Nothing More Beautiful (51 page)

My hands and feet unbound, I slid out of the
rope that had secured my chest to the chair. Shears in hand, I
cracked open the door, spying out into the vacant living room. I
crept out into the room, noting that the bathroom door was closed,
with a thin band of light shining under the door.

Someone was in there. My guess was Emma. And
then I was seized by an impulse to fight or flight. Save Alma or
save myself and get help? I knew I wouldn’t find help from any
immediate neighbors. The houses were empty, if Luke was to be
believed. A voice inside me was also saying that I couldn’t leave
her behind, not while I knew what Luke was about to do to her.

I could hear her muted whimpers on the other
side of the door across from the first bedroom—the barely-audible
noises as soft as whispers. My stomach knotted, but my resolve only
grew stronger. Looking down at the coffee table in the center of
the room, I noticed the remains of some powder coating the
furniture.
Drugs
, I guessed, since Luke had never stopped
using. So he was amped up, which would make him all the more
dangerous. But he was nothing compared to Terrance in size. Luke
was a different story.
I can do it. I can save her
, I told
myself.

To my left, on the shelves, I spotted a
bunch of old hardware, mostly work tools left to rust in storage.
Among the hammers and screwdrivers, a hatchet stood out, its blade
dulled, but I thought it looked way more dangerous than a pair of
shears.

I clenched my fingers around the handle and
snuck to the door, wrapping my free hand around the knob. Sucking
in a few big breaths, I charged into the room.

Luke lay over Alma, who was tied—naked—in
the middle of a four-post bed. She was yelling with full body
convulsions. It looked as if he had been running the knife across
her legs, slicing up her smooth skin. He glanced over at me before
he turned suddenly and stabbed Alma in the stomach. She let out a
blood-curdling scream that made me wince.

A murderous wrath gripped me, and without
thinking, I swept across the room.

He jumped off the bed, knife in hand,
darting at me like a hyper cat, and then lunged. I dodged right,
the blade just missing my ribs. Swinging the hatchet, I buried the
steel into his chest, the motion throwing me off balance. I caught
myself before I hit the floor. Luke was not so lucky. His shins
slammed into an ottoman and he toppled over, chest first, his hands
out and flailing. The ax sunk deeper into his body with a sickening
thud.

I gagged as blood pooled around Luke’s
lifeless figure. Alma’s screams brought my attention back to her. I
tossed sheets over her naked breasts and crotch, aware of the
humiliation she felt. Blood seeped through the fabric along her
legs from the minor cuts, but the stab wound in her stomach looked
gruesomely serious, and I told her to apply pressure with the
bundled up sheet. I rushed to cut the rope with the shears I’d
dropped by the door. One by one, the nylon lines snapped.

Free, Alma hid her face in my shoulder,
sobbing in pain and trauma. “I’m going to get you out of here.
You’re going to be all right, Alma. I’m going to save you. I
promise,” I said, looking her straight in the eyes. I embraced her
in a comforting hold for as long as I dared—

—Too long, as fate would have it. Emma
appeared in the door wearing a leather costume. “Look what I have,”
she intoned, swinging the dildo now strapped to her in the harness.
Her eyes grew wide when she saw Luke sprawled out on the floor, a
puddle of blood expanding around the corpse. “What the—”

I gave her no time to think, sprinting at
her, and decking her to the floor. But she was quick and fit,
kneeing me in the stomach, forcing me to curl up in pain. I cursed
myself for not doing more ab workouts at the gym. Rolling out of
her arms, I clambered to my feet using an old armchair, raising my
fist to fight her just as we’d learned in the kickboxing class we’d
taken together. Only she wasn’t a punching bag.

No, she was a crazy, spirited, toned woman
who could fight back—and worst of all, she knew how to fight,
probably better than I did. She stepped in closer and threw a
punch. I blocked it with my forearm, but I wasn’t ready for the
kick to my shin. I hopped around on one leg, crying out. My jaw
tightened up as I clenched my teeth, my anger only rising.

“I bet you never thought we’d be doing this,
huh?” Emma asked, laughing. “That’s the difference between you and
me. I have thought about it. Many times, in fact.”

