Sleep Tight

Chapter 25

He was tired of being lonely. That's all.

He wanted somebody to take care of. He wanted somebody to adore.

That evening, as he'd done so many evenings, he drove to Holly Lindstrom's house and parked a block away. The street was crowded and narrow, with vehicles wedged tightly down both sides. Good. That way his car wasn't conspicuous.

The media had a knack for leaking information the cops didn't want reaching public ears, and one of the things going around was that investigators were looking for more physical evidence. What kind of evidence? He heard they were hoping to find photos that had been taken of Holly Lindstrom, so he'd supplied them. He'd gone to a photo lab, found a line that had been left empty in the sign-up book, written in Hitchcock's name, and then left the torn negative for someone to find. And they'd found it. Just like he'd hoped they would, and now nobody was looking for him, and nobody was watching Holly anymore.

He perked up as a little red car pulled into her driveway. Mazda? he wondered. It was hard to tell. So many cars looked alike nowadays.

Someone got out and hurried to the door.

She was back!

What happened to her Mustang? Oh, it didn't matter. She was back! Back!

The front door opened, and he saw Holly's blond head. He heard a feminine laugh. Then the two of them scampered from the house, got in the little red car, and drove away.

He turned the ignition key, put his car in gear, and followed.

At Intercontinental Video, Gillian and Holly discovered they both had an affinity for old movies. They ended up renting four because there was a special going on, and they loaded up on popcorn, soda, and black licorice. At Gillian's apartment, Holly carried in her pillow and backpack while Gillian grabbed the supplies.

"Oh, wow! You have a bird!" Holly dropped her things and ran to the cage.

"Hello," she said.

Birdie stared at her.

"Does he talk?" Holly asked, glancing over her shoulder, then back at the bird.

"Once he starts he doesn't shut up. He's just getting used to you right now."

"He's so cool."

Gillian walked over and poked her finger at the bird. "I've had him since I was eight. We guessed he was about twelve then, but parrots can live eighty years or more."

"Oh, man. I don't know if I'd want to spend eighty years in a cage. Do you ever let him out?"

"Quite a bit, but he seems to prefer the cage. I think he feels safe in there. Maybe because I lost him once. I let him loose in the house and he got out a window I'd forgotten to close. He was gone about twenty-four hours, and when my sister and I found him and brought him home, he wouldn't leave his cage for two weeks."

They made microwave popcorn and poured cola over ice. Gillian grabbed some blankets and a pillow from upstairs. "Knowing Holly's penchant for darkness, she lit a couple of candles, turned off the lights, and settled in front of the TV.

Holly had already popped in Sabrina. It was the original, with Audrey Hepburn. They discussed Audrey Hepburn's clothes and style and long neck, and temporarily forgot about Gavin Hitchcock.

When the movie was over, they got into their pajamas and opened the futon for Holly. Gillian covered Birdie's cage, then stretched out on the couch and hit the play button on the remote to watch movie number two.

"This is one of my favorites," she said as the opening credits for Harvey began to roll.

"Jimmy Stewart was so cool."

"Did you see Rear Window?"

"I love that movie! Did you see the digitally remastered version when it was at Oak Street Cinema?"

"Yeah!"

"No way! Me too! And even though I'd seen it maybe five times on TV, I swear my mouth was hanging open, it was so awesome to finally see it on a movie screen. Wouldn't it have been cool to have lived then, and dressed like Grace Kelly? When she came in with that net thing on her hat, and she raised her arms like this and folded it back away from her face. That was too cool."

The opening scene began. They fell silent and directed their attention to the TV screen.

Even though the movie was one she loved, Gillian began to drift off. The last three nights-nights in which she'd been unable to sleep-were catching up with her.

One time she woke to see that Holly was watching the third movie. It was a more recent release, something Gillian didn't think looked very good. The candles had burned down and gone out by themselves, and the room was dark except for a blue glow coming from the television.

Holly glanced over at her and smiled. "Go to sleep, silly!" she said, seeing how hard it was for Gillian to stay awake. Gillian let out a sleep-drugged laugh and closed her eyes.

Holly turned back to the movie. It was boring and hard to follow, but she finished watching it anyway. That's how she was. She could never stop reading a book halfway through, no matter how bad it was, and she could never stop watching a movie.

When it was over, she rewound the tape and put it back in the case. Leaving the television tuned to MTV, she turned down the volume and settled back on the futon, pulling the blanket to her chin. She always liked to have something on when she was going to sleep- the radio or TV. It didn't matter. Just sound to fill the silence.

