Memories of Murder

By Yolanda Renee

Decades ago, the seeds were planted ...
Today, dark, fathomless eyes rake the image before him. One final task and the transformation is complete. Steady fingers screw intricately carved horns on each side of a stiff brow, and a gargoyle suitable for Notre Dame scowls from the smokey mirror in satisfaction.
A jagged smile rips through his smooth, hairless face, and inked, reptilian scales caress his naked body.
A laugh of hideous resonance emanates from his gut as the demons of hell welcome Lucifer into their fold.
In a dungeon-like chamber, his Lilith awaits. The kidnapped daughter of a nun, groomed to fit the final piece in the complex puzzle for world domination.
Will Lucifer marry his bride, on the summer solstice?
Only two things stand in his way ...
His greed ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yolanda Renee
• Release date: Mar 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463592656

Yolanda Renee

As a girl from Pennsylvania who would do almost anything on a dare, I flew to Alaska for a two-week vacation and stayed for four years. I learned to sleep under the midnight sun, survive below zero temperatures, and hike the Mountain Ranges. I've traveled from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez, and the memories are some of my most valued. The wonders, mysteries, and incredible beauty of Alaska have never left me and thus now influence my writing. Despite my adventurous spirit, I achieved my educational goals with a bachelor's and master’s degree. I still hope to get my Ph.D. I'm married and have two wonderful sons. Writing is now my focus, my newest adventure. Please connect with me at: [e-mail]

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Book 2

Yolanda Renée

Copyright

Memories of Murder

Yolanda Renée © 2012

Detective Quaid Series

Book 2

All rights reserved.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, place, event, or occurrence is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

For permission requests, email the Author addressed below.

Email: [e-mail]

Y R Publishing

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Cover by lzabeladesign via Fiverr

A Series Set in Alaska

Light is a fleeting moment in the frozen north that is Alaska. Although the sun shines brightly during the Summer Solstice, Detective Steven Quaid struggles to hold on to what he holds dear during life's darkest moments, his love for family and professional achievement. Will a murderous stalker, a self-proclaimed Lucifer resurrected, or an insidious obsession prove more powerful than this dedicated detective?

Several life-threatening situations. One determined man.

A DETECTIVE QUAID MYSTERY #2

Memories of Murder

Yolanda Renée

World damnation is a psychotic man’s goal, but two obstacles stand in his way, greed, and a dedicated detective.

Decades ago, the seeds were planted…

Today, dark, fathomless eyes rake the image before him. One final task and the transformation are complete. Steady fingers screw intricately carved horns on each side of a stiff brow. A gargoyle suitable for Notre Dame scowls from the smokey mirror in satisfaction.

A jagged smile rips through his smooth, hairless face, and inked, reptilian scales caress his naked body.

A laugh of hideous resonance emanates from his gut as the demons of hell welcome Lucifer into their fold.

In a dungeon-like chamber, his Lilith awaits. The kidnapped daughter of a nun is groomed to fit the final piece in the complex puzzle for world domination. Will Lucifer marry his bride on the summer solstice?

Only two things stand in his way...

His greed...

And...

Detective Steven Quaid.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to nightmares and the creativity they inspire!

Disclaimer

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. In this novel, the antagonist Lucifer S Reynard, his book Dominion, and his beliefs are fictional; regarding the terminology that refers to witchcraft, devil worship, and mythology, while real words, the sentiments behind them are the ravings of a fictional character and are used fictitiously to enhance the storyline. No insult or misrepresentation is meant.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter One

Snake River, Idaho

June 5

A man watches a young woman from a lair of downed tree limbs and forest debris. He chronicles her every move. From the moment of her arrival and through the three hours she works to record the scenery on her canvas, he barely moves a muscle. He is content—comfortable. His camouflage is so perfect that deer graze just inches away.

Tomorrow, you'll be mine. Your blood will assuredly be purer than the sweetest honey on earth. His stomach rumbles, and his saliva flows in anticipation of her taste. His unbridled joy almost costs him his concealment when a celebratory growl escapes his throat, and the doe notices. He stills himself and waits.

The woman looks directly at him. Seconds tick by in uneasy expectation. She sees me. He swallows hard, almost dropping his camera. She smiles. His body flushes with excitement.

His smile broadens and then evaporates. No. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and relaxes his muscles. The Scriptures have foretold of our first meeting. Patience, my queen, my love.

His hands drip with sweat; his heart pounds. He shuts the camera off and carefully lowers it to the ground. The woman shows no fear, and he sees every move as flirtation. Using his shirt sleeves, he dries his hands, mops his forehead, and turns the camera back on. He calms the urge to go to her. Instead, he stays silent, motionless, but vigilant.

