Prey for Us

by Geoffrey Neil

  Uncle Jesse shoved the keys into his pocket and turned to them. “Guys, I can’t get inside, but start your prep while I make a call.”

  The men began unfolding tarps along the side of the garage and positioned their paint buckets and supplies on it.

  Uncle Jesse walked along the driveway to the front of the house with his phone pressed to his ear. He paused when he heard his call ringing inside the garage behind him. Thane’s answering machine picked up. Uncle Jesse cleared his throat. “Where are you, and what the hell have you got blocking the garage door? The goddamn key you gave me doesn’t work. I told you I’d be coming back and how you’ve put me in a horrible position. I’ve got a guy on his way to pick up the piano and you better not wreck this sale. Call me immediately when you get this.” He hung up and dialed another number coming to the sidewalk in the front of the house. “Listen, Roy, it’s Jesse Sykes. We have an appointment for you to come by and get the piano today, but there’s been a small delay. I’ll give you a call as soon as the piano is available, and we will be sure to have it all polished and ready for you when you show up. Thanks, bye.”

  He walked back to the garage. “Get over here and help me a second,” he barked at the workers. Two of them hurried to meet him at the door and together, the three of them tried to force the door open, putting their combined weight into it. The block didn’t budge.

  Uncle Jesse looked inside the garage again. It was cleaner than it had been on his previous visit. Most of the floor was bare except for a couple of oddly placed area rugs. A few open cabinet doors showed that they were empty. Four more of the blocks like the one behind the entry door were stacked in front of the larger roll-up door.

  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he spotted the tarp-covered piano tucked against the far wall in the corner of the garage. It was the only item of any size that remained in the garage. Where the hell did he put everything?

  Chapter 29

  MORANA AND CLAY waited in the hallway outside the trap floor chamber.

  “So, we’re apparently getting into the assisted-killing business?”

  “We’ve had this discussion, Clay. I oppose any undeserved killing.”

  “Do you think Thane will go all the way?”

  “I hope he’ll do whatever makes him feel vindicated,” Morana said, pulling her hair into a ponytail and tying it.

  “Thane isn’t like you,” Clay said. “And what he’s doing in there isn’t like him. I don’t know how you set him up for this, but he’s not a killer.”

  “You leave town and come back thinking you’re an expert on Thane? You know nothing about what Thane shared with me. If you understood, you would be happy for the therapeutic miracle this opportunity gives him. Waylon is an unapologetic monster who incessantly tormented Thane for most of their lives. Thane is convinced, and I agree, that Waylon will continue to abuse him for as long as he’s alive.”

  “So, you feel entitled to take justice into your own hands—just like back in LA?”

  “I stand up for victims, Clay—especially if society or the law fails to protect them.”

  “If we're caught we will go to prison forever.”

  “You can’t demand justice and then be concerned about the cost. We are committed, and I won’t let anything happen to Thane. We are about to get what we want, and Thane will be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Morana and Clay spent the next hour sitting in the sub-lair corridor, talking while waiting for Thane to emerge from the trap floor chamber. When the block door swung open, they jumped to their feet.

  Thane stepped out. He was sweaty, and dust covered his misshapen afro. A thread hung from a popped button on his twisted, untucked shirt. He held out his hands, and they looked swollen. One of them had a scratch across the top. “I’m finished,” he said.

  Clay and Morana stepped closer. She looked suspiciously at him and said, “You mean, finished, as in…”

  “No, I didn’t kill him,” Thane said, backing into the chamber. He motioned for them to enter.

  Inside, the chamber had the musty smell of sweat combined with the piercing scent of menthol.

  Waylon sat, his torn shirt hung around the base of the chair. His trousers were on loosely, with the belt unbuckled. Blood rolled from above his eyebrow along the left side of his face where it drained into his gag.

  Morana glanced at Clay and whispered, “Wow.”

  The tuna can lay on its side on the floor in the corner of the chamber. Blood stained the open lid.

