Free I Can See You by Karen Rose Page B

can’t move .
She struggled wildly, her mind fighting to clear the haze. No snakes ,
she told herself. Just a dream. But I still can’t move . Her arms hugged
her body, her ankles burned like fire, her head… God, her head hurt. Stop.
And think .
    She blinked hard, but her living room was still
changed. Her arms… She was sitting up, bound shoulder to waist, warm. Trapped .
Horror flooded her mind as the mist cleared away. Her ankles were tied to her
chair with rope and there was hideous pressure on her temples, like a… “A
vise?” she whispered in disbelief.
    “Indeed, my dear. And a straitjacket,” he said and it
came back in a rush.
    She’d gone to meet John. She’d waited for him, but
he’d never come. But he was here . She jerked around to see, crying out
at the shearing pain in her head.
    “I suggest you not try to move,” he said dryly, still
behind her.
    “Why?” she begged, agonized. Tears filled her eyes and
she blinked them away.
    “Maybe because your empty head is in a vise ?”
he said with contempt.
    “No.” She wanted to sound angry, but instead she
whimpered in fear. “Why me?”
    “Because I needed you,” he said logically. “And
because you’re here. And because I can. Pick one, it doesn’t matter which. Did
you like the snakes, Christy?”
    She shuddered. It was her very worst fear. How did he
know? “Go to hell.”
    He chuckled, sending another shiver racing coldly down
her spine. “Ladies firssssst,” he whispered, hissing into her ear. Her insides
rolled at the memory, at the total, immobilizing fear.
    No. Stay focused. You have to get away. Pay attention.
Remember important things to tell the police. When you get away. “They weren’t real,” she muttered.
    “Those weren’t,” he agreed. “But he is.” A
gloved hand came into her peripheral vision, pointing. She could see a gold
ring through his opaque latex glove.
    Remember the ring. Tell the cops about it.
    But he is .
His words suddenly registered as did the metal box on the floor. The size of a
tool box, it had holes in the top. Tied to the latch was twine that ran along
the floor, ending somewhere behind her. Behind her he moved and his hand
reappeared in her line of vision, holding one end of the twine. He yanked and
was then that she heard it.
    A rattle. Ominous. Quiet. Her breath began to hitch.
“Not happening. Not real.”
    “Oh, he’s real,” he whispered, “and he’s hungry and he
won’t like being disturbed. Shall we disturb him?”
    “No,” she whimpered. She clenched her eyes closed but
he forced one of her eyes open, pinching her eyelid hard. He smeared something
cold under her eyebrow and quickly pressed her eyelid against it. Glue .
She struggled to blink, and could not.
    “You’ll watch,” he said, angry now. “Because I say you
will.” He glued her other eye open, then brought something around her head. A
cage. Inside was something white, and completely still. A mouse. “Not dead,” he
said. “Blood’s still nice and warm. He’s sedated with the same drug I gave you.
I wonder if he’ll be half as terrified as you.”
    He took the mouse from the cage and placed it against
her foot. She could feel its fur tickling her skin. She tried to flinch away,
but her ankles were tied too tightly. He yanked the twine again. Again she
heard the rattle. She panted, trying to fill her lungs.
    Breathe. Can’t breathe. It’s coming. Run . She struggled, tried to draw a breath to scream, but
all she could manage was a terrified mew. Trapped. I’m trapped.
    He yanked the string again and the front of the box
lowered with a clatter.
    It lifted
its head and stared. At me . Frozen, she could only stare back.
    “It’s coming,” he whispered, his breath hot in her
ear. “For you.”
    Monday, February 22, 6:15 a.m.
    Harvey Farmer was tired. He’d followed Noah Webster for
hours, only to return home to an empty house. Dell was AWOL again. Unable to
sleep, he was staring stonily at his front door