~*~

A cool breeze rustled the leaves, and a haunting melody flowed among the treetops. Sarah, busy and intent on finishing her work, stepped back when a bee disturbed her concentration. The bumblebee darted around the flowers she had just painted, looking for nectar in the colors. She watched with amusement, but the tiny creature flew off too quickly to find the real thing. The distraction caused her to realize how long she had worked without a break. Sarah put her palette down, stretched her stiff muscles, and surveyed the scenery. Something in the trees caught her attention, and a chill trickled down her spine, but concern became a smile when she spotted the doe and its fawn grazing contentedly.

Her attention once more on her work, she stared in disbelief. The scene depicted did not match her surroundings. Sarah's intent had been to capture the sunlight filtering through the trees, the waterfall, and the multicolored wildflowers covering the banks—the serenity of nature on a picturesque morning in the mountains of Idaho.

Instead, the soft light somehow became fog, seeping in from a dark, foreboding landscape. The multicolored wildflowers were all blood red, the blue sky a dark gray, and, to Sarah’s shock, someone was in the background. Sinister orbs glowed from a dark shadow hidden in the trees. Apprehension seized Sarah. She scanned the area around her. Alarmed, she searched the woods for any sign of Steven or the phantom that haunted her painting. Steven had promised to join her with a picnic lunch. That hour had passed. Worried, she gathered her materials and hurriedly headed to the cabin.

Since Steven joined her in May, painting had become a joy again and Sarah's source of relaxation. Excluding today, she illustrated the colors of an Idaho sunset, sunrise, and blossoming greenery. The mountains, the high desert, the Snake River, and its creatures filled her canvases. For the first few weeks, Sarah and Steven's reunion fits the description of heavenly, a honeymoon despite the lack of a ceremony.

This week, things were different; his phone rang incessantly, and hushed discussions filled his days. Sarah tried to get him to share his concerns. He insisted the calls were work-related and wanted to keep his business separate from their personal life. She understood yet found his response disquieting. They were on vacation, an almost honeymoon—work should not be interfering.

She suggested a Justice of the Peace, and he insisted on giving her the wedding of her dreams. Steven wanted to see her walk down the aisle in front of family and friends. She assumed his reluctance was due to her first marriage being an elopement. Sarah loved that he wanted to give her something special, but every time she mentioned flying home to get the process started, he insisted they wait. He wanted the press to forget about recent history. A history that included the murders of her husband, six innocent civilians, and two decorated police officers by a murderer who had stalked and tortured her. Sarah, horribly injured, had seen her life forever changed. Her privacy was gone; the woman who loved her solitude had become fodder for the news rags. Gossip, formerly a pet peeve, had become a curse.

By the time she reached the cabin, the fear that had overwhelmed Sarah dissipated. Her good friend John Thomas had given her the keys to his place in the Idaho Mountains to heal from her recent ordeal. The chalet had two levels above the Snake River, with the main living area on the second floor. The scenic views of the river and the mountains were a feast for the senses and a balm for the psyche. In a storage room off the garage, Sarah stored her canvas. Then, with everything put away, she went upstairs to find Steven. From the living room, she saw him sitting at a table on the patio, talking to Helen Gabble, a coworker from Anchorage. Surprised to see Helen, Sarah wondered what emergency required Helen to travel so far south. Dressed in jeans and a cotton blouse instead of her usual pantsuit, Helen appeared agitated rather than casual. However, she knew Helen as a no-nonsense woman and imagined that she took no prisoners on the battlefield.

Sarah could tell by their body language that Steven and Helen were discussing business. Steven had his arms folded, listening intently. Helen stood at the end of the table, both hands flat on the surface. She finished her sentence and threw her hands up in apparent defeat. Whatever she had said, Steven disagreed. Instead of disturbing them, Sarah went to the kitchen to prepare lunch. She opened the refrigerator just as their words drifted through the open kitchen window. She stopped dead in her tracks.

If only she'd done the right thing four years ago, maybe none of this would've happened, Steven said.

His words were about her. An utterance she never thought she would hear him repeat. She had shared an intimacy with him. A confidence he had assured her would always be their secret—he had just shared with Helen.

Helen responded. I don't understand, Steven. Why isn't any of that in the final report? It's not like you to withhold evidence.

It wasn't necessary to close the case, he insisted. I promised Sarah. He's a murderer; dragging her name through the mud would've done her harm. He sighed. I couldn't have that torture become public knowledge. The papers would've had a field day.

They are Steven. They are. There's a rumor about an affair. Don't you think the truth would be better?

