Dead Run

CHAPTER 63

Wednesday, November 21

11:25 p.m.

Liz watched as Rick got slowly to his feet. Val snatched up the gun and crossed to Rick. Blood streamed from his nose and mouth. He brought the gun up and pressed the barrel between Rick’s eyes. He cocked it. Liz saw that he trembled with fury.

“Go ahead,” Rick taunted. “Pull the trigger. I dare you.”

“Don’t push me, Wells. I’ll do it, I swear I’ll-”

“Go for it, you prick! Make my day!”

“No!” Liz cried. “Don’t!”

Heather tipped her head back and laughed, the sound almost childlike in its glee. It was as if she fed on the negativity, the fear and hatred, the bloodshed.

“Admirable, Liz,” she murmured. “Loyalty. Love. Commitment. I’m touched, really.”

Heather turned to the two men. “Make sure that doesn’t happen again, Valentine.”

“Throw me some rope,” the man responded tightly. “I’ll make sure this prick doesn’t move a muscle.”

Heather did as he requested, then turned her attention back to Liz. “I wonder if your boyfriend here would do the same for you? Cry out, get down on his knees and beg for your life to be spared. I wonder if your beloved sister would?”

Heather looked over at Rachel, slumped in the chair. “Liz is in this situation because of you, Rachel. Because she loves you so much.” She all but hissed the last and a chill raced up Liz’s spine. “She’s here because of your ridiculous faith in Him.”

Liz shifted her gaze to the carved depiction of Christ. She thought of the little Rachel had managed to tell her, and the pieces began clicking into place.

“I don’t think she would,” Heather continued. “I think she might just let you die.” Liz jerked her gaze back to the woman. “She let Tara die. And Naomi Pearson. Why not you?”

A sound slipped past her sister’s lips. One of horror. Despair.

“Three little words, that’s all I asked of her.” Heather bent. From the black sack, she removed a pair of rubber gloves and fitted them on. “Three words,” the woman continued. “Do you know what they were?”

Liz shook her head. Heather looked back at Rachel. “But Rachel does. Don’t you, love. Say them with me. I…deny…Him.”

Her sister bowed her head, her shoulders shook with her tears. Fury took Liz’s breath. She understood now. She thought of Father Paul, of the things he had said. In the desecration of the holy, evil extends its putrid grasp.

“That’s all I asked of her, all these weeks, day after day. As I brought her near death, then pulled her back, always giving her another chance. But she refused me. She insisted on holding on to her pathetic belief in her nonexistent savior.”

Heather shook her head. “I see that you despise me, Liz. But it was she who turned away from the food I offered. The water. The end to pain. Because of Him.” She pointed again to the crucified Christ, her features twisted with hate. “He is the source of her agony, not I!”

The evil that emanated from the woman made Liz’s skin crawl. “You won’t get away with this,” she spat, struggling against the ropes that held her wrists. “Gavin Taft didn’t get away with it. You’ll fry just like he’s going to.”

“But we will,” she said softly, cutting her off. She bent and retrieved a black-velvet package from the sack. Reverently, she peeled the velvet back, revealing a knife. She held it up. The blade glittered in the candlelight and Liz went weak with fear.

“Unfortunately, Val doesn’t arrive soon enough to save you and your sister from the knife. But even though you and your sister die, even though Wells wrests away Val’s gun and Walters is killed, in the end Rick Wells is stopped. Thanks be to God.”

Liz shuddered at the sarcastic emphasis she put on the Lord’s name. Heather Ferguson, she realized, was not just an evil being-she worshiped evil. She delighted in it.

“You see, the lieutenant’s been amassing quite a collection of evidence against poor troubled Mr. Wells. Evidence of his involvement with Larry Bernhardt and Naomi Pearson, physical evidence linking him to Tara and Carla’s murders. Enough evidence that with the lieutenant’s explanation of events, the case will be closed. Nice and tidy, all bodies accounted for.”

“What about Mark?” Liz asked, working to conceal the hopefulness in her tone. Since the woman hadn’t mentioned his name, she prayed that he had somehow escaped her grasp.

The woman’s mouth tightened and she shot a provoked look at her accomplice. “He won’t prove to be much trouble. He’s running scared. After all, he and Wells were in cahoots. We have physical evidence to back that assumption up.”

“But he knows about you and the Horned Flower. Don’t you think he-”

“I think,” she interrupted, “that you should shut up.”

Liz ignored her. “So, you’re just going to continue merrily on your way, nobody the wiser?”

“Give me some credit, I’m not stupid. I’m already missing. Presumed dead by the authorities. Just ask the fussy little man who owns the shop next to mine. It will be assumed that I’m another of Wells’s victims.”

