Love Lies Bleeding Page 6

  “I know, and I can’t go back.”

  “Now that you know what love is supposed to be like.”

  “I’m just looking to match this empty shell to my departed soul.”

  Karli looked as if she might speak again, but then had nothing to say. She grabbed Pamela’s wrist and pulled her farther into the forest.

  •••••••••

  They ran and ran and ran.

  Finally, Pamela was forced to twist her wrist from Karli’s grasp and stop stumbling along behind her best friend. She leaned against a tree, very winded. “I’m going to pass out.”

  “Bad idea. Got to keep moving.”

  “No one is who they seem to be,” Pamela moaned. “Including Grady.”

  “That’s not my secret to tell,” Karli said cautiously. “I’ll get you to a safe place and we’ll sort this all out.”

  Shep’s voice boomed out from the forest behind them. “I spy with my little eye something that is white,” he taunted from far too nearby.

  Karli yanked Pamela behind a tree, then looked around trying to catch sight of Shep.

  “Whoops. Where she go?” Shep, still hidden somewhere in the forest, laughed.

  “Shit! Okay, this is what we need to do … where’s the laptop?” Karli asked.

  “In the car?”

  “Shit!”

  “Fe, fi, fo, fum. I smell the blood of a dumb, dumb blonde!” Shep taunted. He was obviously close enough to hear the girls’ conversation, but still hidden from their sight.

  “I’ve got to go back.” Karli checked the bullets in her gun.

  “Are you crazy? You know he won’t be satisfied with a tooth. Or, in your case, a notch on his bed post.”

  “It doesn’t count, you know, as a number on your personal total, if you have your fingers crossed.”

  “Or if they don’t know the true you?”

  “Exactly. Go. I’ll circle around. Find a path and follow, it’ll eventually take you to one of the parking lots or out of the park. Stay near people. Then go to our coffee shop, I’ll find you. Go!” Karli ducked around a tree and ran in the opposite direction.

  “Karli!”

  “Pamela! We aren’t done, darling!” Shep’s voice receded deeper into the trees as he chose Karli as his first target.

  If Shep had an iPod he might have chosen to play Rich Hope’s song, My Love is a Bullet to underscore his hunt. Its pounding, punishing guitar rift would have pleased him, but perhaps such a choice was beyond his ability to understand his personal motivations. So it was instead Pamela, who’d seen Rich play the Piccadilly Pub many years before, to whom the lyrics rose unbidden. Perhaps the words were recalled by her pounding heartbeat as she ran and ran and ran farther into woods.

  •••••••••

  Pamela dashed into a clearing and stumbled. Unable to catch her balance, she pitched face forward, though her dress softened her landing as it wrapped around her legs. She released the breath she’d been holding in a puff of frustration and with an edge of despair. She looked around.

  She was surrounded by forest in every direction. A rusted chainsaw was partially hidden in the brown fir and cedar needles that coated the ground. She scrambled forward in a crawl to pick up the saw, but it was so heavy she could barely lift it, let alone run and wield it.

  A surprised scream and then a gunshot echoed from the direction Karli had previously headed.

  Pamela dropped the saw, frozen in place, and listened.

  More gun shots sounded.

  “That’s five rounds,” Shep, his voice muted by distance and trees, crowed.

  Another scream reverberated through the trees from Karli, this one filled with frustration. The voice was silenced by a harsh thump.

  Then … nothing.

  Pamela began to hyperventilate.

  She scrambled to right herself, but was impeded by the tangled dress. When she finally gained her feet, it was only to throw herself forward again on all fours as she dry retched in fear.

  Shep rounded a tree in a light jog. Seeing Pamela, he stopped a few feet away to grin down at her. He spun his knife into the air, deftly catching it by the handle. “That’s all you got? At least Grady died doing something he believed in,” he taunted.

  Pamela wiped the spittle off her face, and, eyes locked to Shep, slowly rose to her feet. The dress in no way impeded her, as if it knew that now was not the time. Shep’s grin widened in anticipation. Pamela clenched and unclenched her fists. He flipped the knife again.

