The Devil, the Witch and the Whore (The Deal Book 1) Read online

  I bump against the wall several times, but finally I push through the door and come back out in the main part of the diner, next to the counter. I know there's a phone here, there has to be a phone here, but so far I don't see anything.

  You're missing it, I tell myself. It's here somewhere. It has to be.

  Suddenly the bundle of cloths falls from my stump, and more blood splatters down to the floor.

  Panicking, I grab the cloths and wrap them in place again, and this time I take an apron from a nearby hook and wrap it around the bundle, hoping that this time they'll all stay in place.

  “Come on, please,” I stammer, hurrying along the counter. Suddenly my knees buckle and I fall, slamming against the wall. I try to reach out and support myself, and for a fraction of a second I swear I feel my missing left hand. After reaching and grasping for a couple of seconds, however, I have to forcibly remind myself that the hand is gone. Whimpering like a little kid, I quickly get up again and keep searching until I reach the counter's far end and turn to look back along the diner.

  And that's when I see him.

  The man is out at the front of the building again, walking calmly toward his truck and swinging my severed arm as he goes.

  Shivering like crazy, I stumble toward the window and drop to my knees, and then I watch as he makes his way past the truck and stops at the line of seven buckets. He hesitates for a moment before reaching down and dropping my severed arm into the third bucket from the left, and then he turns and looks straight at me.

  I still can't see his face, not in the darkness, but somehow I can feel his gaze. And that's when I realize what's going to happen here.

  I'm going to die.

  No.

  No, that's not true. I'm not going to die, not tonight. Not at the hands of this asshole.

  I'm not going to die, because I'm eighteen goddamn years old and my life is not going to end like this. No fricking way. I'm not a helpless little girl, I'm eighteen years old and I can fight back against this lousy asshole.

  “You want a piece of me?” I scream, banging on the dusty window as he continues to stare at me. “You think you can do this to me? Come and try it, then! I dare you!”

  Feeling a sudden surge of strength, despite all the blood I've lost, I struggle to my feet while keeping my eyes fixed on the man's silhouette. Again, I swear I feel the ghost of my left hand for a few seconds, but I force myself to rely instead on my other hand, which at least is really still there.

  “I'm not going to die here,” I whisper as I take a step back, feeling more and more certain that I can save myself. “Do you hear that, asshole?” I yell, hoping that he really can hear me out there in the parking lot. “I'm not going to die, because I am too strong for you to take me down. You don't have a goddamn chance!”

  He's still staring at me through the diner's dirty window. He doesn't seem to have reacted at all.

  “I've got a plan!” I scream. It's a lie, but I figure it's worth a shot to slow him down. “I've got a phone and a plan and knives, so you'd better get the hell out of here if you don't want the cops all over you!”

  I wait, but he hasn't reacted at all.

  “Go on!” I shout. “Run! It's your only shot. You're gonna -”

  Before I can finish, I burst into tears and drop back down to my knees. My chest is shuddering and tightening at the same time, and it takes a moment before I'm able to pull myself together again.

  And then I hear him.

  Footsteps on gravel again, and I look out just in time to see him stepping around the buckets and making his way toward the diner's front door. I stare for a moment at my severed left hand, which is poking out from the top of the bucket, and then I realize that the bastard with the ax is coming back into the diner and I need to be ready to defend myself.

  “You're making a huge mistake!” I yell, although I can no longer hide the sobs in my voice. “You should run while you still can!”

  He starts walking up the steps.

  Turning, I stumble back around the counter and into the kitchen, just as I hear the front door swinging open.

  “Damn you!” I hiss, looking around for something, anything, I can use as a weapon. This is a kitchen, so there has to be a set of goddamn knives somewhere. For a moment, in my mind's eye, I picture myself clutching a dozen huge knives in each hand and then rushing at the bastard.

  I could do that.

  Screw mercy.

