Authors: Angie Martin
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Crime, #Murder, #Serial Killers, #Supernatural, #Psychics, #Suspense, #Mystery, #Police Procedurals, #Paranormal, #Thrillers
Conduit
This
edition published by Indie World Publishing & Author Services via Amazon
KDP
Text
© Angie Martin 2014
ASIN
#B00ISJO1D2
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical
events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names,
characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and
any resemblance to actual events or places or person, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. In accordance with U.S. Copyright Act
of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this
book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and
theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material
from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must
be obtained by contacting the publisher. Thank you for your support of the
author's rights.
Cover
Art by:
Novak Illustration
To
learn more about author Angie Martin,
please
visit her website at
www.angiemartinbooks.com
Indie World Publishing & Author Services
P.O.
Box 819
Dewey,
AZ 86327
This work of fiction contains adult situations that may not
be suitable for children under eighteen years of age. Recommended for mature
audiences only.
Dedicated to Andrea. Without you, your friendship, and our crazy
antics, this book would not exist.
In loving memory of John, Grams, and Aunt Carol…very, very
special people who can never, ever be replaced, and will never, ever be
forgotten.
So many people were instrumental in the writing of this
book. Thank you to my husband, Johnny, who always supports my crazy dreams and
puts up with me more than he should. Thank you to Mom, for always being there.
I have one word for you: ubiquitous. Thank you to Marisa, for providing a
comforting shoulder when it’s needed, and even when it’s not. If I ever write a
book about Vikings, I’ll name one after you. Thanks to Becky once again for
being the best beta reader, and thank you to the rest of my beta readers who
took a chance on my book and provided invaluable feedback.
Finally, thank you to everyone who ever taught me about
criminal behavior and forensics. I had some absolutely amazing professors at
Johnson County Community College in Overland Park, KS in the Police Academy
building. They taught me so much during my junior college experience, both in
class and in the ACJA LAE. Every college student should be so lucky to have access
to these great professors in their formative college years. To this day, I
still miss playing with fake blood spatter.
Death whispered to Robin Stewart.
For what seemed like hours she listened to its seductive call teasing and
tormenting her. Huddled in a corner of the dark room, a blanket of fear curled
around her shaking torso, yet death never quite touched her. Failing to catch
its prey, its vicious laugh rolled over the dark shadows and tried to consume
the last of her resolve.
Light extinguished the darkness of the catacomb where death
licked at her. Having been deprived of light since she woke up, Robin squeezed
her eyes shut. She tried to speak to whoever turned on the light. Bile washed
into her mouth and acid tickled the back of her throat, causing her to cough
into the binding strapped across her mouth. The painful gag stretched her
cheeks to their breaking point and stopped her from making any distinguishable
sounds.
Robin opened her eyes and her vision adjusted to the spray
of light from the ceiling. Stains of various shades decorated the dark concrete
walls. Her eyes fell to the cold, smooth tiles on the floor, the grout between
the white squares stained with black and tones of red. The faint smell of
bleach explained the whiteness of the tiles, although every so often, a strange
discoloration appeared on them.
With her hands bound behind her back, she pulled her knees
up against her chest. She rocked back and forth several times, and used the
momentum to get into a crouching position. Her fingers spread out behind her
and she pressed her fingertips into the tiles to help her stay balanced on her
feet.
She continued familiarizing herself with the room, looking
for a means of escape or something to use as a weapon. The floor sloped down on
all sides, meeting in the middle at a reddish-brown drain, rusty from years of
neglect. She glanced up at three bare light bulbs dangling from the middle of
the ceiling. Two glowed bright white, while the third flickered yellow-orange.
On the far side of the room, plumbing descended from the ceiling and attached
to a hose with a cheap spray nozzle at the end. A stale, musty stench clung to
the air, as if the room had never been exposed to the outside world.
The room had no windows and a lone door acted as the only
exit. The possibility of escape made her want to race toward the door, but
Robin remained cautious, not knowing where the door might lead. The idea of
running into whoever turned on the lights in the room made her hesitate.
A memory flashed in the back of her mind and she walked
through the last events she remembered. She had worked her usual Wednesday
night shift at the pharmacy. Only Tim and Sherry remained in the store when she
left. There had been half a dozen customers all night, and she used that excuse
to leave her shift an hour early.
