HER FINAL WORD (JACK RYDER Book 6)

by Willow Rose

  It wasn't his fault the guy turned out to be a detective, was it?

  Mama seemed to believe so, but then again, she believed everything was his fault.

  The person stared at the needles next to the girl and the ink, then decided he didn't have to wait for the girl to say her last word. He could simply take the last one she actually had said to him earlier. Just use that one and end it all. He had lost interest in this girl anyway.

  What was it she had said to him last?

  Oh, yes. Please. Please was the word. It wasn't very original, but it would have to do.

  The person lifted the butcher's knife and locked eyes with the girl. He grabbed her face, then reached inside her mouth with his gloved fingers. He searched around, then finally managed to grab ahold of her slippery tongue, pressing down hard so it wouldn't slip out of his fingers. Then he pulled it out between her lips, forcefully, and the girl almost threw up.

  He then lifted the knife into the air and locked eyes with the girl, feeling that intoxicating adrenalin rush through his body, arousing him. As the knife swung down toward her tongue, he almost screamed out his arousal. In that same second, the alarms went off on his phone, letting him know someone had just entered his house. The person stopped the knife in mid-air as the blaring alarm destroyed everything. His arousal, the adrenaline, the kick.

  The person looked at his phone where the security cameras showed him a man and a young woman walking through the sliding doors in the formal dining room. Recognizing them immediately, he sighed, then let go of the girl, who curled up on the floor, sobbing. He rose up, then turned and walked outside, the knife still clutched in his hand.

  70

  Lyford Cay, Bahamas, October 2018

  "I don't think anyone is home."

  Emily turned around and looked at me. We came in through the unlocked sliding doors in the formal dining room, and now we were in the massive kitchen. What was the plan? To find Coraline and liberate her. If she was still alive. And hopefully get Sydney out of here along with her. Then we'd have to deal with Mr. Chauncey afterward. Hopefully, the police would help us if we brought the girl back and she could tell where she was and who had kept her.

  If she was still alive.

  "Let's try upstairs," I whispered.

  We found the stairs in the grand hall and walked up, then continued down a hallway decorated with stunning artwork.

  We found the master bedroom and entered as soon as we realized no one was in there. Emily closed the door behind us, then looked at me.

  "What are we doing here?"

  I searched a few drawers, opened cabinets, and peeked inside the Roman Empire-style bathroom, then returned to her.

  "Looking for clues."

  "This place is massive," Emily said. "Coraline could be anywhere. Shouldn't we be looking elsewhere? Why are we in the master bedroom? What are we looking for?"

  I stared at a door, then opened it, revealing an enormous walk-in closet the size of my living room. I entered, walking down the rows and rows of neatly ironed suits on one side and the completely identical white dresses on the other. At the end of it was a mahogany wall filled from top to bottom with hundreds of drawers. In the center was a safe behind a wooden door.

  "Why are you so interested in a safe?" Emily asked, looking worriedly behind her. "I don't understand…wait, what was that?"

  "What was what?"

  "I thought I heard a sound," she said with a light gasp. "Please, Dad, hurry up whatever it is you're doing."

  "It doesn’t matter. I can't open it anyway."

  I sighed and closed the door.

  "I can."

  The sound of the voice coming from behind us made us both turn our heads. In the doorway of the walk-in closet stood Sydney. Emily smiled and sighed, relieved.

  Then they hugged.

  "What are you guys doing here anyway?" Sydney asked as she approached the safe and knelt in front of it. She glanced at our outfits. "Are you wearing wetsuits?"

  "Can you really open it?" I asked, ignoring her first question.

  She shrugged. "I know all of Mr. Chauncey's passcodes. I grew up here and have been watching him all my life. I know my way around this house better than anyone," she said, then typed in a code, and the safe immediately clicked open. "Here you go. What are you looking for?"

  I looked inside the safe, then reached in and pulled something out. I held it up for the girls.

  "Bingo."

  Both girls looked frightened as they stared at the object in my hand.

  "A gun?" Emily asked.

  "I knew a man like Mr. Chauncey would have one. We'll need it," I said and got up. As I turned around, that was when I saw something else. It was hanging on a mannequin's head. I walked closer and touched the long silver wig. Emily came up behind me.

  "So that's how he made it appear that Sakislov was always near the girls he abducted. A wig, huh?"

  "It makes sense," I said. "Everyone knows he's a womanizer, right? In the file, he stated that he never met Annie Turner when he was questioned. We assumed the police were just stupid for believing him, but what if it was the truth? What if he never did meet her? Or any of the other girls?"

