by Ken Lindsey
"It's for protection, Jennifer," I said, trying to keep her calm. "I don't think you'll even have to touch it, but it's better to be safe than sorry."
"Oh," she replied.
The pain from my ribs grew with every breath I took, and I knew it would get to be overwhelming before long. "What does he use the needles for?"
"He gave me pain killers with a needle the first time." She stared down at her legs and her eyes started to water heavily again. "He didn't use it on my right leg."
Sadistic son of a bitch. I wished I could have squeezed harder when I had my hands around his throat. This girl would never feel safe with this guy alive, even if he was behind bars.
"Do you know where the drugs are, where he keeps them?"
She looked up at me with those big sad eyes. "Maybe by the sink, I'm not sure. I heard him messing around over in that cabinet too, but I could never see what he was doing." After fishing around the counter and sink for a minute, I crossed the room and opened the metal cabinet. Hanging there were blood stained smocks, clean plastic aprons, a couple pairs of worker's coveralls, and a box of dishwasher's gloves on the floor. Above the hanging rack was a shelf, the shelf where I found our salvation.
Vials of oxycodone, morphine, oxycontin, and several other drugs whose names I couldn't pronounce lined the shelf, along with dozens of brand-new hypodermic needles. I grabbed a vial of the oxycodone, because I didn't remember hearing as many horror stories about it as I had about the others, and two of the syringes, still cozy in their plastic wrappers." What are you doing?" Jennifer asked with an edge of panic to her voice.
I limped back to the counter with the sink and set everything down. "When I fell down those stairs, I broke a couple ribs. If I don't do something about it quick, I might pass out from the pain. That wouldn't be good for either of us."
"Okay, but I don't want any shots," her voice trembled again.
I tore one of the needles from its packaging, removed the plastic lid, and jammed the thing through the rubber stopper on the medicine's jar. "Listen, Jennifer. I know it's been a while since you've had anything for the pain, and it's got to be getting bad."
"I don't care. Please. I don't want any more needles. I'll be fine."
I only filled the syringe about a quarter of the way. I’m not a doctor, and although I wanted to relieve the pain, I didn't want to overdo it. I tapped the thing like I had seen on the tube a million times, and pressed the plunger until I was sure there were no bubbles.
"I don't suppose you wanna play nurse for a second?" I asked, knowing the answer.
She shook her head. Oh well.
I unbuttoned my shirt and lifted the bottom of my tank top. It was not pretty. Angry purple and yellow-green bruises painted my ribcage, from my nipple to my navel. I took a deep breath to steady my hand and pressed the cold needle right to the center of the darkest bruise I could see. I pushed down until it broke through the skin.
It hurt as badly as you might think. I bit my lip until I could taste blood and depressed the plunger. The clear liquid felt like ice as it flowed into the muscles along my ribs. I let go of the breath I'd been holding, and the magic of the dope became instantly clear. I could breathe, and move, without feeling woozy. Goddamn, that was nice.
I dropped my tank top, and buttoned my shirt back up. "That's better," I said, giving Jennifer a smile. She didn't return it. I ripped open the other syringe.
"I said I don't want any. Please."
"It's not for you, Jenny," I replied as I stabbed the needle into the vial and pulled up another half syringe full of oxycodone. "I'm putting this one up for later," I gave her wink and put the plastic cap back onto the needle. I set the syringe on the counter. It all looked so medical, I couldn't imagine being in that room for as long as Jennifer had, without going crazy.
"No... no... no..." she stuttered behind me.
"I said it's not for you..." I turned around and saw what set her off. Williamson was standing in the doorway.
Chapter 15: Blood and Stars
David parked in the driveway, behind the red Jeep he had seen so many times before. He knew he’d found the right place, but still had no real idea about why he had come. He climbed out of the Crown Vic, checked to make sure the button on his holster was unlocked, and shut the door as he walked toward the house.
