Chapter 82
EIGHTY-TWO
Midnight Ridge
Those damn nosy-ass cops had been crawling all over his precious mountain. So had the nutcase people who called themselves the Believers.
Some of them were here now. Praying for that little girl Iris.
He smiled to himself. Iris was in a better place already.
That old hag Faith and her cohort Ester were the leaders of the pack. They’d organized those stupid vigils where people were lighting up the mountain with candles and singing and chanting like crazy fools.
He’d seen them leading one just last night.
He should shut them up, but they were old and weak and what would be the fun in that? One finger to their frail bodies and he could send them flying over the ridge.
But that would draw even more suspicion. And more of their kind flocking to the ridge.
He still might have to do something about that detective though. She was like a dog gnawing at a bone, wouldn’t give up until she cracked it into brittle pieces and chewed it to smithereens.
He couldn’t let that happen.
But he didn’t dare make a move now, not with that ranger and fed all over her.
He ran by his house and changed from his work clothes, then drove out to the place where he’d left Dana Jo. He’d wanted to kill her immediately, but she needed to die at Midnight Ridge. That had been his mistake the first time. He’d gotten in a rush and left her in the woods.
This time he’d hide her for a while until he was ready to finish the job.
Looking up at the dark building shrouded in trees, the mist and the mountains made his heart pound so hard he could hear the blood roaring in his ears.
The clouds were rumbling, the air carrying the frigid chill of an impending snowstorm.
Alerts from the weather bureau warned that the predicted heavy winds might tear down trees which could cause power outages.
Panicked locals were already stocking up on basics, but an outage might serve his purposes well. People would be staying home. Not on the road.
Not on the mountain.
Even those crazy Believers would have to take shelter.
The top window of the stone monstrosity was covered in kudzu, creating another barrier of sound protection and making the lodge look like a prison. The crows roosting on the branches towering over it reminded him of his childhood when he’d watched dozens of crows peck at the window at night.
“You’re the devil,” his mother screamed as she’d chained him to the wall and slammed the door shut.
Laughter had erupted from deep in his gut and he’d shouted back that she’d be sorry. She thought she had the power.
But in the end, he’d shown her.
Just like he was teaching these young whores they never should have had children.
He opened the creaky door, glad he’d taken his allergy medicine since the dust and mold in the old place had already worked havoc on his respiratory system. He was convinced it was the reason for his problems in the first place. The reason he was so sick as a child.
His mother hadn’t cared. She’d wanted him to die.
Easing the door closed, he pulled the mask over his face for protection, both from the particles in the air and from the girl recognizing him, although so far her memory had left her in the dark.
Checking his pocket for the ketamine he’d brought to sedate her and cause hallucinations to confuse her memory even more, he climbed the steps.
At some point, crows and pigeons had found their way inside the structure, roosted, destroyed furniture and pecked at the windows and walls, creating their own morbid artwork.
Shrugging off the memories that had given him night terrors as a child, he made his way to the landing. The door to the attic was still locked as he’d left it. Not that he’d expected anything else.
Dana Jo had been too incapacitated to do anything but sprawl on the floor like a pathetic drug user. If he left her here until she overdosed, she might never be found.
And if she was, people might believe she’d relapsed and her addiction had killed her.
There could be satisfaction in that, but not the kind of bliss that throwing her off Midnight Ridge would give him.
He inserted the rusty metal key and braced himself on the off chance she’d actually broken free of the chains, the same ones that had held him hostage years ago, although that was impossible.
He’d reinforced them himself. And she was a weakling, no more than 115 pounds with zero muscle.
Incoherent as she was under the influence, she probably wouldn’t have even realized where she was.
As soon as he opened the door, she jumped from the floor and leaped at him with claws bared like a feral cat. The screech that erupted from her boomeranged off the dusty walls then she spit at him.
“Where’s my daughter?”
“In a better place.” Thankfully he’d arranged that in advance, and it had taken no time to hand her off.
He strode toward her, pulling the syringe from his pocket. She reached out to attack him but he shoved her backward, throwing her to the floor on her back. Then he pounced on top of her, staring at her through the eyeholes of his mask.
He remembered the first time he’d seen her. Her sweet innocence. How she’d trusted him. How she’d believed everything he said.
He’d perfected the voice. The comforting tone. The authority.
For a second, her eyes flickered with something like recognition. Was she finally remembering?
A smile lifted his lips. He wanted her to… at least before she died.
But not today. She had to suffer first.