by Wes Markin
Outside the vehicle, Jotham’s soldier had gagged and blindfolded him. It’d been a ray of hope. Did they intend to let him live?
The walk to his fate had been long. Several times, he’d slipped over damp mud, and each time, his kidnappers had let him fall and struggle back to his feet on his own—a hard task with tied hands. They’d also stripped him of his windbreaker earlier so the fierce weather could wreak havoc on him.
Now, he felt old wood crack underfoot, and he guessed he was in a forest. He confirmed this with a collision with a tree trunk which winded him. He desperately wanted to scream at his kidnappers to stop treating him like a fucking animal. When his anger subsided, he was grateful for the gag that kept the outbursts contained, because he still believed there was a chance they’d let him live.
Farther into the journey, a fetid stench crawled into his nostrils. He desperately wanted to cover his nose, but his tied hands wouldn’t allow it. It was also difficult to breathe through the rag in his mouth, so he had to endure it. The smell intensified as they continued, and on more than one occasion, he forced back vomit, knowing the rag might cause him to choke on it.
“Stop walking,” Jotham said.
He obeyed, and someone tore off his blindfold. Disorientated, Mark’s heart accelerated. He wanted to ask where he was, but the gag wouldn’t let him. As his blurred vision cleared, he realized he stood at the edge of a circular pit, possibly fifteen feet wide. He felt his entire body go numb.
Fingers yanked the rag from his mouth, and he instinctively took a deep, cloying breath of air—laced with death. He retched and looked to his side into the young soldier’s face and envied him for having black plugs wedged up his nose. There was a short break in the sound of wind over the fields, and he heard scratching in the pit below. He looked down into the gloom, his vision becoming clearer by the second.
Shapes drew themselves in the darkness. It seemed as deep as it was wide. Small piles dotted the darkness, with a rectangular shape to the right side, which was possibly a small hut or kennel of some kind.
“What’s down there?” he asked.
“Nature. Power. Control. There are many ways of looking at it,” Jotham said.
As Mark’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, the piles took on greater clarity. He could see clothing … limbs … bones … The impact of sudden fear turned his stomach. “Why? Why have you brought me here?”
“Because this is where I harness …”
“So many bodies!”
“Nature …”
“They’re all dead!”
“Power …”
“Did you do this? Did you kill them? All of them?”
“Control.”
“I have money. A lot of it. More than you could imagine.”
“So do I.”
Mark turned from the pit and looked into the old breeder’s eyes. “I’m sorry. You must believe me. I’m so sorry. I made a mistake. I’ll pay you back whatever you want.”
“You took from me, Mark.”
“I’ll give you everything I have.”
“You cannot recompense me.”
“Tell me … Tell me what I can do to make this right. Please? Anything you want.”
“You can accept my judgement.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You can go down there yourself.”
Mark gulped. “No …” He tasted stomach acid. “No … Anything, anything but that. I’ve seen what’s down there.”
“Not everything, Mark.”
“Please … I’m begging you―”
“It’s over. Spare yourself more indignity. Go into the pit. It’s natural. And we shouldn’t fear nature.”
“I can’t,” Mark said, welling up. “I just can’t.”
The wind blew Jotham’s long hair across his eyes. “Spineless until the end. Your opportunity to go with dignity has passed.” He pushed the hair from his eyes and nodded at his soldier. “Look at me, Mark. Look into my eyes and take this moment with you.”
The back of his ankle burned. He screamed as his leg buckled, then he fell until the ground smashed the air from him. Pain rushed up and down his spine. He kept his eyes closed and groaned. If the fall hasn’t killed me, at least allow me unconsciousness … He sucked some oxygen into his lungs. No, I won’t give in. He opened his eyes, screaming. The pain in the back of his ankle seared. “You cut me, you old bastard! You fucking cut me!”
He dropped his head to the side and stared into the empty eyes of a skull. Gasping, he rolled away. The pain in his back was excruciating, but at least he hadn’t been paralyzed. Maybe he could get out of this― He stopped dead at a pile of clothing. Something cold landed on his face. He snapped his head backward and saw a grayish mottled hand emerging from the sleeve of a shirt. “Shit!”
He attempted to scurry backward, but his hands were tied behind his back, and his right foot was practically unusable. Surprisingly, he made it to another pile behind him. Here, the stench was overpowering, and he couldn’t bring himself to turn and look at what he was pressed against. “Let me out! Please! Let me out of this fucking pit!”
Movement to his left.
Shit. What the fuck was that?
Someone poked their head from a small doorway in the three-foot-high wooden kennel.
“No. Fuck this!” He tried to roll away, but again, another pile blocked him. This time, a young girl stared at him. She didn’t look long dead; her gray face contorted, her teeth bared. “Fuck … fuck …” He turned the other way.
The person from the kennel crawled toward him.
He sat upright and, unable to use his hands, leaned into the small pile of bodies, trying to wriggle himself over. The dead girl’s cold skin pressed against his face as he managed to crest the pile, fighting the eye-watering pain in his ankle and the incessant burning in his spine. He heard the pit’s occupant shuffling closer. With a deep breath, he pushed with all his might. One or possibly two corpses slipped free, and he slid with them. He heard and felt the crunch of decay beneath him. Disgusting … so fucking disgusting. The top of his head touched the pit wall—nowhere left to go.