No! No matter what's written, they'll make his attack her fault, Steven asserted.

You're the one laying blame. You said, 'if only she'd done the right thing four years ago.' Maybe lives would have been saved. Helen drew an unfair conclusion.

No! They're two different things. Reporting that crime now can only make things worse. We can't know what would've been, and I'll not have conjecture bandied about in the press. You keep this under your hat.

His tone sounded threatening. Shocked, Sarah listened with her heart in her throat, everything she had been trying to forget tumbled forward. Rooted to the spot, she wished she were still at the waterfall.

Don't worry. I won't say a word. It'd serve no purpose. But, Steven, the department's receiving hate mail, Helen said.

What? His feet hit the floor. He stood, then paced. Hate mail?

Yes, abhorrent. We get the odd letter from family members of people we've arrested, but this is different. It's from all over the country, regarding you and Sarah. One of the worst came from someone calling himself the Son of Lucifer. He wrote something along the lines of—

Steven interrupted her. 'You don't deserve the love of an angel. Your incompetence almost got her killed. Do us a favor, and go back to the woods, where you belong.' You got a copy, Helen. I received the original. Steven’s shoulders stiffened. I had no idea he'd sent copies to the office. Can you believe he wrote the damn thing in blood?

Sarah strained to hear. She heard the quote and then only the words in blood.

Her concern matched Helen's reaction.

Blood? When did you receive it?

Early May. Then, just days later, I received another one. A threat. 'Walk away, Detective. Leave my angel to find peace. You've hurt her enough. This is my only warning. Leave her, or you will pay the ultimate price.' Same writing, same bloody border, Steven said.

Holy shit, and since then?

The third one came in the mail, forwarded here this week, even odder. 'Don't worry, detective, soon I'll be the one taking care of her. No harm will ever come to my angel.'

This time, Sarah heard the words 'my angel.' Is this about me? After a few moments, she suppressed her emotions and began the lunch preparations, still keeping an ear on the conversation. She could only pick up a few words here and there. Running water and fumbling through the cupboards drowned out the words, but not the implication—their vacation had just ended. Sarah tried to finish the lunch preparations and close out the rest of the discussion. Still, the conversation continued, and, despite her desire not to hear their words, she listened.

Shit. Where do these idiots come from? Helen wondered aloud.

Bizarre Island, who knows? I'm sure it's harmless. Steven shook his head.

Do you really think threats written in blood are meaningless? Helen sounded incredulous.

With all the idiocy today, who's to say maybe some jerk thinks he's witty? I mean, really, the 'Son of Lucifer'? Steven stretched. He looked at his watch and mumbled, Shit.

He walked to the edge of the patio and looked towards the woods.

Helen followed. Maybe you're right. The world is so unbalanced.

Hate mail is the last thing I expected.

Sarah saw his gaze on the woods and the path he knew she would take, but she hesitated to let him know she had arrived.

Why didn't you let me know sooner? How's the department taking it?

I wasn't aware until last week. The captain kept the lid on it. He knew I planned to come home for the wedding and asked me to stop by and assess the situation. See if you're ready. At first, he thought your absence was good; now, he's not so sure.

What about the team?

They think you've abandoned them. That you're hiding out while they take the flack. Helen spoke softly. I know that's not the deal, but Steven, this looks bad. You know how gossip works.

Sarah realized Steven had mixed priorities, and it was again because of her.

Yes, I know, but I can't return. Not now—she's still recuperating. I can't take her back to that mess.

She's got to toughen up sometime. She can't hide forever, and you can't protect her from the whole world, Helen insisted.

Determined but saddened, Sarah picked up the tray and joined them on the patio. She avoided Steven's gaze and welcomed Helen to their home away from home.

I don't think I've ever seen you look so relaxed, she said in greeting. Sarah put the tray down and shook Helen's hand.

Time off does that. I wanted to say hello to you and Steven before I returned to Anchorage, Helen said.

Sarah poured the iced tea while Steven set out the plates. She felt his gaze but concentrated on their visitor.

What's happening in Anchorage? I've been homesick, Sarah said.

~*~

They enjoyed the meal and the idle conversation, with business purposely avoided. Helen left several hours later with a cooler full of fresh trout. Steven saw her off and returned to find Sarah packing. He wrapped his arms around her from behind.

This isn't necessary. We don't have to go back. Not right away. He turned her toward him and hugged her tightly.

Sarah clung to him, and Steven sat with her on the edge of the bed.

It's going to be all right. I promise.

You don't have to protect me. You shouldn't have to protect me. I thought we decided to do this together? Her voice held no strength, despite her effort to appear otherwise.

