Programmed for Terror, page 23
Suddenly, from behind, Mackey had her shirt, which pulled tight against her breasts, its buttons popping. Momentarily she saw this as a scene from one of those grade-B bloody movies of the sort shown in drive-ins. The crazy man with the big knife grabbing the helpless young woman, the victim screaming, dying. And in the same instant she knew that if she died, she would do so fighting, not screaming. She turned, and he collided with her, both of them falling.
Pushing herself away from him, she tried to get to her feet. He reached for her, gripping the front of her shirt this time. Jessica bit his arm. He hollered, releasing her, and she was on her feet, running down the hallway, toward the front door.
Unable to stop herself, Jessica crashed into it, her hands desperately searching for the knob. She found it, turned it, pulled. The door wouldn’t open. She tugged on it with all her strength. Open, she thought. Oh, please. Open.
Glancing behind her, she saw Mackey, who was on his feet now. But instead of coming after her, he retreated down the hallway, apparently looking for something. Then he bent over and picked up the knife.
“The door won’t open,” he said. Reaching into his pocket, he held up an old-fashioned skeleton key. “Not very sophisticated but it works. All the old locks in this house work.” Slipping the key back into his pocket, he started toward her.
Jessica dashed into the living room, nearly falling when one of the hallway’s throw rugs slipped beneath her feet. The lights here were on now. Desperately she scanned the room, looking for something—anything—that might offer hope. To her left was a big stone fireplace with pokers and such things in a stand, possible weapons. But she realized then that she didn’t want a weapon; she wanted to escape. Brian would defeat her easily in any sort of physical contest. And then he’d kill her.
No, not Brian, she thought. He’s just Mackey now. And then she pushed the thought from her mind. She had no time for such things. She had to worry about survival.
She rushed to the window. If it wouldn’t open, she could smash it with something. Or throw herself through it. But it slid up almost effortlessly, revealing the bars.
“My mother was always afraid someone would break in,” Mackey said.
Whirling around to face him, Jessica found Mackey standing in the doorway through which she’d entered the room.
“The bars do as good a job of keeping people in as they do of keeping them out,” Mackey said. He held the knife at his side.
Jessica’s eyes shifted to the fireplace implements. She had no chance to grab one of them now; Mackey was closer to the fireplace than she was. There was another doorway at the far end of the room. Jessica ran through it, finding herself in a dining room with a long wooden table. She kept moving, passing through another doorway into a large kitchen. Ahead was the back door. Hurrying to it, she grabbed the knob and tugged. It refused to open.
Glancing behind her, she saw a shadow moving in the dining room. It was Mackey, coming after her.
To her right was the only other exit, a small doorway. She dashed through it and into a narrow passageway that led to a small breakfast room and a narrow set of stairs leading upward. The breakfast room had only one entrance. She started up the stairs, the wooden steps creaking under her weight.
At the top was a closed door. Before opening it, Jessica paused to listen. At first she heard only the sound of her rapid breathing. But then, below her, out of sight, a step creaked. Jessica wondered why he didn’t just run after her, try to grab her. It seemed unlikely she would be able to outrun him. She had the feeling she was being maneuvered, that Mackey would catch her when she reached a particular location.
Opening the door, she stepped into the second-floor hallway. The lights were on, as they had been in the rest of the house. No light came from the window at the end of the hall. Dusk had given way to night.
Her heart pounding, she hurried down the hallway.
TWENTY
She was rushing toward the main stairway at the end of the hall, stairs that would take her back to the locked doors and barred windows on the first floor. Suddenly it occurred to her that the second-story windows wouldn’t be barred, that she might be able to get out that way. She stepped into a room on her right, hurried to the window, raised it, and peered out.
Below her were bushes, which she could see in the light spilling from the ground-floor windows. There was no way down, nothing to hang on to. And even with the bushes to cushion her fall, she was too high to jump. She heard a door open, close. Mackey was looking for her.