  Emily glared at me quickly, then back at the wig. "It makes total sense. They hate each other. Mr. Chauncey wanted his neighbor to take the fall. But every time, he managed to avoid being a suspect, probably by paying off the police, and then Mr. Chauncey's wife had to bail her husband out by bringing in the scapegoat as soon as the police started to sniff around or pay any attention to them."

  "So, she must have known what he was doing," I said. "She must have known all along."

  We both looked at Sydney, who was standing right behind us, staring at us like the moon had fallen down.

  "W-what are you guys talking about?"

  I grabbed her by the shoulders. "We need to get you out of this place. But first, we need to find Coraline. Is there any place you don't go? Anywhere they say is restricted for you to go?"

  "I can't leave the house or the property," she said and looked down. "Because I am an illegal. I was born here, but my mom is here illegally. She came here from Columbia many years ago. But if I leave the house, I'll be arrested, they say."

  I stared at the girl in front of me, flabbergasted. "They're keeping you a prisoner here?"

  She shrugged. "It's the same for all the workers. We live in the rooms in the back house. They lock them at night, so we don't do something stupid. The farthest I have been from this place is the clubhouse when my mom took me there when I was younger. But I am not really allowed down there. My dad was another worker here. He died when trying to run away. The White Lady shot him."

  I stared at the girl while clenching my fingers around the gun. These people were seriously beginning to tick me off. It wasn't the first time I had heard about rich people getting illegal immigrants to work for them, keeping them as slaves. Not so long ago, a woman in Texas had been caught doing the same thing. The poor women she had kept at her house were malnourished and badly beaten when they were found. I knew millions of illegal immigrants ended up as slaves one way or another, whether they ended up in the sex industry or like here as slaves for those who didn't want to work themselves, those who believed they were allowed to keep people and treat them however they liked just because they had money.

  "Is Mr. Chauncey the one who tells you that you can't leave?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "The White Lady is."

  "Of course," I said. "She runs the show around here."

  I let go of the girl's shoulders, then looked at Emily, who once again had that look on her face like she was coming up with something, figuring something out.

  "Panic," she said, pointing at me.

  "What do you mean, panic?"

  "It was one of the words tattooed into the girl's body."

  "Annie Turner, yes," I said. "What about it? You figured out what it means?"

  "She's trying to tell us where she is," Emily said. "Do
n't you see? It's like it was with the two others. Church and Joy. Two names of something giving the killer away but could also be something else. They couldn't say it directly because the killer would know what they were up to, trying to give clues, so they tried to hide it, tried to give a vague clue. One he wouldn't figure out. This is the same."

  I shook my head, suddenly feeling very old because I couldn't follow her.

  "I don't see it. I really don't."

  Emily clasped her hands. "I know where Coraline is," she said, then turned to face Sydney. "You know this house better than anyone. Is there a panic room or a shelter anywhere?"

  Sydney nodded.

  "In the basement, why?"

  71

  Bahamas, October 2018

  Coraline couldn't believe her luck. Finally, God was hearing her many prayers and had granted her a break. The man was gone. Something had disturbed him just as Coraline had given up, just as she had felt the fingers clench around her tongue and seen the blade of the butcher's knife swing in front of her eyes. While he was pulling her tongue forcefully and holding it there so he could better cut it, something had happened. An alarm had sounded on his phone and this—whatever it was—had made him let go of Coraline. She had sunk to the tiles, her tongue throbbing painfully from the violent treatment, but it was still intact.

  She could still taste his plastic gloves, though, and it made her want to throw up.

  Now, as she was lying on the floor, gathering her strength to get up, she wondered if she once again might be able to go through the ventilation duct, but then decided against it. There was no other way than the one that led to the wine cellar, and it took too long. The guy would be back and find her as easily as he did the first time. There had to be another way, a faster way for her to get out.

  God, if you gave me this chance, then grant me the wisdom to know how to get out too. I don't think you gave me this miracle, this second chance, if you didn't also provide a way out for me.

  Coraline got up and staggered to the stone wall. She had seen him come through it several times now and knew it opened, but how? Coraline placed both palms on the wall and tried to push it with all her strength, but nothing happened.

  Of course, it wasn't that easy.

  In deep pain, Coraline pushed one stone after another, knowing that the button was there somewhere, even though it was well hidden. She was sobbing because of the pain in her body and the fear of not making it out in time, and she pressed and pulled at each and every stone she could reach, but nothing happened.

  "Please, God," she said and slammed her fist into the wall, crying, then sunk to the floor. She was sitting on her knees with her head bent down when the wall suddenly began moving in front of her like her tears had moved it somehow, or she had said a magical word.

  Open Sesame.

  Eyes growing wide, heart beating fast in her chest, she expected to see the man's face on the other side, but much to her surprise, it wasn't his glaring eyes that appeared as the door slid open.

