The Letter Of The Law

CHAPTER 20

By the light of the moon, Donald Sales crept out of the trees and up to the golf course maintenance shed. Along its side lay an eighteen-foot aluminum ladder. Sales spun his shoulders around and swept the area one more time completely with his bloodshot eyes. He then shouldered the ladder and hurried back into the shadows.

Picking his way carefully along the course, it took him nearly thirty minutes to get from the shed to Casey's house. He knew where the cover was and where the open places were. He also knew from two nights of reconnoitering that people sometimes walked along the cart paths at night. At three A.M., however, he doubted he'd run into anyone. But Sales was thorough. So thorough, in fact, that in his mind he'd already formulated a sequence of events once he was inside the house.

The first thing he'd done when he eluded Bolinger three days ago was make his way to a shopping center with a Wal-Mart and a nearby grocery store. He had known that he had only a small amount of time before his face would hit the news, and he wanted to take advantage of his short-lived anonymity to get supplies. Living in the hills wasn't a problem. He knew of a multiplicity of hidden caves that would provide him with shelter. But having a sleeping bag, a flashlight, some food, clothes, and ample ammunition, among other things, would make his existence that much easier. They would also afford him the time he needed to carry out his mission.

If he'd had to worry about hunting for food, he wouldn't have been able to sneak around the shrubbery surrounding Casey's home reconnoitering the situation. After more than a day of watching, he knew her husband was gone. It wasn't that her husband was a particularly imposing obstacle, but his absence made things that much easier.

At the edge of Casey's property, down near the golf course lake, was an ornate little wrought-iron fence. Sales set the ladder down inside the fence, gently felt for the roll of duct tape on his hip, and vaulted over the fence with remarkable agility for a big man in his late forties. With the ladder over his shoulder, he waded through the low bushes toward the house. After skirting the pool, he gently poised the ladder against the small balcony that jutted out from the master bedroom. He knew from the way the lights went out that this was where Casey slept. He had already wrapped the ends of the ladder in rags, so the only sound was the quiet complaint of aluminum as he lifted his two hundred sixty pounds hand-over-hand up toward the balcony. When he got to the edge, he stopped to listen.

His heart pounded steadily in his chest. Otherwise, the night was silent. He could feel a thrill not unlike what he had felt in warfare in the marrow of his bones. With unusual stealth he went over the railing and stood at full height in the doorway that led into the bedroom. The sliding glass door was open. Only a screen stood between him and Casey Jordan. The moonlight at his back was strong enough for him to see her lying there, sound asleep under the thin film of a soft, white sheet. He smiled grimly at the sight of the small black automatic on the table beside the bed. That wouldn't help her. From the back of his belt, he removed the same long, cruel blade that had been used to gut Frank Castle.

After three deep breaths for total clarity, Sales inserted the point of the knife into the corner of the screen. Quickly, he slashed along the bottom of the door frame and then upward so he could pass easily into the room. Before Casey could awake, Sales was on top of her, bearing down with his full weight and with one hand clasped tightly across her mouth.

Casey's eyes shot open as the shocking bolt of panic swept through her entire frame, rending her from a confusing dream. She bucked twice, but the overwhelming pressure on her face and the sharp point of a knife at the base of her throat left her wide-eyed and paralyzed with fear.

Knowing that she was completely subdued, Sales rolled her over on her stomach and swiftly covered her mouth with duct tape by wrapping it around the back of her head. With the back of her T-shirt twisted in his hand, he lifted her off the bed and forced her over to the alarm panel that was above the light switch just inside the bedroom door. With the long knife pricking the back of her neck, Sales commanded her to disarm the system.

Casey's knees were shaking. She looked hopelessly at her gun on the night table. It was only a few feet away, but it might have been a million miles. Slowly she began to punch in the numbers. But instead of the last digit, she stabbed the panic button and held on, triggering the alarm. She heard the wail of the sirens inside the house. She saw stars. Then everything went black.

Sales had struck Casey in the back of the head with the handle of the knife that was grasped tightly in his fist. Even with the alarm shrieking in his ears, he looked coolly around the room. As quickly and as neatly as possible, he pulled the covers up and made the bed, finishing just as the phone stopped ringing. He knew after getting no response to their call, the alarm company would now call the police. That gave him at least five minutes, maybe more. He tossed Casey's little automatic into the nightstand drawer, then crossed the room and slid the screen door all the way open. That would hide the tear he'd made from anything but the most careful examination. He then slid the glass door shut and locked it.

