Page 31 of Yuletide Guard

Was he a rapist?

A murderer?

“Wh-where do you want me to go?” she asked as she stopped at the end of the street.

“Turn left,” he said like he didn't really care where they went.

If he didn't care where they went then why did he want her to drive him somewhere?

“Now right,” he ordered.

She did as she was told.

“Pull over just up there.”

They had only driven a block or so, and he wanted her to stop already?

“Please,” she said again.

“Stop saying that,” the man snapped.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to the rear vision mirror. In it she saw the face of a man with short cut brown hair, big brown eyes, scarred skin, and a deformed ear. Was it also the face of her killer?

“I did what you asked. Let me go, please,” Maeve begged.

“I told you to stop talking.” The man moved the knife away from her neck and pressed his hands to his ears like he was trying to shut out more than just her voice. Maybe he was insane, and that was why he was doing this.

Since the knife was no longer at her throat, she had a chance to escape. All she had to do was undo her seatbelt, open her door, jump out, and run and not stop running until she got help.

“This will show them. This will teach them to keep what’s mine away from me. This will make them give her back,” the man was mumbling to himself. Maeve didn't know what he was talking about, and she didn't care. He was distracted, if she ran now, she didn't think he would even notice until it was too late, and she was already out of the car.

Her hand was on the door handle when the first blow came.

It got her right in the back, slicing in between her shoulder blades.

Pain flooded through her, and she cried out.

Another blow got her in the shoulder.

Maeve could feel her blood gushing out wetting her, it was warm and sticky and the more of it she lost, the colder she became.

She felt the third blow, and the fourth, by the fifth she was starting to fade.

After the eighth, she was gone.

*****

10:39 A.M.

“Stop,” Tom said.

Chloe immediately stopped the car. “What?”

“There.” He pointed out the window at a café they had just passed. He held up the photo he’d been clutching as they drove around trying to find the location in the message Michael Stein had received. They only had twenty minutes left to find the woman in the photo before the stalker killed her. “Does that look like the café in the picture?”

His partner leaned over so she could get a clearer look. “I guess it kind of does.”

She didn't sound convinced. “See there,” he pointed to a corner of the picture where they could see the window frame, “that large dint, it looks like a car backed into it or something. And see there,” Tom pointed at the corner of the window in the café they were parked in front of, “there’s a dint there too, and it’s in the right spot. And there, see the table in the window, in the picture you can just see that the chairs aren’t all the same color. One is green, one is blue, and one is red. This café has the same arrangement of chairs.”

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