Hunter/Prey

Chapter 11

The trick to dealing with pain wasn’t to fight it. That only made things worse. Instead, the best approach was to accept it, to let it wash over you without resistance. Like a river, it was pointless to battle the current. It was easier to lie still and let the tide wash over you until, eventually, it dried up or, more likely, faded into the background.

Of course, learning what to do was different from actually putting that knowledge to use. As much as she tried to let the suffocating pain run its course without rising to defend against it, her instincts told her to battle back, to not let it have dominion over her. That only made things worse, and she grimaced with every jolt, every throbbing that seemed to pulse through her body like living electricity.

One of her ribs was broken. Or possibly two. But at least one; she knew that much because just breathing hurt. She could barely move before with the duct tape binding her wrists and ankles, and she had no chance of that now. Just thinking about moving an inch or two in any direction led her body to punish her further.

She was likely going to choke on her own blood pretty soon anyway, which meant all of this had been for nothing. Wouldn’t Carmen be disappointed when she learned how her big sister had screwed everything up and couldn’t even avenge her death? Hell, big sister was going to die at the hands of the same man who had killed her.

The irony. Or was that tragedy?

Probably a little of both. Or a lot of both.

A shadow fell over her as Beckard returned and crouched. She managed to turn her head just far enough — which wasn’t very far at all — to look up at him as he reached down and pulled the duct tape off her mouth with one merciless ripping motion.

She would have screamed if she had the strength. Instead, she just coughed up gobs of thick dark-red blood onto the floorboards.

“Wouldn’t want you to choke on your own blood and die too quickly,” Beckard said. His words were slightly slurred by the bloodied rag pressed against his broken nose. “You and I aren’t going to say good-bye just yet, missy. That’s one thing you’ll be able to brag about after this: That I spent more time with you than I did with your little sister; hell, than all my other girls.”

She coughed and spat out another thick stream of blood. Allie had to jerk her head back slightly to keep from lying in the collected pool. It didn’t even look like something that had come out of her. It had the appearance of brown chocolate pudding left out in the sun. She almost gagged at the smell.

Beckard tore off a fresh piece of duct tape and slapped it over her mouth. Then he stood up and walked off.

“You, on the other hand,” Beckard was saying.

Despite the rippling pain, Allie managed to roll over onto her other side so she could see Beckard crouching in front of Wade and Rachel. Though he only had eyes for the girl.

Rachel was still trying in vain to disappear behind Wade, refusing to look or even acknowledge Beckard’s presence. He didn’t seem to mind or care. With the rag covering half his mouth, he looked like a shy woman hiding behind a veil. It would have been almost comical if it wasn’t going to end so badly for all of them within the next few hours.

How much time did she have? The rest of the night, at least, and maybe part of the early morning. Beckard was indicating that he was going to take his time with her, but maybe that wasn’t up to him. Sooner or later, someone was going to find their vehicles next to the highway. That would mean calls to the local authorities, maybe the same state troopers that Beckard claimed to be a part of.

She looked at his uniform again. The khaki shirt, the brown pants, and the silver star on his chest. Were those real? Was he really a state trooper? In all the research she had done on the man who had murdered her sister, she never once thought he could be a cop. He had hidden his identity that well. Her only comfort in having missed that very important detail was that the entire state police, along with the federal authorities that had swooped in to assist them, had also failed to uncover it.

Of course, that was small comfort now.

It made sense if she thought about it. It would explain how he had managed to elude the cops for so long. If he was one of them, he would know how they operated. But more importantly, he would have a front row seat on the investigation and would know if they were getting close to him and adapt.

He really is a cop, after all.

If he noticed her staring, he didn’t acknowledge it. But then, he only had eyes for Rachel at the moment.

“Is it true what they say?” he was asking the girl. “Scars give a guy character?” He took away the rag to show off his broken nose and the layer of not-quite-drying blood around his mouth, like some grotesque clown’s makeup. “I must have double the character after this, huh?”

Rachel didn’t answer in any way. She had squeezed her eyes shut and seemed to be doing her best to pretend she couldn’t see or hear Beckard.

See no evil, hear no evil, right, Rachel?

Beckard was chuckling. He was so satisfied with himself that he almost (almost!) didn’t react in time when Wade lunged at him. Apparently Wade had taken a cue from Allie and was trying to deliver a second headbutt to Beckard’s face. Allie could only imagine how effective it would have been had it landed. The young man might have even ended it right then and there.

Except Beckard had shut up and stumbled back just fast enough, his jerking motion more an exercise of self-preservation than anything remotely elegant. He sat down on his ass a few feet back while Wade flopped to the floor on his cheek in front of him with a loud oomph. The young man attempted to right himself, but it was difficult (Allie knew all about that) and he only managed to turn over onto his side.

Beckard picked himself up and brushed his hands on his pants. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…well, you know how it goes.” He glanced over and gave her an accusing look. “See what you did? I blame this on you. Kids always repeat what they see the adults do.”

He walked back to the kitchen where he picked up another fresh rag. He soaked it under the sink faucet for a moment, wrung out most of the water, then dabbed it against his nose. He flinched once or twice, then picked up the shotgun and returned. She thought he might have been humming to himself the whole time. Some stupid pop song she had heard on the radio once or twice.

“I want to look good for her,” he said, winking at Allie. “It’s the least a man can do.”

Rachel was staring, horrified, as Beckard walked back to her. Then she looked over at her boyfriend, still struggling to right himself. Not exactly the most heroic pose to a girl who had always depended on her boyfriend to hide behind, Allie guessed.

Beckard crouched next to Wade and pressed the barrel of the Remington against the young man’s cheek. Wade went very still, as if afraid any sudden movement — or even breathing — might cause an accidental discharge. Rachel was crying, tears streaming down her face with the duct tape muffling any sounds she might have been making.

“I won’t kill him,” Beckard said to Rachel. “But I will, if you make me.” He pulled back the shotgun and laid it across his knees. Wade’s entire body sagged with relief. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t. It’s up to you. Do you want me to put him out of his misery right now and get it over with?”

Rachel shook her head with urgency.

“Good; so we understand each other. Don’t make me, and I won’t. You won’t make me, will you?”

Rachel seemed to consider the question. Maybe she didn’t really understand it. Or maybe she did and wasn’t sure about her answer.

“Well?” Beckard prompted. “Do we understand each other, missy?”

The girl finally nodded. That small movement seemed to take a lot out of her, and her body went slack afterward. Except for her eyes. They went to Wade, whose painfully constricted face said everything he couldn’t.

Beckard looked satisfied and stood back up before holding out a hand toward Rachel.

Rachel looked as if she was about to vomit as she hesitantly lifted both bound arms toward him. He grabbed her by one wrist and, with a grin, pulled her up from the floor.

“That’s a good girl,” Beckard said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be nice. I’m always nice.”

Until he’s done with you. Then he’s not so nice anymore.

I’m sorry, Rachel. I’m so sorry.

Rachel obviously didn’t believe him either, because her entire body was trembling.

Beckard caressed one of her tear-streaked cheeks with two of his knuckles. He looked almost sympathetic, but she knew that was a lie. Sympathy was a human emotion, and there was nothing human about Beckard.

“Don’t cry,” Beckard cooed. “You’re going to ruin those perfect cheekbones if you keep crying. We don’t want that, do we? Let’s be nice to each other—”

The sound of a barking dog shut him up.

Beckard spun around, suddenly forgetting that Rachel was there. Without Beckard to hold her up, the girl struggled in place for a moment before falling back down to the floor with a loud thoomp!

Outside the cabin, the barking was getting louder…because it was getting closer.