Blood Dreams

Chapter Fourteen

"AT THIS RATE," Gabriel said with a sigh, "we're gonna be here a long, long time."

We can't be here a long time. You said it yourself: strangers will stand out here. Especially once they know about the victims.

"Yeah, the sheriff's done a good job of keeping his people quiet this long, I have to say." Gabriel studied his map for a moment, then squinted into the distance. "That old textile mill is right in the middle of a neighborhood. No way can I get close in daylight."

My turn tonight, then.

"Right." He put a small check mark beside that particular circled area on his map. "Just about every backyard I see has a dog, so be careful."

Dogs love me.

"They make a lot of noise when you're around. I'm just saying that if you're going to do a little breaking and entering in the dead of night, best not to rouse the neighborhood watch. Okay?"

Yes, Gabriel.

"The meekness does not become you. It's also a rotten lie," he said, moving the map slightly and leaning closer to the Jeep's hood to get a better look. He frowned, then bent to get a laptop out of his backpack and opened it up on top of the map. "You know, this is sort of a weird little place."

Why do you say that? I mean, aside from the obvious serial-killer thing, it seems a perfectly normal small town to me.

"With an awful lot of churches."

Small towns in the South usually do have a lot of churches.

"Uh-huh. With names like Church of the Everlasting Sin?"

You're kidding.

"No."

Hmmm. Maybe that's just the Baptist version of Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows, something like that.

"I don't think so."

Why not?

He typed rapidly, having no problem carrying on a conversation at the same time. "Every Baptist church I've ever seen has been nice, with polished pews and thick carpet and lots of flowers, and even stained glass. I don't think the Church of the Everlasting Sin is going to have any of that."

Because?

"Because," Gabriel said, "according to this most recent map, the church is presently housed in what used to he an old grain-storage facility, and according to the database we're still compiling on the town, the pastor of the Church of the Everlasting Sin, one Reverend Jedidiah Butler, has locked horns with the town council for the last couple of months. He insists on holding services in the place as it is, and the town wants him to either rehab or rebuild."

Never bet against a town. Unless you have God on your side.

"Yeah, well, I'm not so sure this guy does." Gabriel scowled down at the laptop's screen. "Fifteen years ago, the cops were dogging him out in California. And it wasn't for staging a protest for freedom of religion."

Don't tell me.

"Yep. Seems the good pastor was suspected of killing his wife."

"Last night was… strange," Dani said, keeping her voice low as she watched people in special protective gear working carefully in and around the roped-off pool.

"Tell me about it," Paris said. "My head is still killing me. Hollis?"

"Yeah, me too." Hollis was frowning. "Is my memory off, or did I hear another voice in there with ours?"

Paris said, "Hard to tell with all the screaming."

"You're clairvoyant and didn't pick it up?"

Paris hesitated, looking at Dani. "Well…"

"It was there." Dani looked at the other two women and managed a smile. "Yeah, same voice. His. I've been thinking about that. That… junction of hallways in the dream walk? A bit like the center of a web."

"Another trap," Hollis said.

Dani nodded. "I think about all those women in Boston, the women here-it's like he lays his trap and waits for them walk into it."

"That's what you feel the symbolism means?" Hollis asked.

"I don't know what I feel, except… that something's missing. Something important."

Marc joined them in time to hear what Dani said, but instead of commenting on that, he looked at them one by one and said, "So, is somebody going to tell me what happened last night with the three of you? I can't say for sure about Hollis, but I've never known either Dani or Paris to drink enough to be hungover the next day-and that's what you all look like."

"I'd love to work up some righteous indignation," Paris told him, "but I see them, and I saw me in the mirror this morning, and I couldn't agree more."

"It was a dream walk," Dani said briefly.

"All three of you?"

Dani refused to look at him. "Yes. We thought there was a chance we might find out something."

"Did you?"

It was Hollis who replied, "Another symbolic trap, this one filled with endless hallways and screams. And maybe the voice Dani heard before."

"It was him," Dani said. "But just saying my name, right at the end, before we all came out."

"I don't like that," Hollis said. "I haven't been psychic my whole life, but it doesn't take an expert to know that an evil voice in your mind is not a good thing."

"Maybe I'm just nuts," Dani suggested, not entirely kidding.

Before anyone could respond to that, Shorty joined them to say, "Good news, bad news, and weird news. Good news is, we don't have a body in the pool, the drains, or any of the equipment."

"The bad news?" Marc asked.

"Bad news is, what we do have is more of what we found here on Wednesday. Body parts, mostly unidentifiable by sight. We won't know for sure until lab results are in, but I'm guessing there isn't a new victim here."

"And the weird news?" Hollis asked.

Shorty held up a clear plastic bag, and they could all see the silver bracelet it contained. "The weird news is that we have another piece of jewelry, and this one has a name on it. Only the name doesn't seem to belong to any of our victims or to anybody reported missing-as far as I know, anyway."

