Strong arms caught her just before she hit the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she moaned, as she pushed against Riley’s arms. Suddenly, it was too hot, too stifling, too much. She had to get free. She wouldn’t let them lock her up again. Not ever again. The walls moved, push
ing toward her. “Please, I need air.” She stood up on shaky feet and ran for the door, swinging it open.
“What happened?” Tony asked.
Riley muttered an answer she couldn’t quite grasp. She stood on the porch and breathed deep gulps of air. She had to get away, just for a moment, just so she could think. She ran out into the rain, sloshing through the mud.
He was real.
They said she’d made him up. That he was a figment of her imagination, the paranoid delusions of a very sick girl.
But they were wrong.
She kept running, not sure where she was going, not caring where she was. Images flitted through her mind: cold water, daisies, raspberries, Tommy. A monster with the eyes of the devil. A monster in graphite.
Someone else had seen him, too!
No longer was she the only one. Tears burned her eyes and ran down her cheeks to commingle with the rain. “You were wrong, Papa. I told you I didn’t kill Tommy. I told you it wasn’t me! It was him. And he’s real!” She yelled the words into the night sky.
But it didn’t matter. Her papa wasn’t there to hear her.
Out of breath, she stopped running and bent down, bracing her hands on her knees. She looked up as the rain stopped falling—a big black hole in a sky of gray. A temporary reprieve from the downpour.
She was finally free. Someone else had seen him, too. She wasn’t sick, she wasn’t delusional.
“You can run, little girl.”
Devra stiffened as a fierce belt of fear constricted her heart. She forced herself to take a deep painful breath. Her mind was playing tricks on her. There was no one there. She was alone.
“Mac?” she called hesitantly.
She thought again to that afternoon and the chloroform and the daisies. Why had someone gone through so much trouble to take her, then just leave her lying on the grass surrounded by daisies?
No one answered.
“Is anyone there?” She turned round and round, looking, listening. Nothing.
“But you can’t hide. Not from me. Not ever.”
The whispered voice stirred her memories. She’d heard those words before. She’d heard that voice before.
No!
A deep guttural groan erupted from her chest. She started to run, trying to remember which way she’d come, which was the way back to Riley’s house. But it was too dark. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.
“Devra.” The voice mocked her coming from nowhere, yet everywhere.
“Leave me alone!” she cried. God help her, she couldn’t go through it again. “Riley!” she screamed. She thought she saw lights in the distance through the thick tangle of trees, and headed for them.
Please, Riley, help me.
Laughter sounded all around her.
She pushed her legs harder, running faster, then felt a hard, bony grasp on her shoulder. She slipped, despair racking her mind. Falling…he had her.
No!
“Peekaboo, Devy. I win.”
Her mind screamed, a single silent yell as she rolled through the wet mud, the leaves catching in her hair, her head hitting something hard with a searing jolt.
Not again.
Chapter Eight
When Devra woke, she was lying in her bed and two very concerned faces were staring down at her. She brought her hand up to the cut on the back of her head and winced. “What happened?”
“You fell. How are you feeling?” Riley asked.
“I don’t know.” She pushed herself up against the headboard. “How did I get here?”
Riley’s eyes met hers. “I carried you.”
Confusion tore through her. “But what about him?”
“Who?”
“The devil?” she whispered.
Riley glanced at Tony, then turned back to her. “There was no one there. You were alone.”
She stared at him in disbelief. That’s what everyone had said the last time. But they’d been wrong.
He
was there fifteen years ago, and he’s
here
now. She wanted to plead her case, to beg them to understand, but those concerned expressions were back on their faces. They were wondering if she’d gone over the edge. They were wondering if they needed to send her to a doctor. Or perhaps even lock her up.
She wouldn’t let that happen.
“I must have slipped,” she said, touching her head. “Yes. The ground, it was wet. Muddy. Lots of leaves.”
They nodded in agreement and relief filled their faces.
“We should call a doctor,” Tony said. “She could have a concussion.”