As soon as she fell asleep, she began to dream. And the dreams were all mixed up. Gillian and Jimmy Stewart were there, and a rabbit in a birdcage. Suddenly Gillian turned into Grace Kelly. Over her face was black netting. "You look like a movie star," Holly told her in the dream.

Gillian was walking toward her, her footsteps light. Holly felt pressure on her shoulder, turning her around, turning her over.

She smelled adhesive.

Suddenly a hand pressed a wide band of tape across her lips, extending from cheek to cheek, almost to her ears. She felt hot breath on her skin while something cold and metallic was shoved into her neck.

Gillian came awake with a start to see a silhouetted figure backlit by the flickering glow of the TV. The man wore a* dark, bulky jacket and a ski mask over his face. Standing, his arm clamped around her stomach, was Holly. Her mouth was sealed, her eyes large and terrified.

She made a sound deep in her throat-a scream halted by the tape.

"Please-" Gillian slowly sat up, swinging her feet to the floor, struggling to keep her voice calm. "Don't hurt her."

How is this happening?

He shifted slightly. Something caught in the flickering light. A gun. Her own gun was upstairs. Too far away.

"Lie down on the floor," he told her. "Hurry. Now! Or I'll kill her." His voice was neither deep nor high-pitched, and he didn't sound especially agitated-not a good sign. Some of the most horrendous killers in history remained calm and emotionally detached throughout their attacks of violence.

Gillian dropped to her knees. He lashed out with a booted foot, kicking her in the back of the head. The impact sent her sprawling, her chin smacking wood. She didn't feel anything. He shoved Holly facedown into the futon. "Stay there. Don't move."

He knelt above Gillian, wrenched her arms behind her, and wrapped her wrists with duct tape. He tore off another piece. Before he could silence her with it, knowing this was her last chance, she rolled to her back, her arms and hands crushed beneath her.

Two thoughts raced through her mind simultaneously.

This is the Lucia Killer.

Gavin is in jail.

She tried to remember everything she'd learned about the killer, his likes and dislikes and what he wanted in a victim. Her sister's words came back to her. You fit the victimology.

"Take me," she said, looking up at him, adrenaline and fear pumping through her veins. "Don't take her, take me."

The shabby ski mask stared at her.

"That's what you're here for, isn't it?" Gillian asked. "You've come for Holly?"

Inside the oval holes, eyes blinked. Seemingly curious, he reached down and fiddled with her hair, rubbing it between his gloved fingers.

On TV, a psychic was telling people to call for a free reading: "I know you're lonely," the psychic said. "I can help you find your perfect soul mate."

The psychic's words seemed to be Gillian's cue. "Holly isn't right for you. And the others-they weren't right for you either." Don't lay it on too thick. He might not believe you. You might make him mad. "But I've studied you-enough to know we're a lot alike. We're both-"

"Stop talking."

He slapped the tape over Gillian's mouth, then jerked her to her feet, pulling her against him. His next words were a startling revelation. "I came for you," he whispered against her cheek, the wool of his mask rubbing her skin, his breath lifting her hair in puffs. "You're the one I've been watching. You're the one I want."

Tate? she wondered. Was the Lucia Killer Sebastian Tate after all? The height was right. Was the voice? She didn't know. Couldn't remember.

He shoved her away from him, then pressed the tip of the gun to the back of Holly's head.

Even though her mouth was sealed, Gillian let out an anguished cry. NO!

He paused and looked at her.

NO! Don't do it! she begged him with her eyes. Please. Don't do it!

Inside the ski mask, he didn't seem fully human. Still, he pulled the gun away from Holly's head, turning it on Gillian.

He shoved Holly's face against the pillow until she began to struggle. He let her up long enough to take a breath, then forced her down again. "Stay there for fifteen minutes," he commanded. "You hear me?"

She nodded. Her entire body trembled, muffled whimpers coming from her throat.

"A full fifteen minutes."

She nodded again.

He hustled Gillian in front of him, shoving her out the door into the dark night and down the sidewalk. For a moment, she thought of making a run for it, but discarded the idea. With her hands behind her back and her mouth covered, he'd quickly overtake her. And in his anger, what would he do? Kill her and abduct Holly? Kill them both?

He opened the trunk of his car. Gillian stared in horror at the dark, gaping hole. No. She couldn't get in there. She could already smell it-a cloying, rotten corpse odor. This was not a trunk but the death pit that had held the bodies of the murdered girls. Of Bambi, April, Justine, and Charlotte.

Reason vanished. She was a terrified animal fighting for her life. She tensed, struggling to keep her feet on the ground, pushing against him, a panic-filled keening coming from her throat.

In one smooth motion, he lifted and pushed her forward, slamming the trunk lid behind her.