  Pamela spun and ran.

  Shep caught the knife without looking. His disappointment in Pamela’s cowardice was soon assuaged by his anticipation of the hunt renewed.

  Pamela fled for her life, her wedding dress streaming after her, even though if she’d been asked, she would have said she had no life left to live. Perhaps it was pure, adrenaline-fueled survival instinct that propelled her through the forest. Perhaps she was just fleeing the pain, no matter what package it was delivered in.

  Shep followed in a casual jog. He was in no rush to end anyone’s pain.

  •••••••••

  Farther through the forest, and ironically just off a path, a couple of hikers were using a fallen tree for a bench while they ate a snack.

  Pamela burst through the trees and stumbled into them. The Gore-Tex-clad hikers were momentarily stunned to see a disheveled bride burst out of the woods. The male hiker lost hold of his peanut butter sandwich.

  “Please … Please …” Pamela tried to beg, but couldn’t catch her breath.

  “Are you okay?” the female hiker asked, and then nudged her male counterpart.

  “Yeah, bloody hell.” He stood and crossed to Pamela. “You scared the shit out of me, out of us.”

  The woman rummaged around in her backpack and found a bottle of water, which she opened and handed to her companion. He offered the water to the gasping Pamela, who gulped it down between broken sentences. “I need help. Or at least directions. I’m being chased by a psycho … killer, though given the day I’ve been having, I could be wrong about his intentions.”

  “Oh, you’re not wrong, baby,” Shep said from behind Pamela. She dropped the bottle of water as she whirled to see him casually wander into the impromptu picnic area. The ground eagerly absorbed the spilled liquid. Rainforest or not, the canopy of trees kept the land dry.

  “Listen, buddy,” the male hiker said, as he stepped up to shield Pamela. “You’ve really scared this lady here.”

  Shep slowly closed the gap between himself and the others.

  “Wait, no!” Pamela cried.

  Shep suddenly embedded his knife in the gut of the hiker, then swiftly ripped the blade upward. Pamela stumbled back.

  “No!!” the female hiker screamed as she lunged forward. Pamela, in an attempt to stop further carnage, sprung sideways to wrap herself around the woman. The hiker easily fended Pamela off, though, knocking her once again to the ground. Unfortunately for Pamela, blood loss and malnourishment didn’t at all stand up to strength and agility.

  Shep, after watching nose to nose as the blood-gurgling man died, allowed the body of the hiker to drop at his feet. He once again held his knife at the ready. The hunting blade dripped blood. The woman flung herself forward across the man’s body, and, though she was obviously terrified and shocked, she did so silently.

  Shep held his bloody knife up like a prize for Pamela to see. It was the same gesture he’d used with Mr. Doyle, the bloody pliers, and Pamela’s tooth. It seemed Shep liked an audience just as much as Mr. Doyle liked to watch.

  Pamela couldn’t find her voice to scream.

  Shep flipped the knife up into the air. It spun up and up and then down and down to land in his open palm. Only now the blade was pointing downward. As his hand closed over the hilt, Shep plunged the knife between the female hiker’s grieving shoulders.

  Pamela choked on the scream caught in her throat. And moment
arily, as if trapped in a nightmare, she couldn’t move. The scream strangled her from within. She was going to die from asphyxiation, with the deaths of the hikers on her balance sheet, nowhere near Grady.

  “She should have run, shouldn’t she?” Shep said, as he pulled the knife from the woman’s back to point it at Pamela. “You ran. Does that mean you loved Grady less or more?”

  Pamela was turning purple from lack of air.

  Shep lunged over the hikers toward her.

  She instinctively rolled away, which forced the trapped air out of her throat. Then, with the motivation of automatically inhaling, she somehow mobilized into a run.

  Playtime was over, and, perhaps high on the scent of blood fumes, Shep was eager to catch his ultimate target. He was insanely hot for Pamela’s haphazard trail.

  •••••••••

  As they ran even farther into the forest, Shep was almost mesmerized by Pamela. Her ivory dress was a sharp contrast to, and offered no camouflage among, the trees.

