Let Me In, Adam Nicholls [ebooks that read to you txt] 📗
- Author: Adam Nicholls
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The thought sickened him.
Leaping up the stairs, he clenched his fist and knocked open the doors one by one, peering inside every room to check for her. Each time he didn’t find her, a space inside him hollowed, carving out his insides and replacing them with close, foul air. When he reached the last room—their own bedroom—he steadied his ragged breath and reached out for the knob with a trembling hand. The tight grip he put on it felt like a child’s squeeze under the slippery sweat of his palm.
He turned the knob.
Inch by inch, the door creaked open to reveal a dark room. The dresser revealed itself, then the wardrobe and a corner of the bed. Shoving the door open wider, the rest of the room appeared, showing a smashed lamp, a ruffled duvet, and a bedside table that’d been tossed aside. Signs of a struggle.
All hope fled from him. Morgan stood winded, wounded, and hurt. His imagination delved into the worst scenarios, all entirely possible. All he could think about was Hansen’s previous victims, and if he hurt Rachel like that he’d… he’d…
“It’s clear downstairs,” Gary said, rushing up behind him. He took one look at Morgan’s face and then passed him to glance inside the bedroom. When he saw the mess, he holstered his gun and turned toward Morgan, lowering his voice. “I don’t understand. What—”
The hallway phone rang, shrieking through the house.
Morgan burst into a sprint, glided down the stairs, and snatched up the receiver. He fumbled it, caught it in his sweaty hands, and held it to his equally wet face. He noticed a sudden rise in temperature, like he stood among flames. “This is Morgan.”
“Just who I was hoping for.” The voice was thin and weak. Dangerous.
“Who is this?”
“You know exactly who this is,” the man said.
Morgan didn’t have to guess twice. “What do you want?”
Nick Hansen chuckled. It was an awful sound, like Velcro being peeled open little by little. “You know, for a while there I was a little impressed by how resourceful you were. One step ahead of the cops, but still one step behind me. I watched you sometimes, and I kept wondering who you were. Imagine my surprise when I passed you at the HUCINS Center.”
Morgan’s hand was shaking now. Every word this man spoke drove daggers under his skin—hot, merciless daggers. “I don’t care about your opinion. Cut the crap and tell me where Rachel is.”
That laugh again. “You’ll know soon enough. All you have to do is come to me.”
“And where is that?”
“Mosaic Church. I’ve run the distance, and it should take you less than twenty minutes. So here’s the deal: if you make it here within that time—and only if you’re alone—I’ll let your wife go. If you disobey my instruction, I’ll make a mess of her face. Am I clear?”
Morgan squeezed the receiver, his teeth grinding as he spoke. “Crystal.”
“Good. Then we understand each other.”
“Not exactly. I have a question.” Morgan’s breath became hot and strong, huffing like a dragon ready to explode a blast of fiery wrath. He heard footsteps and craned his neck to see Gary stepping down the stairs. This time he wouldn’t be able to help. “Why do this? What’s in it for you? I was just doing my job.”
Nick paused. It was like he was uncertain—as if he had barrels of pent-up rage and needed to direct it toward anyone, regardless of whom. “You led the cops right to my doorstep, Mr. Young. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be having my fun. If it weren’t for you, my mother wouldn’t have been caught in the crossfire.”
If it weren’t for him, Emma Cole would be dead or mutilated. Morgan opted not to speak the words. When his wife’s safety was in the hands of some lunatic, he thought it best not to provoke. “You’re the one who shot your mother. Nobody else.”
Once more, Nick paused. This time, his words felt like venom. “Twenty minutes.”
The line went dead.
Nick Hansen—or the DC Carver, depending on which news station you watched—turned the van onto the gravel path that led behind the disused church. He rocked and jolted in his seat, heavy thuds sounding from the back until he killed the engine and hopped out.
The air was sweet tonight, teasing the cold of early winter. He inhaled a deep breath with his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation. The van had been hot inside, although most of that could have been attributed to the exciting phone call he’d just made. Whatever it was, it’d got his heart racing and his blood pumping.
Stomping through the moist gravel, he reached the back doors of the van and prepared for an assault as he swung them open. It came as a surprise to see that Rachel Young was sitting with her hands clasped between her knees. The only signs of fear were her white knuckles and wide, bulging eyes. Eyes that watched him like a cat watches a passing dog.
“Get out,” he said in a no-nonsense manner.
Rachel dug her heels into the van’s floor. “No.”
Sighing, Nick pulled the gun from his pocket and enjoyed the pale expression of shock on her face. She hadn’t known there was a gun. How could she? He’d found it in the glove compartment of the stolen van minutes ago and grinned in delight at the convenience of it.
“Out. Now.” He aimed the pistol at her, clutching it tight with his finger on the trigger.
Rachel didn’t hesitate this time. She climbed out with her arm covering her face as if that would protect her from a speeding bullet. She followed his pointed directions to the rear of the church. Nick followed close, keeping the gun trained on her in case she had any heroic plans. She didn’t seem the type, but you could never be too careful.
Once inside the great hall, where darkness shrouded abandoned pews and vandalized statues, Nick slammed the door shut and glanced at his watch. It was an old relic that barely worked, but it would do the job. All he needed to know was how long it would be before Morgan Young arrived to accept the consequences of his actions.
That, or until he killed Rachel and skipped town.
Nick twisted his neck to keep a keen eye on Rachel as he reached for the light switch tucked behind an old, blood-red drape. The overheads slowly flickered on, just in time to show the plume of dust caused by dropping the curtain. Nick stepped away from it and gave Rachel a soft shove. “Turn over that pew and sit your ass down.”
She took one quick glance at the pew and looked back at him. “I don’t have the strength for that.”
“You’ll be surprised what you can do when death is the alternative.”
It was interesting to see how fast she moved then. Nick watched with morbid curiosity—and, of course, humor—as she planted her heels into the rubble-coated stone floor and pushed with all her strength. Her face turned red, her pale arms shaking as she lifted from the middle. With one deep, strenuous grunt, she heaved the pew up and flipped it, a mighty crash roaring through the wide church.
Only a moment later, she sat.
“Comfortable?” he asked, mocking her.
“Go to Hell.”
“Shh.” He put a finger to his lips. “God’s listening, you know.”
Rachel rolled her eyes, breathing heavily from her recent exertion. Her face slowly returned to its normal, white, freckle-speckled color. All things considered, she hid her fear quite well; sitting on her hands to hide the shake was a smooth tactic. “What are you going to do to me?”
“That depends.” Nick shrugged, a stiffness reaching up his neck. The stress was starting to get to him—it kept him up at night, and insomnia didn’t do much for his mood. He felt it more during the day. “If that husband of yours puts in the effort, you’ll be free to go. But after that…”
“Please don’t hurt him.”
Nick smiled. “I’m not making any promises.”
Morgan was out the door and in the car without wasting time. A violent headache pounded against his skull, and Gary’s heavy knocking on the driver’s-side window was only making matters worse. He didn’t have time for this.
“Open up,” Gary yelled, his voice muffled beyond the glass.
He never would’ve thought it possible, but Morgan managed to feed the key from his trembling hand into the ignition while hitting the button to roll the window down, starting the engine as he spoke. He didn’t
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