IN HER TERROR, a thriller, keeps the reader riveted with the story of Kurt Heinrich, evil scion of the Nazi Party, using and abusing the underground power of the Party in 1999 Toronto. Violent sex games, resulting in the subtly mysterious deaths of two beautiful young women, add considerable spice to this novel by first-time author Alice C. Bateman. Much more complex and chilling than simple Neo-Nazi pranks, the most frightening part about this work of fiction is that the story could all too easily be real. 'Independent Investigator' Sheldon Gardner, a reader-friendly widower, will be carried from this stark and compelling work into future novels, the first of which will be the sequel to In Her Terror.
A prolific writer and inspired poet, Alice C. Bateman carries a vast assortment of characters and plots around in her head at any given time. Her seven children are accustomed to Alice talking about her fictional people as if they are real, no longer surprised to hear her discuss a predicament the characters find themselves in at the dinner table or on the telephone.
Ms. Bateman's versatility allows us to see many sides of her multi-faceted intellect. In addition to writing, Alice enjoys spending time with her family, and designs and makes fashion jewelry primarily from crystals, stones and feathers. She loves to read, and thoroughly enjoys traveling to warmer climates. A divorced Canadian woman, Alice and her family are currently located in Calgary, Alberta amidst the grandeur of the Canadian Rocky Mountains. Watch for more work soon by this exciting new author!
"Where the hell is he!" Rolf is pacing back and forth, frantic, talking out loud. "It’s already been forty-five minutes! To hell with him - I can’t leave my car parked outside forever with a dead woman inside it! Jesus, what if somebody already found her, and the cops are out there waiting for me?"
The young man combs his fingers through his hair nervously, distraught, caught between one dead body in the apartment and one waiting outside.
"Christ! How did I get myself into this!" Rolf exclaims out loud.
Suddenly making up his mind, he grabs his coat and leaves the apartment, trusting the self-locking mechanism to do what it’s supposed to.
"Calm down," he mutters, "calm down. You have a job to do - relax and think!"
Realising that he is now in a public area, and still talking out loud to himself, Rolf stops in mid-stride and tries to compose his anguished thoughts.
‘OK,’ he thinks, ‘it’s simple. Get rid of Erika. He said he doesn’t care what I do with her, throw her in the lake if I want to.
‘Fine. The lake is right there. Just take her out of the car, carry her to the end of the pier, and throw her in the lake. What do I care if they find her? Serve the bastard right if they do!’
Rolf is sick of Kurt, sick of the damned Party. This is what they consider a career with a future? Tell that to Erika, and poor little Helga. Not to mention his friend Heinz, wherever he may be!
He will do these last chores, then he will quit. He’ll go somewhere, anywhere, out of the reach of the Nazi Party! Who’d ever think to look for him in a small place like Elliot Lake, in a more northern part of Ontario? Or how about some pretty town in BC? He’s always heard that British Columbia is beautiful, with the Rocky Mountains and green valleys. Great skiing. But of course ‘duty’ and ‘loyalty’ have always kept him too busy to visit that province.
There’s no time off when your mother sold your soul to the Party before you were even born.
Sure, maybe he’ll go find work at a resort someplace. Who’d ever notice him with thousands of tourists milling around?
With these more positive thoughts, Rolf feels calmer and better able to deal with his present task. ‘Come on,’ he thinks, ‘no one’s looking. Just pretend you’re taking this lovely tapestry for a walk, then drop it quietly into the lake. Forget what’s inside it.’
Just as he’s telling himself this, a picture of Erika flashes into his mind. Was it just last night? Could it have been less than twenty-four hours ago? A picture of Erika alive, vibrant, smiling at him behind old man Mueller’s back, going down in the elevator after the meeting. ‘Sizing me up, if I’m not mistaken,’ Rolf thinks.
Tears fill his eyes at the memory. All of a sudden he is sobbing, mourning for both of the beautiful girls who are now dead. Last evening seems like a lifetime ago. Two lifetimes ago, to be more precise.
Reaching his car, he knows he can’t just pick up Erika and dump her in the lake right here, among the garbage and the gulls and the smell of rotting fish. If it’s going to be a lake, at least it has to be someplace where it’s beautiful, and the water’s much cleaner.
A thought strikes him. An image from a rare day spent going north to ski during the winter. About sixty miles north, in a small city called Barrie, is a monument named the Spirit Catcher.
The shore of Lake Simcoe, where Barrie is situated, is lovely. Not cluttered with too many modern buildings like Toronto’s lakefront. And it’s a cleaner, purer lake. Much more suitable for these cleaner, purer girls.
On the north shore of the lake, at the bottom of the street where the City Hall used to be, is the monument called the Spirit Catcher. Rolf has no idea of the origins of this statue, but the name of it, Spirit Catcher, reassures him. Makes him feel like he is doing something good for the girls, commending their souls to the great iron bird depicted in the monument.
Retracing his steps, this time carrying the navy blue blanket from the car, Rolf returns to the condo for poor, dead Helga, still hanging from the ceiling in the playroom.
Strong and sure of himself now, having thought of what he sees as the decent thing to do, Rolf gently lowers the girl onto the blanket he’d placed on the couch. He wraps her as tenderly as a mother might wrap her baby, and carries her in his arms down to the car. Even though the young girl is beyond feeling any pain, Rolf still handles her gently, trying not to touch any injured parts.
‘To hell with the linens,’ he thinks. ‘Let Kurt take care of them.’
A Guardian Angel must be watching over Rolf, because he doesn’t encounter another living soul. He gently lies Sonya on the back seat of the car, on top of the awkward bundle containing Erika.
"You don’t mind, do you, Erika? It’s only for a little while, then you’ll both be put to rest."
He waits as if for an answer. Rolf must hear something in his own mind, because he nods after a moment, then starts the car, taking the girls for their final ride. He decides that he will deliver them to the Spirit Catcher, his last loving gesture, then he will just keep going.