Under Dust Painted Skies
Chapter TwelveZac landed in a crouch on the cement floor of the garage with a surprisingly soft thud. He stayed frozen in place for several seconds just in case his arrival was not as soundless as he believed. However, he heard nothing from the confines of the darkened house. This was both a relief and slightly disconcerting. Without knowing where Ted Cline might be, Zac had no idea how exactly to proceed. Remy was, presumably, still down in the basement, so that was where he needed to go.
Too bad you didn't dig into some floor plans of this place beforehand, genius, he thought bitterly. He shook away this thought. It wasn't exactly as if he'd been expecting to go out for a little B and E.
Shaking these thoughts away, he slowly rose up to his full height and took a good look around. It was as Remy said. It was a sizable garage with little in the way of clutter. There was storage all along the back wall, but everything seemed to be neatly stacked and in its rightful place. There were a few random tools along a workbench on the wall opposite where he stood.
The question as to why Cline didn't park inside yet again crossed his mind, but now was not the time to try to puzzle at the inner workings of the mind of a serial killer. Getting to Remy was his top priority, so with measured steps, he crossed the garage, his feet barely making a sound, until he reached the door that led into the house.
Once at the door, he stepped up onto the raised cement slap in front of the door and stood still as a statue and pushed all thoughts away from his head as he listened for any movement within. It was five heartbeats before he was certain that Cline was not in the immediate area. With nimble fingers, he reached for the doorknob and turned it slowly, making sure not to make any sound, as the locking mechanism was unlatched.
Carefully, he pushed at the door with his free hand and stepped into the house.
His eyes were already adjusted to the darkness, but it still took Zac a moment to figure out that he'd stepped into what was apparently a mudroom. Along one side sat a washer and dryer set and along the other ran a bench with storage space above and below the seating area.
There was another door a few paces away, but it was opened and Zac crossed the linoleum floor to the next doorway. With the door open, it was easier to sneak a peek of what was ahead, which appeared to be the kitchen. He glanced around and found there was only one doorway leading out of the kitchen, aside from the doorway he stood at. The coast was clear, so he crossed the wooden floor of the kitchen to its other exit.
From there, though, it seemed he his luck had run out. The kitchen led to a long hallway that ran both left and right with doors at each end. He took a moment to orientate himself to the direction he stood and combined that with what he could see of the house from across the street. His best guess was that to the left he would likely find the living room. The stairs to the second floor were probably in that direction, which meant the basement door was liable to be to the right.
There were three doors at the right end of the hallway, though, and he also had no idea where Cline currently was, leaving him at an obvious disadvantage. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly as he listened.
Focused, he was able to hear the faintest creak in the floorboards overhead. He's upstairs, Zac decided. With that question answered, it was time to figure out how to get to the basement.
Treading slowly and carefully, he crept along the wall down the hallway toward the first door. It wasn't shut tightly as he'd first suspected, and so he was able to see just enough to figure out that it was the bathroom.
He listened again for a moment to ensure that Cline was still moving about upstairs. The dull thud of his footsteps served as reassurance, and so Zac proceeded on. Let's see what's behind door number two, he thought sarcastically.
This door was sealed shut. Opening the door made him feel uneasy, but he had no other option. Zac carefully twisted the knob. The faintest click as the lock unsnapped made him freeze for a moment, knowing rationally that Cline could not have heard him unless he had superhuman hearing but Zac was spooked nonetheless.
He was extra cautious as he pushed the door open just a crack. It was just a closet, though. Zac frowned. He'd been hoping that this would be the correct door. Must be behind door number three, he decided. He listened again. After he was convinced Cline was still upstairs and unaware of his presence, Zac moved to the last door along the hallway.
He repeated his previous actions, but this time, rather than swinging inward, this door swung out, but he was rewarded with the sight of stairs leading down to the basement floor. He sighed in relief at having found the way down, but as he gazed at the stairs, he frowned. They looked sturdy enough, but they were definitely a bit aged, making the likelihood of them creaking on the way down rather high.
Sucking in a deep breath and steeling himself to move with even greater caution than he'd already exerted, Zac nodded, as if to reassure himself that this was the right course to follow. Calm as he was going to get, he stepped to the top landing and then shut the door carefully behind himself.
