by Leo King
He grinned back, making him even more handsome. “All right. But first I need to shower. Then afterwards, I have a ton of work to do.”
She pulled him closer. “Fair enough. I’ll try not to tire you out.”
“Oh, damn… Sara… That’s amazing…”
The sound of approaching thunder concealed most of Caleb’s moans. Lying next to him and feeling his fingers work their magic on her, Sam drew her mouth away. “Lay back and I’ll do something really incredible.”
Given her strength, she could easily overpower him, but she never had to worry about that. He always allowed her to have sex however she wanted. She felt in control with him. She felt safe with him.
As he lay back, she settled on top and rested her hands on his muscular thighs. After taking a few seconds to get comfortable, she started moving her hips.
“Ah, fuck! Sara! Ah, baby!”
Once he started moaning, she let her mind go blank. He was now just a piece of meat to her. It’s how she wanted it, to feel the physical sensations without a hint of emotion. After exhausting him to the point where he could no longer perform, she finally allowed him to rest. Lying next to him, she opened a bottle of Jack Daniels and took a swig. The alcohol mixed with the endorphins to numb a growing ache in her heart. Thoughts of Richie had kept entering her mind while they screwed.
Rolling on her back, she glowered. Caleb rolled to his side and stroked her hip. “You’re upset. Thinking about ‘him’ again?”
Tolerating him touching her, she gazed out the window. “Yeah. Sorry, hun. It wasn’t on purpose. You know you’re my only guy now.”
“It’s a’right,” he said, stroking her stomach, his hand getting a little too close where her caesarian scars had once been. She slapped it away. “Hun, when’re you gonna tell me about him? About your life before here? I know it was a serious thing and something terrible happened, but what?”
She regarded him for a moment and then rolled on her side, facing away. Then she drank more whiskey. The pain wasn’t deadening fast enough. “Caleb, don’t. We’ve got a good thing here. I help you around the shop and let you fuck me several times a week. You let me live here and make sure my… needs are met.” She sloshed her bottle around.
From behind her, he sighed. “I know, hun. I know. And I hate to bother you about it. But I see you hitting the bottle sometimes as early as ten in the morning. It’s hard to watch someone you care about destroy themselves.”
With a scowl, she downed more whiskey. “This is exactly the cuddly shit I told you I didn’t want when we hooked up. If it’s such a big deal, maybe I should look for another arrangement.”
“Oh, hun, don’t say that. You know that ain’t right.”
She glanced back at him and arched an eyebrow. “Then what do you want from me?”
“Like I’ve always said. I just want us to be friends.”
Placing the whiskey bottle to his mouth, she held it there until he drank. Then she leaned in and kissed him passionately. “I’m gonna work out for a while. See you at dinner time.”
Stopping by the mirror in his bedroom, she examined herself. The burn scars were gone now, as were the ones from Evergreen. Other than her hips and chest being larger from the pregnancy, she looked the same as she had in 1992. The biggest difference was her eyes.
Her pupils were no longer dilated. For whatever reason, they had returned to normal.
As she got dressed in her tank top and shorts, she could feel his eyes gazing sadly at her. It was times like this when she wished he had just left her on the side of the interstate where he’d found her after she got hit by a truck. Those kinds of wounds healed much faster than the ones inside her heart.
And she wasn’t about to allow another wound there.
By the time she got outside, the rain was coming down in a steady downpour that reminded her of New Orleans. Even though it had only been a few years, that life seemed so far away. At times, when the booze was really strong or the sex was really good, she actually felt like she had been born and raised in Tennessee.
“Christ. It’s gonna be a two-bottle night if I keep thinking about the past.”
So she distracted herself by working out in the large barn behind Caleb’s house, where he had a weight set, a pull-up bar, and a punching bag. The local spirits floated around her, some sniffing curiously, as she concentrated on bench presses and squats, adding weight after weight until there were no more—five hundred total. Without focusing her power, she’d barely break a sweat on the presses, but not even feel it on the squats.
