Page 40 of Scorched

And Elise...how much torture could one woman stand? The fear she must be feeling had to be overwhelming.

Paul climbed into his truck and headed for the sheriff’s office. He had to tell Sheriff Engel about the notes. Holding back information was almost as bad as committing the crime.

Elise wandered around the house,checking each window lock, door lock and deadbolt. Her cozy little house felt more like a cage than a home. She needed a fortress, not a house of sticks.

The cell phone rang. She hurried to answer, thinking it might be Paul with another round of cautions. She didn’t care, she felt more secure in his presence, even when it was only his voice. The caller ID displayed “Unknown”.

“Did you forget something?” she asked, her voice slightly breathless, the feel of Paul’s lips still tingling on hers.

“No, I remember every detail.” The voice wasn’t Paul’s. It was mechanical and disguised. “Did you like my artwork?”

Cold chills shook Elise so hard her teeth rattled. “Who is this?”

“You know who.”

“No, I don’t.”

“After eight years of marital bliss, you’d forget me so soon?”

“My husband is dead.”

“Are you sure I’m dead? Did you bury me yourself? Did you see my body?”

“No,” she whispered, her hand shaking so hard she almost dropped the telephone.

“Does the fed make you scream in bed like I did?”

“Shut up! My husband is dead.”

“Does he make you cry out his name?” the mechanical voice said.

“None of your business!”

“Get rid of the new boyfriend, Alice. He’ll never be enough man for you. He didn’t catch me. He’s not the hero everyone makes him out to be.”

“What do you know about being a man? Do you think real men are supposed to hurt women?” She forced a laugh she didn’t feel. “Any man who hurts women is a coward. You must be afraid of other men, if you have to hurt women to get off.”

She must have struck a chord in him because the phone remained silent for several long moments.

“Do you hear me?” Elise turned away from her boys’ bedroom door and walked into the kitchen, placing distance between her children and her. They didn’t need to know. They shouldn’t have to know. “You’re a coward.”

“Don’t make me mad, Alice.”

“Why? Can’t you take it like a man?” Why didn’t she just shut up? Why was she egging on a killer? Why was she so angry? Because her anger masked her fear, stiffened her spine and made her want to take action.

Elise Johnson was tired of being afraid. Tired of running. Tired of men controlling her life. “Leave me the hell alone.”

“Sorry, baby. I can’t.” The mechanical voice breathed into the phone, the static crackling in Elise’s ear. “Say goodbye to pretty Mary Alice.”

A woman screamed in the background.

“No! Wait!” Elise gulped past the horror clogging her throat.

“Change your mind? Want me to visit you instead?”

“No! Don’t hurt that woman. Please.”

“Why? Are you willing to take her place?”

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