Then he started the slow task of making his way downstairs. He toed each step with extreme care. At the smallest hint of a squeaky board, he retracted his foot and toed along until he found a sturdier place to step.
He had no way of knowing how long it truly took to make it down the stairs, but it felt like a lifetime. He vaguely wondered just how much time had passed since he'd left his house. Were Taylor and Isaac nearby? Or what about the police? Would they have arrived yet? Surely he would have heard sirens if the police were near. He wondered what his brothers might do if they were the first to arrive and received no answer at the door and realized he was not home. Did I even close the door behind me? he wondered vaguely, but shook the thought away. It didn't matter.
He was at the bottom of the stairs now, but it looked nothing like he'd expected. His mind had conjured images of a depleted area, similar to the visions of his dream, but this room did not appear to be used as a slaughterhouse. There was no meat hook with his latest victim hanging from the rafters.
Instead, the room was fully furnished with a sitting area with a couch and chairs and a large television mounted against the wall. It looked like the typical man's crash pad. Zac thought it odd that a single man would have an area like this when his living room could easily serve the same purpose.
It doesn't matter, he reminded himself. Just find Remy.
He scanned the darkness, looking for some clue as to where she might have gone. He thought about whispering her name, but it was much too dangerous. Cline might be able to hear him, and the last thing Zac wanted to do was alert the killer to his presence before he'd found Remy.
Upon the first sweep, Zac noticed nothing, but he instinctively knew that Remy was down here. It was almost as if he could feel her presence nearby. He studied his surroundings once again, and as his eyes passed over a bookshelf shoved against the wall, he discovered something he'd missed upon first look. It was very faint, but peeking from beneath the bottom of the bookshelf was a muted glow.
There was something behind that bookshelf. He quickly crossed the room to assess the structure. His first instinct was try to push it aside, but he quickly found that the unit would not scoot aside. "Hinges," he muttered under his breath when he moved to the opposite side to look at it. He moved back to the right side and slid his hand along the path where the wall and bookshelf joined.
Jackpot, he thought as he found a small groove just under halfway down. It was just big enough for his hand to fit into. After getting a good grip on it, he pulled, slowly. Though heavy, the shelving unit swung away from the wall relatively easy to reveal another door.
Unlike the typical wooden doors he'd encountered before, this was a heavy steel door with several sturdy locks that rivaled the ones on Zac's front door. He unlatched them quickly, but carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. Once the last one was undone, he grabbed the handle and twisted it. It turned with ease, but it took an effort to push it in. He used his shoulder, chiding himself for not using the work out equipment that resided in his spare bedroom more often.
These thoughts were abandoned, though, as soon as the door was open and he was bathed in the sickly yellow glow of the overhead florescent light. It took him only a second to adjust to the odd lighting before he spotted Remy.
His heart sunk at the sight of her lithe form, lying motionless on the floor in the center of the room curled up in a ball. He crossed to her in four long strides and knelt as her side. "Remy?" he whispered, reaching out for her but almost afraid to touch her curled form.
His eyes swept over her, and he exhaled in relief when he was able to see the slow up and down motion of her back as she breathed. Breathing was good. That meant she was still alive. Reassured, he reached out and touched her shoulder carefully. He didn't want to move her too much until he knew exactly what her injuries were, but as his eyes continued to sweep down her form, he realized that her feet were bound with thick ropes.
Assess the damage first, he decided rather than untying her. He grasped the shoulder where his hand lie and carefully turned her over onto her back. It was then that he could see her hands were also bound while duct tape covered her mouth.
He could also see how Cline had subdued her. An ugly bump rose along her hairline, and he wondered vaguely what Cline had used to hit her. He thought of his baseball bat, and as soon as this thought occurred to him, he gasped. Stupidly, he looked around, as if expecting it to materialize in front of him, before he realized he must have dropped it to the ground before he went in through the window.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, he berated himself for a moment before he shook away some of the anger with himself and focused on Remy. He carefully tore away the tape covering her mouth and whispered her name as he shook her shoulder, trying to rouse her.