Her strength was still increasing. Soon, she’d have to find new ways to train herself.
When she finally looked at the time, it was nearly six in the evening. Her stomach rumbled just as Chris Jenkins, the teenage boy who worked for Caleb, stuck his head through the doorway. “Hey, Sara, the boss is going out for Chinese across town. Whatcha want?”
She sat up and wiped the sweat off her hands, chest, and face. Then she thought about it a moment. “Sweet and sour pork. And egg rolls. Lots of egg rolls.”
He saluted. “Yes, ma’am!”
As he ran off, she smiled, watching him go without a care in the world. He was good-natured, simple-hearted, and treated her politely no matter how drunk or crass she got. Outside of Caleb and Horace, he was one of the few people she liked—a living reminder that some people were just good folk.
The rain was pouring down in torrents when Sam came out of her thoughts, realizing that she had tightened her fists until her fingernails cut the flesh. Too many thoughts of New Orleans were coming back, spiking her anxiety. She knew what she had to do to set her mind at ease.
She needed to check on her father.
At the back of the barn, underneath a heavy cement block, was a small safe, one she had bought after settling down. Her lips were tightly drawn as she entered the passcode and opened it. Inside was a scrap of Meghan’s gown, a battered copy of Richie’s books Darkness Rising and The Pale Lantern that she got from a second-hand store, and a plastic container.
She drew her lips tighter as she opened the container. Inside was the silver pen. Sucking in her breath, she touched it.
“Hello, Sam,” Vincent said. Despite the pen being isolated, his power hadn’t diminished. If anything, he felt stronger.
“Hello, Vincent.”
“Checking on your old man? I’m touched.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just making sure you’re here.”
“Of course I’m here, Sam. I’m always here, watching you while you drink yourself to death and screw that lowborn trash. You must love wounding your father by polluting your body—”
“Shut up!” Her body temperature and blood pressure rose before she finished shouting.
“Is that any way to talk to me?”
“You’ve caused me nothing but pain. I swore I’d find a way to destroy this pen and cut you off from our world. I haven’t forgotten that!”
“Ah, yes, and so successful it’s been. The axe that couldn’t cut it, the cinderblock that couldn’t crush it, the fire that couldn’t melt it. Your attempts at destroying this pen have been so successful.”
At once, she realized she was grinding her teeth. “One day, I’ll find a force strong enough to destroy it. I promise that.”
“Of course you will, my beloved daughter,” Vincent said, his tone utterly condescending. “Meanwhile, you’ll form great strategies by boozing up and sleeping with that monkey. Tell me something, Sam, do you want to lay with that youth also? Because you might as well go all the way into debauchery and screw a t—”
Sam shut the container closed, cutting out his voice. By the time the safe was locked away, she was in a furious mood. So she spent the next thirty minutes beating the hell out of the punching bag, using only a fraction of her strength so as to not rip it in half. When she was done, she stank of perspiration and needed a shower.
Outside, she held up her arms, leaned back her head and let the fresh rain of t
he Appalachians pour over her body. She never felt more alive than when water was running upon her. It reminded her of the time she’d spent in the Gulf of Mexico after being washed out of the Mississippi. A rebirth in which she realized that if she couldn’t die, she could run away from living.
“Hey, Sara!”
Opening her eyes, she saw Bill coming toward her. He had a lead pipe in his hand and a drunken sneer on his face. His intention was clear. She wasn’t the least bit surprised. Boys gotta do dumb shit.
“Well, hello, Bill. Did you need your car fixed?”
“No,” Bill said, tapping the pipe against one of the junk cars out in the yard. “But I do need that money back you stole from us. We’re broke and can’t do a thing until next Friday when we get paid.”
She laughed, lowering her arms. “Not my problem.”
He tapped the pipe a lot harder against one of the cars. “Oh, I think it is your problem. And don’t go sobbing for Caleb. Unfortunately, he got himself a flat and will be gone awhile.”
