Chapter Thirty

The first thing she noticed was the pounding pain in her jaw. The second was the rhythmic sounds of water rushing past. She tried to turn and found herself wedged uncomfortably into a narrow space at the front of some kind of boat.

"Were almost there, Catherine," he said. "May I call you `Catherine?"

She tried to focus on his face in the near darkness. She wanted to put a face to the voice; she needed that to quiet the rising panic that threatened to immobilize her.

"What may I call you?" she asked, her voice sounding odd to her own ears. She ran her tongue experimentally over the inside of her mouth. Swollen, but nothing broken.

"Raymond."

Her heart raced at this small triumph.

"Where are we going, Raymond?"

"To a private place, where no one will disturb us."

"All right."

Catherine made no attempt to sit up. She couldn’t go anywhere, and it was pointless to antagonize him. She became acutely aware of the cold wind on her chest and realized her blouse was open. She remembered him tearing it to pull off the tiny microphone wires that had been taped there. He had not touched her breasts. She tentatively reached up to pull the damaged material closed.

"What’s the matter, does your jaw hurt? I didn’t want to hit you, but I couldn’t let you make any noise."

"My jaw does hurt, and I’m cold."

"You’ll be warm soon."

She couldn’t judge how long she had been in the boat, which she now recognized as a scull. She knew they were moving quickly, and she wondered if Rebecca would find her.

There were fifteen boathouses on the river, some owned by private universities, some city property, and some no longer in use. Rebecca was betting that he would be using one of the half dozen unoccupied structures. If she bet wrong, it could mean Catherine’s life. It seemed to take forever for her and Watts to get there. Rebecca would have to check the entire perimeter of each house, and possibly the interiors, in the hope of finding Catherine, and she was racing against the clock.

"Take the street side, Watts. Ill take the water side. When I move to the next house, Ill signal you."

"Right."

She melted quickly into the darkness near the water, praying that she would be in time.

"I cant turn the lights on, Catherine, but we have candles. Candles will be nicer, don’t you think?"

He was an average looking man, sandy hair, medium height, and a slender build. It was the voice that captured Catherine’s attention. It had a dreamy quality, almost as if he were reciting well-practiced words. She had heard it before, and it worried her. She had a feeling he was listening to other voices in his head.

"I have to tie your hands, Catherine. You cant be trusted, and I don’t want you to spoil anything."

"What might I spoil?"

"I don’t want you to move while I’m fucking you. You have to pay attention to what I’m doing." As he spoke he wrapped her wrists behind her back with nylon cord. She was aware that her breasts were exposed, but he didn’t seem to notice. He stepped behind her to pull a tarp over the bench that ran the length of the wall.

"What do you want to show me?" Catherine was desperately casting about for some way to interrupt his thinking. He was obviously playing out a script already written in his mind, and if she couldn’t distract him, she had no hope.

"I want to show you how well I can fuck, and how special it is with me. More than with any of the others." He was kneeling beside her now, emptying the contents of a sports bag on the floor. There were several pairs of shorts, more rope, and a.38 caliber revolver.

"Tell me what it will be like."

He stood up abruptly, and pulled her head back roughly by the hair. His face, previously unnaturally calm, was suddenly contorted with rage.

"Ill do much better than tell you, Doctor. Ill show you. And when I’m done you’ll know just how special I am."

Rebecca had about given up hope when she spied the dim flicker of light through the shutters of the last boathouse in the row. She carefully pried one piece of wood off the boarded up window and peered inside. Moving slowly, she raised the radio to her lips.

"I’ve got them, Watts. Rear of the last house, first floor. I’m going in. I need you now, Watts."

Her voice sounded strangely hollow in his ear. It spooked him.

"Wait for me, Frye! You’ll get yourself killed!"

Rebecca didn’t hear his message. It wouldn’t have changed her mind.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-16