Dark Vengeance

by Kristi Belcamino

“What do you mean?” We’d both been staring out at the water, but now I turned toward her.

  “The last girl he kidnapped, Joan, ended up mentally disabled. She wanders the streets of Padang begging for money. She’s eighteen.”

  I squared my shoulders. It couldn’t be too late. It was impossible.

  “Then I need to make sure that doesn’t happen to Rose,” I said. “I don’t understand why you all act so afraid of this one guy. It’s just one guy, right?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Explain anyway.”

  She sat on the sand, stretching her legs out before her so the water lapped at her bare feet. I sat beside her, but pulled my knees up to my chest so my boots wouldn’t get wet.

  “We all have something to hide,” she said, shooting me a sideways glance. “Every single one of us is here hiding from something.”

  “That’s obvious.”

  She gave me a glance to see if I was being snarky. I wasn’t.

  “When he first arrived a few years ago, we all came back to our huts one night and found sealed envelopes. They were dossiers on each one of us. For many of us, they proved that he could destroy the lives we had created here with one phone call. The few people who actually weren’t here for that reason, found surveillance photos of their loved ones back home. There was a note scribbled on the back of each envelope. It said, ‘You mind your business and I’ll mind mine.’”

  I thought about that. He had unprecedented access to information that only someone with hacker skills would have. Very interesting. It was a lead. Not only was one of my closest friends, Danny, a skilled hacker, but Eva was an expert and I wasn’t too bad myself.

  “I heard he’s fucked up people who’ve poked around.”

  Makeda looked at me in surprise, her green eyes blinking. “Whoever told you that is either very brave or very stupid.”

  “I trust you. You’re the only one I’m talking to about this. That person is safe.”

  “Good,” she said. “If you show up at his house, there is a chance he’s just going to come through here and set all our houses on fire and then blow up our world in other ways. He knows you are staying down here, so this is the first place he’s going to look—and destroy.”

  I stood and brushed the sand off. “Not if I kill him first.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  She also stood and headed back to her hut. I waited staring out at the sea. I’d have to be smart about it. I’d have one shot. And one shot only.

  I went back to my hut and crawled onto Rose’s futon, pulling her thin blanket up over me. I fell into an uneasy sleep. Right before I drifted off, I realized that in order to save Rose I would jeopardize at least a dozen other people. That didn’t sit well with me.

  But I also knew I didn’t have any other choice.

  It would be on me. Lives would be on the line.

  If I fucked up, it would be all my fault.

  9

  When I woke, it was dark.

  Despite the mechanic’s warning not to go tonight, I had to.

  I couldn’t risk whatever happened to that homeless girl in Padang happening to Rose. Makeda hadn’t explained what had caused the girl, Joan, to lose her way—whether it was excessive drug use or a head injury or what, but none of that was acceptable.

  I checked my phone. There were no calls from the vet. I turned it off and stuck it in my jacket pocket. The last thing I needed was it ringing or vibrating when I was sneaking into X’s house.

  I’d pulled the bike inside the hut when I went to bed. Now, I wheeled it out to the sand and then to the road. The light of a bonfire flickered down the beach. Good. I was glad people were down at the beach still instead of in their huts where they might see me pass.

  I waited until I’d wheeled the bike down the main road for about a mile before I started the engine. It sputtered to life and I hopped on, wishing I had a weapon. I had the pepper spray, but that was basically something for me to use before I fled my attacker. It was not really a weapon.

  The bike made a lot of noise for such a small thing. I couldn’t ride it down the main strip without drawing attention to myself. Many of the businesses had apartments above them. The last thing I wanted was to have someone warn X I was coming.

  But the mechanic had planned for that. I remembered the smaller road he’d drawn that ran north and parallel to Main Street. I’d take that.

  Keeping the bike at a low idle, I drove slowly. The foliage closed in on both sides, making the road feel like I’d entered a dark tunnel. My headlight seemed inadequate, its reach limited. Beyond its beam, anything could be waiting for me.

  I shook off the fear that had crawled up the back of my neck.

  The only person or thing I had to fear was probably locked safely in his house. And I had to remind myself that he was the one who needed to fear me.

  After about twenty minutes of driving through the dark dense jungle, the trees above me parted and I could see the heavens. Shortly after, there was a hazy orange glow in the sky from the street lamps on Main Street.

  I slowed to a crawl. As I approached the outskirts of town, I saw a small road to my left. I’d almost passed by. It was nearly hidden in thick brush and trees that swooped down over its entrance. I stopped my bike and looked around. I didn’t see any obvious surveillance cameras, but that didn’t mean they weren’t hidden in the trees. I swallowed. It was basically a kamikaze mission from here on out. If I didn’t play it right, I’d die taking him out.

  I’d decided on the ride into town that failure was not an option. I couldn’t attack him and fail. If I did, too many innocent lives would be destroyed because of me. I would have their blood on my hands.

  I had to take him down or die trying.

  For one split second, a fleeting thought made me pause.

  Were his crimes worthy of a death sentence?

  Then I remembered what the mechanic had said–that the private investigator had been strung up in a tree and his wife and daughters in the states raped. And this guy was still here striking fear in everyone else on this island and preying on young women.

