no fornicator, unclean person nor covetous man who is an idolater has any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and God!” Ephesians, chapter 5, verse 5.’
He slapped her again, even harder this time.
‘“Let the people turn from their wicked deeds! Let them banish from their minds the very thought of doing wrong! Let them turn to the Lord that He may have mercy on them! Yes, turn to our God, for He will abundantly pardon!” Book of Isaiah, chapter 55, verse 7.’
The monster flipped Sara back over and pinned her shoulders beneath his weight again. Running the sharp knife lightly over her throat left a superficial but very painful cut in its wake. Even in the darkness, Dana could easily make out the stark contrast between the bright red blood and the pale white skin at her mother’s throat.
Just then, Sara Whitestone’s panicked blue eyes widened in horror at the sight of something over Nathan Stiedowe’s left shoulder. The monster turned and followed her gaze to the doorway of the bedroom. Dana did the same. Two feet away and wearing his footy-pyjamas, Bradley held a teddy bear in one tiny hand and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as though he needed to go to the bathroom.
‘Mommy, what’s happening?’ the little boy asked, his small voice quiet and shy. ‘You’re scaring me. Who’s that man on top of you? Where’s my daddy?’
Nathan Stiedowe locked gazes with the little boy, freezing Bradley like an ice sculpture in his paralysing stare. He never took his eyes off the boy as he whipped the sharp blade across Sara Whitestone’s neck again, this time cutting all the way to the bone.
Jolted out of his stupor, the little boy screamed so loudly that it nearly drowned out the watery gurgling sounds that Sara Whitestone was making as she choked to death on her own blood. Springing off the bed in a black flash of movement, the monster leapt toward the doorway, passing directly through Dana’s body again. The little boy’s enormous blue eyes widened in terror as Nathan Stiedowe yanked the sharp knife high overhead. Bright red droplets of Sara Whitestone’s freshly drawn blood slid down the glinting blade and plopped onto Bradley’s tiny upturned face.
That’s when the front door slammed open with a violent bang.
‘Sara? James? What the hell’s going on in here? It’s Ralph Wilson from next door. Nancy and I heard screaming and called the police. Is everything all right?’
Nathan Stiedowe froze in his tracks. Then he reacted in another blinding flash of movement. Undisguised hatred flashing across his handsome face, he bolted past the now-catatonic little boy and dashed into Dana’s bedroom before pulling himself up through the window and dashing across the yard, disappearing into the darkness. From the corner of her right eye, Dana watched a dark circle of urine spread slowly across the front of Bradley’s pyjama bottoms. The accusing glare in his traumatised eyes was impossible to misinterpret.
How could you let this happen to me again? the little boy’s look asked her. You were supposed to protect me. Now because of you I have to die in that plane crash.
CHAPTER 8
Dana bolted upright out of her coma and ripped blindly at the thick plastic tube shoved down her throat.
She gagged hard while the cylinder took for ever to slide up her esophagus, lubricated with stomach acid and some kind of sticky white paste they’d been feeding her. A high-pitched alarm filled the room with frantic beeping, followed immediately by a stampede of medical personnel storming into the room.
‘Jesus Christ!’ a woman yelled. ‘Get a sedative!’
A man with a deep baritone voice overruled the order at once. His harsh tone left no doubt at all as to exactly who was in charge here. ‘Are you fucking crazy, Jean? She just came out of a coma, for Christ’s sake. The last thing in the world we want to do right now is put her back to sleep.’
Dana coughed painfully. The lining of her throat felt raped, like she’d just swallowed ten gallons of high-grade gasoline. Gradually, she became aware of a catheter between her legs, of more plastic tubes attached to her arms. She ripped at those, too, but the large man who’d just barked out his stern command that she should not be injected with any sleep-inducing drugs pushed her gently back down into the bed. ‘Easy, Agent Whitestone,’ the man said, resting his huge hands lightly on her shoulders. ‘Easy, now. Everything’s OK. You’re OK.’
Dana’s