The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 2

by Maegan Beaumont

  Start walkin’. And you better hurry Darlin’, Ellie’s out of time.

  81

  SNAPBANG!

  The noise, whatever it was, had been repeating itself for what felt like forever. Distant at first, it grew closer and closer with each revolution. Each volley jerked at her spine. Shot tension into her legs. Urging her to scramble from her hiding place. To run.

  That’s what he wants, Ellie. He likes it when they run.

  She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep herself from crying. Even the slightest of movements shifted the pile of bodies she lay underneath, shifting the cold, decomposing flesh that surrounded her. These people had been discarded like trash. No ceremony. No ritual. Like they’d ceased to be human the moment they served their function.

  “Who are they?” she whispered.

  People who needed help. A miracle... I couldn’t save them.

  SNAPBANG!

  “Does it hurt?” Ellie said quietly, barely giving voice to the question that’d been ricocheting around her head since she woke in the dark.

  Dying? The voice sounded sad. No, it doesn’t hurt.

  Even though she didn’t say it, Ellie understood. It wasn’t the act of dying that was painful. It was everything that came before.

  SNAPBANG!

  She swallowed the tears pressing against her throat. Tried to imagine what it’d been like to be trapped here, days stretching into months, with a monster. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” Ellie said softly. “I’m sorry no one—”

  Shhh…

  “Do you know what it takes to become a saint, Elena?” he called out to her, his voice echoing down the hall. “It takes pain. Blood and sacrifice. More than you can possibly imagine. It’s not easy.”

  SNAPBANG!

  “My mother did it—she died for me.” He was even closer now, the sound of his voice reaching for her, just beyond the door. “Gave her life so that I could be born. I had to be cut from her womb. If not for her sacrifice, I’d be dead.”

  SNAPBANG!

  “I was given a miracle... Just like you...” he said it softly, his voice carrying through the door that separated them. “Just like all of them.”

  SNAPBANG!

  The noise was deafening, reverberating around the room and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for him to come for her. She listened as the door swung open, its hinges protesting slightly as it was pushed wider and wider, until it banged into the wall behind it.

  Hold on, Ellie. She’s coming for you. Just hold, on.

  82

  It was dark. Too dark to see anything. It didn’t matter though—she didn’t need to see to know she’d been led on a wild goose chase. She scanned the terrain anyway, hoping to catch sight of whatever it was that was supposed to be here without having to resort to talking to herself again.

  How many times I have to tell you? You’re not talkin’ to yourself, darlin. You’re talking to me.

  Casting a quick look over her shoulder, Sabrina caught sight of the airbase, nestled in the basin west of the 95. It looked close but looks were deceiving. It had to be at least ten miles away, Deciding it was worth the risk, she lifted the Maglite from her pocket and switched it on. Sweeping its beam from left to right, she caught sight of it. A concrete slab in the middle of the desert.

  “What the hell,” she breathed as she approached it. Smooth and level, she recognized it as the foundation of a building, no longer standing. The disappointment was crushing. “There’s nothing here.”

  Sure there is, Darlin’, you just have to know where to look.

  The foundation had to be several thousand square feet in diameter. The building that used to stand here would have been enormous. Gritting her teeth, she walked the slab, peering closely at the smooth cement beneath her feet, determined to find what she was looking for. While she searched, Wade talked.

  The building was still here when I found this place. It was a Sanitarium—one of those places they used to stick TB patients back in the day. You and me, we had the run of the place... remember, Darlin’? The fun we had?

  She remembered. She remember running blindly, bouncing and stumbling her way down hallway after hallway. She remembered the feel of his eyes on her. Watching her, giving her hope that this time—maybe this time, she’d find a way out before he caught her. Before he hurt her again.

  Never did find that way out, did you? Even death couldn’t save you—yours or mine.

  She wasn’t searching anymore. She’d gone still, lost in the memories this place and his words called up in her, face tipped down. Hand gripping the flashlight in it so tight her fingers were numb. She blinked, clearing the shadows from her vision.

  Something shined in the beam of her flashlight and she ticked it over just a bit so she could make out what it was. A padlock.

  Staring at it for a moment, she spoke. “There’s no way he brought Ellie here,” she said, shaking her head. “Government property? He wouldn’t be stupid enough to risk it.”

  Stupid? No, what he is, is obedient. She’s down there, Darlin’. That’s a fact.

  “And then re-locked the padlock behind himself—from the outside?”

  There’s another entrance—more of an exit really—about fifty yards in front of you. That’s how he gets in and out...and that’s where he’ll be waitin’ for you.

  She didn’t move, thinking it through slowly. If he was down there, he’d have both doors locked from the inside to deter anyone who might stumble onto the place from poking around.

  Unless he knew she was coming.

  She clicked the Maglite off before flipping it around, so she held the handle of it like a baton. Next, she hunkered down in front of the door, hooking her index finger of her free hand through the arms of the padlock, securing it in place. Choking up on the base of the flashlight, she delivered fast, hard taps to the side of the lock while pulling down on it with the hook of her finger. She had it loose in less than a minute.