  The jar of menthol cream had been broken on the floor, pieces of its blue glass scattered to the edge of the chamber. A glob of the cream centered among the shards from where the jar had made impact sat at the base of Waylon’s chair, contained finger impressions.

  Morana walked behind Waylon’s chair. The crinkled and torn kick me sign protruded through an opening in the back.

  Waylon slowly lifted his head and looked toward Clay and Morana. He made a feeble effort to express as much defiance at them as possible, then he turned to Thane and smiled.

  Thane rushed to him, leaning into his face. “It’s still funny? Is it a game to you?” he shouted.

  Waylon looked directly at Thane’s face, the smile unchanged.

  “It looks like you might need some more time with him,” Morana said.

  “No. I hate that he’s still here—in the sub-lair, my place of refuge.”

  “Has he apologized?”

  “I left the gag on because his voice makes me want to throw up.” Thane paused, “But, actually, yes, before I leave, I do want to hear an apology. He reached behind Waylon’s head and began to pull the gag loose.”

  “Wait,” Morana said. “Give me just a moment.”

  Thane stepped back.

  Morana came around and leaned onto her knees. She put her mouth close to Waylon’s ear and whispered, “If Thane doesn’t leave here completely satisfied, I promise to make you sorry.”

  Waylon closed his eyes and gave a small nod.

  Morana yanked the gag off, jerking Waylon’s head. His torso relaxed, and he gasped with the relief of breathing through his mouth. She held up her finger in front of his face and said, “Remember.” Then she turned to Thane and said, “Here’s your apology.”

  Waylon panted a few times and cleared his throat. “Thane, I want to tell you, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart that she’s wanted for murder and there’s a huge reward that can be yours.” He motioned with his head toward Morana.

  Morana lunged, grabbed Waylon’s neck and swung her knee into his chest. The blow toppled his chair, sending him crashing to the floor onto his back. The chair came loose and spun until it collided with the chamber wall.

  Waylon coughed and writhed as he launched another futile attempt to free his wrists and ankles.

  Clay and Thane stepped back against the wall, stunned.

  Morana ran to her bag, retrieved a Tonto knife and ran back to him, her face red and teeth clenched.

  “C’mon, Mo, take it easy,” Clay said.

  Waylon twisted his head on the floor, straining to see Thane and Clay. He shouted, “You’re both stupid to trust her! Cash her in, and you’ll be rich…”

  Morana dove onto Waylon and stabbed him in the chest four times. She threw the knife aside and mounted him, squeezing his neck until all his twitching stopped. She slowly climbed to her feet as a pool of blood spread underneath his body. “You son-of-a-bitch,” she said, looking down at his lifeless body.

  She looked over her shoulder at Clay. He had moved to the doorway, one foot outside in the corridor as though he wanted to run. Thane stood motionless against the wall, staring wide-eyed at Waylon’s body.

  “Sweetheart, please don’t be afraid,” Morana said.

  Thane’s gaze went from Waylon to Morana’s knee, stained with blood. He cupped his mouth and ran toward the door.

  Instead of moving, Clay
held up his hand and said, “Buddy, hold on.”

  “Move!” Thane yelled.

  “Let him go!” Morana said.

  Clay stepped aside, and Thane ran from the chamber into the corridor, heaving into his shirt.

  “But Waylon outed you,” Clay said, pointing to the body.

  “Shh,” Morana put her finger to her lips as she came to join him in the doorway.

  Clay stepped out and looked both ways. “He’s gone.”

  “Do you think Thane believed him?”

  “I have no idea. I couldn’t tell if his nausea had been triggered by emotion or by the sight of blood.”

  “Let’s go check on him.” They walked along the corridor to Thane’s bedroom chamber. The door was open, but he wasn’t there. Then they heard him heaving in the aquifer room. They went to the doorway and saw Thane kneeling, hunched over the pool. He briefly looked up at them and then splashed his face with water.