She planned to move on, Liz realized, sickened. Planned to start all over somewhere else. Liz turned to Valentine Lopez. “And you? You have a fabulous future all mapped out as well?”

He smiled. “I’m so traumatized from having to kill my best friend, I leave police work and Key West behind forever.”

Tears of frustration stung her eyes. How could they fight these monsters? They had nothing to fight them with, not even fear of being caught.

“Tell me,” Heather murmured, “did you have any idea your sister was so stubborn? That she would rather die than denounce Him?”

“Yes,” Liz replied, lifting her chin, proud of her sister and her unshakable faith.

“However, the question of the hour is, will the good pastor rather see you die than to deny Him?”

“Why do you care?” Liz retorted, forcing bravado. “Her faith has nothing to do with you.”

Heather laughed, the sound deep, grotesque. “That’s where you’re wrong, my dear. It has everything to do with me.”

From the corner of her eye, Liz saw Rick struggling against his ropes. Beyond him she saw the body of the slain officer. She shifted her gaze to the officer’s holster and gun.

Rick followed the direction of her gaze, then met hers again. He nodded, the movement of his head almost imperceptible.

He was going to do his best to get the gun.

“Smelling salts, Val. We can’t have the good pastor passing out before the main event.”

Val crossed to Rachel and waved the vial under her nose. Her head snapped up.

“Who did it?” Liz demanded in an attempt to buy time and keep Heather’s and Val’s attention diverted from Rick. “Which one of you sick bastards killed Tara and the others? Or was it a team effort?”

“I had the honors,” Heather murmured, her face changing subtly, shifting from beautiful to horrific. “Unlike my darling Gavin, Valentine doesn’t have the stomach for the knife. And it’s something I enjoy.”

Liz swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat. “What are you?”

Heather grinned, the curving of her mouth serpentine in the flickering candlelight. “A defiler of paradise…the snake in the apple tree. A soul collector.

“It’s so easy these days. What do you think worshiping money, power and beauty is? What is the pursuit of earthly pleasures but a turning away from God? Pride. Envy. Lust. Avarice. Sloth. Anger. Gluttony. They’re a girl’s best friend.” She giggled suddenly, the girlish sound bizarre. “Who am I? I’m a devil for the new millennium.”

“You’re insane.”

“Am I? Or do you just hope I am?”

A brilliant flash of lightning momentarily illuminated the church; thunder shook the building. Heather turned to Val. “It’s show time.”

“No!” Rick shouted, struggling to free himself.

Heather grabbed Liz from behind and dragged her back against her chest, her grip surprisingly strong. She brought the knife to her throat. “Deny Him!” she screamed. “Deny Him and I’ll spare your sister’s life!”

“Don’t do it, Rachel!” Liz shouted. “She’ll kill us anyway!”

Outside, the storm kicked into high gear. The heavens opened up; rain lashed against the building.

Liz felt Heather tense, preparing to strike. The blade burned her throat as it penetrated the skin. Liz went light-headed with terror.

“If he is truly Lord and Savior, let Him help you now!”

Rick threw himself toward the fallen officer. Val shouted a warning to Heather; he took aim at Rick. Liz screamed. A figure leaped from the choir loft.

Mark! Liz realized.

He landed on Val. They went down. The gun went off. She couldn’t tell if either of the men had been hurt. For one instant, the earth stood still, then Mother Nature unleashed her full power. Thunder shook the sanctuary. The window burst into Technicolor glory. A huge crack rent the air.

The window exploded inward as the ancient banyan tree outside it crashed through. Shards of colored glass spewed into the sanctuary.

“Cover your face!” Rick shouted.

A high scream of pain shattered the moment. Heather released Liz, and she stumbled sideways against the altar. Liz saw that a piece of glass had imbedded itself in the back of Heather’s neck. The woman clawed at it, the knife slipping from her hands.

Liz dived for the knife. Heather got to it first, caught her and dragged her back. Liz fought and kicked. A second gunshot rent the air. The bullet whizzed past her head.

Mark, Liz saw. On his knees, Valentine Lopez’s gun in his shaking hands. The lieutenant lay unmoving, half of his head blown away.

“Get away from her!” Mark shouted, pointing the weapon at Heather.

Heather reared up, her face contorted with hate. Blood streamed from her hand. She drew back the knife. Mark pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

The chamber was empty.

Rick cried out her name. Liz was aware of him dragging himself toward the fallen officer. He wouldn’t make it, she knew. It was over already.

Heather laughed. Thunder shook the sanctuary. A deep groan trembled across the floor, followed by a loud crack. Heather turned. The crucifix swayed slightly. Her face went white, then blank. She threw her arms up.

In the next instant, the crucifix toppled, crushing Heather beneath it.