  There was a rumbling behind her and she turned, sure she’d see those Humvees coming for her but it wasn’t arrest she had to worry about. It was rain. Clouds had collected overhead, pushing and crowding across the sky, mottle and swollen like a bruise.

  Pulling the padlock free of the hatch, Sabrina kicked the lever open with the heel of her boot before crouching to lift it up at its edge. The door was heavy, heat drifted off of it in waves, its metal construction, still hot from baking all day in the sun. She pulled on it and it swung open onto a gaping maw so black it instantly swallowed the beam of her Maglite.

  Whadd’ya you waitin’ for? You aren’t scared are you?

  83

  She’s here. Time to stop messin’ around, boy, and get to work.

  The warning came, loud and clear, stopping him in his tracks. He stood in the doorway, bolt gun dangling from his fingers, gaze traveling around the room. He knew Elena was in here. Where else could she be? There was no way out. Her hiding places were limited. Still, he couldn’t see her. His gaze fell on the pile of bodies he’d tossed in the corner.

  There’s plenty of time to play with little sister, later. Right now there’s a big, fat fish headin’ your way that needs fryin’.

  Melissa.

  “Okay,” he said, nodding his head, excited for what was to come. “Okay.”

  He hurried across the room to the place he’d piled his discards. Peeling them off one, by one, he lifted them—letting them fall to the side until he found her.

  Crouching, he rolled her over, her arm flopping to the side, soft and boneless. Her hair, gnarled and dried stiff against the back of her skull by blood. He pressed a thumb against her wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was there, thready and erratic. But it was still there.

  Tick tock, motherfucker—we don’t have time for your little one-man show.

  He ignored the harsh words. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her down the hall, back to his workspace. He lay her on the hospital bed in the corner before heading back the way he’d come.
<
br />   You really think she’s gonna save her, boy?

  He could hear her. The metered rapping as she broke through the padlock. The heavy clank of the lever that closed the hatch. The faint squeal of hinges as she pulled it open. She’d be down the stairs soon.

  “No,” he said, quietly. “But I want her to try... I want her to hope. It isn’t any fun unless they have hope. Isn’t that what you taught me?”

  In his head, Wade laughed.

  Well hot damn, boy—this might be the proudest moment of my life. Now let’s go get our girl.

  84

  The beam of her flashlight finally found purchase. A set of stairs. Metal treads painted a matte black. She aimed the Mag to her right and its beam reflected back to her, dulled by gray cinderblock. To the left, the beam reached a short distance before being swallowed by the black.

  Whadd’ya you waitin’ for? You aren’t scared are you?

  Wade’s words came back to her—half taunt, half dare—forcing her through the hatch, onto the narrow landing that topped the stairs. Lifting the Kimber off her hip, she aimed its barrel through the open doorway, taking them slowly, panning the light in a slow sweep in front of her, assessing her surroundings before each step.

  Strickland would be so proud of her.

  She thought of her old partner—the way he mothered her. Pestered her into prudence. The voice of reason she so often lacked. She’d give anything to have him here with her now.

  She realized something was wrong, a split second too late. Stepping on the stair tread, she planted her heavy-soled boots in its center but it gave way, folding beneath her foot like it was made of paper. She flung her arm out grabbing for anything that would keep her upright but the railing had been removed. There was nothing left to stop the fall.

  Her boot sank, hooking into the frame that held the bogus stair tread in place. She pitched forward, Maglite flying from her grip, its beam a bright wing, beating against the dark. She heard it land on the floor, watched the light of it spin below her, even as she tumbled—face, shoulder, hip—each rotation jarring bone. Battering flesh.

  She landed on her back, hitting the ground so hard her lungs seized in her chest, head ringing, joints screaming. She forced out the breath that sat, trapped in her lungs. Pulled in another, letting it out on a soft groan.

  Don’t be mad at me, Darlin’. You had to know trusting me was a bad idea.

  Her gun hand was empty, fingers clamped around nothing but air. It must’ve spun out when she landed and she turned her head, searching for it but it was gone. Swallowed by that field of black.

  Get up. Get up. Get up.

  This voice did not belong to Wade. It was hers and hearing it inside her own head was a comfort. She struggled to obey, rolling her shoulder up, she pushed her foot against the floor, urging the two of them to work in tandem. To get moving. Get herself upright. The cool concrete bit into the bed of her foot. She’d lost her boot on the staircase.

  “You don’t know how happy we are that you accepted our invitation, Melissa.”

  She was half-rolled off the floor and she looked up, her eyes wheeling upward to catch sight of his face. Again, she was struck by how little he’d changed in the years since she’d known him. It’s like he’d been suspended in time, waiting for her to come back.

  “Hey, Manny—how’s it going,” she said, spitting out a mouthful of blood while her hand crept slowly along the floor, searching for her gun. The wedge of sky, visible through the open hatch above them, opened up. A thunderous crack that reverberated in her chest.

  “We’re better,” he told her, matching her tone. “Now that you’re here.” He smiled down at her. It was the last thing she saw before he delivered a vicious kick to her face. After that, all she saw the dark.