  If I get a chance, I'm taking this asshole down. I'll gouge his goddamn heart out if that's what it takes.

  Hurrying to the nearest set of drawers, I start rummaging through the contents, but so far all I'm finding are rolling pins and spoons. I can still feel the sensation of my missing left arm and hand, and I have to force myself to remember that they're no longer there. I head to over to the next set of drawers, with no better luck, and then finally I pull another drawer open and see a set of gleaming knives.

  “Thank you, God!” I stammer. “Thank you so much!”

  After pulling a couple of the largest knives out, I step back and then duck down out of sight. A fraction of a second later, I hear the dividing door swing open, and I realize that the man is in the kitchen with me.

  I hold my breath, not daring to make even the slightest sound.

  All I hear is silence.

  Did he turn back?

  Is he scared? Does he realize I have the knives, and that I can fight back?

  Or is he stalking me, edging closer and closer without making so much as a squeak?

  I take a slow, quiet breath. I'm starting to feel weak again, and I know the cloths around my severed arm are coming loose. I'm going to pass out soon, but at the same time I have to drop this bastard first. I tighten my grip on the knife's handle, and I realize that I'm going to have to drive it into his goddamn chest at the first opportunity. No holding back, no second thoughts, just a cold, hard strike. Even if I don't kill him, I have to at least slow him down. But I can kill him. I'm not some little kid who'll get scared. When I get the chance, I'll drive these knives into his heart and I won't ever, ever have any regrets.

  I am not going to die tonight.

  A moment later, I hear the faintest of bumps from nearby, as if the man's shoe caught against something. He must be over by the stoves, but now the kitchen has fallen silent again.

  I'm not going to die.

  I'm not going to die.

  I'm not going to die.

  I keep repeating those five words in my head over and over, using them to force the pain away and keep my mind focused. There's no goddamn way that this asshole knows exactly where I am. Hell, he probably thinks I made a run for it through the back door. In fact, as the silence stretches out and a couple more minutes roll past, I can't help wondering whether he might have left already. If he knew I was here, there'd be no reason for him not to come at me, and he can't risk having me run out into the forest.

  Maybe the kitchen is silent because he's long gone. Maybe he's out there in the forest right now, searching for me, and this is my only chance to get away.

  I almost lean forward to peer around the corner of the cabinet, but at the last second I hold back. After all, he might still be here, he might just be waiting for me to show myself. I should wait, even though I'm feeling weaker by the second, and I'm worried I might pass out right here on the floor. I need to time this perfectly. Too soon, and he'll come at me with that ax. Too late, and I'll bleed to death. Reaching up, I push the cloths back into place, but I can feel warm blood soaking through the fabric.

  I have to make a decision.

  I wait a few seconds longer, listening to the absolute silence of the kitchen, and then I tell myself that I need to peer around the edge of the cabinet and see if there's any sign of the man. I can't keep hiding. That's what a little kid would do, but I'm old enough to be brave. My heart is pounding so hard, I can barely believe he can't hear it from all the way outside in the goddamn forest, but slowly I start to lean forward until I'm able t
o see partway around the cabinet's side.

  There's no-one there.

  I look back over my shoulder, to make sure he's not creeping up behind me in the dark, and then I turn and lean a little further past the edge of the counter.

  Still nothing.

  Just dark cabinets and counters.

  I feel a little burst of hope in my chest at the thought that maybe, just maybe, he's gone. If he's out in the forest searching for me, I at least have some time to run toward the highway. Still, although I want to get to my feet and head for the door, I don't dare make my move, not yet. One wrong choice, and I'm dead.

  A moment later, I feel more blood start trickling through the cloths.

  I lean out further, but now I can see almost half the kitchen and there's definitely no sign of the man. I'm still terrified that he could be lurking nearby, although after a moment I realize that I can use this goddamn knife to fight back. I just have to be ready for him.

  I count to three in my head, before stumbling to my feet and turning. I press my back against the wall and hold the knife up.