It seemed cozy enough, but he proceeded with the sort of caution which came from nine years on the force. The door was closed, but the curtains in the picture window were parted. As he got closer, he looked in. He couldn't see any sign of a struggle. The furniture seemed to all be in place, and he heard no sounds coming from inside.
He stepped up onto the porch and knocked three times, with his free hand resting on the pistol at his hip.***
He didn't move. He stood there staring at me with a smile that made my skin crawl. I took three steps to Jennifer's bed and slid in front of her. "The cops are on their way, Williamson. Walk out now and you might be able to get away."
He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. The door creaked. Had it creaked when he came in? How did I not notice?
He rolled the locking bar into place. "Why would I want to leave?" The awful smile melted away as he pulled the biggest Ginsu I'd ever seen from the back of his pants. "I haven't had dinner yet."
Jennifer snatched up the blade she had been so frightened of not long ago, and held it out with both hands. I kept my knife low, still hoping to talk him out of whatever he had planned.
"It's not going to happen. Walk away, let Jennifer go, and maybe you get life in prison. Keep it up, and there's only one way out for you."
"You don't understand," he replied taking a step forward. I lifted the blade in my hand a bit higher. "I've already resigned myself to my fate. It's you that doesn't realize there is only one way out of this."
"You're not hurting this girl anymore, Williamson."
I smelled my own sweat and fear, mixed with Jennifer's. Our host acted calm and collected, despite the situation. This did not reassure me. I still wasn't one hundred percent, and I had no idea if this guy had any combat training or if he was a paperback psycho, who liked to pick on people smaller than him. Judging by the hollow look in his eyes, I was about to find out.
He didn't reply. Jennifer's ragged breathing filled the room, and I could feel her body tremble behind me. Probably good that she hadn't accepted any pain killers after all.
I rolled the knife handle around in my hand, getting a feel for it as I sized up the maniac across from me. He had to be a full six feet tall, and weighed around a buck-ninety. Not out of shape, but not athletic either. His eyes were blank and his stare gave nothing away. Nothing that would help anyway.
His leg twitched, and his body went rigid. His knuckles bleached white around the handle of the blade and he flicked his wrist once. Twice. Then he rushed forward.
I twisted right, with his momentum, and pushed him away from Jennifer's bed with my empty hand. He snarled as he swung out with that vicious blade, barely missing Jennifer. She screamed and rolled away, nearly falling from the bed.
With his attention turned toward her for the second, I yanked his shoulder back hard and slid my knife between his ribs and his left arm. It only made light contact, but he turned his rage back on me. He escaped my one-handed grip and took a clumsy step back. Williamson bared his teeth like a dog, spittle trailing from both corners of his mouth.
He lunged again. This time I couldn’t turn the attack and I took the full weight of his shoulder in my aching ribcage. I saw stars. Stars like you see when you go camping with your old man. I knew I couldn't hang onto the blade and keep from going unconscious at the same time. My hand loosened, and somewhere at the end of the starry tunnel, I heard my knife hit the floor. But I was still awake.
The force of his tackle took us to the far wall. We hit hard, back first, then my head. Then I felt him run that cold steel up the back of my right thigh. The stars faded as the new wound blazed to life. I finally reacted.
His head was low. I swung deep with my right fist and caught him in the sternum. He stepped back and straightened up enough that my left landed square on his chin. He stumbled away from me. His gaze unfocused, but he still had an iron grip on the handle of that Ginsu.
I swung again and came up short of his jaw, but it made him take another step back toward the sink. With both fists up, I bobbed off the wall, doing my best to ignore the screaming pain rolling through my body. A jab with my left barely connected, I missed with my right. I had him on the ropes.
My mistake was not keeping my attention on his eyes. They weren't glazed anymore. I threw another jab with my left, but this time when he leaned back, he lashed out with that goddamn knife. It went deep into my forearm, hit the bone hard enough that I almost went under again. This time, I jumped back.
My right pant leg and shoe were cold and soaked with blood already, and now my arm was gushing. My fingers went numb right away, and I knew that with the blood loss, I wouldn't be on my feet for long.
