grew more and more excited. Finally a bellow. Pain? Pleasure? Rage?
Then he jumped off the bed, cursing loudly. She felt the box moving, being jerked, dragged from beneath the bed.
But instead of opening it, he was hammering it shut, tighter…pounding, pounding, pounding….
“LISA!”
It took her several seconds to realize that she had lapsed back into her nightmares. Even when she was awake they haunted her.
It took her another minute to realize the pounding was real. Someone was knocking at the door.
She hugged her arms around herself, panicking. Had the killer found her?
“Lisa! It’s Brad. Let me in, or I’m going to bust down this door.”
Jerking back to reality, she fidgeted with her hands, then finally willed her legs to be strong enough to stand. Brad’s voice broke through the haze again, and she rushed to the door, nearly stumbling over the braided rug on the floor and knocking a magazine off the end table in her haste. She’d phoned him only a few minutes ago, told him to come over. But then she’d sat down, started remembering….
“Lisa!”
“Just a minute.” She fumbled with the door lock, her hands shaking. Finally, she unfastened the lock and chain, then opened the door.
He stalked in, his dark eyes stormy. “For God’s sake, are you all right? You scared the hell out of me when you didn’t answer!”
Then his gaze met hers, and he must have read the truth in her eyes, because he reached out for her. She fell into his arms, clutched at his shirt and let him hold her.
TIME PASSED IN A BLUR of nonreality. He had lost time before. Had awakened with only a hazy memory of where he’d been or what he’d done. And it was happening again….
It had to be the medication.
He opened his eyes, his stomach convulsing as pain rifled through his temple. The dull throb became more incessant as it filtered through the rest of his body. He felt so damn weak. Just like before. But he’d been given a second chance at life.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way, though. Dark. Painful. Dreary.
He was supposed to be happy. Full of life. A strong, virile man. Able to do things he hadn’t done in a long time.
Fading sunlight fluttered through the blinds, slicing diagonal rays across the room. He rolled to his side to block it out, then stared in shock at his hands.
They were bruised. Dirty. Covered in blood.
Dried blood. Dark. Crimson. Crusty.
Blood also stained his shirt and pants. Red clay caked his fingernails and his boots. Scratches marred his hands and arms, as if he’d been pawed by an animal. His shirt was torn, the rip revealing more deep gashes on his chest. And he was sweating profusely.
What the hell was happening to him?
His head reeling, he turned sideways, swung his legs over the side of the bed and swayed, dizzy. Grabbing the edge of the mattress to keep from falling, he held himself steady while the room settled. More sweat coated his body and ran down his neck and back. The stench of some foul odor assaulted him. Swamp water. A sewer maybe.
He scanned the room, questions ticking in his head as he read the hands of the clock: 6:00 p.m.
The last thing he remembered was walking out the door twenty-four hours ago.
With unsteady hands, he reached for his pills and choked one down. Were the dark images that had slipped into his dreams real, or had he’d imagined them?
The blood on his hands indicated that he hadn’t simply dreamt of vile acts, but that he’d performed them. That he had enjoyed them. That she had deserved it.
That tonight he would lose time again, that he would fade into the abyss of darkness where a monster’s soul stole his body, that he would continue to do so until someone stopped him.
But they would have to catch him first.
And that was not an option.
CHAPTER FOUR
BRAD TRIED TO STEADY his raging heart as he held Lisa, but the familiar fear that had gripped him four years ago returned with a vengeance. When she hadn’t immediately answered the door, he’d nearly gone out of his mind with worry. And now, feeling her in his arms again, her chest rising and falling as she gulped in air, her slender frame trembling against him, the scent of her feminine shampoo invading his senses, he was helpless to do anything but stroke her silky hair and mutter nonsensical words.
Damn it. He had to get a grip. His career depended on it. And so did Mindy’s life.
Slowly, forcing his brain back into professional mode, he eased away, studying her as he would a stranger.
Except Lisa wasn’t a stranger.
Her face had lost the rosy color and bright smile she’d worn at the day care when she’d danced with the children, the change a stark reminder that he’d resurrected the painful memories that she’d tried so hard to bury.
“Brad…I’m sorry. For a moment everything rushed back.”
Anger ripped through him. “You don’t have to apologize, Lisa. For God’s sake, I know I’m the last person you want to see.”
She dropped her hands from his shirt, backed away, hugging her arms around her waist as if he’d called it right, and she had no idea what she’d been doing. Long lashes fluttered over pale cheeks that now looked drawn with worry.
“Are you all right?” he asked, knowing good and well she wasn’t.
“Yes, I’m fine.” The same valiant look she’d managed to wear during the trial slid back on her face.
He shuffled, dragged a hand through the short strands of his hair. It was a mistake for him to have come here.
“Sit down,” she said quietly. “I’ll get some coffee.”
He gave her a clipped nod, forcing detachment into his expression as she hurried away from him to the adjoining kitchen. Figuring she needed time to assimilate, and he needed it to regain his bearings, he turned and surveyed her small cabin. He’d been here maybe a half-dozen times over the past four years, and the homey atmosphere never ceased to amaze him. Yet her new home felt more impersonal.
Lisa didn’t keep clutter or knickknacks, no small ceramic kitty cats or collections as she had in her other apartment. To break the awkwardness when he’d first visited her here, he’d asked about that, but she’d turned sheepish and merely shrugged. He’d finally decided that she didn’t want the space to feel cramped—a remnant of her traumatic days in the box where White had locked her. She needed open spaces, room to breathe….
After growing up in a foster home and sharing a room with other orphans, he understood about feeling crowded.
The
