Final Crossing: A Novel of Suspense Read Online Free

days. Nothing that needs cooking. Rudiger only stays in anonymous mom-andpop motels, and those never have kitchens in the rooms.
    God told him to come to Cleveland, just as he told him to go to Philly. Clean in Cleveland. That’s what the magazine cover told him. Least that’s what the letters spelled to Rudiger. Rudiger has a gift, gift of interpretation. God gave him the gift. So God talks to him. All makes sense.
    He wonders what he’s gonna find in Cleveland.
    “’scuse me,” he mutters to a woman standing in front of a sea of canned vegetables. She shifts to the left. Then turns and looks at him as she apologizes.
    Rudiger freezes.
    She looks just like her . Long, stringy hair. Skinny like a dope fiend. Bright eyes that once probably looked hopeful but now convey a touch of crazy.
    Preacherman’s whore.
    The bitch who had laughed when Preacherman had his way with him. When Preacherman was done, the whore had her turn with Rudiger next. She’d been the one who thought the slice around his ear was well-deserved punishment for Rudiger trying to escape that basement. The image of that beast’s face was burned into everything that Rudiger was made of, and here was the same face, twenty-five years later, not a day aged, browsing the canned veggies.
    Rudiger knows it can’t be. He can’t look away.
    She catches his gaze, then offers a weak smile that quickly evaporates.
    The resemblance continues to digs its nails into Rudiger’s skin.
    Maybe this is what he’s here for. Maybe it’s all a part of what he’s supposed to do. Through her, he can help rid himself of his past. Exorcise his demons, some would call it.
    He keeps staring. He doesn’t want to, but he can’t help it. She is scared. Rudiger knows what fear looks like in the faces of others.
    Without taking anything from the shelf, the woman turns away and pushes her cart down the aisle. She doesn’t look back. Rudiger looks at her backpack. It’s a cheap kind. The kind a company would give away for free. It’s purple, and the image of a steaming cup of coffee is plastered smack in the middle. Beneath, in big, bold letters, is the name of a coffee shop.
    Café Rave Niche.
    His mind seizes the words in the air and tears them apart, spreading them before him like playing cards. He grabs the letters he needs and stitches them back together, looking for meaning. Then it’s there. The anagram is perfect. No wasted letters. What are the odds?
    Cave her face in.
    Rudiger turns and follows her, leaving his cart at an angle in the canned vegetables aisle.
    • • •
    He sits in his car and waits. White Buick, decade old, jacked just west of Philly. Stole fresh plates minutes after arriving in Ohio. Anonymous car for an anonymous man.
    He watches as she loads her bags into a dated Camry, its paint dulled under several layers of street grime. No child seats.
    She pulls out and Rudiger follows her. He keeps a distance. She takes him from busy boulevards into quieter residential streets. He sees her pull into a driveway and he drives past, knowing she can’t see him as she pulls into a garage.
    He drives another block and parks his car next to a small expanse of dead grass with a play structure on it. Paint faded from age. Too cold for kids to be out.
    He walks back toward her house, keeping his head bowed while his gaze remains fixed before him. No one else outside. He checks his watch.
    Rudiger looks in the window next to the door and sees a messy house. The woman is unclean. Unclean people suit him not at all. He continues looking and sees no movement. No indication anyone is home except her. No car in the driveway. None on the street in front of the house. Her onecar garage was empty before she pulled in.
    She’s alone. Rudiger knocks. No one comes.
    He waits a moment longer. He starts humming. Rings the doorbell.
    Somewhere inside he hears the steps. They grow louder as she comes closer.
    Rudiger steps to the side. If she bothers to look through the peep