Robin wanted to visit her mom at the hospital and still make
it home before the spring thunderstorm outside worsened. The nurse who worked
at the hospital on Wednesdays always let her visit her mom after her night
shift, even though visiting hours ended a few hours before she arrived. With
cancer ruling her mom’s body, the nurse understood the value of every moment they
spent together.
At that night’s visit, Robin planned on telling her mom
about her date last Saturday night. Her mom lived vicariously through the
details of Robin’s dates, even if they ended in doom. The bad ones gave them
something to laugh about and Saturday night’s date was mighty humorous.
Before she left the pharmacy, Tim urged her to borrow his
umbrella. She had complained earlier that she swore she brought one with her,
but couldn’t find it among her personal belongings in the break room.
Robin thanked Tim for offering his umbrella, yet left
without taking it. It wasn’t so far from the back door of the pharmacy to her
car. She sloshed through puddles and dodged the bullets of rain, wishing she
had taken advantage of Tim’s offer. Fiddling with her wet keys, she noticed the
burned out parking lot light above her silver Kia, but she sensed nothing out
of the ordinary.
Her fingers fumbled with her keys until she grasped the
remote and pressed the unlock button. Though her clothes were already soaked
through, she cursed at the rain flying into the car and onto the seats. When
she set her purse down on the passenger’s seat, her umbrella looked back at
her. She scowled at it. “A lot of good you do me in here,” she said. She pushed
the key into the ignition and the engine turned over.
Then the man spoke to her.
Robin jumped to her feet at the memory of the voice. Calm
and strong, he had told her not to be alarmed. A sting in her neck and blackness
followed his words. Once she woke up, the smell of the partially finished
basement overwhelmed her and the taste of saliva and salty tears dampened the
gag in her mouth.
She wanted to rip out the gag so she could scream and yell,
but she didn’t know if that would help. The sound of the rain outside did not
penetrate her personal catacomb, and the thick, concrete walls kept out the
whistling wind. Even if she could remove the gag from her mouth, she doubted
anyone would hear her cries for help.
Still, she wanted to be free of the terrible tasting
material. The gag made her claustrophobic more than anything else in her
present situation. Having her hands restrained behind her back made getting her
gag out impossible. She tugged and pulled against the coarse binds, her wrists
burning with every movement, but they were too tight.
With the last of the rain still damp on her clothes, the
last of her tears streaked down her cheeks with remnants of hysterical
whimpering. Frustration with her inability to free her hands tempted her to
lose control of her fears again. She smothered the next round of tears before
they fell from her eyes. She would not be alone in the formidable basement for
long and did not want the man with the melodic voice to see her in a broken
state. Robin needed every ounce of strength and every bit of composure if she
hoped to exploit any opportunity to get away.
The creak of an opening door screamed through the quiet
room. A brighter outside light cut into the dim basement and illuminated the
silhouette of a man. He turned around and closed the door, shutting out the
brightness behind him. An ordinary-looking man, he towered above Robin, which
wasn’t hard since she barely reached five feet tall.
He stepped toward her, and Robin dedicated the next moments
to memorizing the man’s features, searching for things she might use later to
identify her kidnapper in a police photo or lineup. Short, dark hair framed his
round, boyish face. Excited steel blue eyes radiated beneath two chickenpox
scars on his forehead. His ears were small in respect to the rest of his head,
and one of them had a tiny hole where an earring used to reside. Most of all,
she would remember the charming, chilling smile that crossed his face. When she
escaped, all of these details would help the police find this man.
But she would not escape, Robin realized. Details of this
man would do her no good because she would be dead. If he intended to let her
go, he would not have brought her to a cold basement to sit for hours. He would
not have bound her wrists and gagged her mouth, leaving her sense of sight
untouched. If he thought she might escape, she would be blindfolded, unable to
view the features of the man who stood in front of her, studying her like she
did him.