With Casey's limp body draped over his shoulder, Sales descended the stairs and found his way to the garage. As he passed through the kitchen, he grabbed what he presumed was Casey's purse, hanging off the back of a chair. The keys were in the ignition of the Mercedes. Sales opened the trunk and tossed Casey inside. Quickly, he let himself out the back door of the garage onto the patio. He took the ladder from its spot against the balcony and simply laid it down along the outside of the garage behind some bushes.

Back inside, he glanced at his watch and made sure to lock the door between the garage and the house. Only three and a half minutes had gone by since the phone stopped ringing. He had a good ninety seconds at least. He pressed the button that opened the garage door and got into the car. Carefully, he backed the Mercedes out into the driveway. The remote to the garage door was clipped to the sun visor. Sales closed it, then backed into the street and set out for the main gate.

A sheriff's car was pulling in just as the exit arm swung up, clearing his path. Sales glanced at the guard shack, where the only sign of life was the dim square of light that filled the window. At this time of night, the guard was probably fast asleep in his chair. On the open road, Sales checked the rearview mirror. It wouldn't make sense for the police to be concerned with a car leaving the community. They would be focused on answering the call. A call that most cops would presume to be a false alarm. By neatly locking up when he left, Sales had given them no reason to think anything else.

When Casey came to, her head was throbbing so severely that she could think of nothing else. As her senses cleared, she frantically wondered where she was. She was lying facedown on a rock floor of some kind. Her hands were taped tightly behind her, and her naked ankles were likewise bound with tape. In a panic she rolled over, only to see Donald Sales slumped up against the rock wall of their cave, fast asleep.

Tears spilled down Casey's cheeks as she remembered the horrifying events that had brought her here. She tried to control her breathing, but it was difficult. The tape over her mouth and her shortness of breath were causing her to gasp through her nose. She tried with all her mental powers to stifle the gurgles of panic rumbling in her throat and breathe as deeply and slowly as she could. Still, she was making too much noise. Only the faint sound of birds outside the cave helped to mute the sounds of her distress. Sales suddenly stirred, and Casey froze with her eyes shut tight. After a moment, she opened them and studied her captor's scowling face. It was smudged with dirt and his hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. He was wearing a pair of black jeans and his legs were crossed. His boots stood patiently slumped over beside his feet.

When Sales's breathing again returned to a quiet, regular rhythm, Casey began to worm her way toward the brilliant light in the mouth of the cave. Because her arms were bare and taped beneath her, the grit on the stone floor chafed against her skin. By the time she reached the cave's entrance, she was bleeding. Beads of sweat dripped down into her eyes, blurring her last look at the dozing Sales. She turned her face into the fresh breeze. The morning air filled her nostrils like champagne after the humid closeness of the cave. With a burst of energy, she tried to rise, then gave up and began to roll as fast and as far as she could.

The rocky terrain sloped downhill, and she was able to cover a substantial distance in a short space of time despite the bumps and bruises she sustained. Within minutes she was out in the open and resting on a soft, needle-covered floor in a stand of pines. The distance she'd put between herself and Sales and the exertion from her efforts had cleared her mind enough to think. She needed to free her hands and feet. While she caught her breath she listened, and she knew that she was in the middle of nowhere. There were no sounds of people or traffic or even jets in the sky. There was no way she could travel any great distance bound as she was. She needed to regain her feet.

She heaved herself up into a sitting position and searched the area for some kind of sharp stone. She saw a jagged outcropping of granite uphill and a little off to her left. She lay back down and began to roll toward it. When she reached the spot, she sat back up and searched for the right edge. Struggling against the constraints of her bondage, she worked her wrists up against the stone. She struggled several times to get the right angle and several times slumped to the ground after gashing her skin. Finally, with her feet wedged up against another rock, Casey had just the right position where she could cut into the tape by flexing her legs and shoulders up and down at the same time. After fifteen minutes of exhausting work, she was free.

Her hands were slick and sticky with her own blood, and it was difficult for her to get a purchase on the tape that bound her feet. She fought hard against the instinct to free her mouth first, but she knew that Sales could awaken any moment, and if her ankles were bound she'd have no chance of escape. She tore at the edge of the tape, ripped about an inch into it, but was then hopelessly stopped where the bond thickened. Twice she broke fingernails as she fought to peel back the end piece of tape. Then she got it started and frantically began to unwind her ankles.

