The van careened onto the main street, sideswiped a parked car, and slid into a spin sideways. Stark slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, sped forward, and fishtailed around the next corner. He was going eighty now as he raced toward the park. The van almost turned over as he took another corner on two wheels, but it righted itself as he swung the wheel hard to the left. He turned yet another corner and there it was, the back entrance to the park through the preserve.
The mule wasn’t behind him now, and Stark was certain he’d lost him. Giggling, he slowed down and entered through the joggers’ path. The van bounced along the black tarred surface, the left wheels gliding on smooth surface and the right wheels grinding over rocks at the edge of the path.
He thought he heard Laurant groan. He had to stop himself from leaping over the seat and tearing her skin to shreds with his bare hands. The rage was getting stronger, and the thoughts were coming so fast now, he was having trouble concentrating. He reached up to adjust the mirror so he could watch her. She was huddled in a ball on her side with her back to him, and she wasn’t moving. His mind was playing tricks on him, convinced now that she hadn’t groaned. He’d only imagined it.
He was so busy watching her, he almost drove the van into the lake. He swerved back onto the road, then adjusted the mirror again so he could see behind him. Because of the angle the path took, he had to slow the van down even more. He couldn’t slow his mind though. He glanced over his shoulder to look at Laurant again, but it wasn’t Laurant that he saw. It was the whore, Tiffany. He shook his head. Then, just as suddenly, it was Laurant again.
He wanted to stop and close his eyes. He wanted time to clear his mind and get organized again. He had to be organized. He was a planner, meticulous down to the very last detail. He didn’t like surprises. That’s why he was so rattled, he decided.
The surprise of seeing the blond priest leap in front of Tommy boy. The priest with the gun, shooting at him. The priest who wasn’t a priest at all. Stark couldn’t get over the fact that the mules, as stupid as they were, had actually tricked him. He’d never considered, not for one second, that Tommy’s friend was a mule in disguise.
Oh yes, that was why he was so rattled now. They had tricked him into making a mistake. He sighed then. He could feel himself becoming centered again. The thoughts weren’t bombarding him. Control, that was the ticket. He was getting his control back.
"Almost there," he sang out to Laurant. He slowed the van so he could edge through the pines when he reached the main road that wound around the lake. Then he increased the speed again. The Buick was about two hundred yards away, parked between the trees behind the abandoned shack. He couldn’t see it yet, but he knew it was where he’d left it, ready and waiting.
"Almost there," he repeated. All he had to do was drive around the entrance to the park, then along the curve, and hide the van among the trees.
He had just reached the road to a cabin when he saw the green Explorer again. The SUV shot through the entrance of the park and then slowed to take the turn.
"No." Stark slammed on the brakes. There wasn’t time to back the van, turn it around, and try to outrun the mule. He couldn’t go forward either. Nicholas would see him and block him. What to do? What to do? "No, no, no, no," he chanted.
He threw the gear into park, grabbed his gun, and jumped out of the van. Because he’d removed the door handles on the inside so that his lady friends couldn’t escape while he was busy driving, he had to run around and open the door from outside.
He shoved the gun in his jacket and then reached with both hands to lift her. A new plan. Yes, a new plan. He could do it. He’d get her inside, where it was nice and dark, and he’d work on her there, with the doors locked. The mule would be outside, trying to get in, listening to Laurant’s screams. The mule would make mistakes then. Yes, he would. And then Stark would kill him.
Laurant didn’t come awake slowly or in a foggy daze. It was instantaneous. One second she was unconscious, and the next she was struggling to keep from screaming. She could feel the bile burning the back of her throat
She was inside his van. She didn’t move for fear he would see her in the mirror or hear her groping around the floor for something to use as a weapon. She dared a quick look, saw the toolbox, but she’d have to move to get it. It was against the back door. Could she get out that way? Swing the door open and jump? Where, where was the latch? She squinted in the darkness, and then she saw the gaping hole in the back door. The madman had taken the handles off. Why would he do that? Her feet were pressed against the side door, but she couldn’t see if that handle had been removed as well unless she moved, and she didn’t dare.
She was shaking now and tried to stop, terrified that he would notice and know she was awake. The van hit something in the road. She was lifted and then thrown into the back of the front seat. A second later, she was thrown back again when the van lurched forward. She felt cold metal against her chest. The safety pin was pressing into her skin. She fumbled to get it open. Her hands were trembling, so she almost dropped it, and she caught the whimper before it escaped. She unhooked it and then bent it until it was straight. She didn’t know what she was going to do with it, but it was the only weapon she had. Maybe she could drive the pin through his throat. Tears stung her eyes. Her head hurt so much, it was an effort to think at all. Was he watching her now? Did he have a gun in his hand? Maybe she could jump him from behind, surprise him.
Ever so slowly she moved her legs up, thinking she could turn and spring upward, grab him by the neck, and then slam his head into the steering wheel. But something was holding her. Her skirt was caught. She was afraid to turn her head and look for fear that he would see.
The van suddenly came to a jarring stop. She did drop the safety pin then, but she grabbed it from the floor before she heard the door open. Where was he going? What was he going to do?
Oh God, he’s coming for me.
She had to be ready. When he tried to get her out of the van, she, would have to be ready. Frantic, her hands violently shaking now, she hooked the pin around her middle fingers, just above the knuckles. The metal fastener dug into her skin, tearing it as she hooked it there, anchored so that the long needle was sticking straight out. She cupped her left hand around it, trying to hide it.
Don’t let him have his gun in his hand. Please, God, don’t let him have the gun. She couldn’t spring up and get him if he was holding the gun. He’d kill her before she touched him. If he does, I’ll wait. Make him carry me. He’ll put the gun down if he has to carry me.
The van moved when the side door was slid open. Her eyes were tightly closed, and she was trying not to cry as she silently prayed.
Help me, God, please help me…
She could hear his harsh breathing. He grabbed her by her hair and jerked her toward him. When he bent down to pull her out of the van, she opened her eyes and saw the gun. His fingers dug into her sides as he lifted her over his shoulder.
He was strong, terribly strong. He ran with her draped over his left shoulder as though she weighed no more than a speck of dandruff on his collar. Laurant’s eyes were wide open now, but she didn’t dare lift her head for fear that he’d feel the movement. As long as he thought she was unconscious, he wouldn’t focus on her. She recognized the abbot’s cabin up ahead.
She heard a car coming toward them, then the madman’s obscenity. He ran up the steps and then suddenly stopped.
She heard him jiggling the doorknob, but it was locked. A second later, a gunshot went off next to her ear. She flinched, and she was sure he felt it.