Quickly taking in her surroundings, Jessica observed that she was in a bedroom with a large brass bed, an antique dresser on which was a large photo of a woman in a wood frame. It took a moment for Jessica to realize that it was a picture of her. And she realized suddenly that this was a room with masculine things in it—a tie hanging over the back of a chair, the shoes on the floor, the things on the dresser. She was in Mackey’s room.
And she was trapped. The window provided no exit; Mackey was in the hall. Across the room from her was a door. Jessica ran to it, hoping it would lead to another room, and stepped into Mackey’s bathroom. Hearing a noise in the hallway, she quietly closed the door and locked it.
As soon as she did it she realized her mistake. She was even more trapped now than she had been. I should have hidden under the bed, she thought. And when I was in the kitchen why didn’t I get a knife or some other sort of weapon?
Suddenly the doorknob rattled.
“I know you’re in there,” Mackey said through the door.
Again the knob rattled. Jessica stared at it, trembling.
“This is where I wanted you to come, Jessica. This room, the room we could have shared. This is the appropriate place for you to die.”
For a few moments he was silent; then he said: “I’m coming in to get you, Jessica. You know I will. I’m going to give you a few moments to think about that.”
A weapon, Jessica thought, trying to compel her mind to function. I need a weapon. She forced her eyes away from the door.
The floor and walls were covered with green ceramic tile. There was a shower stall, no bathtub. The sink was in a vanity and above it was a medicine cabinet. She yanked the medicine cabinet’s door open, hoping to find something to defend herself with, an old-fashioned straight razor maybe. But the medicine cabinet contained nothing but a few pill bottles, Band-Aids, and the like. And Mackey’s electric razor.
Squatting, she opened the cabinet beneath the sink, finding sponges, scouring powder, and other cleaning supplies. And then she found something that might work. Grabbing it, she stood up, backed away from the door, waited.
A sound came from the door, like something being rubbed against it. “I’m still here, Jessica.”
Another minute or two passed; then he said: “Time’s up, Jessica. Time to die.”
Something crashed into the door. Jessica hid the object in her hand behind her back. She was shaking.
Again the door was struck, and this time it splintered. He was kicking it, Jessica realized. Suddenly his shoe pushed through the wood, pieces of the door flying into the room. He kicked it again and the door collapsed inward, ripping free of its hinges, narrowly missing Jessica.
She and Mackey were face-to-face.
Standing in the doorway with the knife in his hand, he stared at her, his face flushed from exertion, his eyes almost glowing with whatever madness was driving him. “When I was coming up the stairs just now,” he said softly, “I considered giving you another chance. But then I realized that once love turns to hate it can never be changed back again.”
Jessica simply stood there, staring at him, one hand behind her back. She felt too terrified to move, and she hoped that wasn’t the case, for should she truly be unable to move, Mackey would kill her.
“Time for the final punishment, Jessica,” he said gently. And then he raised the knife, stepped toward her.
A portion of Jessica’s brain shut down, retreated from the horror, the pain that would come at any moment. But another portion remembered what was behind her back, what she had to do with it. Bringing the concealed object out from behind her, she raised it, aimed it at Mackey’s face, and pressed the button, spraying aerosol disinfectant into his eyes. He screamed. And the knife whipped downward, pain erupting in Jessica’s shoulder.
For a moment Jessica stood there, dazed, uncertain what had happened. The she became aware of Mackey, who lay on the floor, holding his hands to his eyes, moaning. A red wet spot had appeared on her shirt where it covered her left shoulder. She flexed her left arm. The movement hurt, but the arm seemed to be okay.
Run, she told herself. You can tend to your wounds later.
Suddenly Mackey sprang to his feet. He still held the knife. Jessica raised the aerosol can, holding it with both hands, as if it were a gun. But Mackey ignored her. Laying the knife on the vanity, he turned on the water and began splashing it into his eyes, groaning.
