Page 63 of Little Girls Sleeping
He walked to the end of the cellar and turned to his right. He hesitated. A single, unidentified door greeted him. There was no handle and no indication how to open it. To most, it would seem like a closet or another area for storage; perhaps a place where the electrical breakers were located.
He retrieved a key from a Mason jar in the corner. He kept it away from his crowded key ring to make sure no one could accidentally find it. Inserting it into the camouflaged lock—higher than the usual key insert and merely resembling a gouge in the door—he turned it.
The locking mechanism clicked and the man pushed the door inward and flipped a light switch. A low motorized noise engaged and set off a well-tuned reaction.
One…
Two…
Three…
Four specialized fluorescent lights ignited overhead and brightened the room’s low ceiling. Every corner was illuminated, casting away all shadows to reveal an organized, compartmentalized room.
One area appeared to be a primitive workshop where large rectangular wooden boxes and bolts of fabric waited. Several small plastic containers containing thread, needles, and ribbon were stacked in the corner.
Along one wall, various clear and dark glass bottles adorned with skull-and-crossbones warnings cluttered a work table. Bags of saline and several different types of pain medications, paralyzing solutions, and sedatives sat neatly at the end. Stainless-steel instruments from a doctor’s office neatly filled a black satchel, sterilized and ready to be used. It was an ideal playground for a mad scientist in training.
Next to the surgeon’s tools, there was a laptop computer.
A rolling garment rack was pushed into the corner, a few small dresses hanging from it.
As the man slowly sauntered through his workshop filled with ominous items, he ran his hand along the meticulously clean countertops. It surprised him every time he performed this routine gesture that he felt an electric shock through his fingers and up his arm. It was more than a static reaction. It was life given over to him.
He stroked his fingers across a custom table carefully crafted from assorted leftover lumber found at various locations, complete with shelves and drawers underneath. The flat surface measured three feet by five. The beautifully stained and varnished top was one of his most prized accomplishments.
The deep vastness of color.
The brilliant sheen that glowed from every angle.
The amazing depth and density still caused his heart to flutter. It was more than a suitable location for his work; it was his center of creation.
Lying on top of the table, secured with heavy straps generally used to move furniture, was his latest victim. Her long brown braids lay next to her shoulders; her pretty, blue cotton top was smooth and clean.
Dena Mathews would never know what had happened, or the identity of the man who had snatched her at the park.
He leaned closer to her. Her flawless skin accentuated her petite features. Her eyes remained closed. Her chest moved subtly up and down.
“Little girl sleeping,” whispered the man as if he was reciting a nursery rhyme. It was his favorite moment. He hummed and then whispered personal encouragements into her ear—he knew she could hear him.
He lifted her eyelid and saw that she was in a deep medicated sleep. Letting his hand linger against her face, he remained a little while longer just to admire her.
“Sleep, sleep…” he said in a loving tone. “I will be back later to complete the task.” He smiled slowly as he allowed his lips to gently touch her cheek. “Sleep for now…”
Thirty-Four
With her eyes closed and taking deep steady breaths of oxygen, Katie began to feel alert and stronger. She could still hear the sound of the explosion in her mind. It was something that changed you, skewed your understanding of the world, but strangely made you feel more alive. Not because you’d barely survived but because you lived another day.
She opened her eyes to see several people standing close. Her uncle and two police officers stared at her with solemn expressions.
She removed the oxygen mask and said, “I’m fine, really.” Her voice was strangely hoarse and anxious.
She could see firefighters battling the blaze, which had jumped to other structures on the property but had luckily left the Havens’ house untouched.
Voices yelled out. Water drenched what was left of the barn.
“I want her taken to the hospital to be checked out,” ordered Sheriff Scott.
Katie shook her head adamantly. “No, I’m fine. I don’t need to waste their time.”