He smiled at me again. The swollen, purple welt across his jaw did not make him look any more appetizing. Behind him, I could see Jennifer watching us, still clutching the knife with a crazed and terrified look in her eyes. I couldn't leave her alone with him again.***
David tried Gavin's number one last time. Straight to voicemail. He hammered his knuckles on the whitewashed door for the umpteenth time. No response. No sound at all from inside. Gavin's Jeep was still sitting there in the driveway; someone should be able to hear him knocking or ringing the doorbell. Something was wrong.
He weighed the pros and cons of kicking his way in. If Gavin was fine, or drunk, or high, then it would be his ass for going into a home without probable cause. He couldn’t hear any screaming; there were no bodies or drugs or blood anywhere to be seen. Worst of all, his intel relied on the one man he knew the Captain didn't trust.
But, if there was something wrong and he walked away... If Gavin was in there with the person who had killed Denise Beckham, or if the other missing girl was in there and still alive...
David stepped back and took a deep breath. "IT'S THE POLICE! WE'RE COMING IN!" he shouted before taking his boot to the door. Once. Twice. Three times before it gave way.
"POLICE!" he barked again as he made his way inside.
Chapter 16: The Stars and the Darkness
"You're feeling it, Mr. English. Soon, your body will give out for lack of blood. All I have to do is wait."
He wasn't wrong. I was woozy, and I had a chill I knew had nothing to do with the temperature. I needed to do something, and I had to do it soon. I couldn't give him the chance to wait me out.
I took my turn to rush in. I was hurt and angry and quite frankly, scared shitless. I moved as fast as my legs would carry me, and clearly, he hadn't expected me to do something so reckless in my condition. His eyes went wide, and he started to dodge a second too late. I crashed into him with my full weight and pinned him against the counter so that his back twisted and bent the wrong way.
I slugged him as hard as I could with my left to his gut, and then threw an elbow that landed right in his throat. He gagged and screamed and forced me back a step. Williamson swung the Ginsu out, wide, in an arc that nearly got my good arm. Again and again he swung the blade, gripping his throat with his free hand and clearly having a hard time catching a breath.
I hopped back and felt my right leg wobble beneath me. The stars were coming back and my stomach lurched several times, threatening to eject all of its contents. I watched Williamson struggle and I barely dodged the blade as it whipped out at me, back and forth. I knew it would be risking more blood, but I could feel unconsciousness nipping at my heels. I moved in again.
His arm went out, away from his body. I tightened up and dug myself right into his chest with my shoulder. Something cracked under my weight and his gasp of air shot spit out across my neck. He rolled me left and my ribs slammed into the counter as he shoved and scratched at my face. He pressed and I felt myself give in to his strength as he leaned me backwards, over the sink.
He raised the blade over both our heads and I lifted my bad arm defensively, hoping that he couldn't make it hurt any worse. When his swing came down, though, it was weak, and the knife glanced off my arm without doing any real damage. Each breath he took shuddered as bad as my own, and his eyes were glossing over more with each passing moment.
He swung at me once more and I twisted to my left, again his blow fell on my useless appendage. His attack had nothing behind it but his body weight pushed me back, and my good arm slid along the counter until my elbow hung uselessly over the sink. As I fought to lift myself out of my contorted position, my fingers found the syringe I had placed there minutes ago.
At first I thought of using it on myself. My second thought was more helpful. Somehow, I removed the plastic sheath from the needle with my shaking fingers.
As he raised up to swing the blade again, I locked the syringe in my grip and swept it upward. With a soft crunching sound more satisfying than sex, the needle landed home in the soft skin between his Adam's apple and his jaw.
"GnnnaKKKKsssss," was all he said as I shoved the plunger home, forcing the oxycodone out through the needle's head.
I heard the Ginsu hit the counter next to me, then the ground. Williamson leaned further into me, hissing and gurgling as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. I let go of the empty syringe and left it dangling from his pasty flesh. Then his knees buckled, and he hit the floor. I almost followed him down, but I still had one good arm holding me up on the counter.