I just wanted you to have some peace. If anyone deserves it, you do.

Thank you. She kissed him tenderly on the cheek. But Helen's right. You need to get back to Anchorage to work. I have to start living in the real world. Although I've been so happy with you, it's even easier to forget. I'm afraid I’ve been avoiding reality too.

Despite her resolve, he sensed her reluctance. Are you ready?

Yes, and no. I'm sorry. It feels ominous…like we've unexpectedly lost something very special.

She frowned, looked pensive, and then brightened with, he thought, a forced determination.

But it's time. Yes, I'm ready.

Worried and glad she understood, he hugged her tightly. I hate leaving our private paradise too, but I need to get back. It's imperative I support my team. You need to see someone to start dealing with everything that happened, and I'm not qualified.

His experience with victims of violence was to show compassion and recommend counseling. The only advice Steven felt capable of, even for the girl he loved.

How about a bubble bath, he suggested.

Sarah finally smiled. Your solution for everything.

I know my limitations. He admitted.

Then we go home tomorrow. I'll see a counselor, and you'll get back to work. It's time. Even if Helen hadn't shown up, we're both ready. You're tired of twiddling your thumbs, and we've both had our fill of fish. Even Helen noticed when I served roast beef, then gave her a cooler full of trout to take back with her.

Steven chuckled. I know, but she has a big family. No fish will go to waste. Steven stood. There's one other thing.

That sounds solemn. Her smile faded, and she stood, too.

We'll have to return to Alaska separately. We can drive to Washington together, and I'll fly back right away, but you should take a few more days. Do some shopping. If we return together, the press will pounce for sure.

Sarah thought about what he said for a few seconds and then nodded. You're right. I think you should call Helen and fly back with her tomorrow. I'll drive to Seattle, check the corporation's status and the foundation, and even take the time to look for a condo downtown. I need a new base of operations. I’ll call Leeann and see if she'll join me for a few days on the beach in Hawaii. That's sure to clear the cobwebs. I'll decide on the drive to Seattle.

I don't want you to drive back alone.

She gazed at him through her eyelashes. Please, it's barely a day's drive, and I'd like the time to adjust. I promise I won't speak to strangers.

No, I…. He started to protest.

Hands-on her hips, she was ready for a fight.

Why are you so against security?

Because security draws attention. I hate attention. Why do you think I had my red mustang repainted blue? No flashy red, zero attention.

Okay, you win. He yielded and kissed her warmly. How do you explain to someone like Sarah that just being her drew attention?

After a few moments, she broke the embrace. Then we leave early tomorrow. Go on, make your phone calls. I'm going to finish packing, and then I'm going to take that bubble bath. Join me when you're finished. We still have tonight. She batted her eyelashes and gave him a coy smile.

Steven smiled but hurried from the room. He called Helen and the airport to arrange a ticket after first calling John to coordinate protection for Sarah. He refused to let her travel alone, not with threats coming daily.

That night, he lay awake for a long time, watching her sleep. Steven delicately moved a few stray hairs from her cheek. He loved her more than life. He wanted nothing more than to marry her and start a family. But his last case—the Valentine murders- took a toll on his reputation and Sarah's health. They needed this break to get back on their feet, but he really wanted to get back to work.

His job as lead detective for the Anchorage police department was something he enjoyed, except for the press he’d received lately. The Valentine murder case wrapped up in Washington State. He had given credit for its conclusion to his friend, Washington detective Terry O'Connor. Soon after, the press in Anchorage began to question Steven's abilities. They blamed him because Sarah had been injured, accused of murder, and even arrested. Even though two months had passed, the stories were getting worse. He wondered what would happen when they went home. Then, as Steven was about to nod off, Sarah moaned and moved as though uncomfortable in her skin. Deep sighs, hurried breaths, and then she spoke. He strained to hear.

Forgive me, Master. I'm ready. I promise. I'm ready. Her voice was a calm monotone.

Steven touched her shoulder to wake her, but Sarah fought him. He knew her anxiety came from what she saw in her dream. She screamed, struggling at first to find her voice—then she unexpectedly sat up and shrieked so loudly that Steven thought his eardrums would burst. Her eyes were open wide in terror. He pulled her close and held her until she calmed down.

It's just a dream. He spoke to Sarah softly, caressing her gently.

She went limp, silent, and looked straight through him.

Sarah. Angel?

I'm…okay. Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings. A nightmare…just a bad dream, she assured him, but she appeared confused.

Do you remember?

No. It's gone. She rubbed her forehead.

You spoke. You said, 'Forgive me, Master. I'm ready. I promise. I'm ready.' Does that ring a bell?