It took several seconds of doing this before her eyelids fluttered, revealing the lovely hazel eyes beneath. Instead of the bright awareness he was used to, her eyes were slightly unfocused.
"Zac?" she croaked.
"Yeah, I'm here. I've got you," he assured her.
"I must be dreaming," she murmured.
"Are you hurt anywhere besides your head?" Zac asked, ignoring her mutterings.
"No," she sighed as her eyes fluttered. He figured she was about to lose consciousness again, so he shook her. "Ow," she moaned softly. "I thought dreams weren't supposed to hurt."
"You're not dreaming," Zac reassured her.
"But you can't be here," she argued weakly. "My Zac never leaves the house."
He felt the corner of his mouth twitch at her words. He realized she was probably just disoriented and likely hadn't meant to refer to him as her Zac, but it was pleasing nonetheless.
Now's not the time to think about that shit, he reminded himself as he moved to untie her hands.
"We've got to get out of here," Zac told her, deciding not to argue with her about reality versus dream.
"Did you see?" she croaked.
"See what?" he asked as he struggled with the thick knots binding her.
"Freezer," she grunted, pointing to something behind him. Zac glanced over his shoulder and for the first time noticed the other door in the room. Despite rationale telling him that he and Remy had to get out of this place before Cline came back, Zac still rose to his feet. He glanced down at Remy and could tell that she had lost consciousness again.
He reasoned that it would only take a second to look inside and quickly crossed the room to the door. This door was also made of heavy steel, but rather than swing in or out, it slid to the side, like the partition door in his house.
He slid the door aside and immediately wished that he hadn't. Along all four walls inside the reasonably large room were large freezers, but those barely registered at first. No, it was the large island that looked much like a butcher's block with a partially dismembered body lying on top.
He felt bile rise in his throat. Even in his wildest imagination, he had not pictured this. He forced his eyes away from what was left of the body, not allowing himself to truly look and see what parts lie there.
His eyes slid to the freezers lining the walls. An even heavier sense of dread filled him, and he was quite certain he probably didn't want to see what was in those freezers, but despite what his head said, he found himself moving to the nearest one. He didn't want to see; yet, he had to know.
Once there, he stood staring at it as it hummed happily, the only noise aside from his heavy breathing. He swallowed thickly and then reached to raise the lid.
Even though he was sure he knew what was inside, that did not prepare him for the sight that met his eyes. At first he thought it was just a frozen corpse, which was bad enough, but once he really took in what lie before him, he gagged, closing the lid quickly. Yes, it was a corpse, but, like the body on the butcher's block, it had been chopped into pieces and then lain inside like some sort of a sick jigsaw puzzle.
He did not feel compelled to look in the other freezers. He was sure he would only find more of the same. Disgusting, he thought, but even that word did not fully reach the true scope of this monstrosity.
Lightheaded and with a churning stomach, Zac stumbled out of the freezer, as Remy had called it. He shut the steel door behind him, wishing to close himself off from what he'd just seen as much as possible.
Then he returned to Remy, who was - as he'd expected - yet again unconscious. He didn't mind, though. He didn't think he could speak yet, anyway. Instead, he focused on untying the ropes that bound her. It took longer than he liked, but eventually he loosened them enough to slide her hands and feet free.
It was only then that he tried to rouse her once again. It took a few tries before her eyes slid open again. "We have to go," he told her, rising to his knees and then grabbing her hands. "Can you stand?" he asked as he lifted her to her feet. There was no need of an answer. As soon as Zac let her go, Remy swayed on the spot.
"Shit," he muttered, realizing that there was no way she would be able to walk. He figured she probably had a concussion. He thought a moment before deciding that his only option was to carry her.
He held onto her shoulders for a moment and tried to look her in the eye as he spoke, but her eyes were so unfocused. It worried him, but he also knew that until they were out of here there was nothing else he could do for her. "Remy, I'm going to have to carry you," he said slowly. "And you'll have to be quiet, okay?"
"Uh huh," she hummed, trying to nod her head but wincing at the movement. He assessed her for a moment before deciding that carrying her over his shoulder was probably his best bet because he was going to need his hands to get out of here.