  The kitchen is dark, but there's clearly no-one else here.

  He's gone.

  I take a couple of steps to the left, just in case the bastard happens to be hiding behind one of the cabinets, but he's definitely gone. I must have been right after all. He took off into the forest, searching for me. Maybe I finally got my first lucky break since this nightmare started, although a moment later I look toward the dividing door and realize that he might still be lurking out there.

  My first instinct is to go to the back door, but then I figure he might still be able to see me from the forest. Instead I head to the dividing door and peer through into the darkened main section of the diner, but there's no sign of anyone and I can't hear a sound. All the booths are empty, and I can't even see anyone on the other side of the large, dusty window.

  Please be gone. Please be gone. Please be gone.

  I wait, before gently easing the door open. The hinges creak, but apart from that there's not another noise in the entire place.

  This feels too easy.

  Stepping through, I hold the knife up, ready to defend myself in case he comes for me. I can see his truck still parked out front, and my arm is still in one of the buckets. The sight of my silhouetted hand, with its fingers curled into a half-fist, sends a punch of nausea to my belly, but I know I have to keep moving. That asshole is going to come back from the forest soon, and I need to be long gone by that point.

  I glance around once more, just to double-check that he's nowhere to be seen, and then I keep my back against the wall as I edge toward the front door. The diner is so quiet now, but all I have to do is get to the door, make my way down the steps, and then run as fast as I can toward the highway. I'm already feeling weak, but I figure adrenaline will keep me going. That, and the fact that I know, deep down, that I'm not going to die here tonight. I'm not some pathetic little bitch who gets hunted down and murdered by a backwoods freak. I'm tougher than that.

  This isn't my destiny.

  With the knife still raised, I make my way around the counter and over toward the door. I'm shaking so much, I almost fall, but finally I get to the broken window and -

  Suddenly something slams into my back, cracking through my shoulder on the right and sending me thudding into the wall. Even before I have a chance to cry out, I feel the ax's blade being torn out of my body. I cling to the door-frame and try to turn with the knife in my hand, but a second later the ax thuds into my waist and I fall, slamming against the floor. An involuntary groan erupts from my lips, as if all the air is being forced from my lungs.

  The man puts his boot on my right hip, steadying me as he pulls the ax out.

  “Please,” I gasp, realizing I dropped the knife, “don't -”

  Before I can finish, he grabs my right foot and drags me back several meters across the floor, and then he lets go again.

  I reach out for the knife, but a moment later I feel an immense pain as the ax crunches straight through my right leg, severing it just below the knee. At least, that's what it feels like, but I quickly tell myself that can't be what really happened. Sobbing and panicking, I try to crawl forward, but then I feel even more pain as the ax slices through my other leg. I reach out toward the door with a trembling hand, and a moment later the man steps around me and pulls the door open anyway.

  Through tear-filled eyes, I see that he's carrying my severed legs.

  “No!” I scream, watching in horror as he makes his way down the steps and over to his truck. “Help me! Somebody help me!”

  The door swings shut. I can still see the distant highway. All those bright, moving cars are so close, but still so far away.

  A moment later, I watch as the man reaches down and puts my legs in one of the buckets. Then he turns and carries his ax back up the steps, coming into the diner again.

  “Help!” I scream as soon as he pushes the door open. Maybe someone from the highway will hear if I just shout loud enough. “I'm in here! Help me!”

  The door swings shut and I immediately start sobbing again.

  “Why are you doing this?” I whimper, leaning on my remaining elbow as I try to turn and drag myself back into the kitchen.

  I was safe in the kitchen.

  I should have stayed there, but if I can get back, maybe I can still hide and -

  Suddenly he grabs my right arm and holds it up. I scream and try to wriggle free, but he quickly slices the ax against my shoulder and rips the arm away, although a strand of muscle remains and he has to cut again. Once he's done, he turns and carries the arm back outside, no doubt to drop it into another of those goddamn buckets.

