The Follower (44 page)

“Stop crying,” he said. “There’s no reason to…Oh, wait, I get it, they’re tears of joy, right? You’re so happy to see me, you’re crying. I know, I’n happy, too. I’n so glad I came here to get you. I want to kiss you, but I’n going to have to let go of your mouth. You won’t start to scream, will you? Because if you do, your parents will wake up and that wouldn’t be a good thing. Okay, I’n going to move my hand away. Ready?”

He lifted his hand. Her lips were trembling as if she’d just come out of a freezing swimming pool.

“So beautiful,” he said.

He looked at her for a few moments with a contented half smile, like a proud father admiring his baby in a crib, and then
he closed in slowly toward her to kiss her. Instinctively, she started to jerk away, but stopped herself, knowing that avoiding the kiss would offend him. She had to do what he wanted—for now anyway.

Kissing him, feeling his moist lips, and the sickeningly warm breath from his nostrils, was the worst experience of her life. It was worse than being date-raped. After several seconds he tried to work his tongue into her mouth, and she had to let him. It took all her strength and concentration not to vomit in his face.

Finally the kiss ended.

“Perfect,” Peter said. “Just like in the park.”

Katie wanted to spit at him, the fucking bastard.

“Okay, you can get up now,” he said. “Get dressed, put on some shoes. I noticed you didn’t unpack yet, so you can just take the suitcase with you—that’ll be perfect. Tomorrow you can call your parents and explain that you took an early bus back to the city.”

She was starting to believe that he hadn’t killed her parents after all. She remembered hearing the noise in her closet before—Peter could have been hiding there all along and her parents were in bed asleep, unharmed.

“Get up slowly,” he said.

She did as she was told, then put on the clothes she had worn earlier—jeans, a sweatshirt, and, luckily, running sneakers. The sneakers were key. If she had a chance to escape and had to run, she’d be ready. She was also glad that she had her cell phone in her jeans pocket. It was turned off, but if she needed it later, it would be there.

When she was through getting dressed, Peter said, “Wait,” and turned off the stereo, then took another look around. Katie had no idea what he was checking for, but then he said, “OK, let’s go. But walk as quietly as you can, and don’t say a word till we get to the car.”

Katie left the room ahead of him. He was still holding the knife, and she knew that if her parents heard a noise and woke up, or just happened to leave their bedroom to go to the bathroom, Peter would kill them both.

Trying to walk as quietly as possible, wincing each time the floorboards creaked, she headed toward the stairs. Then she and Peter both stopped when they heard a noise from the direction of her parents’ bedroom. She looked at Peter, and if she had any remaining questions about him, what he was capable of, they were answered right then. She saw his hate, his rage, his total disregard for human life. He was a cold-blooded murderer, a monster who killed people with his bare hands. It was so clear, she couldn’t believe she’d been so oblivious for so long.

Katie knew that if her father’s prostate was acting up and he left the bedroom to go pee, Peter would kill him. Then he’d kill her mother, too. People’s lives didn’t mean anything to this fucking psycho.

Katie and Peter continued to stand perfectly still, staring at the door. But then, as the seconds went by, it became increasingly clear to Katie that the sound they’d heard was probably her mother or father shifting in bed, and that neither of them was going to leave the bedroom. Finally Peter nudged Katie and they continued toward the stairwell.

They went outside and headed away from the porch light into the darkness. She wanted to ask him where they were going, but remembered he’d instructed her to not say a word till they got to the car, and she didn’t want to do anything to upset him. It crossed her mind that maybe she’d misjudged him, that he was only angry at her for running away from the city, and he wasn’t going to take her into the woods and cut her throat open.

As they neared East Street, he let go of her hand and dug into his pocket—she heard keys jingling. Then he turned on a small flashlight-type thing; it didn’t cast much light, but in the total darkness it was enough to at least see the ground in front of them. She still wanted to know where the hell he was taking her, but she felt a little more hopeful now because they were on a road. Although cars only occasionally came by, especially at night, maybe if she got lucky, someone would come by and see them, maybe notice the knife in Peter’s hand and call the cops. Or maybe Katie could try to flag the car down, get it to stop. But no cars were coming, and there was almost
total silence except for the sounds of crickets and Peter and Katie’s crunchy footsteps.