  “Moths only know where they are in relation to the proximity of the moon,” Shep called after Pamela’s fleeing back. “That’s what you are, a big white moth. Not beautiful enough to be a butterfly, and I suppose Grady was your moon.” Shep laughed harshly. He was always at his sharpest during a hunt, as if he was a honed weapon himself. He liked being sharp, and feeling capable. More than capable. He was a perfect killer.

  Pamela veered off through a stand of trees and Shep quickly cut sideways in a jog to keep her in sight. “I look forward to being the flame that snuffs you out. First Mr. Doyle wants answers, but he won’t make me be so nice this time.”

  He picked up the pace of his jog and began to run.

  •••••••••

  Pamela veered into a clearing in the forest, tripped over a large branch, and went flying. She barely managed to break her fall.

  A bit behind her, Shep laughed.

  She looked up, and despite the frantic beating of her heart, she noticed an old stump of a tree hidden behind the large tree she had fallen by. The stump was jagged, as if the tree had died and then cracked off years ago rather than being cut.

  Pamela rolled over to look back into the woods. She couldn’t see Shep.

  She reached for the large tree branch that had tripped her.

  •••••••••

  Moments later, Shep stepped into the clearing. He paused, growing even more elated when he saw the train of Pamela’s dress tucked at the back of the large tree she was hiding behind. “Oh, are we done the running part of the program? Where, oh, where, could little Pamela be?”

  He jumped around the tree with a mocking growl and a cartoon wild-beast stance. Then he faltered when he saw only the skirt of Pamela’s dress draped over a tree stump.

  Realizing his mistake, Shep turned back just as Pamela rounded the tree from behind and smashed the branch across his head.

  He fell.

  Hard.

  Pamela, wearing only the bustier of her dress, lacy underpants, and heels, bludgeoned Shep with the branch. She hit him over and over and over again. Blood from some punctured artery spurted across Pamela’s legs, the shock of it causing her to reel back.

  She lowered the branch, trying to calm herself, but never took her eyes off the bloody pile of man that was Shep at her feet.

  He gurgled.

  “Shut up! Shut up!” Pamela, suddenly absolutely hysterical, hit him again and again. He didn’t make any further noise. “Just shut up! You! You killed Grady! Grady! You killed him! You killed … you killed … you’ve killed me!”

  Shep didn’t move.

  Pamela, suddenly as exhausted as she had been hysterical a moment before, dropped the branch. She stood for a moment and gazed into the forest. Except she wasn’t really looking at anything at all.

  Shep’s blood dripped down her legs.

  One bird called to another. Pamela had never known bird calls. She didn’t have an ear for any kind of music. Grady would have known what it was. Grady would have known what to do. Grady had always known.

  Her arm twitched, and then her leg. She turned toward her skirt.

  She stepped around Shep, pulled the skirt off the tree stump, and pulled in back on over her blood-splattered legs. That was better. It wouldn’t do to wander through the woods only half dressed.

  •••••••••

  Retracing her route through the forest, Pamela, still rather out of it, wandered through the trees until she stumbled upon Karli lying at the base of a large cedar.

  “Karli?” Pamela dropped to her knees and tentatively touched Karli’s shoulder.

  Karli groaned and reached up a shaky hand to her head. A trace of blood had trickled down her forehead. “What an asshole,” she moaned. “I mean, I knew he wasn’t a nice guy, but … I think he threw me head first into that tree.”

  “Can you get up? Wait, do you think you should get up? What if your neck is broken?”

  Karli turned her neck carefully, one way and the other, then shrugged. She beckoned for Pamela to help her as she slowly sat up.

  “Where’s my gun? Do you see my gun?”

  Pamela stood and looked around. Karli, using the tree for support, slowly gained her feet. Pamela found the gun a few feet away and pointed down at it.

  Karli tentatively stepped away from the tree, and when she didn’t fall down, picked her way over toward Pamela and the gun. “Where is the prick?”

  “Back a ways.”