Once free, Casey staggered to her feet and stumbled downhill, catching herself against every other tree trunk. Her legs and back ached and barely responded to the commands her brain was sending to walk, let alone run. But the more she moved, the more limber she became, and soon she had enough balance to lope along and at the same time work at the thick gray tape that was wrapped around her head.

By the time she reached the bottom of the hill, she was completely free. A narrow stream cut through the rocks, and Casey, parched from her efforts, slipped down into an oblong pool whose edges were slick with brown moss. She was filthy from her roll in the dirt and the blood that had begun to dry on her hands and arms. She crouched down and dipped her face into the water, drinking long, cool draughts until her stomach sloshed. She absently rubbed some of the dirt and blood off her arms before submerging her head to rinse her hair and face.

The water felt so good and the sunlit spot was so peaceful that a part of her wanted to stop, to just lie back in the water and let it rush over her, cooling her, refreshing her, and lulling her to sleep with its quiet whisper. When she woke up, she would find that it had all been a bad dream. In the water, she became aware of the stinging pain in her feet. She looked down into the clear pool and turned her pale foot on its edge to look at her sole. Tiny red fissures oozed billowing crimson clouds of blood into the swirling water.

She climbed up out of the pool and stood dripping on a rock like a half-drowned rodent. Strands of dark red hair hung like cobwebs on her face until she pushed them back with a weary, bleeding wrist. She stepped tentatively on the large rocks, and the stinging pain made her totally aware now of the damage she'd done to her feet.

She couldn't help beginning to cry. Casey was no woodsman. She had shunned anything of the sort when she was a girl. She had no idea where she was and no idea how to figure it out. The closest help could be to the north, south, east, or west. She could start out in any direction and be wrong. Her body ached from lying bound up on the cave's floor. The throbbing in her head from the blow she'd received the night before and now the bleeding lacerations on her hands and feet were almost too much to bear.

It was a hopeless situation, made even worse because her whole world had been turned upside down. Everything she believed in had been shaken to its foundation. She had spent her life making what she thought were the right moves. She had worked hard and she had learned the rules of the game, the law. Studying the law had not only given order to the world; it had been her means of escape, escape from the chaotic uncertainty of growing up poor and unaccounted for by the world at large. But now, for the first time in her life, she was afraid that the law was nothing more than a useless facade. And if that were true, then couldn't the same be said for her entire existence?

What was happening to her now, this, was real. All her knowledge of the law and its noble purposes could do nothing to protect her. Hadn't the same laws been useless in protecting Marcia Sales and Frank Castle? For a victim, the law was a remote and unimportant counter to what was real. Suddenly, and for the first time, the law seemed to her an insignificant shell, fragile and weak when compared to the visceral realities of life and death.

This was reality. Her rich, handsome husband (who, she became suddenly and painfully certain, was off cavorting with another woman), her bank account, her expensive car, her elegant home, her reputation, what good were they here and now? They were useless. If she could run fast and far she might live. If she tired and lost her way… she would die. Her limbs grew heavy with the weight of her life's foolish mission.

Yet, when the sound of a snapping branch reached her ears from about a hundred yards up the tree-covered slope, Casey felt a burst of adrenaline. Survival instincts she'd never known she possessed took over. She was being pursued and she knew how to run. Like a gazelle, she skipped across the rocks, up the other bank of the stream, and plunged blindly into the woods beyond.

Casey moved steadily through the wilderness until cool evening shadows began to chill the surface of her skin. Twice she thought she recognized landmarks she'd seen before, but she couldn't be sure. She was exhausted and hungry. Even the fuel from her fear was beginning to ebb. As night came, she began to look for a place to lie down. The best thing she could come up with was to burrow beneath the soft mat of brown needles that encircled a massive pine tree.

Instinctively, she wrapped one arm around the thick root of the enormous tree. Her mind slipped unthinkingly into the habit of imagining that she was holding on to the iron limb of a protective man. It was silly. She had done the same thing as a girl, stacking up extra pillows in her bed and clinging tightly to them in the night. But she had no man, not really. She was alone in life, just as she'd always been. The man who was her husband didn't afford her protection from anything. He never had. To the world, Taylor Jordan might look like the perfect life's companion. But she was now painfully aware that in reality, he was nothing more than a stack of pillows or the twisted root of an ancient tree.

Casey knew she was as exhausted as she was delirious. She was so tired that within minutes, despite the dull throbbing of her feet and head, she was fading off to sleep. But while sleep was a blissful reprieve for her tortured body and mind, it gave her no warning of the ghostly beam of light swinging to and fro like a pendulum as it crept slowly toward her through the trees.