They turned into the parking lot of the Lenox Middle School and approached the only car there. As they got closer, the light from the key chain shone on the New York license plate: RBP*9FL. She memorized it, just in case.

He opened the driver’s-side door and said, “Get in.”

Katie hesitated, wondering if this was a bad idea, if she should just make a run for it. She was wearing her sneakers; she worked out, was in shape. But Peter was wearing sneakers, too, and he also worked out, and could probably outrun her. Besides, where would she go? Home, so he could follow her and kill her parents? Her other option was to start screaming, but she wasn’t sure anyone would hear her, and Peter would definitely lose it. No, she had to keep playing along until a better opportunity came up.

She got into the car and he got in after her.

“If I put the knife down, you won’t freak, right? I mean, I can trust you, can’t I?”

“Of course you can trust me,” she said.

She thought she’d delivered this perfectly, with no hesitation.

“Great,” he said, and he rested the knife on the floor, next to the brake pedal.

He started the car and looked in the rearview as they backed up.

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you yet,” she said.

He waited till the car was in drive and they were heading toward the road before saying, “Thank me for what?”

“For rescuing me from my parents.”

“You mean you’re not angry?”

“Why would I be angry? I mean, okay, the knife was a little overboard, but I understand why you did it. You wanted to get me away and you didn’t know how else to do it. I just wish it could’ve been easier.”

They turned left and were approaching Housatonic Street.

“In what way?” he asked.

“I wish you didn’t have to come get me. I wish things had worked out differently in New York. I wish a lot of things.”

Katie thought she was doing a good job. Her voice was steady, not trembling at all.

They turned left on Housatonic Street, heading toward Route 7. Was he planning to go to New York, back to his apartment? She hoped so. It would be good to be in a populated place, where there were people around who could help her. She’d been so safe in Manhattan and hadn’t even realized it.

“It’s great you feel that way,” he said, but he didn’t seem very excited.

At the light at Route 7 they turned right. Fuck, they weren’t heading toward Manhattan. They were going north to Pittsfield, Vermont, freaking Canada.

“So, where are we going?”

She tried to get a playful, even naughty tone in her voice, as if she thought it was exciting to be dragged out of bed at knifepoint and taken to an unknown location. Like she had a kidnapping fetish or something.

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” he said.

“Come on, you can tell me,” she said. “I’n gonna see it soon anyway.”

“It’s a surprise,” he said again, and she knew that pressing was useless; he wouldn’t budge.

She didn’t like this at all. She worried that she’d made a huge mistake, leaving the house. Maybe he wouldn’t have killed her parents. She and her mom and dad would’ve out-numbered him anyway. Her dad was in his fifties, but he was in pretty good shape. Maybe they could’ve overpowered Peter, restrained him till the police arrived. But now it was one against one and she’d have zero chance.

Keeping the lovey-dovey bullshit going, figuring it was still her best shot to save herself, she said, “It’s so good to see you, to be next to you again.”

“I feel the same way,” he said. “Just smelling your perfume is so great.”

Could he be any ickier?

“I’n so glad you’re not mad at me,” she said. “I only freaked out that way this morning because of my parents. They wouldn’t let me answer the phone or the door and then
they made me come up here. I was hoping you’d call and I could convince you to come get me. Then I opened my eyes and you were there. It was like a dream come true.”

“Wow. You don’t know how good it feels to hear you say that. I mean, I was hoping you’d say that, but things rarely go the way you imagine they will.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.” She touched his right leg, and started to massage it gently. It was disgusting the hell out of her, but she had to make this look good. “I think if you want something bad enough, you can get it. I forget what it’s called, creative something?”

“Creative visualization.”

“Yeah, that’s it. All you have to do is visualize what you want and it comes true. I do it all the time.”

“Does it work?”

“Sometimes. Most of the time, actually. It depends how well I can picture it. I mean, how hard I concentrate, you know?”