“Well, you’re completely psycho,” I said,
leaning back as she struck at my shoulder, connecting. I jumped
back, putting more distance between us. “So it makes sense.”

“You know, I felt kind of sorry for you when
you ran out,” she said, circling the living room. “After how much
we enjoyed each other’s sweet pussies, I thought I’d miss it. It
almost made me sad that Vince wanted to fuck me instead of
you.”

“Emma,” I huffed, “I think you might want to
take a look in the mirror and play back what actually happened.
Vince chose me, not you. He wants to be with me, not you. You
kidnapped me to kill me so that you could get revenge for him
throwing you out on your ass.” I evaded a hard swing to my chest,
spinning around the coffee table. “I’m the one who should feel
sorry, Emma. You’re fucking out of your mind.”

She took hold of the strap-on and started
wiggling it around. “This is for you, Maci, remember? I’m going to
fuck you even after all the blood drains from your rotting corpse.”
She jabbed at my stomach again, the blows blocked by my elbows.
“You’re mine,” she growled, diving at me.

We fell to the concrete floor in front of
the second bedroom. I crawled for the shears on the bed. Alma was
lying flat on the mattress, howling in agony. “Alma!” I croaked.
“The scissors!”

Emma scrambled up my back, winding my hair
in her hand, yanking my head back. I shouted in pain. Alma glanced
over at us, feeling blindly for the shears. She found them and
tossed the pair a few feet in front of us. They landed near Luke’s
dead body, splashing in his blood.

I kicked and kicked until I broke away from
Emma’s strong grip, clawing my way to the shears. When I got to
them, I jumped up, and spun around, seeing Emma sprint for the
tools in the living room. Out of breath, I raced after her with
everything I had in me, leaping for her feet.

I caught a shoe and drove the shears into
her calf. She kicked me hard with her other leg, bending over to
withdraw the rusted steel. Dizzy, blood ran into my eye, stinging
it with sweat. I tried to focus, but the world grew warm and
fuzzy—and then I found Emma on top of me, holding the shears’
lethal tip over my neck.

My strength struggled against hers as she
inched the point closer and closer toward my skin. She was
unbelievably strong.

“STOP! POLICE!” someone shouted by the
stairs.

Emma ignored the order.

I gritted my teeth as our arms battled. We
were both shaking, one of us about to give. In one last surge of
desperation, I shoved her fists up, smacking her face. Quickly, I
rolled out from under her, and didn’t stop until I hit the
wall.

“Maci!” I looked up and there was Vince,
crouching over me.

“DON’T MOVE,” someone else shouted. Vince
and I glanced over at Emma, who was now surrounded by cops, her
eyes bloodshot and crazed. “THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING. DROP THE
SCISSORS OR YOU WILL BE STUNNED.” Emma charged at an officer.

An officer shot the stun gun right at her
chest. Tased, her entire body convulsed while she released a high
whine, then dropped to the floor like a brick, incapacitated. Three
officers closed in: one cuffed her, while the other two pinned her
down and retrieved the shears. They read her her rights as they
hauled her upstairs. I stared her down with hatred boiling in the
pit of my stomach.

Vince wrapped his arms around me. “Are you
all right? Are you hurt?”

I nodded, pointing at the bedroom with tears
streaming down my face. “Alma—she’s hurt bad, really bad.” More
cops and EMTs rushed downstairs. Vince directed the EMTs to the
bedroom where Alma lay. Her screams had dwindled to weak groans,
and by the time they removed her on a gurney, she was completely
silent, her eyes distant. Vince talked with the EMTs caring for
Alma as another EMT checked me over outside the house.

“How bad is it?” I asked when Vince walked
over, his worried lips curled in that funny way they did.

“They’re flying her to Portland. The stab
wound—” he faltered, drawing in a long breath, letting it out with
a quiver of fear. “It’s serious,” he continued. “She’s lost a lot
of blood . . .” he trailed off.

We held each other for a long time after
that, crying in each other’s arms, though most of the tears were
mine. “How—how did you know we’d been taken?” I asked.