I said all that?

He nodded.

She shivered. That's new.

Sarah left his arms. Usually, she cuddled close after a bad dream. But, tonight, she practically jumped out of bed. Pale and fidgety, she avoided looking at him. Shaking, Sarah covered her nakedness with a nightgown.

Steven moved toward her with his arms open. Sarah backed away.

Angel? Her rejection hurt. He wanted to stop her but thought better of it. Something about this dream frightened her. While she said she could not remember it, Steven wondered about her honesty.

I need air. Excuse me. She hurried to the living room.

Steven followed—unqualified, powerless. He kept his distance and let her deal.

Sarah went immediately to the windows and stared at the night sky. Steven could see her physically begin to relax, and he lit the fire. The mountain nights were chilly, even in June. He poured them a brandy, joined her at the window, and wrapped an arm around her waist.

Better?

She nodded and sipped her drink. Thank you.

Come on, sit with me. Talk to me. He maneuvered her to the couch.

A dream, just a dream, she insisted and snuggled up next to him.

This is different. You can't remember it, and yet you're still shaking. He pulled her close.

The dread, it’s still with me, Sarah admitted.

Do you think it's because we decided to go home?

No, I'm sure that's not it. I'm ready to go back. I think my painting— Sarah stared at the fire. I had a— She took a deep breath. Something odd happened today. Maybe the dream reflects that? She tried to limit the effect of her words, but his concern was immediate.

What happened? Why didn't you say something sooner?

John had assured him that, with security, the cabin and surrounding area were safe. Otherwise, Steven would never have left her alone.

We had a guest, and I didn't want to give her the wrong impression. But to be honest, being spooked while alone in the woods seemed childish…until now. She looked around the room as if unsure they were alone.

Spooked?

At the waterfall, I had this feeling…creepy, as though someone was there, just watching. My painting wasn't what I intended. The result had a haunted quality, as though I'd just recorded a nightmare. The whole thing troubled me. She shivered at the memory.

Did you see anyone, hear anyone?

No. I'm sure my imagination got the better of me. It's just that when I woke up, I was back there at that moment. I'm sorry, I know it's silly. When we get home, I promise I'll see someone. It's the best I can do. Defeat filled her voice. I know you don't have time for this. I wish things were different. I wish I were different.

I don't. I love you—nightmares and all.

He kissed her, and her response convinced him, but then she pulled away.

Your turn. Sarah locked eyes with Steven.

We've dealt with me, she persisted. Now it's your turn. Spill it. She sipped her brandy but never took her gaze from his.

Stunned by her intensity, he knew he had one choice—the truth.

Steven moved from the couch and refreshed his drink. Sarah pulled her knees up under her chin and watched him closely. At the fireplace, he pretended interest in the crackling flames. The tables were turned, and while uncomfortable for Steven, her intuition served her well. Another reason he loved her.

He stalled. What makes you think there's a problem?

Well, you have to put up with me for one. She smiled.

That's true. He chuckled. You are a handful.

You're not getting off the hook that easy. This week, especially, your attention's been diverted. Something is going on. Your actions are erratic, and you're not sleeping well, either. I overheard part of your conversation with Helen. Hate mail? I couldn't hear everything, just something about notes written in blood?

He took a deep breath and then gave her a benign summary. Hate mail to the department; some of it references you and my lack of protection for you. It's harmless, really.

Written in blood? Her brow furrowed.

Steven knew he needed to lie better. It looked like blood, but just a harmless red marker. This clown's just trying to be clever. It's nothing to be worried about.

Then, why are you?

He felt guilty. Sarah knew he'd coated his responses.

I'm not. He could not look at her. He put another log on the fire. Okay, you're right. I'm concerned. But, given everything that's happened, aren't I allowed to be slightly overprotective?

A little, yes, but you're preoccupied with something. You're making frequent phone calls. You haven't really been here all week. There's more to it.

He sat down on the opposite end of the couch and gulped his brandy. I wasn't prepared for the press turning against me. At least, not such a harsh response, and now, after learning there's hate mail. It's just outlandish.

And? she probed.

You'd make a great interrogator. His voice filled with pride. But you're right. My angst goes back to my first case, eleven years ago—a fluke. I didn't solve anything. I stumbled upon it, but the press pounced and made me out as a hero. They nicknamed me Hawk, and only because of my heritage. A way to give native Alaskans pride. A publicity stunt cooked up by someone in the public relations department. The wrong response then, and now, it's like karma has come full circle.

