Drip, drip, drip…
Elena Krieger groaned as she fought her way into consciousness. It was cold here, so cold… She opened her eyes, but there was little light in the room. She blinked rapidly and peered into the darkness, trying to make out the shape and size of the chamber where she was imprisoned.
Drip, drip, drip…
She struggled to move her limbs, but realized she was bound and gagged, her hands tied securely to her feet. Drip, drip… drip.
The sound was maddening-more than the ropes binding her limbs or the rag wound tightly around her mouth. She struggled some more, but only succeeded in getting rope burns, tiring herself out in the process. She was thirsty, so thirsty.
Drip, drip… drip.
She inhaled the musty odor of dirt and damp stones and realized she was in a basement. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see a row of dusty jars on a shelf just above her. Yes-it was someone's basement, she thought, and this was the canning shelf. For some reason, the thought cheered her. Whoever owned this basement, it was someone who canned. Like her aunt in Dusseldorf, who lovingly boiled and strained fresh berries each summer to make quarts and quarts of fresh jelly: red currant, strawberry, or black raspberry-her favorite. Her tear glands began to thicken, and she could feel her eyes swelling up.
Not now, she scolded herself. Gott im Himmel! Was kann ich jetzt tun? She reverted to thinking in German, as she did in times of stress.
She tried to remember how she got here… the last thing she could recall was getting into the limo with the polite young driver. He had offered her a bottle of water-that was it! He had drugged her! Even now, her shame at being captured was almost as great as her fear. This kind of thing had never happened to her-not Hildegard Elena Krieger von Boehm, in whose veins ran the blood of her ancestors, great German warriors whose blond manes and chilling battle cries sent a stab of fear into the hearts of their opponents.
She had no doubt who her captor was-it was him, the man she had been hunting-but now she was in his power. Another more disquieting thought came to her. He hadn't killed her yet-but why not? What did he have in mind for her? She tried not to think about it, but fear wound itself around her intestines like a serpent, making her breath come in short bursts. She tried to calm herself by mouthing a bedtime prayer from her childhood, one her mother had taught her in her native Bavarian dialect. Lieber Gott, mach mich fromm, dass ich kann in Himmel komm. A beseechment to God to make her pious so she would go to Heaven when she died. Right now, the prayer seemed chillingly appropriate. A single tear slid slowly down her left cheek, dripping onto the cold stone floor, and Elena Krieger realized to her shame that she was crying.
She heard footsteps on the floor above her, and the sound of a door opening. She struggled to move, but it was no use. There was a rustling sound; then a yellow band of light washed across the floor. He had turned on a light, perhaps at the top of the stairs. She held her breath at the sound of the footsteps coming down stone steps-he was coming! There was the sound of something falling, then a muffled curse. He had dropped something-a flashlight, perhaps, or something more sinister?
The heavy wooden door opposite her was flung open, and a figure stood silhouetted in the hall light from behind. Elena blinked, trying to make out his face.
"Hi there," he said in a surprisingly mild voice. He took a step into the room and clicked on the overhead light, giving her a clearer view of his face. She hadn't gotten a good look at the limo driver from the night before, but she was certain it was him. He had a delicate face, not handsome, but… pretty. Yes, that was it; he was pretty. She felt she had seen him somewhere else, too, but couldn't think where. He leaned over and removed the gag.
"What do you want from me?" she rasped, her voice tight and dry.
"I've come to make you a bit more comfortable," he said, holding a bottle of water out to her.
She gazed at the bottle longingly, saliva gathering in her mouth. She shook her head. She was so thirsty, but she couldn't take the chance.
"Don't worry-it's not drugged," he said, smiling. "I don't need to drug you anymore."
She didn't reply.
"Look," he said, holding it close to her face, "the seal isn't broken. Tell you what-I'll take a drink myself first, okay?" He unscrewed the lid and took a long swallow, then offered her the bottle.
She was so thirsty; her throat burned.
"Come on," he said, placing the mouth of the bottle to her lips. She leaned forward and drank, sucking greedily at the sweet, clear liquid, until the bottle was empty.
"There now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he said. "I'm really not such a bad guy-you'll see."
"Are you going to kill me?"
He studied her, as if considering the question for the first time.
"Not right now, anyway," he said. "I like you. Of course, not as much as Matt liked you, but then Matt is a whore."
Matt… Matt? Where had she heard that name before? And then it came to her: Matt was the young man she had been flirting with in the bar. She looked at her captor again, and it suddenly became clear to her. He was the young tranny who had attacked Matt for flirting with her! So, she thought, the killer is a transvestite.
"Frankly, I don't know what I'm going to do with you," he said. "I wasn't even planning to capture you, but I was on my way home, driving up Sixth Avenue, and-well, there you were. It felt like fate was calling the shots."
"I'm a cop," she said.
He gazed at her with pity in his eyes.
"Oh, that's too bad. Now I really will have to kill you."
He took a step toward her.
A black mist began to descend over Krieger's eyes, but she fought the growing panic. "No-wait!"
He stopped and looked at her. "What?"
"If they find my body, you're dead."
He laughed softly. "I've evaded them so far. What makes you think you're so special?"
"No, you don't understand," she rasped, trying not to let the fear seep into her voice. "Right now they have a small task force looking for you. The minute you kill a cop they'll call in-"
"-the National Guard?" He gave a dismissive snort. "I don't think so."
"Everyone and anyone they can spare. They will hunt you down-and if they can, they'll kill you on the spot."
A narrowing at the corner of his eyes expressed the tiniest seed of doubt. Hope blossomed in her chest, and she fought to remain calm.
"And if they don't manage to kill you right away, do you know what they do to cop killers in jail?"
He tried bravado, but it sounded hollow. "Reward them, I would think."
She tried a short laugh, but it came out equally fake. "Oh, not the other prisoners-I mean the guards. They rape you, first separately and then together. And then they-"
There was a muffled scuffling sound upstairs, as though an animal was clawing at the basement door. His head snapped toward the sound; then he turned back to Krieger.
"I'll deal with you later."
Turning sharply, he left the room and bounded up the stairs two at a time. She could hear his shoes on the creaky boards.
Left alone in the dark, Elena Krieger's whole body began to tremble violently. She took a deep breath and began again.
Lieber Gott, mach mich fromm…