"What's the name?"

"Audrey."

Marc took the bag and studied the contents for a moment, then passed it on to Dani. "Doesn't mean a thing to me. Any of the rest of you?"

Dani looked at the delicate bracelet, the name of its presumed owner spelled out in pretty, flowing letters. She had never been especially sensitive to objects, and this one told her nothing. "Sorry, I'm drawing a blank." She passed it on to Paris.

And knew immediately that Paris felt something. But her twin merely turned the bagged bracelet in her hands for a moment, then handed it off to Hollis with a shrug.

Dani didn't comment. She waited for Hollis to return the bag to Marc with a shrug of her own and watched him give it back to Shorty.

"Maybe it'll mean something to the lab," Marc said. "Thanks, Shorty." He watched his technician return to the roped-off area around the pool, adding, " Paris, what did you pickup?"

"I'm not so sure I like that you can read me so well," she told him with a frown.

"I'm not reading you. I'm reading Dani-so to speak." He looked at her. "You went tense as soon as Paris touched the bag."

Dani met his gaze briefly, then asked her sister, "What did you pickup?"

Still frowning, Paris said, "My abilities seem to be changing too. Instead of a feeling that amounts to little more than a hunch, I saw something this time. I got a weird little flash image of a guy buying flowers. Roses. I think it was at that shop up near the old railroad depot."

"Could you recognize him if you saw him again?" Hollis asked.

"No, I didn't see enough of him. Just his hands reaching for the flowers, and a glimpse of an older lady behind the counter, smiling at him."

"Let's go," Marc said.

It wasn't until they were about halfway to their destination that Hollis spoke from the backseat.

"Look for her in the water. Maybe it's as simple as that. A bracelet with a woman's name on it."

"I just hope the name gets us somewhere," Marc said. "Preferably before we find the murdered remains of Shirley Arledge."

He really wanted it to be the same, and it almost was.

Almost.

But the drug he was trying worked only to a point, and after that she really didn't want to cooperate.

She was a screamer. He hated it when she screamed. It was the quiet sobs, the soft, ladylike pleas, that he expected from Audrey.

He finally resorted to taping her mouth again. It was an imperfect solution, and he was conscious of annoyance with that.

"Audrey, you're making this more difficult than it needs to be," he told her.

She moaned, and her wet eyes begged him.

He enjoyed that for a moment, smiling down at her.

She was ready. Her short hair covering her small, well-shaped head was a rich, dark brown, and the pencil had darkened her eyebrows nicely-though he made a mental note to use the hair color on them next time. He had shaved away the ugly yellow pubic hair and the hair on her legs and armpits as well.

Now to get her thoroughly clean.

He got a bucket filled with hot soapy water. He used the brush first, scrubbing her from her feet to her throat. He used the sink sprayer, with its special long hose, to rinse her body. And even though she was pink and glowing, he used a second bucket of hot soapy water and a soft sponge to wash her down a second time.

He rinsed her again, taking care to shift her as much as possible so that the soapy and then the clear water flowed underneath to reach the places his brush and sponge hadn't.

He used two big, soft bath sheets to dry her, taking special care in all the crevices and underneath her. In the process, the table itself was dried, of course, so when he was finally done he used the controls to bring it back to horizontal. Then he used the programmed setting to lower the foot end of the table just a bit.

He stood between her feet and made sure she was looking at him with her wet brown eyes, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

She made a high-pitched mewling sound, and the muscles along her inner thighs twitched in sudden spasms.

"I'm already very clean," he told her. "Because I always am. But I'll rinse myself off first, just so you can be certain nothing dirty is going to touch you, Audrey."

This time a muffled wail escaped her, and her feet and hands jerked as she fought the restraints.

Hands on his belt, he paused. "Now, Audrey-do you really want another shot?"

He could see the delicious indecision in her eyes and savored it. Did she want to be largely insensitive to what was happening to her, but also completely helpless to stop any of it? Or was she willing to risk the terror, pain, and humiliation for the slim chance that she could exert some control over the outcome?

Her eyes closed briefly, and with a sob she went limp, acquiescing.

"That's my girl," he said, smiling as he began to unbuckle his belt.

The time he spent with Audrey was always energizing but draining as well, and he had to plan for regular breaks for himself to eat or nap or just rest for a while.

It was, he had discovered, another way to draw out the experience, to savor it.

It did seem to take a lot out of Audrey, however.

He left the room after their most recent session of love-making to take a quick shower, returning clean, dry, and naked; once Audrey had been scrubbed clean initially, he preferred to be naked.

She seemed to be sleeping when he padded silently back in, but when he pulled the tape from her mouth, she flinched and her eyes opened. Eternally wet eyes, pleading eyes, now sunken a bit and surrounded by darkening circles of faintly braised flesh.

Odd, that. He never struck her face, and yet those circles always appeared toward the end.