  85

  Manny Robles. The busboy from Luck’s. He’d been a foster kid back then, bouncing from placement to placement, marking time until he aged out. Could start life on his own. Until he was no longer at the mercy of people who claimed to have his best interests at heart. Obviously, there’d been something broken in him but she’d missed it somehow. Been too caught up in her own personal nightmare to see the monster lurching in her peripheral.

  Not every devil has horns. When are you gonna learn, Darlin’?

  He was dragging her down a dimly lit corridor, her arm jerked over her head, stretched painfully, his fingers clamped roughly around her wrist. She was groggy, her face felt fat. Her bare foot numb, ankle swollen.

  He was talking.

  “... gotta tell you, I didn’t think it’d work,” he told her, casting a quick look at her over his shoulder. “When Wade laid out the plan to get you here, I was sure you wouldn’t be stupid enough to take the bait.” He smiled. “I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.”

  The DNA under Stephanie Adams fingernails. He’d planted it in an attempt to lure her out of hiding. And Wade told him to do it.

  You really didn’t leave me much choice, Darlin’. I keep telling you, you’re mine. You belong to me and that’s never gonna change—how many girls have to die before you stop hiding from me?

  “Fuck off,” she muttered, rolling the eye that wasn’t sealed shut upward to catch glimpse of her captor while her free arm dragged and stuttered along beside her. She thought maybe her left shoulder was dislocated which meant her dominant arm was pretty much useless.

  Manny rounded the corner, pulling her along behind him, through an open doorway into a long narrow room, lit with a hanging shop light. He stopped dragging her, dropping her arm as soon as they breached the doorway. There was a bed shoved against the far wall, a small dark figure sprawled across it.

  Ellie. It was Ellie. She felt her throat close, a saltwater sting in her sinuses but she pushed it back, focusing her attention on Ellie’s chest, watching for the rise and fall that would tell her there was still hope. She counted to twelve before she caught sight of her ribcage expanding, slight and slow. She was alive but barely.

  Manny finally looked down at her. “Do you believe in Miracles, Melissa?”

  Instead of answering him she averted her gaze, focusing on trying to lift her left arm. It wouldn’t budge.

  “I do,” he told her in a companionable tone, leaning into her field of vision. “I believe in miracles. What to know why?”

  She stared through him, refusing to play his game. The knife Michael gave her was in her left-side pocket. As soon as she got the opportunity, she was going to stab him with it.

  Like he could read her mind, his expression darkened and he straightened himself with a nod. “Okay...” he said, making his way over to where Ellie lay. Manny placed his hand over her nose and mouth. Within seconds she started to twitch from lack of oxygen. “Do you want to know why?” This time his tone was hard, his black glare drilling holes in her face.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding. “I want to know why.”

  He smiled. “Because my life has been filled with them.” He lifted his cupped hand from Ellie’s face. “My mother You. Wade. I’m surrounded by the unexplainable. My very existence defies logic.”

  “She’s not your mother—Magda Lopez.” Her mouth lifted slightly, drawn tight by her cold tone. “She’s not your mother, Manny. Paul Vega isn’t your brother. Father Francisco isn’t your father.” She shook her head. “You’re not a miracle. You’re just another sad, sick asshole with delusions of grandeur—just like Wade.”

  His face went dark again. Reaching down, he fisted his hand in the hair at the top of her head and yanked her to her feet, jarring the ball and socket joint of her separated shoulder. The pain of it pushed in on her vision, squeezing it until all that was left was a field of white. He flung her forward, her swollen ankle as brittle as cracked glass, giving way as soon as pressure was applied.

  She caught herself, fingers digging into the mattress Ellie lay on. “Do you believe in miracles, Melissa” he said again, his words followed by a loud, sharp SNAP! A moment before she felt the hard press of metal at the base of
her skull.

  86

  Well, do you, darlin’?

  Sabrina nodded, her right arm inching slowly toward the edge of the mattress she was pressed against. Right hand, left pocket. Tricky but not impossible.

  “Yes.” The knife dug into her thigh and she shifted, lifting her leg against the bed, trying to wedge its frame under the knife enough to raise it from her pocket. “I believe in miracles, Manny.” Her fingers brushed against the top of the knife and she leaned forward, pushing it up until she could close them around it. She pulled it free, concealing it beneath her hand on top of the mattress.

  “Good,” he said, the pleasant tone at odds with the application of pressure to her skull. “That’s good, Melissa... now I want you give her a part of what you’ve been given. I want you to save her.”

  Save her.

  Again, the voice was her own. This time she nodded in response before bowing her head, trying to buy herself some time. Her left arm was useless. Her ankle too. If she struck, she had to be quick and she had to be sure because there was little chance of her getting away.

  She focused on Ellie, the shallow expansion of her chest. The pale bluish tinge that stained her mouth. She was dying. Slipping away, right in front of her.

  Save her.

  “Nulo—the boy you stole the name from—” She curled her fingers around the short hilt of the blade, tucking it tight against her stomach to conceal it. “The one who was with you in St. Rose the night Wade brought me there—he’s the one.”

  The pressure against her skull intensified.

  “He’s Magda and Father Francisco’s son. Not you...” she raised herself slightly, onto the ball of her good foot, pushing back against the sting of metal. “But I’m pretty sure you already knew that.”