The shuffling grew louder.
He felt wetness on his face as he cried and warmth in his crotch as he wet himself.
Her face appeared over the mound of bodies and looked down at him. Tangled hair framed a gaunt, sore-ridden face.
“Please,” he said, shaking his head. “Please don’t hurt me.”
She placed a finger to her withered lips and hushed him.
Louise Scott led Jake and Lillian to the rear of the Sharon’s Edge Community Center. She unlocked the door adorned with the START AGAIN plaque.
The three of them entered an office that had seen better days and wasn’t heated. Jake expected charity cases were in abundance round this neck of the woods and one that supported sex workers wouldn’t be finding itself anyway near the top of the budget priority list.
She switched on a plug-in radiator in the corner. “It’ll take until tomorrow to warm this place, so I’d leave on your jackets.” She offered the two wooden chairs to Lillian and Jake and perched herself on the edge of the desk.
“No, you take the chair,” Jake said.
She winked. “Don’t believe in polite men. Show me the man, and I’ll show you the crime.”
Jake smiled and sat down.
Louise had pinned-back dyed purple hair, a suntan, and an enthusiastic tone of voice. Jake hadn’t expected such a colorful character after hearing her harrowing story. He recalled an old proverb his good friend Michael Yorke had told him once: Plant flowers in others’ gardens and your life becomes a bouquet. Jake wasn’t sure he believed in the proverb, but he could vouch for one thing: helping others did at least distract one from the car crash of one’s own life. This was precisely why he struggled to keep himself to himself.
“Lillian tells me you’re quite vocal when it comes to your experiences with Jotham MacLeoid.”
She didn’t bat an eyelid. �
�Of course. Nothing for me to be ashamed of.”
“Do you think he’s ashamed?”
She laughed. “Of course not! Shame is a foreign concept to Jotham. His daddy beat that out of him from a very early age. God, if he was ashamed, I’d be long gone by now! The only thing his father ever allowed him was pride, and he definitely feels that in abundance.”
“I’ve noticed. Ms. Scott, I―”
“Louise. Please.”
Jake nodded. “Louise, I’m here because I’m worried about Ayden.”
Her eyes dropped, and her airy demeanor fell away. “You’ve been talking to Ayden?”
“Yes. Have you spoken to him recently?”
“Of course. Every day.”
“And how does he seem to you?”
“Same as always. Jotham works him hard but keeps him out of his more illegal activities.”
Jake and Lillian exchanged a look.
“Don’t worry, I’m not that naïve! Obviously, I don’t believe it! He just tells his mother what she wants to hear.”
“Because he reveres you,” Jake said.
Louise smiled. “He told you that?”
“He didn’t have to. I could tell.”
“You seem to know more about my son than I do. Anything else you’d like to share?”
Jake sighed. “Just that he’s desperately scared, Louise.”
She stood from the chair and went to the plug-in radiator. She double checked the plug was switched on. “Shitty thing. My reward for wanting to help people? To freeze to death.”
“Sorry, Louise. Did you hear what I said?”
She turned back to him with wide eyes. “Of course. Scared, you say? It’s the first I’ve heard of it!”
“He’s trying to protect you.”
“All children should share their problems with their parents; it’s up to us to protect them.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “But that old bastard has even taken that away from me. What’s he got my boy mixed up in?”
“Everything. Drugs, dogfighting, and …” Jake looked at Lillian again. Her eyes were wide. Was he taking it too far? Was this vulnerable woman really in a fit enough state to hear that her only son was involved in the death of a girl?
“What else?”
“I’ll tell you, Louise, but afterward, please reassure yourself that your son still has a way out of this. That’s why we’ve come―”
“Just get on with it!”
“We believe he is involved in the disappearance of a young lady.”
“No, I don’t believe it.”
“There have been suggestions that she’s been killed.”
She shook her head. “This is a mistake. Ayden is not like that. He’s not like his father.”
“I agree, Louise. He’s doing all these things to protect you. He believes if he doesn’t make Jotham happy, he may come for you.”
She placed her hand against her chest.
“You aren’t alone anymore, Louise. We’re here.”
Louise smiled. “You don’t know how many women I’ve said the very same thing to.”
“We want to help you save your son.”
“And how do we do that?”
“You need to tell us what you know about Jotham. His whole persona is built around reputation; we don’t understand who he really is.”
She smiled. “You want the truth behind Jotham MacLeoid? You want to know who he really is? You know I’m as good as dead when those words leave my lips?”
Jake stood and approached her at the radiator. He put his large hand on her shoulder. “No harm will come to you, Louise. You have my word.”
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word.” Despite the gravelly voice, she sang in tune. “Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.” She crawled over the pile of bodies that sandwiched Mark with the pit wall. “And if that mockingbird don’t sing”—she reached to touch his face with long, jagged fingernails—“Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.”
Mark recoiled, but his head just bounced from the wood that reinforced the walls. “Please …”
Her skeletal face moved closer, and he smelled her fetid breath.