She frowned and cracked her neck. Fighting wasn’t how she wanted to spend her Saturday evening. “Bill, you don’t want to do this. Tell you what, walk away now and I’ll forget this ever happened.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. See, we got insurance.”
Then she saw it. Off to the side, Will and Macky had Chris. The boy was beat up, blood all over his face.
“Oh, no…” Her shoulders sagged. “That poor kid. Bill, why’d you—”
Bill slammed his pipe onto one of the car’s windshields, shattering it. “I’m tired of you, Sara! You come walking around here like you’re something special. The way you walk, talk, act. You make me sick, you bitch!”
Watching Bill make a spectacle of himself, she couldn’t help but feel pity. What a pathetic mortal.
Holding up her hands, she walked slowly toward him. “All right. All right. You can have the money. Just please, don’t hurt Chris anymore. He’s just a boy.”
“Sixteen ain’t no boy,” Bill sniffed. “I was hunting raccoon and getting poon when I was his age.”
At that, she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, thanks for sharing your sexual prowess with weasels. Chris is a good kid. Please let him go. You can have the damn money.”
“And what else?” Now he was smirking and regarding her as if she were a piece of meat.
She felt nauseated. “You wanna fuck me? Seriously? Can I go screw a raccoon instead?”
He snorted. “We each take a turn. Then you give us our three hundred. Then you never go back to the North River Pub. Chris keeps his teeth.”
As she looked between him and Chris, she realized that she was on her own. There were only three options: she could give into their demands, she could let them hurt Chris more, or she could slap the taste right out of their little insect mouths.
The third option felt like the best one. She hadn’t gotten into a fight in months, and her conversation with Vincent had her in a foul mood. Stepping forward, hands still out, she spoke in a sexy, sensual tone. “Come here, Bill. Let’s have some fun.”
Bill licked his lips and rotten teeth and then dropped the pipe and waltzed over. As soon as he was within reach, she focused her power just a tiny bit and slapped him across the mouth. It was still enough force to send him head over heels through the air. As Will, Macky, and Chris stared in shock, she focused more, slowing down time around her, and then rushed toward them in a way that must have been like an oncoming train. Then she stopped in front of them, her fingers outstretched menacingly. “Boo!”
Will and Macky dropped Chris and ran off screaming. From a few yards away, Bill burbled out his own blood. Powering down, Sam knelt in front of Chris and smoothed his hair off his face. He was staring with wide, terrified eyes.
She smiled softly. “Hey, you OK?”
But it wasn’t Chris who answered. Instead, a voice behind her said, “Freeze! Hands in the air!”
Swearing under her breath, she stood with her hands up, then turned around. Deputy Hammond, of all people, was there with his gun on her. He looked triumphant. “When I saw the Hickerson boys come here, I thought I might catch them making trouble. But then, lookie-lookie, I bagged me a slut with an assault-and-battery charge.”
Sighing, she closed her eyes. Typical. Just when I start getting comfortable with living, something happens to fuck it all up.
Chapter 34
A Dinner Meeting
Date: Sunday, May 12, 1996
Time: 8:00 a.m.
Location: Murray Hills Police
Murray Hills, Chattanooga, Tennessee
Sam was awoken by Deputy Hammond banging the cell bars with his nightstick. “Hey Sara, wake up! You’ve got a visitor.”
She had been dreaming that she was back in Evergreen Plantation under the “care” of Dr. Klein. So as soon as Hammond awoke her, she sat up, ready to fight. But when she saw him standing there with a smug expression, she relaxed. “Who is it? The district attorney from Chattanooga to pardon me since I’m so sexy?”
He cleared his sinuses and then spat at her. “No. It’s that squeeze of yours, Caleb.”
Then he shouted down the hall, “Hey, boy! You got five minutes to see your woman. And no funny business. Come up front when you’re done.”
Adjusting his britches, he sauntered off. A few moments later, Caleb came into view, looking as hangdog as a man could. “Hey, Sara.”
She went over to him, reaching through the bars to touch his face. “Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Those jerks had it coming,” he said. “Wasn’t enough to mess with you, but to beat up a kid? That wasn’t cool.”
