Destiny's Wrath (Destiny Series - Book 3) Page 12

  Her body shivered. Samael knew she had heard him.

  Chapter 20

  Cynthia heard the door slam downstairs and eased out of the bed, feeling his note in her hand. Terror coursed through her veins as she silently crept toward the stairs. Cynthia looked behind her as if expecting him to jump out from the shadows. She peered down the steps to see if there was movement below. From the hallway she could see out the window: Bert’s car was gone, again. Relief that she was alone spilled over her. She released the breath she had been holding and gingerly crept down the stairs into the living room, where she saw her dress piled loosely on the floor from hours earlier.

  She reached down to pick it up as a wave of pain shot through her. As she stood up quickly to block the pain, she caught a glance of herself in the mirror. Bert was a sick bastard. She had always believed him to be so sweet. She would have bet her life savings that he was just a lonely guy. She began to cry as she saw herself in the mirror.

  Her face was untouched, her arms didn’t carry any marks, neither did her neck or her legs. Bert was careful from that perspective: no one but she and he could see what he had done to her. There were no new bruises, but he had pierced her last night, and run a chain through each of the four piercings’ metal loops. She tried to remove the chain connecting each of the piercings, but would need to remove the metal loops to do so. She picked up the phone to call the police, to report what he had done to her. She dialed the emergency line, but hung up before the connection was established.

  Cynthia looked in the mirror again. Who would believe her? Bert was a monster, a tyrant, a psycho pervert, but he was also a police detective. Bert’s name was in the paper regularly. He was the poster boy for catching criminals and headed nearly every major crime investigation. No one would believe that he was capable of this. She couldn’t see him again, not ever. She held his note in her hand, thinking she could run away. She could have a two day head start, and he might never find her. She could change her identity, move to a new town, start a new life. She put her dress on carefully. Although it was extremely painful to walk, she decided to walk the two blocks to her house to undo this painful mess, to avoid the chance that Bert might come back while she was still here.

  Tears streamed down her face. She believed she had cried herself dry earlier, but here she was again. It was dark out. If someone saw her, they might not notice her at this time of night. She stepped off the porch, still grasping his note in one hand and carrying her shoes in the other. Halfway to her home, the tears of embarrassment turned to tears of pain. She wanted to stop, fall to the ground and hide in the fetal position. She pushed on through the pain.

  When she found herself on her porch, she let herself into her own dark house. She locked the door behind her and set her alarm system. As soon as she had armed the system, she slid to the floor, allowing the sobs to flow freely from her. Flashbacks from Bert’s sadistic torments enveloped her. She had to get this stupid chain off of her. Finding the strength, she climbed the steps to her room. She allowed her dress to drop to the floor and stepped into her bathroom. Seeing herself in the bright illumination of her bathroom made her gasp. Wrestling with the possibility of calling the police, she decided she wasn’t strong enough to tell someone what had happened to her.

  As she reached for the first metal loop to see it in the light and try to figure out how to undo it, she realized there was no way to detach it. She painstakingly turned it every possible direction to free herself, then she saw it. Another note from Bert was attached to her bathroom mirror. He had been in her house! Cynthia turned her back to the mirror and looked out into her bedroom. She grabbed her robe and went through all the rooms in the house to make sure he wasn’t there. When she was satisfied the house was empty except for herself, she went back to the bathroom and read the note.

  My Pet,

  You have my permission to cut the chains, I rather like hooking up your harness myself, and I’d like to try a little heavier chain next time. I’ll caution you not to remove your hoops. They are permanent. If you take them off, having them put in a second time will be extremely painful. I don’t mind either way.

  You really outdid yourself tonight.

  Master

  Cynthia froze. Heavier chain? He couldn’t be serious. How did he get past her alarm system? He was in her home. She looked on the counter under the note and a pair of wire cutters had been left by the sink. She picked them up and started to cut the loop. “Enough!” she shouted.