Jennifer screamed and fell off the bed, still gripping that knife. She landed with a dull thud and a grunt.
"I'm okay!"
She screamed again as something started pounding on the door to the room. I didn’t hear voices or anything from outside, but the heavy steel door kept juttering and shaking. Someone was trying to get inside.
"Coming," I announced, donning my best Ward Cleaver voice.
It may have taken me an hour to get there, but after much stumbling and limping and cussing, and even more bleeding, I made it to the door. The lock slid up easily, and as it came open I saw the prettiest face I had ever seen. It was David, and he caught me just as my legs, and the rest of my body, finally gave up.
"Gavin! Oh shit," he said as he set me on the floor. He was gentle, I'll give him that. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number, "This is Lieutenant Reeves, I need an ambulance and a couple of black and whites at one-three-nine-nine Elm St." He listened, then, "Yes. Hurry."
"It's gotta be nice to be the boss," I said as he shoved the phone back in his pocket.
He found his gun with his free hand and gave the room a cursory glance. I had left Jennifer on the floor, between the beds, and Williamson was on the far side of the room. David couldn't see either of them. "This fucking place stinks. What happened to you? Are you alone in here? Have you seen the other girl?" he rattled off questions as he tried to make sense of the scene.
"YOU MOTHER FUCKER!" Jennifer screamed from the other side of the room. "I FUCKING HATE YOU!" A wet thud echoed, followed by another, and then the sound of something splattering against the wall. "BASTARD! FUCKING BASTARD! I HATE YOU!"
"Shit!" David rushed across the room. I couldn't see anything. "Jennifer? Jennifer, listen to me. My name is Lieutenant David Reeves, I'm here to help. I need you to put the knife down."
"NO!" she yelled again. Another wet thump. More splattering sounds.
"Jennifer," said David. Then I heard a struggle, kicking and grunting and Jennifer cursing, until finally I saw that David had his arms around her waist as he dragged her back toward me. She continued kicking and fighting, but she stopped screaming, and no longer had the knife in her hand. She was covered in fresh blood, though, and her sobs wracked her body from head to toe.
"It's okay, Jenny," I said as they got closer, doing my best to reassure the young girl. "It's okay." Then the room faded and the stars and the d
arkness took over.
Chapter 17: In the Hospital
"Of course, he didn't die. That would have done all of us a favor, and he doesn't do favors."
I have no idea how long I was out, but I knew that if her voice had to be the first thing I heard, the universe must hate me. Her Wal-Mart perfume wafted through the room strong enough to gag a maggot, so I tried to hold my breath. Nothing in this world was going to get me to open my eyes and have her be the first thing I see after what I had been through.
"That's cold," came a familiar voice from the other side of the room. "You should go. Visit later when Gavin's had time to recuperate." Good old David. He pretends not to like me sometimes, but deep down, I always knew he had my back.
"'Who the hell do you think you are? This is my husband and I will stay in this room until I know that he's all right."
"Yvette, you two have been divorced for a couple of years now. Remember? That's why you're shacked up with another guy. Now you need to go, or I'm going to call a few officers up here to put you in handcuffs."
Come on, David, don’t threaten her with a good time. She'll never leave.
"Whatever. I'll come back when you're not here polishing his knob."
"Yvette, please let's just go...?" pleaded Mike from behind them.
Holy shit, that guy was in the room the whole time? I almost blew my cover and started laughing right then.
"Fine, fine," she replied. I listened as she grumbled and stomped her way across the room, then I heard a door open and close.
"Is she gone?" I whispered.
"You dick," answered David. "You could've opened your eyes and told her to go to hell."
"But it was so much better hearing you do it."
We both laughed, but I stopped quickly because the pain in my ribs flared up. It was bearable, but definitely not fun. I looked around as I caught my breath. We were unmistakably in a hospital room, with its generic floral paintings and the smells of piss and bleach. Even so, knowing I had gotten out of that sicko’s basement made me feel like I had been sleeping in a generous stripper's cleavage.