Resting her head on the bars, she asked, “He’ll be OK, right?”
“Yeah. But my business ain’t. I’m gonna have to pawn quite a bit to cover your bail.”
Feeling a tightening in her throat and a souring in her gut, she gazed into his eyes. Once again, her inner demons had caused her to wreck the life of someone else. “Oh, Caleb, you can’t. You’re barely making ends meet as it is.”
With a resigned expression, he said, “Well, we’ll find a way. Sara, I really like you and—”
Holding out her hand, she covered his lips. “Hey, before you start professing your love to me, just hear me out,” she said, gripping the bars as if her life depended on it. “I’ve fucked up a lot in my life, and other people have always paid for it. Caleb, I like you and Chris too much. What’s best is…”
She locked eyes with him. “What’s best is if you just forget about me. Go and find your happiness with someone who isn’t so screwed up.”
Caleb stared at her like she had told him he was about to die, which made her guts hurt even worse, the pain crawling up into her chest. Fuck! I don’t want to feel bad about this. I don’t want to feel anything.
“I can’t do that,” he said, backing away. “I can’t do that, Sara. You mean too much to me. We’ll find a way to make it work.”
With that said, he hurried out of the room. She pressed her head against the bars once more, swallowing her tears. “You fool. You stupid, beautiful fool.” She closed her eyes. Although she felt dozens of spirits around her, some rubbing against her in an effort to bring comfort, she ignored them all. She wanted to be alone.
After Caleb left, Sam had many hours to think about what to do, indulging in daydreams from riding the situation out to going on a murderous rampage. But they were just fantasies. Eventually, she decided the best course of action was to break out and run. While she couldn’t summon loa any more, as Vincent was now too powerful, she could summon a ghost to distract the guards. Bending the bars on the outer wall would be easy. Then she could slip into Caleb’s barn, get the safe, and go. No one would ever find her again. She’d just vanish. Maybe try Mexico.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of footsteps and rolling wheels. As she sat against the back wall, she imagined Dick and Dock coming into view with a gurney and Dr. Klein claiming it was time for an
other experiment. It was a morbid thought for a morbid afternoon.
But it was a man in a suit pushing a man in a wheelchair. A moment later, she realized who they were.
“Hello, Sam.” It was Dr. Lazarus, being pushed by none other than Kyle Aucoin.
For several long seconds, she just regarded them both in silence. They were almost the same as she remembered, only a bit older. Dr. Lazarus had a blanket over the parts of his legs that still remained, and Aucoin had a few wrinkles. But despite that, they were healthy and in good spirits.
“Um. Hi.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“Good to see you, Sam,” Aucoin said, his eyes showing considerable relief. The last time she saw him, she was plunging into the Mississippi in a suicide attempt.
“Um. Hey,” she said again. A moment later, she shook her head violently and then slammed her palm against it. “This is some kind of a messed-up dream, isn’t it?”
Dr. Lazarus chortled. “Dream? No, Sam, this is very real. We’ve been searching for you since you vanished. We wouldn’t have even known where to start if not for Miss LeBlanc. But it has still been an exhausting search. We thought we’d never find you.”
By then, the shock had worn off and the defiance had kicked in. “Maybe I didn’t want to be found. In fact, I’m certain I told little Miss LeBlanc that much.” The utter hopelessness she had felt that night at the pier had long been replaced by self-loathing.
He frowned. “Part of this is my fault. I didn’t succeed in getting custody of you after your townhome burned down. I underestimated the reach and strength of the Knight Priory. I just didn’t do enough. Sam, I’m sorry.”
She spat. “Sorry? You’re sorry? That lunatic tore my children out of my womb and tortured the shit out of me. You want sorry? I’ve got your sorry right here.” She tilted up her hips and patted her crotch.
Shaking his head, Aucoin said, “Sam, come on. We’ve all been worried sick about you. And you have no idea what’s been going on back home since you—”