  Cynthia picked up her cell phone and dialed the only person she could think of.

  “Hello?”

  “Maggie, it’s Cynthia.

  “Hi, how’ve you been?”

  “Maggie, I need your help. Are you still dating that cop, Dennis?”

  “Yes, but . . . did you hear about Jimmy?”

  “No, is he okay?”

  “He’s been arrested.” Cynthia could hear the strain in her friend’s voice.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize. What was he arrested for?” Cynthia couldn’t wager to guess. Jimmy had always been a little aloof and was rarely around when she and Maggie got together.

  “The police believe he murdered several people.”

  “Maggie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.” Silence responded to her, “I’m sorry I bothered you. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Well, you’re the first friend that has called me in the last couple days. Any chance you’d want to come over and keep me company?”

  “Of course.” Cynthia looked at her watch; it was nearly midnight. “Do you want me to come over now?”

  “I’m not sleeping very well, so now would be great, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Cynthia hung up. She picked up the wire cutters again, but chose not to free herself from Bert’s sadistic harness. The chains ran through the loops, pierced into her flesh. She needed Maggie’s help, and leaving this on would allow her to show Maggie rather than to describe what had happened. Cynthia donned a loose fitting t-shirt, sweatpants and flops, took a look in the mirror and brushed her hair quickly before walking slowly to her car.

  When she pulled up to Maggie’s house, the front porch light was on, looking like a welcoming beacon in the darkness of the neighborhood. Cynthia gingerly eased out of her car and walked slowly up the steps. Before she could knock, Maggie pulled the door open. Maggie looked terrible, sleep deprived and exhausted.

  “I’m so glad you came! Your timing is perfect, the last television news van left just after the 11:00 news.” Maggie took Cynthia in a tight hug; Cynthia let out a gasp from the pain but said nothing.

  They both sat on the sofa. Maggie began, “They won’t let me see him. I’m his own mother, and they won’t let me talk to him.”

  For the next forty-five minutes, Maggie unloaded. She filled Cynthia in on everything she knew, and a few things she’d learned from the news. Cynthia felt her troubles paled in comparison and made up her mind to be a good friend tonight, just to listen, not to seek Maggie’s help. After Maggie was finally able to get everything off her chest, Cynthia could tell she felt better. Cynthia even thought she looked better, more relaxed.

  Maggie could see Cynthia was listening, and had said almost nothing the whole time. “I’m so sorry. I feel like I’ve just about talked your ear off. No one has . . . I mean no one . . . I haven’t heard from anyone but you and have just been going a little stir crazy. But enough about my troubles. You said you needed my help on the phone?”

  “Uh, you’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll be okay.”

  “Come on, out with it. I can’t do anything for Jimmy; having a different problem to concentrate on will do me some good.”

  “No, really, I . . .it’s not a big deal.” A single tear escaped Cynthia’s eye. She was hoping Maggie would ignore it, but she didn’t.

  “Cynd, you’ve listened to me. It’s your turn. What’s wrong?”

  Cynthia took a deep breat
h, steadied herself as best as she could, the humiliation of the last two evenings nearly destroying her. “There’s this cop I’ve sort of been seeing.”

  “Really! Who is it?” Maggie was excited about this tidbit of gossip. It took only moments for her to realize that Cynthia wasn’t as thrilled with the development as she was.

  “I’d rather not say. It’s, well, it’s not going well. I’m scared and I need some help.”

  “You’re scared? What’s going on?”

  “He’s kind of . . . mean. He hurts me . . . a lot. I don’t know how to get him to stop.”

  “What do you mean? He hits you?”

  “Not really, he, um . . . This was a bad idea. Forget I said anything.”

  “Cynd, tell me. You can tell me anything, I promise. You’re one of my closest friends. I want to help if I can.”

  Cynthia’s eyes turned into faucets as tears streamed down, and a sob escaped. She knew she couldn’t say it out loud, at least not yet. She fiddled with the hem of her t-shirt, arguing with herself on whether she could even show Maggie.