“No,” she said a little too forcefully, then made herself smile. “Please. Just let me rest. It’s been a long day. I’m fine. Really.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Riley said and she looked at him with gratitude.
Tony sighed. “All right. I’ll come by first thing in the morning and see if you can remember anything more about our mystery man in the sketch. Okay?”
She nodded, and breathed a huge sigh of relief when both men left her room and shut the door behind them. They were getting too close. Now they knew who she was. They knew about Tommy. It wouldn’t be long before they knew everything else, too. She had to leave as soon as possible. She’d find a new town, a new name, a new life. She wouldn’t let them send her back to the institution.
Not ever.
“WHAT DO YOU think?” Riley asked Tony as they left the house and walked toward the barn.
“I think our Miss Morgan is coming apart at the seams.”
Riley had to agree.
“What was all that talk about the devil?” Tony asked.
“I don’t know. I tell you, though, nothing seems to be adding up, and she’s becoming more and more unstable.” They stopped outside the barn’s entrance and
Riley turned back to glance at Devra’s window. He speculated what she was planning and how much longer it would be before she disappeared. He’d have to keep a real close eye on her.
“I’ll agree with that,” Tony said, following his gaze.
Riley turned and opened the door, then entered the barn. They approached the horse stalls and made sure all the horses were fed and bedded down for the night.
“If there’s any possibility she’s our killer—” Tony started.
Riley knew what he was going to say. He didn’t want to admit that perhaps he’d been wrong. Maybe bringing Devra to his home had been a terrible mistake. “Let’s look at the facts,” he started. “We’ve had four women killed.”
“All dead ringers for Devra,” Tony added.
“All women who were murdered in the same city as she was then living.”
“But why leave her jewelry at the crime scene?” Tony asked. “That just doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe she’s left tokens at all the crime scenes and this was the first time they’ve been able to trace one back to her. Make sure to check out that angle.” But even as Riley said the words, they didn’t sound like Devra. He couldn’t imagine her killing, let alone methodically placing clues on the victim, hoping the police would find her.
Would stop her?
“All right, but what about our mystery man? Our devil in the sketch,” Tony asked.
Riley nodded. “There has to be someone. Both the nurse and the boy couldn’t be wrong.”
“An accomplice?” Tony asked.
“Or a stalker.”
“Then why not take her out when he had the chance this afternoon?”
Riley shook his head. “I don’t know, and I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me and my family.”
“You mean the picture of your mom in the tree house?”
“Exactly.”
“Maybe this doesn’t have anything to do with the victims looking like Devra. Maybe it has always been about them looking like Michelle.”
As Riley absorbed Tony’s words, trepidation crawled over his skin. “If that’s true then bringing Devra here could have put her in even greater danger.”
Tony walked out the barn’s doorway. “It’s something to think about. Why else would anyone care about a picture of your mom, unless they were trying to get to you?”
What else could someone do to try to get to him? They’d already killed Michelle; would Devra be next? Riley watched Tony get in his car and drive away. He replayed their conversation again and again in his mind as he locked up the barn. There was only one direction that line of thinking could follow—Mac. But Mac had always loved Michelle. Hadn’t he?
THE ESTATE lay in a thick shroud of darkness, the only light coming from the quarter moon as the clouds raced across its surface. He walked quickly, his boots making soft mucking noises as he crossed the wet earth beneath the thick canopy of trees. He followed the path along the river, moving closer to the house, moving closer to Devra.
His footsteps crushed the fragile azalea petals the storm had shaken loose from their branches. As the path curved around the house, the barn came into view. He stopped and listened to the whimpering of restless animals. Bright lights shone down on the cop as he locked up the barn for the night, protecting it from any further intrusions.
He laughed under his breath and unsheathed a serrated knife from its leather case. He crept closer, smiled and raised the blade. “This one’s for you, Devra.”
