A/N: Hey, guys, thanks for all the great reviews.
Oh, and Camden-Kinkirk, I'm sorry I made you late for work. ;) Enjoy.
Love, Lucy
Under A Sorrowful Sky (Part 2)
She was trying to show me the letter before I left, Lucy thought.
She was sitting alone in her garage apartment, her knees curled up to her chest, her chin resting upon them. Her face was tearstained, although the tears had stopped long ago for the simple reason that she had none left.
Kevin and Roxanne were both out searching for Ruthie in their cruiser. He wouldn't be home for hours.
Lucy glanced at the piece of paper that lay idle beside her. Quickly, she looked away, feeling more oncoming tears. She didn't have to reread it to remember what it had said. This creep wanted her to run away to be with him. No telling what he would do with her when she got there.
There was a sound downstairs. A rattling sound; as if someone was trying to get in.
Lucy moved from her bed and went to answer the door.
"Mr. Hunter?"
Thomas Hunter was standing on the other side of the door holding a small, unmarked brown box.
"Uh, my friend wanted me to give this to you," Thomas said hurriedly.
Lucy accepted the package from him and invited him inside.
"I heard about Ruthie," Thomas explained once they were up in her apartment, two cups of hot coffee in front of them.
Lucy looked down. Steam rose from her cup and hit her face. "Yeah," she replied weakly.
"Terrible," Tom muttered.
Lucy took in a deep breath. "Look--Mr. Hunter--"
"Please, call me Tom."
Lucy smiled an apology and continued. "--Tom. I appreciate your sympathy, but I don't really want to talk about my sister right now."
Tom looked slightly hurt. "Oh! I'm so sorry. It's just that when someone goes missing, people usually want to--" he cut off, afraid that he was just making matters worse.
"No, it's okay," Lucy stood and went to her bed. She took the letter in her hand and showed it to Tom. "I just think this is who took her. They meant to take me, but--"
"Holy smokes."
Lucy's eyebrows came together. "What?"
"My brother wrote this." Thomas
looked up at her, eyes wide.
"Oh, shut up!"
A hand came down hard across her face, the force turning her head in the opposite direction. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Like a whip cracking.
Ruthie had been crying uncontrollably. Of course, it was understandable. This man --monster-- had taken and raped her.
She swallowed her jagged sobs one by one as they came. There was hardly any words to describe the horrible feeling that she felt. Only one word came to mind: dirty.
He was on the move again.
She couldn't see him; could only hear his feet shuffle through the ocean
of dust and dirt. He dropped something by her feet. It was her clothes.
Ruthie
could feel the fabric brushing against her bare
leg.
"Move, and I'll kill ya."
Ruthie gulped. He was untying the rope around her ankles.
"You're not even the one I wanted, Jezebel."
He was dressing her as if she were a small child or a stuffed doll.
"But I'll get her," he continued.
"'Cause now that I have you, she'll come. You just got in my way, that's
all. No hard feelings."
"Kinkirk." Kevin answered his cell phone as he stopped at a stop sign. "Get any leads?"
Roxanne looked over at her partner with curiosity. Was Detective Michaels calling? Had they figured out where Ruthie was?
Kevin hung up his cellphone and made a u-turn.
"That was Michaels. We're heading to 356 Jenkins."