As if her eyes were dying first.

"Please," she whispered. "Please don't hurt me anymore. Please let me go. I won't tell anyone. I promise I won't tell anyone. Please-"

"Now, Audrey, we've discussed this. You're not going to tell anyone, we both know that. You don't have to promise me that. And we've discussed your punishment and the need for it."

"But I'm not Audrey. I'm not the one who abandon-"

He reached out a hand swiftly, almost completely encircling her delicate throat. He applied just a little pressure, tightened his fingers only until she began to choke.

He had learned to know and respect his own strength.

"Hush, Audrey," he said gently.

Her eyes grew huge and her naked body jerked. He waited until he was certain she understood, then removed his hand.

She gasped for air and coughed.

"Now, look what you've made me do," he scolded. "I've bruised your throat. So sorry, sweetheart."

She had to try twice before she could whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-I didn't mean to be bad."

"I know you didn't. Hush, now. Be still while I clean you up."

Jordan met them at Venture Florist and was just getting out of his cruiser when they pulled up. "I checked with the deputies who followed up on those flowers Marie Goode found at her door," he told them. "Since two of our local grocery stores sell flowers in bunches like that, and those seemed the most anonymous places to buy flowers, the guys started there. And they found virtually identical arrangements at both stores, with cards identical to the one with the flowers. None of the clerks they've talked to so far remembers ringing up roses anytime in the last few days."

"And there were no prints on the card," Marc said. He looked at Paris, brows raised.

"All I can tell you is what I saw. I'm pretty sure this is the florist, but I'll know for sure once I'm inside. There was an odd arrangement to the right of the register, obviously for Halloween. I hope," she added as they stepped inside.

Dani could see what her sister meant. The small florist shop, filled to bursting with real and silk arrangements and various stuffed animals and vases and other accessories, looked perfectly normal and innocuous.

Except for the tasteful display to the right of the register, which contained, along with bright orange flowers, grinning skulls and black-widow spiders.

"This is the place," Paris said.

Miss Patty, who had owned the shop for as long as anybody could remember, emerged from the back room to greet them. "May I help-Why, hello, Sheriff. What can I do for you?" Her clear blue eyes, the single memorable feature in a face as softly wrinkled as old tissue paper, moved alertly from face to face, and she added, "Oh, dear. I expect it's about the murders, then?"

Feeling rather absurdly as though he were talking back to his grammar-school teacher, Marc said, "Miss Patty, you aren't supposed to know about the murders."

"Heavens, Sheriff, everybody knows about them."

Jordan asked, "Then how come nobody's talking?"

Miss Patty smiled at him. "Everybody's talking, Deputy," she said gently. "Just not to you."

"Or to the media?" Marc asked intently.

"Of course not to them. Out of respect to the families. And then, of course, nobody wants reporters and TV crews showing up around here. That wouldn't help you to solve the murders, and it surely would make our lives harder. Now," she continued briskly, "how can I help you?"

"Miss Patty, do you remember selling a dozen roses to-"

Dani.

Once again, she was aware of a stillness inside her, a waiting, a listening. To him. To his voice.

They can't help you. They can't protect you. He can't protect you. Because you're going to come to me. just like in your dream. It's inevitable. You belong to me, Dani.

"-so I'm afraid I really can't help you, Sheriff. He paid cash, and he was a very ordinary-looking man. I doubt I'd know him again if he walked in the door right now."

Dani was vaguely surprised that nobody seemed at all aware of the voice she had heard so clearly this time. Surprised that nobody was looking at her strangely or asking why she was breathing so unevenly, because surely she was, surely it was audible to everyone around her.

But no.

Even Paris seemed oblivious, intent on Miss Patty's conversation with Marc.

Patient, Marc said, "Can you tell me how old he was?"

"Well, I never was very good at estimating age, and I find it's even more difficult as I grow older. If you told me it was my ticket into heaven, the best I could say would be that he was probably a little older than you, Sheriff. About as tall. I suppose he must have worn a hat, or one of those hoodie things, because I can't recall what color his hair was."

She smiled apologetically. "You see, he wasn't in here long at all. Went straight to the refrigerator case and got the roses for himself. We usually have a dozen or two ready and that day it was red and yellow. He chose the red. He got the card, too, from one of our little cardholders here on the counter. And then he paid me in cash, wished me a good afternoon, and left."

"Miss Patty-"

"We were getting ready for a wedding, Sheriff. Very busy in the back, and so I wasn't really thinking about him, you understand. I am sorry. I wish I could help, I really do."

"Thanks anyway, Miss Patty. Oh, and-if you wouldn't mind?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Not talking about this? Of course I won't, Sheriff. You may count on my total discretion."

Outside, Jordan said, "So, who wants to bet me that Miss Patty isn't on the phone in the back room right this minute not talking about our visit?"

Nobody took him up on the offer.