Sarah moved closer and took his hands in hers. "No. You did solve that crime. You were in the right place at the right time, and you recognized that. You caught a man impossible to catch because you were conscientious. Your karma is all positive. You're courageous and dedicated and have repeatedly earned the name Hawk since that first case. You've proven your worth. This last one won't destroy years of success. No one, not even the FBI, caught on to the culprit. Please don't let that horrible case sabotage your confidence."

Not even a little prejudiced? Steven tried to be humble, but her assessment made him proud. Thank you for that. I know you're partially right, except I'm no hero. I'm just a man, and I make mistakes. I made plenty of them.

We both made mistakes, but evil deserves the blame—not you, not me, she reminded him.

Steven pulled her closer. I see my lectures have not fallen on deaf ears. He chuckled. Now, remind me why we've been hiding out in the mountains of Idaho?

I thought we were practicing for the honeymoon? she whispered and snuggled deeper into his powerful arms.

They kissed and became lost in the magic of love.

~*~

At ten the following day, a sound reverberated through the woods, sending all the creatures in a one-mile radius running for their lives. Evil exploded from the forest and went straight to the cabin. Lucifer could tell she had escaped him. He had waited by the waterfall, and when she did not show at nine, he began to worry but maintained his cool. When an hour passed, he knew he had blown his opportunity.

Lucifer bellowed his rage and kicked in the door to the garage, his anger escalating with each step. He meant to take her for his own. His disappointment was profound, and his anger so acute that his skin radiated heat in waves. Once inside, he checked the cabin for anything that would tell him where she had gone. Instead, he discovered her art supplies in a backroom and her last painting, covered with white muslin. The one she had finished yesterday. He stood back to admire it.

Yes! His ego swelled. His love for her grew. I knew we were connected, my angel, I bow to your supreme talent, and I accept your gift. His anger soothed. He wrapped the picture carefully. Stay vigilant, my love, for we will be together soon.

In the living room, he hit redial on the phone.

Boise Airport, how can I help you? a feminine voice answered.

He hung up. Fly home, angel. Our meeting is delayed, but only delayed. He set the cabin on fire, celebrated while the chalet burned to the ground, and then left with his prize—his message of devotion from Sarah, his true love.

~~*~~

Chapter Two

Salem, Massachusetts

August 15

A cold rain drummed relentlessly on the roof of a remote cabin in the mountains outside Salem, Massachusetts. Well-dressed diners celebrated the beginning of a vacation that promised the fulfillment of all hedonistic appetites. At the same time, the Master of Evil reveled in anticipation of his objective—blood sacrifice. Black candles flickered, and their flames mysteriously extinguished as Lucifer circled his prey, giving the impression he had absorbed the flame. The room was now dark, except for an eerie light from the fireplace and the divine glow radiating from his heavenly captive. An angel in white stood transfixed by his performance while the Beast from Hell began his introduction.

Beauty you've not seen until now. His voice thundered.

The heavens opened, seemingly protesting his presence, giving the impression that he competed with God for their attention.

Perfection was unknown, and innocence held no meaning until her appearance. I present an excellent example of angelic grace in human form, chained to this earth, my Lilith. His performance was impeccable, and his audience and sacrifices were transfixed.

With one swift move, he ripped the sheer gown from her body, and, for her, more frightening than exposure was the weight of the metal that circled her ankle. He focused solely on her, his captive. Tears threatened. She fought to conquer them. She worked hard to grant his desire. To stand stoically and show no emotion. He had warned her. He had groomed her for this task for two months and had told her she could not react with anything but love, admiration, and worship—but no tears. If she failed, she would die at his hand. She worked to suppress her fear and get into character. She tried to concentrate on his words.

This angel, the reincarnation of Lilith, my first love, would fly back to heaven if I released her, he told the four dinner guests, who sat in rapt attention. She fears her own passions, yet she knows the path to my love. Tonight, is the first night of sacrifice in her honor. You are the first to pay the ransom that will break these chains and transform her from angel to demon and my bride.

A sob escaped her throat despite her resolve, and tears flowed unchecked.

The demon stopped in mid-stride and turned slowly toward her.

Terror gripped her, and shame filled her, but her heart's only desire was flight. She knew the weakness he abhorred was on full display. She refused to cower. She faced his anger and tried to become the statue he wanted, but her tears flowed like the rain pouring from the heavens.

He circled her. Anger poured off his red body like sweat. Then, quietly, he orbited the room, a long knife with his companion's jeweled handle. Death became his rage-filled response. A ceremony meant to take an hour had concluded in a murderous rampage.

