Chapter 84

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Sarra drove like a zombie, her cruise control set, the voice on the radio washing over her like an Arctic, numbing, breeze.  Former FBI agent Brian Fuller dead....A six year old girl now believed to be held....The FBI scrambling..... Distraught mother charged with the murder of Fuller.... Brian Fuller dead....Six year old missing.

A nightmare. A Dream. Perhaps she would awaken later to the sounds of Abby giggling with Justice, to the sensation of Brian holding her, moving deep inside her, and discover this was all a ugly fantasy. Perhaps it wasn't happening.

But it was. That woman killed Brian. Brandon James had Abby. Sarra's imagination took a wild ride for a moment, to all the things Brandon might do to a child, to what he possibly done to his little sister, then she reined it all in and focused on the running white dashes on the highway.

Keep driving. Don't think.

She looked at the dashboard clock: 10:30 P.M. Another hour,. She has to find Brandon's house. Brian had drawn it out for her once. It was adjacent to Damien's gun and shooting range. Couldn't be hard to locate in this small town. Brian had explained it to her.

Thank god. Thank god he came into her life even for a little while.

She blinked to clear the tears in her eyes. She didn't dare to think a Brian right now.Not when Abby was alive somewhere, needing her. She had to find her.

You're over your head with this.

Brian's words floated through the haze. She smothered them. Brandon wanted her. Certainly he would kill Abby if a string of FBI agents showed up at his mothers house instead of her.

Doing everything alone doesn't mean you are strong. It just means your alone.

She wished Brian would shut up and half laughed at that. She hadn't listened to him when he was alive, yet now, his words drummed through her body with every beat of heart.

You aren't alone anymore.

She believed him, finally and cursed herself for it. It hadn't been so painful being alone when it was only thing she knew. But now having lived outside her bubble with Brian for a few short days , and Nights, she was floundering. Alone again, driving toward a destiny she couldn't bare to think about, without the man who had been her anchor.

There is more than one person in the world willing to help you, Sarra.

Oh, God.

Sarra swerved and stopped on the shoulder of the highway. She closed her eyes. Made a decision.

Oh Abby,please. Don't let this be a mistake.

The tears were gone when Sarra finally found a gas station. Petro. It was a little place in wooded hills just outside of the town, at the corner of two country roads. She needed a phone.

To call special agent Dean.

A single car was parked on the gravel drive, a dented old Chevy jammed onto the sidewalk at the side of the building. One employee, one car. She looked around. There were bathrooms on the outside, an ice machine, and a news paper stand. But No phone.

She got out of the car, shivering. The temperature had fallen to fifty degrees, said the radio, and it hit her like a north wind. She walked over the pebbles in the parking lot. Glass punched through the soul of her left foot. and she stepped to the right, trying to avoid any more of what must have been a shattered bottle. No luck: Her right foot found more. Not so bad though. She's gone more lightly there.

She stepped into the sidewalk, now in better light, one hand curling around the door handle, to the store. The other rested lightly on her purse, which was strapped over her shoulder. Evan's gun was inside. She prayed she wouldn't need it now. She'd find a phone, tell Special agent Dean everything, and let the FBI handle it.

You're not alone anymore.

She opened the door and looked inside.The cashiers counter was just ten feet away, lit up, with an empty bottle of Aquifina on the counter and a candy wrapper lying beside it. The cashier wasn't in sight.

Then Sarra noticed two things at once. One, a dark red stain was splattered behind the counter, trailing down the wall in a gruesome smudge. And two, the candy wrapper was from a Reese's Cup.

Run.

She did, but her body snapped backward. A scream tore from her chest even as she groped at the arm trying to close around her throat.

No,no.Don't grab my arm; use the heel of your hand.

But reason came to slowly. He grunted and stumbled back, yanking her with him. She lost her balance, taking them both down, her purse strap falling from her shoulder. She grabbed it. The gun, the gun....

It will be in your purse when you need it.