He bent forward so that his shoulder was level with her middle and grabbed her behind the knees as he stood. "Ouch," she moaned, but he shushed her. He knew this would not be comfortable, but necessity won out over coziness.
He took a second to steady himself before he turned to cross back to the exit, but before he could even take one step, he found himself frozen stock-still.
Ted Cline grinned maniacally at him from the doorway. "Ah, Zachary Hanson, I assume," he said. His tone was soft, almost pleasant with just a hint of cynicism. "So we meet at least."
Zac's throat went dry. He could not speak. Instead, he only stared.
Ted Cline didn't seem to mind. He stepped into the room as he spoke, "It's odd, though. I was under the impression that you never left the house." He looked Zac over for a moment before he sighed, "I guess I can't blame you, though. She's a really beauty, that one." He motioned toward Remy - or, rather, her backside - and Zac stiffened as his shock thawed as scorching anger surged through him.
"It's odd because I was under the assumption that you liked your women dead," Zac countered.
Cline laughed heartily. "Not until after I've had my fun with them, of course," he said. "I may be a lot of things, but a necrophiliac isn't one of them."
"Oh, gee, that makes this all so much better," Zac scoffed. He scanned the room inconspicuously for some sort of weapon. He should have taken a better look at the room before, but his mind had been too focused on Remy and then blurred by the horrific scene in the freezer room. "You've killed what? At least a hundred women? I somehow doubt that makes you any better than a necrophiliac."
"So judgmental," Cline frowned. "And you insult me with such an underestimation of my achievements."
His words confused Zac for a moment before he understood that he was referring to the number of women Zac estimated he'd murdered over the years. "How many then?" he had to ask. At least a hundred had been awful enough, but if it was more than that . . . Zac wasn't sure how to frame the shock of that thought.
"Two hundred and seventeen." He was almost as bad as a preening peacock, so pleased he was with himself.
Zac blanched at this number. It was so much worse than either he or Remy could have guessed.
"Who are you?" he asked breathlessly. He could not stop himself from asking these questions. It was too staggering an admission on Cline's part not to feel the need to know more. "How long have you been doing this?"
Cline smiled, and Zac wondered if this was the same smile he'd used to lure in all of the women he had killed. "I was fourteen when I had my first," he said fondly. "Marianne Willis. She lived just down the street. She was twelve, but she was an early bloomer. Beautiful girl. I had her in the woods in the wintertime. It was cold, of course, but so exhilarating."
Zac's stomach seemed to convulse with the need to vomit. Never had he imagined Cline starting so young. And a twelve-year-old as his first victim? Zac's mind went to his youngest sister, Zoe. The thought of someone violating and then killing her . . . He sat Remy down as quickly as possible before he sunk to his knees and was sick all over the floor. His eyes burned as his day's meals made a second appearance.
So sick. So wrong, he thought in despair.
"Weak stomach, huh?" Cline teased.
Zac glared up at him from his place on the floor. "You're a monster," he ground out.
Cline merely smiled pleasantly. "Marianne wasn't my youngest," he commented, guessing at what had disturbed Zac so much. "No, my youngest was Ruthie Michaels. I was seventeen and she was almost ten," Cline smiled fondly, as if remembering his experience with Ruthie. Zac gagged again, but his stomach was empty.
"So, while you're not a necrophiliac, you are a pedophile?" Zac managed to accuse. The disgust and outrage was lost in his tone due to his raw throat, but he hoped the seething glare he sent in Cline's direction was enough to get his point across.
Cline rolled his eyes, unaffected by the accusation. Zac did not want to think about this man raping and killing children. He decided to steer this back around to his original question before he got too upset. "You never said you who really are," he commented.
Cline sighed and leaned against the doorway. Zac glanced covertly around for a weapon, but everything seemed to be locked away nice and neat in the storage space against the wall behind him. Zac wondered idly if this was Cline's typical killing room, but still he did not want to think of the dead anymore. What he'd seen and heard already was bad enough. No, he needed to focus on this other aspect of things.
"Who I really am," Cline murmured. He laughed softly and then sighed, "I was born Thomas Gatlin. Tommy growing up, and then Tom in my teens."
