Fear the Dark

Ray saw where she was looking and said, ‘Sherrilyn gave up too quickly.’

‘Sherrilyn?’ Darby’s eye darted back to him.

‘Sherrilyn O’Neil, the previous occupant. From Utah,’ Ray said, dipping the facecloth back in the bucket. ‘I only hunt in other states.’

Nicky Hubbard’s fingerprint, how Darby had told Coop that the Red Hill Ripper wouldn’t return to a previous crime scene – it all swam through her. The Red Hill Ripper hadn’t killed Hubbard inside the Downes bedroom; someone else had.

‘Nicky,’ Darby croaked.

‘Dead. Gone. You don’t need to worry about her any more.’

Ray ran the washcloth over her chest, paying close attention to her breasts.

‘You,’ Darby said, voice barely above a whisper. She so badly wanted to go back to sleep. ‘It was you who washed down that area. Lancaster filmed you.’

‘It’s all over now.’

There were two serial killers here in Red Hill: Teddy Lancaster, who had been killing families standing in the way of the town’s incorporation; and Detective Ray Williams, who had just admitted to hunting in other states.

‘Women,’ Darby said, voice coarse. ‘How many?’

‘Shh. You need to rest.’ Ray wrung out the washcloth again. ‘Go to sleep.’

‘How many?’

Ray Williams tossed the washcloth into the bucket. ‘I killed her there, in the bedroom. Nicky,’ he said. ‘I was the one who washed down the area that morning, before you arrived. And Lancaster caught me. Lancaster had no idea why I’d done it. He didn’t say anything to me because he was waiting to see if you guys found out anything before he made his move. Now he’s dead, and my secret is safe.

‘As for the other women I’ve hosted here, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you and I are together. You’re my special girl. I only have eyes for you.’

Ray Williams placed his hands on either side of her hand and then his lips were mashed against hers, breath stale and tongue probing, and he inhaled deeply as if trying to draw something out of her.

Then, mercifully, it was over. He stood and she watched him move past the iron door and out of the cell. The woman was waiting by a ladder. Ray was about to go to it when she grabbed him by the back of the head and pulled him towards her, kissing him deeply, one hand massaging his crotch as she glared at Darby like a hungry wolf protecting its food supply.

When Ray Williams finally pried himself away from the woman’s grasp, he turned to the ladder.

‘I love you, baby,’ the woman said to him. ‘Forever.’

‘I love you too, Sarah.’

As Ray climbed the ladder, Sarah entered the cell.

72

‘Relax,’ the woman said, as she picked up the washcloth. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

Darby tried to speak, but the words dissolved in her throat.

‘It’s okay,’ the woman cooed as she cleaned Darby. ‘It’s okay. Go ahead and close your eyes and sleep.’

The woman hummed as she worked. Several minutes later, the woman gently rolled Darby on to her back. Darby, still immobilized from the drugs, couldn’t do anything but lie on her back with her wrists tied behind her and her midsection exposed. If the woman wanted to kill her, there was nothing she could do to prevent it. She was helpless.

‘Just remember,’ the woman said, ‘he’s mine.’

Darby wasn’t listening, her attention locked on the plastic-wrapped steel wire that ran from whatever was on her neck to a hole in a steel ceiling.

The woman saw Darby looking at it but said nothing.

Darby blinked, concentrating on the round, pale face hovering just inches away. The woman’s dark brown hair was greying at the roots, and cut short; her dark blue eyes were bloodshot, damp and puffy from crying. Her front teeth were crooked and gapped.

The woman noticed Darby staring and, self-conscious, clamped her lips shut and turned her attention back to the bucket.

I know who you are, Darby wanted to say. You’d go unrecognized on the street, because you’re a middle-aged woman now. Your face has filled out, and you’re wearing glasses and your hair is a different colour, but you’ve got the same eyes, the same nose and lips.

‘Nicky,’ Darby croaked. ‘You’re Nicky Hubbard.’

The woman paid no attention. She wrung out the washcloth and said, ‘Ray loves me and only me. Remember that. And fight back. Ray really loves it when you fight back. It makes us both so happy.’

Day Ten

73

It was a shock collar, the kind used to train dogs; but Ray Williams had modified it for human use, and there was no way to remove it.

Darby had tried. She couldn’t see the collar – there was no mirror in here – but she could touch it any time she wanted to. The obedience collar, as it was called, was made of thick steel and had a small padlock on the back, along with an O-ring. The inside of the collar was lined with fleece so it wouldn’t cut or irritate the wearer’s neck. Every time Darby swallowed, she could feel the four metal prongs that delivered the shock digging into her skin.

The collar’s O-ring was attached to a heavy steel-mesh wire encased in clear plastic – the kind of cable used in dog leads to prevent the animal from ru

But the wire prevented her from getting anywhere near the cell’s steel door and iron bars, which separated her cell from a room that offered more creature comforts: a twin bed, which at the moment was neatly made and decorated with throw pillows; a nightstand and lamp; a small flat-screen TV and a Blu-Ray player; a high-backed chair, toilet and a small refrigerator stocked with bottles of water and cans of soda. The shelves above the bed held boxes of meal-replacement bars, toilet paper and an assortment of paperback books, the majority of which, as far as she could tell, were romance novels.

The adjoining room also held a ladder that led to what Darby guessed had to be some sort of trapdoor. She couldn’t see it from her cell, but she always heard it when it was opened, and it was being opened right now.

Darby sat up on her mattress and threw back the wool blanket and comforter. At the moment her cell was bathed in a complete and total darkness. Her facial swelling had disappeared; she was able to see out of both eyes; and the staples along her incision itched furiously. She had been given Tylenol with each meal, and she had been provided with ill-fitting but warm clothes: thermal underwear, fleece-lined sweatpants and a woollen sweater. No shoes, though, just two pairs of woollen socks. Williams was smart enough to know that a shoe could be turned into a weapon.

At least that was what Darby assumed; she hadn’t seen Williams since the day he had washed her. Darby figured he was tied up with Coop and the other federal agents who were avidly questioning him about what had happened at Sally Kelly’s house. What had Williams told them? That Savran had killed everyone inside the house and then taken her as his hostage? Was Savran alive or dead?

And how many women had been brought here to this private torture chamber, which was, she suspected, buried underground? She had a solid idea about the purpose this place served. There was no question in her mind about what Williams was going to do to her after the heat died down. Williams, she figured, could afford to wait them out.

Were the FBI still in Red Hill? Were they looking for her or did they assume Savran had killed her?

Her stomach dropped and her muscles tensed when she heard the trap door shut, followed by a padlock clicking into place. Then footsteps continued down the rungs, and a moment later she heard the click of a light switch, and the pair of lamps in the adjoining room came to life.