Keeping the spray disinfectant aimed at him, Jessica moved quietly through the doorway. As she backed away from the bathroom Mackey appeared in the doorway, holding a towel to his eyes. Lowering it, he blinked, apparently trying to focus on her. His eyes were bloodshot; tears trickled down his cheeks.
“You can’t get away,” he said hoarsely. “And before you die I’m going to make you pay for what you just did.”
Jessica turned and ran. Losing her footing on the uncarpeted wood floor, she banged into the wall as she passed through the door, pain shooting through her wounded shoulder. The spray can was jarred from her hand; it rolled under the bed.
Jessica headed toward the main stairs. Glancing behind her, she saw no sign of Mackey. She realized that if she went downstairs she’d be doing exactly what Mackey expected her to. There was no way out for her there. Her only chance to escape was from the second floor. Maybe she could climb down a drain spout. Or maybe she could get down safely by using a bed sheet—or a long extension cord.
Again checking to make sure Mackey wasn’t behind her, Jessica tried the door on her right, found it unlocked, and stepped through the doorway. But instead of a room from which she might escape, she had found the stairs to the attic. She was about to step into the hallway again when she heard Mackey’s footfalls. Easing the door closed, she found herself in darkness.
Did he see me? she wondered. Afraid that the door would fly open any moment, revealing Mackey, Jessica began slowly, quietly climbing the stairs. At the top was a closed door. Jessica felt in the darkness until her hand touched the knob. Turning it, she pushed the door inward and stepped cautiously into the blackness of the attic. Musty-smelling heat engulfed her. She sank to the floor, tears rolling down her cheeks.
He’s going to kill me, she thought. He’s going to find me and … She didn’t want to think about what he might do to her.
For a while she merely sat in the attic’s hot blackness, crying. Finally she forced her tears to stop. She had to think, to decide what to do. Although Mackey was most likely looking for her downstairs right now, it wouldn’t be long before he figured out she wasn’t there. Eventually he’d check the attic.
Which left her with two options. She could try to slip unseen into one of the second-story rooms and escape through a window, or she could stay here and set a trap. She opted for the trap. Not particularly good at climbing things, Jessica doubted that she had the ability to get down using a drain spout or a bed sheet. And to jump was out of the question.
Standing up, she pushed the attic door closed, then felt along the wall until her fingers found a light switch, one of the old push-button types. Her finger shoved in the upper button, and a dim light hanging from a cord in the middle of the attic came on, revealing cardboard cartons, a couple of trunks, a dressmaker’s dummy, a stack of National Geographic magazines.
Quickly Jessica began to explore. The things in the cartons included Mason jars without lids, an American flag, coat hangers—nothing that could be used as a weapon. In the trunks, she found clothes, both men’s and women’s, everything long out of style and reeking of mothballs. Continuing her exploration, Jessica discovered a pair of roller skates, a bowling ball, one of those old monster console radios, and another stack of National Geographic magazines. Still no weapon. And she had to assume time was running out.
And then she had an idea. Hurrying to the larger of the two trunks, she dug through it until she found a heavy man’s overcoat. Then she got the bowling ball, taking both it and the coat to the door. She pulled over a wooden chair that looked as if it had once belonged at a dining table and set the bowling ball on it. Switching off the light, she waited.
This will never work, she thought. He’ll know I’m here, know it’s a trap. Pushing these thoughts aside, she tried to calm herself. Her hands were shaking, and the only sounds in the attic were her nervous rapid breathing and the thudding of her heart. Perspiration ran down her neck.
I can’t do it, she thought. I’m not strong enough.
And then she heard the door at the bottom of the attic stairs open, the squeak of a step. He was coming. Brian Mackey, the man who’d ruined her career and murdered the two men she’d most cared for, was coming to kill her, too. She held that thought as the attic door swung open and a hand patted the wall, looking for the light switch.
