Page 92 of Little Girls Sleeping
Three…
Four fluorescent lights clicked on overhead and brightened the room. Every corner was illuminated brightly to reveal an organized compartmentalized room.
One area was a stocked craftsman’s workshop where rectangular wooden boxes and bolts of fabric waited. Several small plastic containers containing thread, needles, and ribbon were stacked in the corner. He noticed specially cut lengths of ribbon in all colors and the fabric to make teddy bears like the ones at the crime scenes.
His stomach dropped and his nerves tingled as if he had been stunned with electricity. But it was the stainless-steel gurney that stopped him short. On it, secured with heavy straps, lay a motionless, dark-haired little girl. He sucked in a breath, allowing his mind to catch up with what he was seeing.
“Sheriff,” called Chad from upstairs. “What’s going on?” His voice moved closer.
The sheriff was careful not to touch anything, but went quickly to the little girl to see if she was alive. There was a weak pulse, but she remained unconscious. He recognized her as the missing girl, Dena Matthews. He immediately loosened the straps from her chest, arms, and legs. Picking up her limp body, he headed out of the killer’s lair.
“No…” Chad’s voice was choked. He stood in the doorway, his face deathly pale. “How could…?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “Is she still alive?”
“She’s still breathing. We have to get her to the hospital as soon as possible. Don’t touch anything,” said the sheriff. He was in charge and had to act like it, no matter how upset and horrified he felt.
“Should I call an ambulance?”
Carrying Dena, the sheriff led Chad to the front door without another word. “No, it will take too long for them to get here. I’m going to drive her directly to the hospital.”
After he’d secured Dena in the backseat, he took out his cell phone and quickly placed a call requesting forensics and one of the detectives on duty to come to the ranch.
“Sheriff,” said Chad. “What about… what about…”
The sheriff finished the call and turned to him. “What are you saying?”
“Is Katie in danger?”
The enemy waits for the perfect moment to attack, when you least expect it.
The counting helped to calm Katie’s nerves, and her recollection began to come into focus. She remembered watching Cisco barking like crazy at the front window as she slowly approached the house. She had been worried that the person who had left the messages might be back, hiding somewhere waiting to attack her.
She quickly assessed the profile list for the serial killer. He would be between thirty and fifty, wearing a size twelve shoe, and trained in tech work. Everything seemed personal, organized, with a repeated signature. Her gut told her that it was an older man who had some impulse control. When she got too close, he’d had to do something drastic. He had used a stun gun, which had slammed into her, causing her to pass out and hit her head. The pain was still evident on her chest, where the tiny hooks had attached themselves.
She reached behind her head and felt a wet substance seeping through her fingers from the fall. She estimated she would need a few stitches.
She knew that he’d stripped her down to her underwear in case she had a weapon or means of communication. But there was always something a killer didn’t completely count on, a slip-up, or a hasty decision that caused a lapse in judgment. There was always something that could be done to escape; it was a matter of finding out what the killer’s weakness was.
“I will never give up,” she whispered.
Fifty
Katie’s spirits rose as her heart rate returned to normal. She managed to take her mind through her army training and all the people who had made it possible for her to excel. She told herself that her current situation was just another hazard of the job that she needed to get through. She had been in many predicaments that seemed hopeless, but there was always a way out.
She estimated that she had been travelling for roughly forty-five minutes on mostly uneven roads, but that meant she could be anywhere. Her instincts told her they were headed into the countryside, due to the fact that most serial killers didn’t like to deviate from their MO and comfort zone. It was also a perfect place to get rid of a body.
Instant shivers pimpled her arms and down the back of her neck.
Stay focused.
Her hands and feet weren’t bound, which meant she could move freely.
She wasn’t gagged, so she could scream.
She knew that being stripped down to her undergarments made her more vulnerable, but he hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that she had been in the army, where you had no privacy. Modesty didn’t play any part in the military.
There wasn’t enough time to try and work on prying the lid open or making a hole in the wood. But she had noticed that the coffin was rough and haphazardly put together, which might mean that there was some weak point to the construction.
She estimated that another five minutes had passed. There had been so many left and right turns that she had lost count, but one thing was definite: she was deep in the mountains and no one would ever hear her screams.