  “I’m not going to judge, but you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

  Cynthia took a deep breath, “Don’t freak out, okay?” Maggie nodded. Cynthia stood up and lifted her t-shirt about six inches; she stared off into the wall as she didn’t want to see her friend’s reaction.

  Maggie gasped, her hand covered her mouth, and her eyes were wide. “Cynd, what the hell? What happened to you?”

  “This guy, it started out, a few days ago, just a guy I knew. It all happened so fast, I didn’t think anything of it . . . we . . . I mean, I liked him and we hooked up, you know?”

  “And he did that to you?”

  Cynthia nodded. “What is that? A necklace?” Maggie reached for the chains hanging down her friend’s abdomen, taking them in her fingers to examine them more closely.

  Cynthia sucked in air fast, “Don’t pull those!”

  Maggie realized they were attached and let go as if it were a snake in her hands. “Oh, my God, what did he do to you?” Maggie reached for the reading light hanging over the couch and aimed it at the bruises on Cynthia’s stomach. “We need to take you to the hospital, now!”

  “No, I can’t. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

  “Cynthia, you didn’t do anything wrong. This monster should be behind bars. Right now, we’re going.”

  “No, Maggie, I don’t want to go to the hospital. I just want him to stay away from me. I was hoping Dennis might be able to help me. You know, tell me something that would scare this guy.”

  Maggie hadn’t talked to Dennis since the previous night when he called her late asking for a ride to the police station. Then she received that cryptic call from Bert about his not having to work. She knew he was probably sleeping, but if he could wake her up in the middle of the night for a ride he really didn’t need, she could wake him up for this. Maggie picked up the phone and dialed Dennis. When he answered, “I need you to come over to my house right now. It’s important.”

  “Uh, okay, what time is it?”

  “I don’t know, but I need you over here now.”

  “Maggie, what’s going on?”

  “Dennis, just come to my house. I need you to see something.”

  “Did you find something? Something about the case?”

  “No, this has nothing to do with Jimmy. I need you to come here. I’ve got a friend here that needs to talk to a policeman.”

  “Okay. I’m on my way. You’re okay though, right?”

  Maggie smiled to herself, “Yeah, Dennis, I’m okay, but I need you to come talk to a friend of mine.”

  Ten minutes later Dennis walked through the door. He looked at the lady sitting on the couch with Maggie. She looked familiar. He knew he’d met her once, but couldn’t remember where. Dennis was great with faces, but horrible with names. He stuck his hand out, “Hi, I’m Dennis. Maggie said you were looking for a cop.”

  “Hi, Dennis. We met about six months ago at a charity dinner at the Charleston Place. I’m Cynthia.”

  Dennis searched in his mind and remembered a smoking red head that night in a low cut dress and stilettos that he and Maggie had spent time with. “Right, I remember. So what can I do for you?”

  “I’ve been dating a man. I’m a little scared of him and want to get him to leave me alone.”

  “Has he hurt you or threatened you? If you believe you’re in danger, we can file the paperwork for a restraining order.”

  Maggie cut in, “It’s a cop, Dennis. Will a judge sign one on a cop if she doesn’t show proof?”

  Dennis’ brows narrowed, “Who?”

  Cynthia asked, “Before I say, can you answer Maggie’s question?”

  “It’s hard to say. A cop with a restraining order against him, that’s enough to get him bounced off the force. A judge probably won’t sign an order of protection without some sort of physical evidence. Has he hit you?”

  Cynthia shook her head. She was proud of herself; she kept her tears from flowing again.

  “Did he threaten you?”

  She nodded and could feel her eyes clouding over.

  “Tell me about the threat.”

  Cynthia whispered, “He said he was going to do it again.”

  “Do what again?”