  Still screaming, I try desperately to wriggle toward the dividing door, but my arms and legs have all been severed and I can barely move at all. I know I'm going to get out of this, I know I'm going to survive somehow, but I can't figure out what to do next. I'm panicking, but something's going to save me. It's not my destiny to die here tonight. Not like this.

  “Help me!” I scream, louder than I ever thought anybody could scream, as I feel pools of warm blood soaking through my clothes. “Somebody help me! I need -”

  Before I can finish, I feel him grab the hair at the back of my head, and he starts lifting me up. I cry out and try to struggle free, but I'm powerless to resist as he slowly turns me so that I'm facing him. For the first time, I'm able to make out some of his features in the low light, and I see a calm face with large, penetrating eyes that seem fixed on me with shocking intensity.

  “I'm not going to die!” I hiss, barely getting the words out as I continue to sob. The stumps of my legs are bumping against the cold, tiled floor. “You can't kill me! I'm -”

  I scream as he flashes the ax toward me, and I feel a sudden sharp pain in my neck, followed by a heavy thump as something falls to the ground beneath me.

  He lifts my head up, and suddenly I feel so much lighter. For a moment, I can't work out what happened, but then he turns and starts carrying me toward the door. As he does so, he swings me around and I look back to see a limbless, headless body on the floor, surrounded by blood.

  I try to open my mouth to scream, but I can barely move at all. Meanwhile, fresh blood is spattering down from my neck and I can feel my thoughts getting smaller and smaller, as if my mind is switching off and I'm falling asleep. My eyes flicker slightly, and a moment later I feel the cold night air as I'm carried down the steps. He's holding me by the hair, and my head is bobbing about.

  I'm going to survive.

  I'm too strong for this bastard to kill me.

  I don't know how, but I'm going to get out of this.

  Suddenly he swings me down and drops my head into one of his buckets with a dull thud. Then he stops for a moment, staring down at me with the ax over his shoulder, and it's almost as if she's waiting for something.

  I can't move my lips, I can't even cry out. All I can do is blink one final time, staring up at the man
from down here in the bucket, and then everything starts fading to black. Once my vision is gone, I can still hear for a couple of seconds, and it sounds as if the man is heading back into the diner to deal with the rest of my body. I hear the door swinging open, and then it bumps shut again.

  I can get out of here. I try to scream, but I can't move my mouth at all. I can still get away, though. I just have to be smart and think and come up with something.

  This isn't my destiny.

  I'm not going to die.

  I refuse to be some kind of -

  Part One

  Homecoming

  One

  Leanne Halperin

  “This place is so different,” Ramsey says with a smile as she and I take our seats. “Did they, like, redecorate or something?”

  “Yeah, barely,” I reply, before taking a sip of soda. “I mean, some kid was abducted from here a few years ago and no-one ever saw him again so I guess they tried to, like, freshen things up. The bus terminal was already known as this gross place full of junkies on heroin, and most people knew to keep away, but then a little kid named Tommy Hague was abducted and murdered, so the bus company finally got around to cleaning the place up. It's, like, totally gross.”

  My voice trails off, and after a moment I shudder.

  “That's so messed-up,” she mutters.

  “No kidding!”

  “But how do they know he was murdered?”

  “Of course he was murdered,” I point out. “Like, why else would you abduct a little kid? He was probably, like, chopped up after the killer had done loads of depraved stuff to him. It's totally sick. He was only, like, five years old.”

  “You don't know that's what happened to him.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “You don't!”

  “It's how the world works,” I continue. “Five-year-old kids don't get abducted from bus stations by people who wanna look after them. One day they'll find his body somewhere, and there'll be all this evidence of, like, horrible stuff that was done to him. He's probably buried out in the forest. Guaranteed. It's sick to think of what that kid must have gone through in his final moments. Then again, we live in a sick world. Cheers.”