  Yeah, he was a dead man.

  I killed the bike’s engine and hopped off. I found a small opening in the brush and wheeled the bike into the heavy foliage. Then I fixed the branches and leaves as I backed out. I surveyed the spot to not only memorize it, but make sure there weren’t any broken branches or tire marks or crushed leaves to indicate the bike was tucked away there.

  The insects were going nuts. The buzzing was nearly ear-splitting. In the distance, I could hear the faint yell of an angry monkey. I walked under every single tree around the road and across the street, shining the flashlight on my phone to look for hidden cameras. Nothing.

  That was a good sign.

  After all that, I walked deep into the brush until I found what I was looking for. A thick branch that I could use as a weapon. It wasn’t so thick that I couldn’t snap it off the tree trunk, but thick enough that I could wield it as a weapon. When I found the perfect one, I broke it off, cringing at the loud crack it made. For a second, all the insects around me quieted, and I held my breath until they started their orchestra again.

  Armed now, I headed back to the road and started into the darkness, now with my flashlight off. There was a slight light from the moon, but it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust so I could stay on the road, that was only slightly lighter than the forest surrounding it. I used my branch as a walking stick, striking the road in front of me as I went. The break of the stick had been perfect because the top portion of the stick was sharp like a sword. It could not have worked out any better.

  The sharp stick could possibly fend off an attack by a large animal. Or not. Most predatory animals could see in the dark. I could not.

  I gripped the stick just below the jagged edge and prodded in front of me with each step. After a while, my eyes had adjusted even more and I felt comfortable picking up my pace. Soon, I saw a faint glow i
n front of me. I must be getting close to the house.

  As I grew closer, I realized that there was no fence around the house. It looked like I could walk right up to it. I was immediately wary.

  The house was a dark looming shape in front of me, two stories high with windows facing the front. The thick trees bordering the road stopped just in front of the entrance to the circular driveway. The sides and back of the house were enclosed a tall stone wall. But the front of the house was wide open to anyone and anything. Half a dozen steps led to the front door, which was flanked by two long windows with stained glass panes. I could see a faint glow from inside the house, but all the other windows were dark. A light over the door cast a large oval beam that stretched across the driveway and nearly reached the tip of my boots. It wasn’t a mansion, but it wasn’t a shack, either.

  There must be some other security system in place—motion detectors, lights, maybe an invisible fence that triggered an alarm?

  I paused and scanned the trees at the base of the driveway looking for something—anything. A laser beam? I peered up into the darkness of the branches looking for anything that might indicate a camera or motion detector. But I saw nothing. No blinking red lights. And I heard nothing. Everything was quiet. Everyone was asleep. Or so it seemed.

  I stepped out of the darkness into the circle of light. It was the only way to approach the house. Even if I clamored through the thick woods to get to the side of the house, I’d be met with that stone wall, which looked to be twelve to fourteen feet high. I wasn’t prepared to scale any walls like that.

  With one leg now extended in the light, I froze, holding the sharp point of the stick out in front of me, waiting to see if I’d triggered an alarm. Again, I heard and saw nothing. It seemed unfathomable that this feared man would have no security system. I refused to believe that.

  And I was right.

  I took two more steps and heard a deep-throated growl at the same time I heard the distinctive but barely audible “snick” sound of someone flicking the safety off a gun.

  10

  I didn’t wait to see who or what it was but whirled and dove back into the darkness, my sharp stick flying as I instinctively curled into a somersault. As I hit the brush, I heard a thwack and felt the whoosh of bullets whizzing by me. The gunman was using a silencer. Each time he fired, the sound would be louder. And he kept firing. I could track him from the cracking sound.

  I came out of my somersault and twisted, racing for the brush at the side of the driveway. I crashed into the woods, hearing more gunfire. One bullet seemed to graze my ear as I ran, twigs and branches scratching my face and bare arms as I flew past.

  The dog was nearly on me. I could hear its deep growl and then felt teeth on my ankle where my boot laced up. I reached in my pocket and found what I was looking for—my fingers curling around it before I was on the ground, face down in the dank musty leaves covering the ground. I twisted in time to spray the contents of the small pepper spray container in my hand into the dog’s snarling muzzle which was going for my neck. Thank God. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt a dog.

  The animal gave a surprised whimper and then was gone. I heard a gruff voice and branches being ripped from tree trunks as my pursuer grew closer.

  I scrambled to my feet and immediately scaled the nearest tree with low branches. I was counting on the guy pursuing me to make more noise than me as he grew closer.

  Then I saw the bobbing light. He was tracking me. Fuck.

  All he had to do was shine the light upward and he’d see me dangling in the treetops.

  And if the dog was with him, the dog would know exactly where I was.

  Even as I thought this, he was under me and then past me. Relief filled me. He thought I was still running. And the dog must have hightailed it out of the woods.

  Quickly, I dropped to the ground and headed back toward the house.

  I wouldn’t have much time.

  He’d soon figure out that I wasn’t anywhere in front of him and he’d double back.