  “Are you okay?” Morana asked.

  After a final splash, he kept his hands over his face. His shoulders began to tremble as he sobbed.

  “Maybe we should give him a few minutes,” Clay said.

  Morana held up her finger to hush Clay and came closer to Thane. “Sweetheart, I’m worried about you. I’ll give you some time alone if you need it.”

  Thane shook his head, still covering his face. He pulled off his shirt and dunked it into the water a few times. His eyes glazed over as he looked down into the aquifer current. After wringing out his soaked shirt, he looked at Morana’s bloodstained hands and the patch of blood that spread from the knee of her jeans. He approached her and said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Your mom said it would end one day, and she was right.”

  The slightest smile creased Thane’s lips. He stepped aside to go around Morana, but she stopped him. “I want to make sure you understand something.”

  Thane draped his shirt over his shoulder, keeping his face down.

  She took his hand and said, “You heard Waylon say some things about me in there. You know that he was desperate and would have said anything to disrupt our relationship.”

  “Waylon lied to me hundreds of times during my life.”

  “Exactly,” Morana looked at Clay with a relieved laugh.

  “But for once, I know that Waylon was telling the truth this time.” He let go of her hand. “I know who you are.”

  Morana’s mouth dropped open. “I—I…”

  “Can you deny anything that Waylon said?”

  “Listen, buddy…” Clay said.

  “Clay, shut up!” Morana said, keeping her eyes locked on Thane.

  Clay raised his hands and backed away.

  “Your name is Morana Mahker,” Thane said, looking down at the floor, wringing his fingers.

  “Please look at me,” Morana said.

  He raised his head.

  “I promise I would never hurt you.”

  “I know that.”

  “You do?” Morana couldn’t mask her surprise. She tried to form a reply, but Thane’s expression was difficult to read.

  Thane smiled and said, “The fact that I’m not afraid of you is confusing, isn’t it?”

  “I’m grateful for it… But may I ask why?”

  “I’ve discovered enough about you to draw my own conclusions,” he said, moving to the bedroom. He sat on the mattress.

  “You’ve researched me?”

  “It should’ve been obvious to you that research happens to be one of my strengths.”

  “What do you know about me—exactly?” Morana asked, following him.

  “You should sit,” Thane said, pointing to a place on the floor beside Clay.

  Morana complied.

  New worry spread on Clay’s face.

  Thane leaned back and said, “Would you like me to begin with your childhood, or skip to the life events that honed your penchant for vigilantism?”

  Morana poked her tongue into her cheek and said, “Surprise me.”

  “Funny you would say that because I know you hate surprises.”

  Morana forced a smile and folded her hands on her lap.

  “I know that you spent two years in Mesa, Arizona which led me to an archived local newspaper story about an incident that occurred at Bresbin High School where charges for a girl’s locker room assault incident were dropped against you.”

  Morana shifted, continuing to use brute force to maintain her smile.

  “I couldn’t find any records of your coursework or major emphasis in college, but I know that you dropped out to become active with Rigged Justice, a rather aggressive wrongful imprisonment advocacy group. You were fired from your position for threatening what you felt was an overzealous prosecutor after Rigged Justice failed to overturn a case. I know that prosecutor disappeared and was never found.”

  Morana glanced back at Clay. He looked stunned.

  Thane continued, “I know you moved to Los Angeles and became involved with an organization called Core Comforts that provided shelter to the homeless. You worked there for a year and a half until you discovered that the director and several staff members were fleecing the organization. When they managed to dodge embezzlement charges, a mysterious fire destroyed its headquarters.”

  Morana scratched her neck and finger-combed her hair a few times as she tried to mask her shock at Thane’s summary.

  “How am I doing?” Thane asked.

  “So far I’m impressed.”

  “Shall I continue?”

  Morana motioned for him to go on.

