaution was necessary.

His case and the tool he would need rested atop a folding table along the right-hand wall. Two posts that he’d secured with drywall anchors protruded from the adjacent wall, precisely five feet from the ground. The body had to be positioned evenly, not cockeyed, so he always measured the height of each peg.

Once the bride hung in place and was glued to the wall, Quinton would arrange each and every appendage for optimal beauty. Like adjusting the bride’s dress just right before she walked down the aisle. He removed all of her outer clothing, leaving her only in her underwear, facing the ceiling. Using a gauze pad, he cleaned the blood from the wound on her cheek where she’d crashed into the door. He used superglue to seal the gash, a trick that worked surprisingly well.