Brandon was on top of her, sneering. His weight felt like stone, her hip screaming with pain from when they'd fallen. She couldn't catch her breath. Think..

"Ah Sarra," He said, straddling her. "Just like old times."

No. Things were different now. She was strong. She was trained. She practiced for years. She knew all the techniques for self defense.

She rammed her forehead into his nose.

"Ahhggh!" He groaned, rolling to the side. She shoved him off, clambering to her feet to get away. Run.

Stay with it; never believe your last hit was the final one. Otherwise your are likely to get..__

Bang.

She felt the impact before the pain. Like some one had shoved her hard from behind. She struck the ground, gravel scraping at her legs and arms, and the pain seeped into her shoulder blade. Her right arm went limp.

First she heard a chuckle, then felt herself being hauled upright. His gun smelling freshly fired pushed into her throat.

"Hi, doll." He breathed, and Sarra felt the blood leaking from her back. Warm and sticky, it soaked the back of her dress. She looked down. A dark spot formed over her right breast. Too.

"I have been waiting for you Sarra. Watching for you to drive by. In fact, I have been waiting seven years." He looked at the blood on her shoulder and grimaced. "You shouldn't of made me shoot you, Sarra. I don't want you to die yet."

Sarra blinked, trying to pull the world into focus. Think. You can't bet him physically right now., so think,. Stard's instructions came back in a flood. Act scared, cry, gasp. Let him see you weak.

"Go to hell." She spat.

Brandon cursed, and shoved her against the door of the gas station. Her cheek smashed into the glass. Pain exploded consciousness., but it was like a banner whipping in the wind just out of reach, and she couldn't quite get a hold of it. For a second, She wanted to stop fighting and sink beneath the pain, then she remembered why she couldn't.

"Abby," She mumbled against the glass.

Brandon's lips settled at her temple, her face pressed hard against the door, and Sarra had to concentrate on not throwing up. "What did you say?"

"My daughter. Wh-what did you do with her?"

He laughed, the same self satisfied ripple she heard on the phone in her nightmares. "You mean our daughter?"

"No". Sarra cried before she could think not to, and Brandon chuckled.

"I thought so. Don't worry. I don't want any claim to her. Just because we share the same blood doesn't mean anything. Blood is nothing. Blood is nothing."

He'd repeated himself, or was she hearing double? She tried to make sense out of it. Blood is nothing, Could he really mean that? And if so what is all this about?

Scccrraattch. The sound cleaved her sense, the unmistakable screech of duct tape ripping from the roll. She tried to move but couldn't. He yanked her arms behind her and pain shattered at her shoulder., his knee drilling into the small of her back to hold her against the door.  A tiny length of tape grabbed her wrist. He bent, to bite the end of the tape, she thought and  she jerked back and kicked, screaming, but he was ready for it and yanked her head back. Tape seized her lips, plastering her hair over one cheek. For the space of two breaths, she couldn't breath, the panic causing her to stupidly try to open her mouth and gasp for air.

She grabbed a deep breath through her nose, and he shoved her into the store, dragging her through the aisles to a back room. Sarra felt his hand against her hip as he dug into his pocket. He produced a key and slid it into a tiny slot on the wall. He gave it a crank.

The lights went out.

He pushed her through the store again, out of the door, Dark.He killed the store's street sign  with the key, killed all but a single work light inside. It would be a long time before anyone found the dead clerk in a store that appeared  to be closed. She almost admired his thoroughness.

But all the vanished when he opened the trunk of the old Chevy. She kicked and fought, with a surreal sort of awareness of the fact that is wasn't going to do any good, that despite all the years of training, he was in control and she was loosing blood, the ability to fight leaking out of her in slow motion. The earth fell from beneath her feet, her head hitting the inside of the trunk and legs tumbling after. He slammed her into darkness. She kicked, the scent of mold and mildew clogging the back of her nose, and as the car's tires ground over broken glass and stones, she sank into darkness, thinking all over again. You did everything, wrong.