Evil Never Dies

CHAPTER NINE

Up until three weeks ago, when she discovered she was pregnant, Lorry Jo Raciti considered herself to be lucky in life. Not a perfect life, but a good one.

She and her second husband had been married for ten years. They had three children who meant the world to her. The problems all started when she returned to the workforce. She was an assistant for a slew of engineers at a software company in Folsom. Going to work, interacting with other adults, getting respect—not to mention a paycheck—was a high she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

But she’d blown it. She’d let one of the engineers get the best of her: tall, handsome, great-smelling cologne—a drink after work and then instead of driving her back to work where her car had been left in the parking lot, he’d gotten halfway to their destination and pulled over to the side of the road.

She had more than a hunch he wanted to kiss her.

She wanted to kiss him, too.

Under the pretense of getting some air, needing a moment to think about whether or not she would allow him one quick kiss, solely to get it out of her system, she got out of the car. He climbed out, too, and the next thing she knew, he took her hard and fast on the hood of his Camaro.

It was exhilarating, intoxicating: the best sex she’d ever had.

And that was it.

Ten minutes of hot and heavy, mind-blowing sex ended up being ten minutes she would never forget for as long as she lived.

Not because the man or the sex was unforgettable, but because she was pregnant.

This morning, like any other morning, she woke up, kissed her husband, got dressed, and then made sure the kids arrived at school on time. Instead of going to work, though, she came here, to the American River. She had grown up in Sacramento, and this trail—with its views of the meandering river, leafy trees, and so much wildlife, a picture that would stay with her for days—was where she always went when she needed to unwind or to think things through.

If she were going to keep this baby, she would need to tell her husband the truth. After the birth of their third child, he’d had a vasectomy. Her only other option, as far as she was concerned, was to have an abortion and never tell a soul.

The sun’s rays hit the water in a way that made the river look as if crushed diamonds had been sprinkled over the top. Nature at its best—alive and welcoming.

Although her earbuds were in place, it was only for show. When she wanted to think, didn’t want to say hello to people she passed, she wore the buds in hopes of being left alone. Since they weren’t co

Her thoughts progressed to the matter at hand, and she tried to imagine what her unborn child would look like. Boy or girl? Blonde or brunette? All of her kids were so different, in both looks and personality. Would this child have her blue eyes? She imagined her other children playing with the new baby, arguing over whose turn it was to hold him or her next. She had two girls and a boy. Her son would love to have a brother. Did her husband love her enough to make this work?

She lifted her gaze to the sky and smiled as the tremendous weight of indecision lifted from her shoulders.

Everything changed in that moment.

She knew she had made a mistake. There was no getting around that fact. But she would do everything in her power to make her marriage work. Her mind was made up. Chills swept over her. She would keep this baby.

The distinct sounds of someone approaching startled her. Lost in her thoughts, she’d momentarily become unaware of her surroundings. Before she could turn around, an arm circled her neck and a rag was stuffed into her mouth.

She struggled for breath.

And then she fought for her life and the life of her unborn baby. She couldn’t die! She kicked her attacker in the shin. Not now. Certainly not today.

She clawed at his face, determined to leave a mark.

It was such a beautiful day.

Even now as she was dragged over the slope of a hill, the sharp edges of twigs and rocks digging into her back, she could see the morning rays of the sun peeking through the trees.

Someone would help her.

There were always so many people on this path. But this wasn’t Saturday or Sunday. Today was a workday.

Help me, please.

Her children needed her. She found the physical power to fight on. She kicked him again, kicked him hard, but she could already feel her strength leaving her.

She thought of her husband. Would he ever know how sorry she was?

She prayed he would never learn of her condition. But if he did, she prayed he would find it in his heart to forgive her.

Well hidden beneath the leafy canopy of a giant oak, he had watched and waited. Every so often a biker would whiz by, a group of ru

He loved to watch the kayakers and paddleboarders skim across the river from his balcony at home, but his newest plan had forced him out of his rut to try something new.

He was in no hurry this morning, yet it wasn’t long before he saw a lone walker on the horizon. Yes, she was walking this way. He could see wires dangling on both sides of her face. She had buds in her ears. Not a smart move. No cell phone on hand, at least that he could see. She walked at a good clipped pace, would be upon him any minute now. As long as no other walkers, ru

From his spot on the hill, he could see just far enough both ways, far enough to see that the timing couldn’t be better. The moment the woman passed him, he headed out from under the tree and onto the trail, making quick work of catching up to her. His hand came around her face, and she opened her mouth to scream just as he knew she would. He shoved a rag into her mouth to muffle her cries as he dragged her into the cover, past the place where he’d been watching the trail, deep into the thickest part of rocks and trees.

Damn.

She was a fighter.

She kicked and she hit.

Even after he had her on the ground face up, his legs straddling her, the weight of him holding her down, his hands around her throat, she managed to rake sharp fingernails across his face.

“You bitch.”

He clamped his hands around her neck and squeezed until he thought the pads of his thumbs might go through her flesh and come out the other side.

Her eyes widened, wild with fear. He felt her heart rate race, watched her cheeks redden. He grew hard watching her expression shift from anger to terror.

Even as he stared at her, unblinking, he felt her arms go limp at her sides.

Now she had stopped fighting altogether. Her legs had gone slack beneath him.

His gaze became one with hers. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. She might not realize it as she took her last breaths, but she was special. He would remember her for the rest of his life. She was magnificent. Her eyes, as blue as the clear waters of Tahoe, had turned a stormy cerulean right before they lost their luster. On canvas, she would come alive.