"Who else have you been?"
"You did do your homework, didn't you, boy?" Cline sighed. "I've been several people. Almost too many to remember."
"Not as good as you think you are, huh?" Zac snapped. "Almost got caught?"
"Once," Cline admitted, rolling his eyes. "When I was young. When I was still Thomas Gatlin. But it made me smarter. I realized I could reinvent myself and go through life virtually undetected, and even if nosy neighbors like you got suspicious, I could always move on."
"Guess you should have moved on a bit faster this time," Zac muttered.
"Well, I was in the process before you and your little girlfriend so rudely interrupted," Cline groused. "Couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?"
Remy moaned softly, almost as if sensing that she was being talked about. Zac glanced over to where she lay. Her eyes were closed, but her face was pulled into a mask of pain. He really needed to get out of here and get her to a hospital.
"I'm inquisitive," Zac shrugged.
"Usually only as long as you can stay hidden indoors, right?" Cline asked. "Mr. Youngest Grammy Nominee of All Time. That because you watched your wife get shot to hell by an obsessed fan?"
Zac paled. It was not so much the accusation. That was, in fact, the truth, but it made him uneasy that Cline knew it. This was a man not from this area, who had never been formally introduced to him, and mostly kept to himself. He likely had not heard this story from one of the neighbors, which meant he had found out on his own.
"You haven't been the only person doing some checking," Cline grinned.
Zac took a deep breath and reminded himself that he could not let Cline know how much this news bothered him. Instead, he decided to play it cool. "That's fine," he shrugged. "I have nothing to be ashamed of. I'm not the sick bastard that rapes and murders women and little girls."
"The little girls really bother you, don't they?" Cline asked, tilting his head to the side with a smirk. "That because of your little Luca?"
Zac narrowed his eyes but forced himself not to move.
"Or what is it that you call her? Lulu? She's your little buddy, huh?" Cline teased. Zac didn't answer, which seemed to annoy Cline. "You know, I could always outdo myself. Your little Lulu that you seem to adore so much is what? Only six?"
Despite what the voice in his head told him, Zac could not force down his anger and hatred for this man. The mere thought of this monster anywhere near Luca made him see red. Before he could even think about what he was doing, he was on his feet and charging forward.
Cline, apparently, hadn't been expecting this reaction either. Just before Zac rammed into him, he'd seen a look of surprise flash across Cline's face.
Good, Zac thought, hoping the element of surprise would give him an edge because he really had no idea what he was doing.
The force of Zac's body colliding with his sent Cline sprawling backward until they were both bathed in mostly darkness within the basement proper. Zac did not need to see, though. He just swung. He got in a few good punches before Cline seemed to snap to it.
As Zac swung down with his left hand, hoping to land a punch in Cline's face, he was caught off guard by a knee to the stomach. He fell onto his back, and Cline sprung to his feet. He aimed to kick Zac in the side, but despite his lack of breath, Zac grabbed hold of the leg, fiercely, causing Cline to tumble over again.
This struggle for the upper hand seemed to go back and forth several times. Each time Zac thought he might have gained the advantage, Cline would make some maneuver to throw him off balance.
This battle seemed to only move them back toward the room where Remy lie. As much as Zac hated the idea of being pinned back in there, he'd rather be in there with Cline than run the risk of Cline being there alone with Remy.
It was after several punches to the gut that Zac staggered backward until he was fully in the room with his hands grasping tightly to the front of Cline's shirt.
This man is not getting away, Zac decided. Even if he had to fight him to the death, he would do it if it meant he could not escape into the night and bring harm to yet another woman. He thought mostly of Luca, and it seemed to strengthen him each time Cline landed a punch that should have brought him to his knees.
This seemed to work to keep him on equal footing. That is until Zac stepped in the pool of vomit. He'd avoided it up until that point because he'd made a concerted effort to stay away from Remy, lest Cline get any bright ideas about grabbing her and hurting her, but as they'd circled, he'd stepped back too far and the slick pool sent him sprawling on his back.
Naturally, Cline pounced.
