Book of the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

type, let’s be partners. Four out of eight. You’re only the second to confess a prior murder, though. The other one said she pushed her kid sister out of the tree house. I sure do pick ’em. Two murderers. What are the chances of that?”
    “Coincidence,” Jean muttered.
    “Nice try.”
    His right hand continued to fondle her. His left hand kept jogging the steering wheel from side to side as he maneuvered up the hill.
    She could reach up and grab the wheel and maybe make them crash. But the car didn’t seem to be moving very fast. At this speed, the crash might not hurt him at all.
    “Let’s hear the one about your rich father,” he said.
    “Go to hell.”
    He laughed. “Come on, don’t ruin the score. You’ll make it a hundred percent if you’ve got a rich father who’ll pay me heaps of money to take you back to him unscathed.”
    She decided to try for the crash.
    But the car stopped. He swung the steering wheel way over and started ahead slowly. The car bumped and rocked. Its tires crunched dirt. Leafy branches whispered and squeaked against its sides.
    “We’re almost there,” he said.
    She knew that.
    “Almost time to go into your begging routine. Most of them start about now. Sometimes they hold off till we get out.”
    I won’t beg, Jean thought. I’ll run for it.
    He stopped the car and turned off the engine. He didn’t take the key from the ignition.
    “Okay, honey. Sit up slowly and open the door. I’ll be right behind you.”
    She sat up and turned toward the door. As she levered the handle, he clutched the collar of her blouse. He held onto it while she climbed out. Then he was standing, still gripping her collar, knuckles shoving at the back of her neck to guide her around the door. The door slammed shut. They passed the front of the car and moved toward a clearing in the forest.
    The clearing was milky with moonlight. In the center, near a pale dead tree, was a ring of rocks that someone had stacked up to enclose a campfire. A pile of twigs and broken branches stood near the fire ring.
    The Reaper steered Jean toward the dead tree.
    She saw wood already piled inside the wall of rocks, ready for a match.
    And she felt a quick glimmer of hope. Someone had laid the fire.
    Right. He probably did it. He was up here earlier, preparing.
    She saw a rectangular box at the foot of the tree.
    A toolbox?
    She began to whimper. She tried to stop walking, but he shoved her forward.
    “Oh please, please, no! Spare me! I’ll do anything!”
    “Fuck you,” Jean said.
    He laughed.
    “I like your guts,” he said. “In a little while, we may take a good look at them.”
    He turned her around and backed her against the tree.
    “I’ll have to take off one of the cuffs, now,” he explained. He took a key from the pocket of his pants and held it in front of her face. “You won’t try to take advantage of the moment, will you?”
    Jean shook her head.
    “No, I didn’t think so.” He shot a knee up into her belly. His forearm caught her under the chin, forcing her back as she started to double. Her legs gave out. She slid down the trunk, the barkless wood snagging her blouse and scraping her skin. A knob of root pounded her rump. She started to tumble forward, but he was there in front of her upthrust knees, blocking her fall. She slumped back against the trunk, wheezing, feeling the cuff go away from her right wrist, knowing this was it, this was the big moment she’d been waiting for, her one and only chance to make her break.
    But she couldn’t move. She was hurting and dazed and breathless. And even if she hadn’t been disabled by the blow, her position made struggle pointless. She was folded, back tight against the tree, legs mashing her breasts, arms stretched out over her knees, toes pinned to the ground by his boots.
    She knew she had lost.
    Strange, though. It didn’t seem to matter much.
    Jean felt as if she were outside herself, observing. It was someone else being grabbed under