Grace Brookstein is dead.
My name is Lizzie Woolley.
I’m a twenty-eight-year-old architect from Wisconsin.
“North, huh?”
The driver’s voice brought Grace back to reality. “How far north?”
Grace hesitated.
“I only ask because you ain’t got no case or nothing. And you look like you’re dressed for Florida.” He chuckled. Grace noticed the way he stared at her bare legs. Instinctively she crossed them, pulling her skirt lower.
“I left in a hurry. My…my sister’s been taken ill.”
It was such an obvious lie, Grace blushed. The driver didn’t seem to notice. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Lizzie.”
“Pretty name. You’re a real pretty girl, Lizzie. I guess you already know that, huh?”
Grace pulled at the top of her blouse, looking for another button to do up, but there wasn’t one. This guy was giving her the creeps.
Without warning, he swerved to the side of the road, bringing the van to a sudden halt. Grace jumped.
“Sorry. I gotta take a leak.” Unclicking his seat belt, he jumped out.
Grace watched him disappear behind the back of the van. Her mind was racing.
Should I get out? Run? No, that was crazy. She needed a ride and she’d gotten one. She’d let him take her fifty miles or so, then get out near a small town somewhere. I can’t afford to get spooked by every guy who hits on me. That’s what men do, right? He’s okay.
Two minutes later, the driver returned. He was carrying a thermos and a Tupperware container full of sandwiches. He must have gotten them from the back of the van.
“Hungry?”
Grace’s stomach gave an audible rumble. She was starving.
“Yes.”
He turned on the ignition and pulled back onto the road. “Well, go on, then, Lizzie. Knock yourself out. I already ate, but my wife always packs me extra.”
So he’s married. Instantly, Grace relaxed.
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”
She started to eat.
GRACE WOKE UP IN THE BACK of the van with her face pressed to the floor. Her wool skirt had been pushed up around her hips and her panties yanked down around her ankles. The driver was on top of her. His hand was between her legs.
“That’s right, Lizzie. Nice and wide now. Open up for Daddy.”
Grace groaned. She tried to move, but her body felt as if it were made of lead. With the added weight of the driver on top of her, it was impossible. With his free hand he forced his swollen penis inside her.
“No!” Grace didn’t know if she’d said the word aloud or in her head. It made no difference. The man kept thrusting, deeper, harder. There was nothing frenzied about his movements, though. He was taking things slow. Enjoying himself. Grace felt his hands move upward, clawing under her bra until he found her breasts.
“How about those titties?” He was whispering in her ear, taunting her. Grace could feel the prickle of his mustache against her cheek. “You awake now, Lizzie, are you? I feel you stirring down there.” Another thrust. “How does it feel, baby? Is it good to get fucked? I’ll bet it is. Well, don’t worry, Lizzie. We got all night.”
He continued to rape her. Unable to move, Grace tried to think. He must have drugged me. The flask. He must have slipped something into the tea. She wondered how late it was and where they were now. Were they still near Bedford, or had hours passed? She couldn’t hear any traffic.
We’re probably somewhere secluded. Woodland. Where no one will hear me scream.
What would he do when he’d finished with her? Throw her out into the woods? Kill her? Slowly the thick fog in Grace’s head began to clear. In his eagerness to get inside her, the driver had left her clothes on, even her shoes.
My shoes…
His movements were getting faster now as he built to a climax. Grace gritted her teeth, waiting for him to come, but he suddenly stopped, pulling out of her and flipping her over onto her back like a rag doll. Looking up at his face, into those flat Asian eyes dancing with sadistic pleasure, Grace knew: He’s going to kill me.
The rape was just foreplay.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered her.
Grace lifted her legs in the air, spreading them wide then wrapping them around his back, pulling him back inside her. “Make me.” She gazed into his eyes, her pupils dilating with excitement.
He smiled. “Well, well, well. So you do like it, little Lizzie. Even better. This is going to be quite an evening.”
