Ted Dekker: The Bride Collector

His greatest challenge was to be who he was. To be what society wanted but didn’t have the guts to be. To resist the respect and honor that tempted him at this very moment and to embrace the evil that haunted him.

“I find you disgusting,” he said, and he walked to the table, picked up the yellow battery-operated drill, and squeezed the trigger.

The strong DeWalt electric motor whirred smoothly, filling him with calm. He’d adjust the tension on the clutch so that it would cut cleanly through bone without binding.

There was something about bones. Something most people found deeply disturbing about the prospect of reaching through the skin of the human body and tinkering with the inner, hidden self. No one wanted their veneer penetrated. By drilling Quinton accomplished two important tasks at once.

First, he made a small opening through the heel that allowed gravity to efficiently drain the body’s blood supply. But second, drilling penetrated the facade and exposed the true bone of the bride. Or, in this case, the man.

Satisfied that the drill was fully operational, he lowered it to his side and walked over to Rain Man, who watched him with a surprisingly neutral stare. Was there no end to the man’s valor? He could see that it might take more than one or two holes to make the man scream.

“Now, listen to me,” Quinton said. “This isn’t necessarily personal…”

“Yes it is.”

A beat. “Okay, so it is somewhat personal. The point is, I need you to scream. Your life doesn’t mean much to me. But I need the little bride to come, you understand? I think she might be stupid enough to have fallen for you now that you’ve rescued her. So I need you to scream and scream like a little boy who’s having his teeth drilled without a drop of Novocain.”

Rain Man seemed unruffled. “You can’t catch her. She’s gone. I can scream until you beg me to stop. But you won’t draw Paradise in.”

“Really?” Quinton pressed the trigger briefly and the drill whined. “You seem to think you know her quite well.”

Rain Man was still unimpressed. “Even if she were close enough to hear my screams, she knows there’s no way she can stop you. She can’t burn the barn down, she can’t shoot you, she can’t jump in the truck and drive off, she’s powerless. She knew that before agreeing to run. You can kill me, but you will never touch Paradise.”

“Is that so? And what’s to stop me from tracking her down next week?”

“I’m not that stupid. You’ll never find her where she’s going. As far as you’re concerned, Paradise no longer exists. She’ll be in a vault so far from you that no attempt on your part will turn up a single lead.”

The sincerity in his tone unnerved Quinton.

“You know, for a while there, I was bothered by your character. But now you’ve turned into a bad liar, and it’s making me feel better about my decision to kill you. I hate pretenders.”

“Shut up and drill me, Quinton. I’ll scream my head off and it won’t help you.”

Could the holy fox have outfoxed him yet again? Why was he inviting pain? Perhaps he really had lost his mind. Quinton’s nerves were uncharacteristically taut. He was deeply bothered.

So he leaned over, squeezed the drill’s trigger, and pressed the quarter-inch diamond-tipped bit against the flat of the man’s shin. The motor screamed high, then ground slower as it caught.

He straightened and examined his work. The man was looking up at him, face white, lips trembling, leg bleeding. But he did not scream or even moan.

“No scream?”

He had to be careful or Rain Man would pass out.

“Scream, Rain Man. Scream until you make me want to plug my ears.”

Nothing.

“No? Because you lied to me, Rain Man. You won’t scream because she can hear, and you’re afraid that if she hears you scream she’ll come. Because that’s what beautiful people do, Rain Man, we both know that. They come running to save the poor saps in trouble.”

Nothing from him. With each passing moment Quinton respected, hated, loved, loathed the man more.

“I’m going to drill you full of holes, and if you don’t scream, then I’m going to scream, and she’ll come running, and when she does I’m going to drill her, too.”

The man’s eyes darted over his shoulder, then widened.

“Hello, Quinton.”

Except for over the phone, it was the first time he’d heard her voice in seven years, and the sound of those sweet, tender vocal cords pierced him in a way no sound this side of heaven or hell ever could.

He turned slowly toward the main door. There, dressed in her red blouse and cutoff jean shorts, stood Paradise. Her arms hung by her sides and her unblinking gaze held him.

This was also the first time Quinton had looked into her eyes since that night so long ago. Those devastatingly beautiful eyes.

“Hello, Paradise,” he said.

BRAD SAT IN defeat, begging God for one last mercy. Please, please don’t let her come. Send her far away. Don’t let her hear.

He watched the Bride Collector hovering over him with his drill, heard his threats, but his mind was on his prayer of desperation to God in heaven, if he was indeed listening-and Brad had to believe now that he was.

Protect her, I beg you. She’s innocent, she’s naive, she will run here for love, but don’t let my love draw her. Not now, please, not now.

Then Quinton bent over and pressed the drill into his shin and the pain was so vicious that Brad’s whole leg began to shake violently. His stomach rolled and his vision blurred, but he could not allow the scream tearing at his throat a moment’s breath.

Quinton stood. He was talking, but Brad didn’t hear him. His mind was begging all the more earnestly. Please, please save her. Save her, please. She’s your child. Save her…

Movement from the corner of his left eye stopped him, and he looked and he saw what he had begged not to see. She stood in the wide barn doorway, like an angel of mercy.

Brad could not breathe.

“Hello, Quinton.”

Quinton started. Then slowly turned. For a moment they stared at each other and Brad could only imagine what vile thoughts were running through the mind of this psychopath.

“Hello, Paradise.”

Brad wanted to scream out to her. Run, Paradise! Run away! He’s a monster and he’s going to hurt you. You’re too naive! Run!

A moan broke from his mouth, nothing more. He struggled to keep from passing out. It couldn’t end this way! She had to run.

Paradise just stood there, staring at the killer. And Quinton stared back.

Brad found his voice, breathy and stretched with fear. “Run…” Then again, in a cry. “Run, Paradise, run!”

“No, Brad. Not this time.”

Her voice was so light, so sweet, so innocent. And it sent a shaft of searing anguish through his chest. She was going to die on account of him! And she was too stubborn to see it.

Quinton walked over to the table, set down the drill, and picked up his pistol.

Paradise looked at Brad, cheeks wet by trails of tears. But she didn’t flinch.

He leaned against his ropes, frantic for her to run. “Please, Paradise, you can’t do this…” But she wasn’t listening. “Please…”

Her head turned back to Quinton, who stood in the middle of the quilted stage, before the wall on which he intended to drain Paradise.

Brad started to speak again but couldn’t. His words were only noise in his mind. A great lament rolled through him.

Forgive me, Paradise! I’m sorry that I let you love me. I’m sorry that your tormented life has led you here to me, to the first man who showed you any love. You don’t have to give your life for me! It doesn’t work that way! Those are the foolish ideas in stories. I’m not worth it, I’m a wretch. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Paradise!