Katie was proud of herself, able to sound so calm, when she was such a mess inside.

“Well, I’ve concentrated very hard on you,” Peter said.

“And see?” Katie said. “It worked. Here I am.”

“What about the other night? You’re not mad at me for proposing, for showing you the apartment?”

“I’n really sorry I freaked about all that. I guess it all just took me by surprise, you know, and I just, like, reacted.”

“Did you ever get evaluated for an anxiety disorder?”

She couldn’t believe it—this maniac was playing shrink with her. Was he for real?

“No,” she said pseudo-naively. “Should I?”

“I think it would be a good idea. You seem to get very anxious sometimes and it affects your behavior. I’ll show you some techniques—you should definitely learn how to meditate—and there’re some great books you can buy. You should also look into holistic stuff—herbs, Saint-John’s-wort, stuff like that. There’re other things you can do. When I was living in Mexico, I met this guy who was into homeopathic medicine. Way it works is, you need to be analyzed, figure out what your
own personal cure-all is. Mine is sulfur, but for you it could be ignatia, belladonna, or whatever.”

“Wow, that would be great,” she said. “Thanks.”

Casually, so he wouldn’t notice, she maneuvered in her seat slightly and reached into her back pocket and started removing her cell phone.

“So how did you know I’d be at my parents’ house?” she asked.

She was just trying to keep the conversation going, get him distracted. Meanwhile, as he explained that it was “just a lucky guess” and how he’d rented the car and driven up, she managed to remove the phone. She had once read a newspaper article about a woman who’d been kidnapped and called someone on her cell phone while in the kidnapper’s car. She made a reference to where she was, what road they were on, and the person on the other end got wind of what was happening and called the cops.

Katie’s big problem was that her phone was off. After she flipped it open, she’d have to feel around for the power button—she thought it was on the right side, but she wasn’t sure. Then, when she found it and turned the phone on, a booting-up tone would sound, and she’d have to figure out some way for Peter to not hear it. Finally, if she got the phone on, she’d have to try to make a call. She knew if she pressed SEND twice, she’d call the last number she’d dialed, her mother’s cell phone. But her mother probably didn’t have her phone on. She always had the stupid thing off, and her father was always yelling at her about it. Katie would have to scroll down, past her mother’s number, to previous numbers she’d called, and hopefully contact Detective Himoto, or that other guy, Barasco.

As Katie kept the conversation going, saying banal things like, “How long did it take you to drive up?” and “I wonder if you drove past us,” she flipped open the phone, pressed the button she thought was power, and slid the phone under her butt, to smother the booting-up tone.

“What’re you doing?”

Katie froze. Totally tongue-tied, she couldn’t think of any way out.

With the phone under her butt, she said, “What do you mean?” hoping he hadn’t noticed what she was doing.

“Give me the phone,” he said.

Fuck, she didn’t know how he’d caught on; she’d been so careful.

“The phone?” she said.

“Just give it to me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Give it to me right now.”

She removed it from under her, and said, “I wasn’t doing anything.”

He reached over and snatched it.

“What’s the big deal?” She was trying to downplay it, stay playful, but it was hard to keep the act going.

“Who were you calling?” Peter asked.

“I wasn’t calling anybody.”

“Were you calling the cops?”

“No.”

“Bullshit.”

He was shaking his head. She noticed they were speeding, doing about sixty on the winding road. Hopefully they’d pass a police car, get pulled over.

“You know,” he said, “I don’t know what it is. I’n so nice to you. I give you things, I take you to great meals, I treat you like a goddamn princess. And this is the thanks I get? This is what you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“It’s like you’re a fake person; you don’t give a shit about anything. You tell me all these things. I try to help you, I try to take care of you. But it’s like you don’t really love me, do you? You really fucking don’t.”

“What do you mean? Of course I—”

“You think I’n a fuckin’ idiot? Huh? You think I’n a total fuckin’ moron? You think I don’t know what true love is? I watch
Pride and Prejudice
, all right? I know what fucking love is, and I know when somebody’s full of shit!”