DEVRA’S SLEEP was far from peaceful. She moaned, tossing and turning. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, as if a heavy weight were pushing down on her chest. Pulling herself from the dream, she opened her eyes and gasped as Felix’s yellow gaze gleamed in the dim light from his perch on her chest. The last remnants of her dream snapped into place.
“Riley!” Oh, no! She pushed the cat off her, jumped out of bed and ran to the window. Riley was outside and walking toward the house.
But he wasn’t alone.
Horror clogged her throat. She fumbled with the guillotine window but couldn’t get it open. The man behind him lifted a knife. She banged her fists against the glass and screamed, “Riley! Behind you!”
Riley turned. The man lunged. They fell, rolling
through the mud. Devra froze as uncertainty grabbed her. If she didn’t do something, Riley was going to die right there in front of her, and this time she’d be wide awake and watching.
A gun! He was a cop, he had to have a gun! She tore across the house to his room, then stopped inside his doorway. She stared at his unmade bed, at the dresser, nightstand and mirrored closet doors. Where would he keep it? She rushed to the nightstand next to the bed and yanked open the top drawer—magazines and papers, no gun.
“Where is it?” she ground out. She turned round and round, her gaze searching the room, her teeth gnawing her lower lip. Then, behind the door, she saw a coat rack with a holster hanging from one of the pegs. She pushed out a deep breath, crossed the room and pulled out the gun.
“This should do the trick,” she mumbled and hoped there wasn’t more to it than pulling the trigger. She ran, faster than she ever thought possible, back through the house and out the front door. She didn’t slow as she bounded off the porch, and as soon as her bare feet hit the mud, she slipped and fell, landing hard on her shoulder, the breath whooshing out of her chest.
Her thigh-length T-shirt was no protection against the rocks. She groaned, got up and continued running around the side of the house. Thunder boomed in the sky, lightning flashed overhead. The brief lull ended and the rain started to fall again. She entered the clearing. The two men were still rolling in the mud. Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell who was who. Nor could she tell who had the knife. “Riley!” she yelled.
One of the men looked up, his eyes widening as he spotted her. “Devra, run!”
The other man lunged, knocking Riley onto his back. Within seconds, he had his big hands wrapped around Riley’s throat and was squeezing with all his strength. Devra raised the gun. She focused down the barrel and tried to force herself to pull the trigger. Riley clawed at the man’s hands. He was losing his strength. Hot tears of frustration seeped from her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger.
With her legs braced apart, she took a deep breath and raised the gun over her head. She closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. The shot exploded into the night air. She jumped as the impact traveled through her hands and down her arms. Both men looked up. She plastered a look of determination on her face and leveled the gun, pointing it directly at the muddy intruder.
I will shoot you. I will shoot you.
She chanted the words to herself and hoped he’d buy her bluff.
The man raised his arms.
Devra froze, afraid any movement would give her game away.
Riley pushed the man off of him, but before he could gain his footing, the man rolled, swept his legs to the side and knocked Riley flat to the ground. He jumped up, grabbed his knife lying near the bushes, then disappeared around the side of the house. Riley ran after him while Devra stood there, her arms extended, the gun still clutched in her hand.
She couldn’t move.
She didn’t know how much time had elapsed before
her knees buckled and she dropped into the mud. She hadn’t been able to shoot. Once the intruder had picked up his knife, he could have easily killed Riley. She hadn’t been strong enough to do what it took to protect him, to protect herself.
He had to be the man from the sketch…the man from her
dreams.
She should have told Riley about him earlier. If she’d told him that he’d chased her through the woods, maybe he would have been more careful. She had been so afraid he wouldn’t believe her. And because of that fear, he almost died.
Suddenly, she knew the devil was right—she could run, but she couldn’t hide. A sudden onslaught of bone-deep chills overtook her. She couldn’t stop him. It was as if she were thirteen years old all over again and she was alone and helpless, misunderstood and without hope.
The tremors cascading through her grew with each passing second, with each passing thought. He would kill Riley, just like he had Tommy, because of her. Because death was her constant companion and anyone who came near her, anyone who cared about her, died.