  I knew the smartest thing to do would be to cut over to the driveway and get the hell out of there and back to my bike. But I couldn’t leave if there was any chance Rose was inside that house.

  At this point, I was more than committed. If I didn’t confront X and take him out, I was putting other people’s lives at risk. Anyone I’d talked to since getting to this island would be suspect.

  I had no choice but to get inside that house.

  Now, as I raced toward the glow of the house, I didn’t hesitate for one second to step into the lit-up driveway, not even pausing as I ran toward the front door. I barreled up the front steps and tried the handle—just in case. It was locked. To my right was a stone planter filled with flowers. I hefted it and smashed it through the stained-glass window pane to the right of the door.

  It wasn’t subtle, and I tensed for a fight as I took my boot and kicked out some remaining sharp shards of glass before I reached through to unlock the door. Then I was inside the house.

  Light was coming from what looked like a kitchen straight ahead. I ran toward it and as I entered I saw that I’d interrupted my pursuer from a late dinner. Steam was still rising from a cup of coffee on the table next to a bowl of rice and vegetables.

  I scanned the kitchen until I found what I was looking for. A butcher knife. I grabbed it just as I heard crashing from the front of the house.

  I ducked behind the door and set the knife down on the floor at my feet. I intended to take this fight to the ground. That was the only way I could possibly gain an advantage over the guard. He was at least at foot taller and maybe a hundred pounds heavier than me.

  I looked around wildly and then stretched my arm out, grabbing the handle of a heavy cast iron skillet on the stove nearby. It was hot and I winced in pain as it burned me, but I held tight.

  Seconds later, the gunman pounded into the kitchen, head swiveling in both directions looking for me. As soon as his eyes met mine, I leaped out from behind the door and swung the skillet at his chest. To my horror, it bounced back as if he were rubber.

  Motherfucker.

  He whirled and dove at me with a roar.

  I ducked, tucked and rolled, somehow managing to end up on the other side of him. When he turned back, I lifted my legs and as soon as he grew close, my steel-toed boots connected with both of his kneecaps. I heard a satisfying crack, and he buckled to the floor.

  But the knife was on the other side of him.

  He lunged and aimed one meaty fist at my skull. His blow glanced off my shoulder, and I winced and grunted in pain. My entire arm felt numb. If he’d managed to land that blow on my skull, I would’ve been seeing stars. The momentum of his punch had thrown him slightly off balance since he was already balanced on his injured, possibly broken, kneecaps and he sort of tipped over onto the floor.

  It gave me the chance to crab walk frantically away from him toward the knife. He was lunging toward me, somehow, miraculously back on his feet right when I got within reach of the handle of the knife sticking out from behind the door.

  I’d managed to grasp the knife and lift it up right when he attacked again. He let out another angry roar and threw himself on me just as I lifted the blade of the knife. I gripped it with every ounce of my strength, and the weight of his body did the rest. It slid into his chest and then he collapsed partly on me.

  His head was near my face and I saw the life leave his eyes as a small gurgle of blood erupted from his lips.

  I rolled out from under him, shaking wildly. I needed the knife while I searched the rest of the house, but couldn’t bear to get near him to pull it out.

  I raced over and searched the drawers, keeping an eye on the door leading out of the kitchen, but could find nothing else to use as a weapon except a meat cleaver. Grasping this, I crept out of the kitchen. It seemed impossible that our scuffle had gone unnoticed by others in the house, but the rest of the house was silent.

  The front door was still
wide open. Sticking to the shadows, I entered the main room. I’d seen a staircase earlier. I had just stepped out of the kitchen when I heard a low growl in front of me. The dog was in the doorway. The porch light made him a dark silhouette. He padded closer and then began to bark, his entire body writhing with each snap of his jaw. I backed into the kitchen very slowly. The dog stood his ground, alternately growling and barking.

  Damn it. I was not going to hurt the dog. Not if I could help it.

  As soon as I was inside, I tried to tug at the door of the kitchen to close it, but the man’s body was blocking it. I managed to roll him over just as the dog bounded into the room, snarling. I leaped onto the kitchen counter near the door and then propelled myself over the top of both the man and the dog, gripping the door handle on my way down. I pulled it shut just as I heard the thump of the dog’s body landing on the door behind me.

  I raced for the stairs now.

  Because the element of surprise had long passed and anyone in the house clearly knew I was there, I hit every light switch I passed. Upstairs I found a master suite. Empty. A master bath. Empty. Three other bedrooms. All empty. One of the rooms had an ashtray filled with cigarettes and a small bedside lamp on. The dead man’s, I bet.

  The other two bedrooms had bars on the windows. And deadbolts on the outside of the doors. I paused in each one of them, looking for some sign that Rose had been there. They were sterile and bare—simply a bed with the frame bolted to the wall. And an armchair bolted to the floor.

  I went back to the master bedroom. It had a large dark bedframe and a bookshelf lining one wall. I examined the room carefully, hoping it would give me a clue to the owner of the house.

  X.

  The books were both classics and nonfiction on a variety of subjects.

  The book on the nightstand was something by a political commentator writing about wealth and power. Beside it was a framed picture that I picked up and looked at closely.

  The infamous X.