“Did he throw you in too?”
“And if that diamond ring is brass,” she sang, showing her broken teeth, and slipped down from the bodies to maneuver herself into a sitting position behind Mark, “Papa’s gonna buy you a looking glass.”
“We can help each other!”
A clammy hand pushed his neck upward so she could ease herself underneath him and lower his head onto her lap.
He desperately tried to understand what was happening, but too many questions raced around his mind. How did all these people die? Had they been left here to fester and starve by the old dog breeder? Was this woman the last person to be thrown into the pit? Or—and this question made his heart thump wildly—was she the one doing the killings?
“And if that looking glass gets broke …”
“My hands are tied, and they tore my ankle to shreds.”
“Papa’s gonna buy you a Billy goat.” She stroked his cropped hair.
“Please …” Tears welled in his eyes. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to be down here.”
“And if that Billy goat don’t pull”—she slipped her hand beneath his chin—“Papa’s gonna buy you a cart and bull.” Her fingers squeezed his cheeks, forcing his mouth open.
“What’re you doing?” The pressure on his face muffled his words.
She thrust something into his mouth then tightly gripped his chin.
He struggled to turn his head from side to side and dislodge the object.
A disgusting taste filled his mouth, and he caught the pungent odor of disinfectant.
“And if that cart and bull turn over …”
He tried to bite down, but his teeth met the lip of some kind of bottle. He gagged as the fluid raced down his throat. Then the burning began.
“Papa’s gonna buy you a dog called Rover.”
His throat felt as if it were being incinerated. He tried to writhe free of the woman, but she kept the pressure on the top of the bottle and his chin so he couldn’t dislodge it. He felt the caustic fluid in the top of his chest burning his esophagus and, potentially, his lungs.
“And if that dog called Rover don’t bark …”
Liquid also spilled down the side of his face, and some of it had run upward into his eyes; they felt like they would burst.
“Papa’s gonna buy you a horse and cart.”
His screams couldn’t escape his mouth, so they came from deep inside himself.
Eventually, she let the bottle slip from his mouth and held his head tight against her lap. Even through his immense suffering, he could still hear the lullaby. “And if that horse and cart turn around, you’ll still be the sweetest little babe in town.”
“Amber Colson,” Louise said.
“Jotham’s late wife,” Lillian said. “She suffered postpartum psychosis and killed their three babies by forcing them to drink bleach. Jotham stood by her, but it didn’t stop her taking her own life.”
Louise sighed. “As is always the case with stories like these, some part truths but mainly a whole lot of lies.” She went to the plug-in radiator. “This story will make you feel a lot colder than you already do. Amber Colson did poison her three children, but she’s not dead. Far from it.”
Silence threatened the room. Jake quickly stepped in. “What happened?”
“In a moment, you’re going to judge me; in fact, you’ll probably hate me. If I was standing in your shoes, I’d feel the same. All I can say, in my defense, is Jotham gave me no choice. I either remained silent or our son would die. Jotham is very black and white and very reliable with his ultimatums. I’ve allowed something to come to pass that no humane person has business doing.”
“Go on,” Jake said.
Louise wiped away a tear. “The first lie is Jotham never stood by Amber. She poisoned his children, so why would he? As I said, Jotham i
s black and white. He couldn’t care less about mental illness. All he cared about was revenge. And his revenge, just like the man himself, was monstrous. It probably would have been better for her if he’d just killed her.”
“I don’t understand,” Lillian said. “There was a body.”
“Oh, yes—the suicide. The woman burned beyond all recognition with her teeth obliterated by a shotgun for good measure? That wasn’t her.”
“Who was it?” Jake said.
“My guess, a sex worker from Sharon’s Edge. One of the reasons I set up Start Again was that workers would often go missing, and no one seemed to care less. Now if a worker goes missing, we find them, and, if we don’t, we put pressure on the relevant authorities to try. Back then, when that poor young woman died in a so-called suicide, there were missing women left, right, and center, and no one bothered to try to make a link.”
“So, where’s Amber then?” Jake asked.
“He took her prisoner and tortured her for what she’d done to his children.”
“For over twenty years?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? I don’t know if she’s still alive.”
Jake shook his head as the full weight of the atrocity sank in.
“Where did he put her?” Lillian said.
“Again, I don’t know for sure. I can only tell you what he said to me, that he’d returned her to nature to be cleansed. But nature could be cruel in its duty. She would fester somewhere dark and somewhere cold, but he would do just enough to keep her alive—feed her, waterproof her shelter, and provide her with blankets.”
“Jesus,” Lillian said.
“But why would he tell you all this?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know.” Louise ran both hands through her purple hair. “He was drunk and experiencing a rare moment of vulnerability as he talked about the daughters he had lost. He started to rage, and it all slipped out. God, I wish it hadn’t. You can’t even imagine the burden I’ve had to bear to know this maniac is torturing someone out there, but what could I do? When he woke the next day, he could hardly believe what he’d confessed. And he was very clear with his threat. If I told anyone before they got to him and Amber, he would take them all out of the equation—our son Ayden included.” She put her head in her hands. “Did I do the right thing? Or have I just been selfish?”