Her body shook uncontrollably as she wept openly. They were all dead, each dinner guest dispatched with a swing of that bloody knife, all because of her disobedience. He had slaughtered them with a supernatural swiftness. No one had a chance to protest, but their death stares spoke volumes, and their blood, warm and plentiful, covered her body. She fell to her knees and bowed her head. She took several deep breaths. Tears she formerly could not control quickly disappeared; overwhelming fear and an internal will to survive took over. She raised her hands in supplication, her sobs quelled, and her body calm; she listened to the storm while awaiting his wrath. While he stood still, she gathered her courage and spoke, but a stranger voiced the words. From a place of safety, she observed.

She raised her head. Her eyes locked on his.

Master. She spoke softly, fearfully, but with clarity. Forgive your servant, your true love. I am fresh to this world and unfamiliar with its customs. Absolve my tears. She met his gaze. My love for you is real. My yearning for you is genuine, but my ties to heaven leave me torn and emotional. She wanted her words to appease him. She waited, but she knew her life was forfeit when he did not respond. His murderous gaze said everything.

She barely blinked, terrified of his reaction. She prayed for life and yet wished for a quick death. He sat at the table and filled his plate with food despite the bloody corpses surrounding him. She focused on him to avoid the stares of the dead. He ate like an animal and then sat back in his chair, licking his fingers. He belched loudly, glaring at her all the while.

You humiliated me. No speech, no matter how pretty, will save you. I'm Master, and while you will bear my children, you are not my true love. Don't ever put yourself on so high a pedestal. He hit the table so hard that one of the bodies fell to the floor with a sick splat that sprayed her face with blood. You serve me, understand!

Startled and determined not to wipe the trailing wetness away, she maintained composure. Yes, Master. Forgive me.

I tell you what to say, how to act, and when. You'll learn your part. You'll obey or learn that pain is a daily, even hourly, event. He moved toward her and held out his hand.

She accepted his help and stood before him, biting her lower lip, and waiting for his judgment. Instead of beating her, he poured her a glass of wine. From a ring on his finger, he stirred a white substance into it. She watched and thought poison would be a much better death than beheading. She felt no fear.

Drink. I've work to do. You can contemplate your punishment while you wait.

He waited as she drew the glass to her lips and drank. She felt only the warmth of the alcohol on her empty stomach.

He motioned for her to back up. She did, the chain on her ankle moving with her, and she sat down in the three-by-four-foot box—her prison. Not until the door closed and the lock clicked, did she allow air into her lungs. In seconds, the world went black.

~*~

She awoke alone. One minute, she found herself in a box in the middle of a blood-covered dining room, and the next, she awoke on a mattress in the dungeon-like space he provided her. She prayed she was dreaming, but the stickiness of the blood on her face told her otherwise. She longed for June 15, her last day of freedom, and the opportunity to make different choices. Instead, the Master had taken her, subjected her to constant torture—what he called training—and last night had been the first test of that training. She had failed horribly. Terrified, she gained hope from the simple fact that she still lived.

A noise startled her.

She fought the panic that assaulted her intellect. Light filled the room. He had opened the blinds on the high windows: a wake-up call. She got up quickly, used the commode, and took a sponge bath in the old-fashioned washbowl. After filling it with water from the pitcher, she washed her face and hands. The antique, similar to one her mother had during her childhood, was her only access to water. It was something she recalled from a life that was ages and miles from her new reality.

Fifteen minutes later, the lock on the door clicked. She quickly took her pose: prostrate, down over her knees, her forehead touching the floor. Then, with her arms extended and hands palms up, she submitted herself to Lucifer in the position of worship.

Survival was her aim. She knew what to do and how to please him. The door opened, and he entered. With her head bowed, she waited. Because she could not move until he told her to. She heard the snap of the whip, his favorite tool for punishment. She sucked in her breath but did not flinch.

Speak, he commanded.

My King, my love, master of my domain, I submit myself to you. Make me yours. Take my gift, take me. I willingly sacrifice all that I am to you.

Look at me, he demanded.

She lifted her face and screamed. Again, she had reacted. She had failed another test. In normal circumstances, anyone would have shrieked, but normal did not exist here. She resumed the position of prayer. The whip scorched a welt into her naked back. Silently, she prayed for strength. She counted each snap, each explosion of pain. She held her tongue. She did not whimper, and no tears appeared. He stopped at six.

Look at me, he insisted. He searched her face for emotion.

This time she prepared herself, focused only on him, no longer distracted by the disembodied head still dripping fresh blood or the muddy gray orbs open in horror.

Forgive me, Master. I am ready. I promise. I am ready.

He laughed. The cavernous sound grated against her backbone. Her heart jumped inside her chest, but she never faltered.