  “Uh-huh.” Karli took in Pamela’s glassy expression and bloodstained bustier. “Well. I didn’t know you had it in you.” She looked oddly grim at this revelation. She checked her gun for bullets, and, noting it was empty, her scowl deepened. She then turned and walked away.

  After a moment, Pamela followed. Not because she actually wanted to go, but as if pulled that direction by Karli’s energy.

  Karli glanced over her shoulder to make sure Pamela was behind her. Her jaw was clenched and her eyes narrowed in calculation. She looked very unhappy, and not just because she probably had a concussion as well as some sort of a spinal injury. She was tough. She could handle getting injured. The agency could handle any cleanup, but Pamela … Pamela was going to be a long-term problem.

  THE NIGHTMARE

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Bungalow, Kitsilano

  With the time it took for Karli to hot-wire Erwin’s car and navigate traffic across the Lions Gate Bridge and through downtown Vancouver, it was late in the afternoon before she and Pamela veered onto the cracked and grass-overgrown driveway of a ‘60s-style bungalow. Pamela was in the passenger seat, and not even remotely interested in her surroundings.

  The other houses in the neighborhood had been updated and remodeled. This should have made the rather neglected home look out of place; instead, it just made it more invisible. Real estate prices were through the roof in this area of Vancouver, which was coveted for its ocean and mountain views and its proximity to the city center. Developers often shoved letters through the bungalow’s mailbox, as there seemed to be no other way to contact the absentee homeowners.

  Karli and Pamela exited the car, though Pamela had to be coaxed out. Using a key Karli retrieved from underneath a moss-encrusted empty flowerpot, they entered the house.

  •••••••••

  The small foyer of the bungalow opened into a sparsely furnished living room. Karli pushed the pile of mail that had accumulated by the door out of her way with her foot. While she looked around, she tossed the keys in her hand in a gesture oddly reminiscent of Shep and his knife. It was a subconscious mimic. The windows, swathed in curtains, provided only dim light. The air was stale. The side tables were dusty. Karli tucked the house keys in her purse — she was still wearing the slut outfit — and turned back to Pamela. “It’s cool. Come in.”

  Pamela, once again clutching the laptop to her chest, reluctantly entered.

  “You’ll be safe here,”
Karli said.

  “Yes, but I want —”

  “To go to Grady, to kill yourself. I don’t know why you even bothered in the forest, or coming back for me.”

  “I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you. And my … death, I want on my terms, with Grady.”

  “Listen. Various people, obviously, seem to think that Grady might have sent you sensitive information. That info needs to get into the right hands.”

  “Your agency’s hands?”

  “They’re the good guys.”

  Pamela, not wanting to continue the conversation, placed a hand on her jaw and exhaled all the pain she was holding at bay. She was utterly exhausted.

  “Wait,” Karli said, and then hustled down the hall farther into the house. Alone, Pamela glanced around, seeing a sparsely and impersonally furnished space that made it rather obvious no one lived there. Then Karli returned with a pill bottle for Pamela. “For your tooth.”

  Pamela hesitated. Karli sighed and then shook a couple of pills into her hand. She dry swallowed them, then opened her mouth for Pamela to see. She held the bottle out to Pamela, who took it.

  “Who lives here?”

  “For now, you. Take two of those pills now and give me the bottle back.”

  Pamela nodded obediently, then crossed through a far doorway and into the kitchen.

  •••••••••

  Clutching the laptop to her chest with one hand, Pamela palmed some water from the sink tap and swallowed two pills.

  Karli leaned against the counter that ran between the stove and fridge. “I’ll be gone, tops, one hour. You take a shower and a nap and I’ll be back with a doctor.” Pamela stared at the water still running out of the tap and didn’t answer. Karli reached over and shut off the tap. “If we get through this and you still want to kill yourself, I’ll drive you to the cemetery myself. Okay?”

  Pamela looked up at Karli as if to verify the truth of her words. Seemingly satisfied, she nodded. Karli held out her hand and Pamela, a little reluctantly, gave her the pill bottle back.

  Karli turned to leave the kitchen but then paused at the door to the living room. “First door in the hall to your right is a bedroom with an en suite.”