He started fucking her again, faster this time. Grace tightened her grip around his waist. Inside her left shoe she began to move her toes till she could feel Cora’s stiletto.
“Yeah! That’s it, baby!”
Grace felt the muscles stiffen across his shoulders and back. He started to ejaculate, then suddenly pulled out of her. Holding his grotesque, twitching penis in one hand, he knelt over her, pulling her mouth open with his other hand. Grace felt the hot spray of his semen on her tongue, down her throat. She gagged. He was laughing, closing his eyes, lost in sexual pleasure. This is it. This is my chance. Arching her back, with one single, fluid movement, Grace pulled off her shoe, grabbed the knife, flicked it open and plunged it between his shoulder blades.
For a split second the driver remained kneeling, a look of shock and bewilderment on his face. Then he fell forward, silently, the blade still stuck in his back like the key in a windup toy. It took all of Grace’s strength to wriggle out from under him and remove the knife. Blood spurted from the wound like water from a faucet.
Grace rolled him onto his side. He was trying to talk to her, mouthing words, but all Grace could hear was a bloody gurgle. She kicked him hard in the crotch. He already looked incapacitated but you could never be too sure. After rifling his pockets for cash and anything else of value, she hurriedly pulled on her underwear and straightened her clothes, making sure she still had Karen’s “survival package” of documents. Then she went around to the front of the van and took the car keys, as well as the thick, lumberjack jacket the man had been wearing when he picked her up.
Ready.
Walking back to the rear of the van, Grace opened the door. The driver was still alive, but barely. Underneath him the pool of blood was growing bigger, like a deep red puddle. When he saw the knife in Grace’s hand, his eyes widened.
“No!” he gurgled. “Please…”
Her intention had been to finish the job. To drive the knife in to his heart, in and in and in and in, like his sick, rapist’s dick, until he was dead. But watching him beg for mercy, hearing him plead so pathetically for his life, Grace changed her mind.
Why let him die quickly? He doesn’t deserve it.
I’ll leave the bastard where he is. Let him bleed to death, slowly and alone.
Grace flipped the blade shut, turned and ran.
IT WAS TWO HOURS BEFORE GRACE reached the outskirts of the nearest small town. The road signs proclaimed it to be Richardsville in Putnam County. Dawn was breaking, a faint strand of burnt-orange light forcing its way through the black night sky. At intervals during her long walk, she’d heard the distinct, insectlike whirring of choppers overhead. They’re hunting for me already. She wondered if they’d found the van driver? If they were close? Adrenaline coursed through her bruised body, along with a torrent of other, conflicting emotions: Disgust. Terror. Pain. Rage. She’d been raped. She could still feel the evil man inside her, hurting her, violating her. She had also just killed a man. Thinking about the fear he would feel as the life drained out of him, alone in those dreadful woods, Grace recognized another, unfamiliar emotion in the maelstrom: hatred. She was not sorry for what she’d done. But all her feelings and thoughts were eclipsed by one, overriding sensation: exhaustion.
She needed to sleep.
The Up All Night Motel looked like something out of the opening credits of a horror movie. Out front, a flickering, cracked neon sign promised LUXURY INDIVIDUAL BATHROOMS and COLOR TV IN EVERY ROOM! Inside, the oldest man Grace had ever seen snored quietly at the reception desk. His gnarled face was crisscrossed with lines and his body looked ancient and shrunken. He reminded Grace of someone. Yoda.
“Excuse me.”
He jerked awake.
“Help ya?”
“I’d like a room, please.”
Yoda looked Grace up and down. She felt her stomach turn to water. Does he recognize me? She was so nervous she was sure her teeth were chattering, though she could conceivably pass that off as cold. She’d tried to make her voice sound firm and authoritative when she asked for the room, but it came out a frightened quaver. Can he see I’ve been attacked? Can he smell that bastard on me? Maybe I shouldn’t stay here? I should keep moving. But she knew she was too exhausted to go on.