  “There is a gap of about a year of your adult life when I couldn’t find anything on your whereabouts, but I do know you eventually met up with a man named Aldred Hurd, also known as ‘Pop,’ who orchestrated a clandestine mission to end homelessness in Los Angeles. You quickly rose through his ranks, becoming what some described as one of his favored lieutenants. His company, Trail Bladers provided the perfect cover for covert vigilante activities which grew to include systematic murder for the cause. Not long ago, its headquarters was destroyed by a bomb, and shortly after that, Clay introduced us. On your second visit, I didn’t recognize you because you heavily disguised yourself. You have no Florida address. You have no Florida driver’s license. The Ford Explorer you drive isn’t registered to you.” Thane paused because Morana looked like she wanted to say something.

  “How long have you known?” she asked.

  “I began my research right after your second visit.”

  Morana took a deep breath. “Given all that you know about me, why would you bring me into the sub-lair—alone with you?”

  “Because, like I told you before, I love keys, and I have your key.”

  Morana frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “I hold a key to my safety with you. I learned that you hate injustice as much as you love its victims. Your desire to help me get justice is equal to your desperation to learn the secret of the physics that built this place. Until you have both, I am safe. This was my key.”

  Morana pulled her knees up and put her forehead to them, burying her head in her arms. Her hair fell to cover her face.

  “Are you okay?” Thane asked.

  Without looking up, Morana said, “I might have never been described so accurately.” She looked up at him. “I’m relieved that you know I won’t hurt you.”

  Thane said, “Your ruthlessness scares me, but when I saw it aimed at Waylon, it exhilarated me, and I found it impossible to object to your help.”

  Morana gave a small laugh. “But now that I achieved half of what I want, and Waylon is gone, hasn’t that diminished your key?”

  “No.”

  Morana looked at him quizzically.

  Thane spread his arms. “The sub-lair has become the only place on earth you feel safe. No one can see, touch, or prosecute you here.”

  “Fair enough. Are you saying you’ll let me stay here with you?”
>
  “I haven’t decided.”

  She got up and knee-walked to him. She took his arm and gently pulled him to her, embracing him. “In exchange, I’ll do anything you want me to—anything.”

  Thane put his hands on her waist, avoiding a full embrace.

  “I’m so glad you don’t consider me dangerous,” she said.

  Thane let go of her, got up, and went to the doorway. “I do consider you dangerous,” he looked around the bedroom. “But that’s okay. Down here, I can be dangerous, too.”

  All the lights blinked off. The entire sub-lair went black.

  Chapter 30

  TRAPPED IN PITCH darkness, the only sound Morana and Clay heard came from the faint roiling of the aquifer water in the next room.

  “Whoa, what the hell?” Clay said, rising to his feet.

  “Thane?” Morana hollered. She moved toward the last place she had seen Thane, her hands out, feeling for him. When she reached the doorway, it was empty.

  “Sweetheart, what are you doing?” she yelled.

  “Buddy! C’mon!” Clay said.

  There was no answer from the corridor.

  Clay also moved toward the door. When his hand touched Morana’s waist, she slapped it.

  Morana felt her way around the doorframe and stepped into the corridor door. In the pitch darkness, she heard faint footsteps that faded away in the distance.

  “Thane!” she hollered.

  “Buddy, this isn’t funny!” Clay yelled, their voices echoed in the darkness.

  “We have to catch him,” Morana said, feeling her way along the wall.

  “Are you sure he went this direction?” Clay asked, stumbling to keep up with her.

  Morana stopped. “What other direction could he have gone?” She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Thane, if you can hear me, please come back. You know I won’t hurt you. I know you are in charge. Please!”

  Clay said, “We have to get to the lift.”

  They scuffed along the short corridor wall, repeatedly begging Thane to turn the lights on and come back.

  They made a left at the end to enter what they thought was lift chamber. Clay felt seams with his fingertips, and pressed his hand against each new wall block, putting his weight into it, searching for a block that would open. He accidentally kicked Morana’s heel, and they almost fell.