We shall see, my dear. We shall see. The next sacrifice is the true test. Prepare for it. To help you, I leave you this gift. Just know that failure will mean your end. You were never my first choice. My true love is beyond my grasp. You are nothing. Your death means nothing! Learn your place or die!

He put the severed head on the floor before her and backed out of the room. His laugh bounced mockingly off the walls of her cell.

~*~

Anchorage, Alaska

The disembodied head gazed at Sarah with pity. Then, mocking her with the words: I'm ready, I promise. You stupid bitch, you're in Hell. I’m free. Your journey is just beginning. Then she heard laughter—that same piercing reverberation.

Her screams woke her from a deep sleep, and Sarah moved as though pursued. The nightmare faded from memory, and an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia and fear replaced it. By the faint moonlight, she made her way to Eagle's Nest, the highest point on her property. Sarah's home, located in the foothills of the Chugach Mountains east of Anchorage, was a large log home that sat high in the hills on a one-hundred-acre spread. She enjoyed the view of Anchorage and the Inlet, but tonight, she failed to see any beauty in it. Sarah stared over the valley and tried to recall the dream, but the vision evaporated. A strong gust of cold air lifted her hair and billowed her gown. Oblivious to the chill and her own nakedness, Sarah felt lost. She searched for answers, for reason, in a world between the conscious and the unconscious. Ignoring everything around her, Sarah searched her mind for the nightmare. She knew her dream made her seek her refuge, but now she had no memory of the urgency.

~*~

Sarah's scream woke Steven. He reached for her, but she was already gone from their bed. She had slipped into a nightgown and hurried from the room.

Sarah? Sarah! Steven slipped on his jeans and shoes and followed her, running to catch up. Instinctively he knew her destination and grabbed his coat and hers on the way to her sanctuary. He knew Sarah solved her problems at Eagle’s Nest. She found her inspiration and peace. Eagles Nest was her holy place, but her actions were outrageous at this ungodly hour, barefoot and all but naked. Steven realized winter would appear even earlier than usual when he stepped outside. Snow in the foothills in September was typical, but Alaskans heeded the warning when temperatures fell in August.

Angel? His concern grew. She's not herself. Is she sleepwalking? Steven stood beside her as she stared into the abyss, oblivious to his presence.

Sarah? Steven touched her arm.

She regarded him with surprise. Steven?

He put her coat around her bare shoulders. Don't you remember? You were screaming.

Steven picked her up.

Was I? I don’t remember. She appeared dazed. I can walk.

You're barefoot, he pointed out.

Steven took her to the den, deposited her on the couch, and put a throw around her shoulders. Another blanket around her legs and struck a match to the fire. Watching her closely, he poured them both a brandy. She sat quietly, staring into the flames. He put the glass in her cold hands.

Do you remember this one?

She took a sip. No. Nothing.

Steven sat down beside her on the couch. Why Eagle's Nest? It's three in the morning, and, for god's sake, Sarah, you're practically naked. Didn't you hear me? He could not hide his irritation and stopped when he realized his impatience showed. I'm sorry. I don't mean to scold….

No, you're right. I'm—I— She stuttered, swallowed hard, and quickly regained composure. It's just that…I had this intense need for air, space…safety. I acted without thinking. I'm sorry.

Her explanation bothered him. He was her security. I'm here, angel. I'm right beside you. He pulled her close. Are your dreams about me? Is there something in them pulling you away—from me?

No. I—I'm not trying to get away, not from you. A sensation…something…like I'm in two places. I can't really put the dream or the feelings into words. But, Steven, I need you, your arms, always. She clung to him. Please don't ever doubt that.

They sat in silence. Solace achieved in each other's arms.

At least the nightmares are infrequent. I've only had a few since June. It's just that there's something so different about them. She laid her head against his chest. If not for you, I'd be completely out of my mind. You hold me down and keep me from floating away. It's just a dream. Post-traumatic stress. The doctor says that, eventually, I'll remember them. When I'm ready emotionally, and with your help, I'll learn to deal with them.

I hope so. Is it the added stress from the press? All those damn stories about my failure.

No. It's not you. Honestly, I don't understand why I'm having nightmares. I know what happened. I remember the ordeal clearly. I don't understand the concept of PTSD. I've talked about that day until I'm tired of talking. What happened, happened, I accept that. Now, I just want to move on. These nightmares they won't let go of. Last year, stress caused them. I can look back and understand the dreams because a murderer stalked me. Now…I'm confused. Nothing is going on, and yet—

And yet what? Steven probed. His concern grew because he knew better. Danger existed, and he feared that if she knew, her nightmares would become worse.

"I don't know. I'm confused. I