He threw several punches to Zac's face and gut. Zac clawed and kicked, but he'd hit his head upon landing and the pounding in his brain made it hard to think clearly. Then, sweet reprieve, the punches stopped and Cline's ugly face disappeared from Zac's view.
Panic seized him, thinking Cline had gone after Remy, but when the man's face reappeared above him, Zac actually sighed in relief. That is until the he felt the ropes around his throat.
Zac's eyes bulged as Cline grinned wickedly. "Time to say goodnight," he chuckled as he pulled the ropes taut around Zac's neck.
Terror seized him. He was going to die. Zac was sure of it. He clawed first at the ropes as his airway was blocked, but they were much too tight. Cline hovered astride him, his knees planted firmly on either side using them as leverage as he used all of his strength to choke the life out of him.
Zac tried to kick and claw Cline when he realized he could not find any slack in the rope, but it was too much. There wasn't enough air and his limbs felt heavy and clumsy as he tried to fight the man off.
I'm going to die, he realized. He half expected his life to flash before his eyes, but none of that came. Instead, everything seemed to get dark around the edges and it became too difficult to even try to fight with Cline.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he heard the sound of sirens and yelling, but he was sure it was all just wishful thinking. It was over. Cline had won. Zac had finally managed to leave the confines of his house just to walk to his death. He'd never get to explore what it was he and Remy had only just discovered existed between them. His only hope was that Remy would not meet the same faint as him. That she would somehow survive and live long and happy with Luca.
As his eyes began to shut and unconsciousness began to take him, he was revived from the fading out of existence by a jarringly familiar sound that he could recognize even in near unawareness.
Gunshots, he thought, but this did not make sense. He was almost dead already and Cline hadn't had a gun. Then the pressure around his neck disappeared only to be replaced by the heavy weight of Cline collapsing on top of him.
Then he heard his name. At first he could not recognize the voice nor understand what was happening. Then Cline's weight was gone and through the fogginess of his half slit eyes, his brothers' faces came into view.
"Zac, are you okay?" Isaac demanded, worry permeating throughout him in his face and voice, as Taylor removed the rope from him around Zac's throat.
"What happened?" he croaked. His throat burned as he spoke.
"We got to your house and you weren't there. The police showed up, and we came over to see what was going on. They mentioned the call about a possible break in," Taylor explained quickly. "They knocked on the door but got no answer. Then we saw you and that fucker fighting through the basement window. They rushed in."
"Is he dead?" Zac wheezed.
"Yeah, he's dead alright," Taylor replied, looking over his shoulder with a shudder.
"What the hell happened?" Isaac wondered.
"I told you so," Zac muttered, as he forced himself into a sitting position. He would've glared at his brothers, but he suspected that would probably hurt just like everything else.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, and when it came away, he noticed it was stained red. Blood, his brain registered. He glanced around himself, where there was more blood spattered about, before finally looking over at Cline. He lay lifeless and opened eyed on the floor with half of his forehead missing from the blowout of the gunshot. Zac was too dazed to be truly sickened by this sight.
Instead, he looked at the police officer stooped over Cline as he spoke into his radio, before turning to his other side toward Remy. The other officer was trying to rouse her, and Zac's stomach twisted with worry. "Is she okay?" he croaked.
The police officer tending to Remy nodded his head. "She'll be fine," the officer tried to assure Zac. "We've got a bus on the way."
"Good," Zac muttered.
Zac felt a tug at the sleeve of his shirt. He glanced at Taylor, who was looking at him imploringly. "Zac, are you okay?"
He nodded slowly before looking back at the officer with Remy. "You should probably check out the freezer," Zac said.
The officer looked at him questioningly, but Zac gave no answer. What little he had said hurt like a bitch. Curious, the officer stood and moved toward the door Zac had indicated as Zac gathered his strength and crawled over to Remy.
He took one of her hands in his and whispered her name softly. Her eyes fluttered slightly. "We're okay," he assured her. Her lips curved upward just a bit, but she didn't speak. He understood her relief, though.
Exhausted, Zac rested his head against her shoulder and closed his eyes as the officer who went to check the freezer exclaimed, "HOLY SHIT."