The man’s hands reached around her head and loosened the
gag. His smile grew when it fell from her mouth. Her first instinct was to
scream, but his eyes captivated and hypnotized her. Screaming would do her no
good, not with the silence beyond the walls. This meticulous man would not have
brought her to a place where anyone could hear her. The underlying confidence
of his piercing blue eyes confirmed her thoughts. Beneath the man’s handsome
features, a monster emerged through those normal eyes. With no gag covering her
mouth, her chin quivered and the tears she suppressed a few moments ago burst
forth.
“Shhh,” the man said. “You’re okay.” His warm, tenor tones
soothed her ears and for a moment, she believed him.
“Please,” Robin said in a weak, unfamiliar voice. Her words
gurgled out with more tears. “I’ll do whatever it is you want. Just get it over
with and let me go. My mom, she’s very sick.”
The man laid his hand on her shoulder and massaged her skin
through her cotton shirt. His other hand went to her face and stroked her damp cheek.
The loving and tender motions did not calm her, but raised goose bumps on her
neck and arms.
“I understand your need and desire to care for your mother, but
for our encounter to be successful there is something you must understand.”
His eyes dug into her thoughts, probed her soul, and
controlled her emotions. They implored her to listen and believe his words. “This
isn’t about you, Robin. It’s about something much larger than you can imagine. You
are doing a great thing by being here today.”
The man removed his hand from her cheek and clasped his
hands in front of his waist. “I’m afraid your time with your mother is over.
She will, however, succumb to the cancer. The doctors only gave her two more
months.”
The coldness that originated with his hand on her cheek
spread to her core. He knew her name and he knew about her mom’s illness, but
Robin had never seen the man before tonight. Her name would be easy enough to
find out, but how could he know about her mom’s prognosis?
“When the doctors say two months,” the man continued, “sometimes
they’re being generous. Take comfort in knowing she will soon join you in the
great beyond. Two months of your mother dying alone in a hospital bed will be
but the blink of an eye for you while you wait for her out there.” He waved his
hand in the air, gesturing toward an unseen dimension.
Robin’s body shook, her hands convulsing within the confines
of her restraints. “Let me go! My mom can’t survive without me. She has no one
else to care for her.” The words poured out of her mouth uncontrolled, and
Robin barely heard her voice beneath the fear pounding in her ears. “Please!”
The man turned around without responding and walked toward
the door. After he left the room, Robin dared to exhale. Something she said
must have gotten through to him.
She stared at the door. The man left it ajar and the light
that seeped through the slight opening beckoned her. He must have left it open
on purpose, giving her a chance to leave. She only had to walk through the
door.
Salvation waited for her on the other side of that door and
the light would lead her there, sparing her from death’s relentless pursuit.
Hope guided Robin’s feet in the direction of the light, and gratefulness
rejuvenated her heart when she reached the door. Tears leapt from her eyes,
propelled by relief this time instead of fear. Her hands still bound behind her
back, she used the tip of her left shoe to nudge the door open.
The man rushed through the door and grabbed Robin’s shirt,
lifting her just above the floor. He pushed her toward the wall and the rubber
heels of her work shoes squealed against the tiles. Her head slammed into the
cold concrete wall and her hands twisted between the wall and her back.
His fingers wrapped around the sides of her neck and
tightened around her throat. Robin choked and gasped against his hand. Wisps of
air found a way into her lungs, but not enough to stop her vision from
blurring. Her eyes bulged and death swirled around her mind, threatening to
steal her away from the world.
The man loosened his grip on her throat, just enough for her
to breathe. Robin gulped air into her burning lungs, but death did not leave
her side. The man raised his right hand and showed her the knife. She had never
known a knife to look so sharp.
Robin remembered his earlier words. The man believed she
served a purpose. She did not know what he intended for her, except it would
result in her death. Yet if he was only going to kill her, he would have
already squeezed the life out of her. The serrated edge of the knife warned her
death would not come that easily.
“I want you to scream her name,” the man said, his voice as
calm as when she heard it coming from the backseat of her Kia.
He released her throat and his fingers found the bottom of
her shirt. He exposed her abdomen like a patient lover, and the knife moved out
of her sight. The cold steel kissed her bare skin and she sucked her stomach
away from the sharp edge.
The man’s lips moved against her cheek as he spoke, death
whispering in tandem with his hushed tone. “Scream Emily’s name. Scream it as
loud as you can. When she hears you, I’ll make the pain stop.”