Suddenly the lights came on, and Mackey was standing in the doorway, the knife in his hand. Jessica threw the heavy coat over his head and, almost as a single continuous movement, grabbed the bowling ball, raised it, and brought it down with all her strength. Although Mackey’s arms flailed at the coat, he was momentarily unable to get it off of him, and the bowling ball smacked his head, dropping him as if he’d been slammed to the floor by some enormous force. Jessica lost her grip on the bowling ball; it hit the floor with a thud, and rolled lazily away.
She stared at Mackey. His head still under the coat, he lay motionless on the dusty wood floor, unconscious or maybe dead. I’ve killed him, she thought. But Jessica was unable to react to the notion. She felt numb, as if all this was too much horror for her brain to deal with and it had simply shut itself off.
Finally she realized that she had to go downstairs, find a phone, call the police. A few moments later, when Jessica found herself in the living room, she was unable to remember having come down the attic steps or the stairs from the second floor. Spotting the phone on the floor, she took it to the couch, then sat down and dialed 911.
“Sixteen-eleven Mule Run Road,” she said, remembering the address from Don’s printout. “It’s an emergency. I need help. Hurry. Please hurry.”
Not knowing what else to say, she hung up. Then she ran into the hallway and rushed to the spot where Don had been stabbed. He lay where he’d fallen, bloody, motionless. Squatting beside him, she hesitated, uncertain what to do. Then she put her hand on his chest, feeling no breathing, no indications of life.
Don, she thought, I’m so sorry I got you into this. I’m so sorry. Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes. She was too drained to deal with Don’s death right now. She had no reserves of energy left, no emotions, nothing. She was used up, empty.
The wet red spot on her shirt was larger now. The wound would have to be tended to. It might even require stitches. Her shirt was cut where the knife had slashed through it, and its top buttons were missing so that it hung open, revealing her bra. She resisted the temptation to slip off the shirt so she could examine her injury. The thing she wanted most right now was to get out of the house.
And then she realized that she couldn’t get out, because she’d forgotten to get Mackey’s keys. Did she have the courage to go back to the attic? What if Mackey wasn’t dead? What if he grabbed her as she reached into his pocket? Jessica shuddered.
Just wait, she told herself. Wait for the police to get here. But not here, not beside Don’s body. Mechanically she stood and began moving along the hall, uncertain where she was going. She stepped into the living room and found herself staring at the hate-filled face of Brian Mackey.
Instantly he grabbed her by the throat and began choking her. His eyes were red and watery, the flesh around them puffy. Unable to breathe, Jessica tried to force his hands away from her throat, but she wasn’t strong enough. It was over. She was going to die. The police would arrive too late to save her.
As she struggled for breath that wouldn’t come, the insane, loathing face only a foot or so from hers began to fade.
No! some part of her cried. No, no, no! Fight! Fight!
With all the strength she had left Jessica brought her knee up. Mackey gasped, relaxing his grip slightly, a small amount of precious air passing through Jessica’s windpipe. She brought her knee up again, and Mackey cried out, releasing her altogether. Gasping for breath, she tried to run but found she was only able to stagger. She got as far as the hallway before he caught up with her. Grabbing her from behind, he spun her around and slammed her into the wall.
Advancing on her slowly, the pain she’d inflicted to his crotch apparent on his face, Mackey grabbed her and slapped her. Then he hit her again. And again. Jessica kicked at him, missed. But Mackey, apparently anxious to protect his injured testicles, quickly stepped back. Jessica began moving away from him, knowing that if the police didn’t arrive within the next few seconds she would be dead. Mackey lunged at her.
But as he did so, a small throw rug slipped out from under his feet and he fell. Still gulping air, Jessica had only one thought, to get away from him. Dizzy, her strength faltering, she made her way into the living room, certain that Mackey would catch her again at any moment. From the corner of her eye, she spotted the fireplace and staggered toward it. When she reached it, she leaned against the big stones, feeling faint.
No, she thought. I can’t pass out. I can’t. She picked up a heavy metal poker.
Jessica turned to discover that Mackey was still in the hall, slowly getting up. She started toward him.
