“Tyler, why did you bury Melissa in the basement wall? Why Jacob Marley’s house?”
He laughed, and that laugh chilled her. “I was thinking maybe I’d call in an anonymous tip, tell everyone I saw Jacob Marley kill Melissa, then saw him with cement and bricks.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. Maybe I’d left fingerprints somehow on her. I couldn’t take the chance.” Then he slashed his hand through the air. His voice lowered, his eyes darkened, became as intense as a preacher’s in a revival tent. “I wanted you to marry me, Becca. I would have taken care of you all your life. I would have loved you, protected you, kept you close forever. You could have been Sam’s mother. But once you were with me, you wouldn’t have spent all that much time with him. Sam would have understood that you were mine first, that he really had no claim on you, not like I did.”
She was cold, so cold her teeth would soon be chattering. This lovely man who’d seemed so kind, so gentle—he was crazy, probably he’d been born crazy.
“Melissa was only eighteen, Tyler. Both of you were too young to run off.”
“No,” he said. “I was ready. I believed she was. She was faithless. She would have left me, just like Ann did.”
How many other women had he believed to be faithless? How many others had he killed, then hidden their bodies? Becca looked around for some sort of weapon, anything, but there was nothing. No, she was wrong. There were about half a dozen bricks stacked against the gaping open wall, about six feet away from her.
She took a step sideways.
He said thoughtfully now, “I think I’ll bury you close to Ann. Out under that elm tree. But you don’t deserve a nice service, Becca, not like the one I did for Ann. She was Sam’s mother, after all.”
“I don’t want to be buried there,” she said and took another step. “I don’t want to die, Tyler. I haven’t done anything to you. I came here to be safe, but I wasn’t ever safe, was I? It was all an illusion. You were just waiting, waiting for another woman to love, to possess, to imprison so she’d want out and then you could kill her, do it all over again and again. You need help, Tyler. Let me call someone.” She took another step toward the bricks.
He began walking toward her. “I would rather have held you close, Becca. If only—”
There was the sound of a car pulling up outside.
“The sheriff’s here,” Becca said quickly. “Just listen. It’s over, Tyler. The sheriff won’t let you hurt me now.” She took another quick step to the side. Three feet, just another three feet. Tyler looked up and frowned when he heard a car door slam. He cursed even as he ran toward her, his hands outstretched, his fingers curved inward.
Becca leapt toward the pile of bricks, went down on her knees, and grabbed one. He was on her then, his hands around her neck, and she slammed the brick against his shoulder. His fingers tightened, tightened, and his face was blurring above her. She raised the brick again, brought it upward slowly, and he twisted just as she heaved it toward him. It struck his face and he howled with agony, and his fingers loosened for just a moment. She gulped in air and struck again. He sent his fist against her head, and she saw blinding flashes of light, felt the pain sear through her head, knew she couldn’t hold on. She was losing and she would die because she wasn’t strong enough. She tried to raise the brick again but she just couldn’t.
“You faithless bitch, you’re just like all the rest of them!” His fingers tightened around her neck.
Sheriff Gaffney yelled, “Let her go, Tyler! Let her go!”
Tyler was heaving now, his fingers strong, so strong, tighter and tighter now and she knew she would die.
Then there was a shot. Tyler jerked over her. His hands fell away. She blinked and saw him turn slowly to face Sheriff Gaffney, standing in a cop’s stance, his Ruger P85 pistol held tightly between his hands. “Get away from her, Tyler. Now! MOVE!”
“No,” Tyler said and lunged for her again. Another shot rang out. Tyler fell on top of her, his face beside her head. Dead weight, oh God, he was now dead weight.
“Hold on, Ms. Matlock, and I’ll get him off you.”
Sheriff Gaffney pulled Tyler away. He’d shot him once in the head and once in the back. He gave Becca a hand up. “You okay?”
She was shaking, her teeth chattering, her throat burning, Tyler’s blood all over her, and the healing burn on her arm was throbbing fiercely. She smiled up at him. “I think you’re the most wonderful man in the whole world,” she said. “Thank you for coming in the house. I prayed and prayed that you would see all the lights on and come in.”