“The first clue came when the security guard
at the gym came on duty and noticed that the cameras in the parking
garage were offline,” Vince explained. “He called me and we went
through the footage together, and moments before the first camera
went out, guess whose car should arrive? Somehow, Emma got a
working pass, probably stolen from another member. I reported it to
the police shortly after, but they said it was circumstantial, so I
had one of my guys track your phone, and once I saw where you were,
I knew it was serious. They dug up everything on Emma, including
her land holdings, and voila, we found this place to connect your
abduction with her. The police fell in line at that point. I took a
chopper here as fast as I could.”

I fell back into his arms. “You saved my
life, Vince.” I lost my words after that.

Before we left, an officer took my
statement, which was quick and horrible, and then we rushed to the
tiny airport in Seaside, and took a helicopter straight to the
hospital in Portland. Vince’s money played a factor in dropping us
off at the restricted access of the hospital heliport. They stuck
us in a waiting room after that, and we heard no update for so many
hours that I nearly suffocated from anxiety.

DANIELLE AND ASHLEY ARRIVED
first. Eric came next, then Bridgett, and last, my brother, all
worried sick and wanting the story. Gathered in the waiting room,
eager for a word on Alma’s condition, I provided the tale to them
all as they showered me with comfort.

Then the doctor finally arrived. He was
short, with slim shoulders and snowy hair, cool gray eyes, and that
warm grandpa look. After introductions, he said, “I’m sorry for the
long wait, but we could only notify those related to Ms. Perez
about her condition, as I’m sure you know and understand.”

Vince ground his teeth with a look that said
he was about to strangle the man. “Is she all right?” he chose to
say instead.

“She was stabbed in her left kidney, which
had to be removed immediately. There’s no threat of renal
failure . . .” His words echoed in my head as he
elaborated. “Surgery went as well as one could hope, and given
time, she should recover with no lasting physical limitations.”

“Can we see her?” Vince asked, a little
snappish.

The doctor handled Vince’s tone, keeping his
calm attitude, his gentle voice never wavering. “I’m afraid she’s
still too fragile for visitors. We’ll let you know as soon as you
can see her.” He left soon after that.

My friends and Donny trickled out of the
waiting room after they knew I was all right, leaving only Eric,
Vince, and me.

We waited all morning with our stomachs tied
in torturous, apprehensive knots.

“A
re you ready?” Alma
asked, adjusting my train. Wearing her purple bridesmaid dress, she
looked fantastic. In fact, all of my bridesmaids looked great, as
they sat waiting for the wedding to start, tucked away in a
dressing room. One of the photographers was there, too, snapping
shots of us getting ready. The photographers had already taken a
million pictures of the wedding party, the family, and us. The June
sky proved too perfect: cloudless, blue, and sunny. It couldn’t get
much better. The vineyard setting worked out better than expected,
too. The grounds were pristine, the colors all flowing
together.

“She looks amazing,” Ashley said in her
yellow dress.

“Of course she’s ready,” Danielle answered
for me, fixing the cups of her red dress.

“I can’t believe you’re about to get
married,” Bridgett said, her misty eyes on the verge of letting it
all go, which was rare for her. Her green dress didn’t fit as well
as the others, but she looked just as elegant.

I was trying to hold it all in before I
walked down the aisle, but my bridesmaids were as emotional as I
was, and this didn’t help the situation. “I’m the luckiest woman in
the world,” I said, gazing at myself in the full-length mirror,
feeling the purple sash around my waist and the ornamental flower
attached to it. Beading ran the length of the sweetheart bodice,
with patches of detail in the gathering of the full skirt. The
dress made me feel like a princess: something I hadn’t dreamed
about since I was ten.

“I think Danielle is a contender for that,”
Ashley laughed, eyeing her wife.

I got lost in the mirror, reflecting on the
past ten months since Emma and Luke nearly killed Alma and me.
Weeks after the horrifying scene, I had seen images of the kill
room, the plastic lining the walls . . . the
table, the knives. They were prepared to butcher us. Emma even had
a boat docked in Astoria that the police were confident the two
were going to use to dump us into the ocean, apparently just like
Dexter Morgan. It made me sick to think about.

Despite the trauma and its proximity to the
Hood to Coast, I decided to still run it, and I felt accomplished
afterward. All that training had paid off.