  Cynthia looked to her friend; Maggie nodded in encouragement. Cynthia stood up again. This time she didn’t turn her head away; she needed to see Dennis’ reaction. She lifted her t-shirt several inches, enough that the bruises would be visible and those humiliating chains were hanging from her. Dennis looked but made no effort to touch her.

  “You said he didn’t hit you?”

  “No. He used these clip things, all different sizes; he said he wanted me to scream.”

  “And the chains?”

  Cynthia couldn’t hold the tears any longer; they let loose again. She murmured, “He pierced my body tonight, then put the chains through them.”

  “All of this was against your will?”

  Cynthia roared, “Yes! What kind of a woman would ask for this?”

  “Easy, I have to ask. These are standard questions. I’m not judging you. Did you ever tell him to stop?”

  “Yes, I told him to stop.”

  “And did he?”

  “Does it look like he stopped? I look like a Dalmatian!”

  He asked her again, trying to remain calm, “After you told him to stop, did he?”

  “No, he did not stop. He continued to torture me for hours. The sick bastard got off on it.”

  “Do you want to press assault charges?”

  “Are you kidding me? If I press charges, people are going to find out what he did to me. I just want him to stay away from me.”

  “Without evidence, no judge in this county is going to give you an order of protection.”

  “Is there another option? Is there anything you could do?”

  “I could take some photos, make it look like you are going to file assault charges. Maybe I can get him to back off if I tell him you’ll drop the charges if he stays away.”

  “You have to photograph me?”

  “Without it, there’s no proof of what happened to you. I don’t have to be the one to take them. Maggie could take some, or we could take you to a doctor and let them do it.”

  “No, no doctors. Maggie, will you take them?”

  The two went into Maggie’s room. Cynthia took her t-shirt off and Maggie gasped again. “Let me give you a bikini top.” After Cynthia put it on, Maggie took several digital photos and muttered, “This guy is a monster.”

  Cynthia changed back into her t-shirt, “Yeah, thanks for this.” The two returned to the living room.

  Dennis asked, “Okay, who is this guy?”

  “Bert Ross.”

  Dennis and Maggie both froze. Dennis asked, “Detective Ross did this to you?”

  “Yes.”

  Dennis took a seat, wrenched his hand through his hair, eyes on the floor. �
�Detective Bert Ross?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve known Bert for years. I knew both his ex-wives. This isn’t something Bert could do.”

  “So you think I did this to myself?”

  “No, I don’t think that. But, maybe, it was someone who said he was Bert.”

  Cynthia couldn’t believe her ears. “I’ve been Bert’s neighbor for several years. I know exactly who he is.”

  Dennis looked scared. After being sent away from the station last night, Bert might think this was some form of retribution. What if this was a scam she was pulling? He looked back at Maggie, then uttered, “All right, I’ll talk to him.”

  Chapter 21

  Dennis looked at the photos in the folder. What kind of monster could have done this? He’d known Bert forever. Dennis believed Cynthia. How could he not? He had the evidence staring at him. He saw the fear on her face. No one, anywhere, should have to endure what happened to her. Friendship aside, Bert needed to be locked up.

  He knew he had just broken the first rule of detective work. He’d drawn a conclusion without getting all the facts. Dennis sat in his squad car in front of Bert’s house, praying he’d get called away to a robbery in progress, crime scene investigation, hell . . . a traffic detail would be welcomed right now. The best approach, hmm, maybe, “So I had a nice visit with the lady you mutilated last night.” Yeah, that should get him a swift kick in the jaw.

  Dennis opened the door to his car, gripped the folder in his hand, and made his way to Bert’s front door. It was six a.m. and Dennis hadn’t slept a wink all night. There were lights on inside, so he knew Bert was awake. Any other day he would have just let himself in and hollered at the entryway - not today.

  Bert answered the door, a little surprised to see a visitor so early, “Everything okay? Do we have a case?”

  “Naw, I wanted to talk to you about something before our shift started. You got a minute?”