  72

  Lyford Cay, Bahamas, October 2018

  When we reached the basement, Sydney stopped in front of a large stone wall. Sydney looked at it, then felt the stones one after another. I had explained to her that we were looking for a young girl who had been kidnapped and we believed Mr. Chauncey was keeping her here and that we were hoping to find her alive.

  It didn't take Sydney long to find the button to open the secret door. As it slid open, she looked back at us confidently.

  "I’ve seen him go in here before."

  As the door was fully opened, we rushed inside. I ran across the floor to the bathroom and looked inside, holding up the gun in case someone tried to attack me. When there was no one in there either, I ran back into the room, shaking my head in desperation.

  "No one is here?"

  "Coraline?" Emily yelled, but as expected, no one answered.

  "Coraline?" I repeated.

  "Coraline?" Emily tried again.

  I threw out my arms. "She's not here."

  "She was though," Emily said and looked down at the floor beneath me. "Look at your feet."

  I did and realized I had stepped in a small pool of blood. There was a trail of it leading toward the door.

  "They took her out. They must know we're here," I said and held the gun tighter in my hand. I rushed out of the room again and down the hallway, where I kicked open a wooden door and entered what appeared to be a wine cellar.

  In the middle was a dining room table and someone—or rather something—was sitting at the end of it.

  I approached it, holding the gun up and looking around me to make sure there weren't any surprises to suddenly jump out at me.

  "Yuck," Emily said coming up behind me, staring at the old skeleton and the jar with the floating tongue in it.

  "What the heck is this?" I asked, looking at Sydney. "Or let me rephrase that, who is it?"

  73

  Lyford Cay, Bahamas, March 2003

  At thirty years old, the girl had grown both beautiful and strong. Working in the house or helping out in the yard while growing up had given her strength like none of the other girls possessed. She was also tall, taller than any of them, and she was smart. Listening in on Dylan's private lessons had taught her everything she needed to know to outsmart everyone else.

  Being only a few years younger than her, Dylan followed her around, admiring every step she took and listening to everything she had to say. Soon, she learned she could easily twist him around her little finger, and life at the house was beginning to get quite comfortable for her. She no longer dreamt of leaving or running away to find her biological family. Her family was here now, in this house where she had spent most of her life. And as long as she had Dylan, who adored everything about her, she was quite happy.

  Almost, that was. Every now and then, she could still taste the metallic anger in her mouth, and it was becoming a nuisance. It happened mostly around The White Lady. That was when she would see the pictures in her mind of Carla lying on the floor, bleeding to death, and hear the scraping sound of Gabrielle's fingernails against the metal door, so loud it almost hurt her head.

  The girl stood outside the wine cellar and waited for Dylan as he showed up, grinning that goofy grin of his that he always did when seeing her. He approached her, then grabbed her by the waist and kissed her, sticking his tongue down her throat. The girl kissed him back. She enjoyed his touches and their occasional sex in the basement or the pool house.

  "You ready for this?" she asked him as his tongue left her mouth.

  He nodded. "It's time."

  She was sitting at the end of the old wooden dining table as they both entered. Dylan closed the heavy door behind him and, as it was shut, The White Lady looked up from her newspaper, a disgusted look on her face.

  "Ah, it's you two. What do you want?"

  Next to her on the table stood a glass of wine that she sipped before returning to her newspaper, obviously not interested in getting an answer to that question.

  This was part of her routine. She always had a glass of wine in the cellar while reading her newspaper before bedtime.

  "Make it quick," she said, still not looking up.

  "Mama?" Dylan asked.

  She lifted her gaze, then sipped her wine before forcing a smile. "Yes, darling."

  He grabbed the girl's hand in his. "I…we have something we would like to tell you."

  She stared, repulsed, at their hands, then gave them a look of disapproval.

  "We're in love," Dylan said.

  The White Lady stared at them. First, her eyes landed on Dylan, then the girl, then back at her son. A tic started to form in the corner of her eye when she suddenly burst into laughter.

  As the laughter subsided, she wiped her eyes and said. "No, you're not. Now, go."

  Dylan stepped forward. "But, Mama, please, listen to us."

  "No. I will not," she said, then stared at the girl, pointing her finger at her. "Vermin. You
're nothing but vermin, disgusting pests that should be eradicated. I should have gotten rid of you a long time ago."

  "But, Mama, please," Dylan said, stepping forward.

  The White Lady rose to her feet. She walked to the wall, where an old army saber was hanging. It was her grandfather’s, she had once told the girl, and she wanted it on the wall to remind her of him, the old bastard.

  Now, she was taking it down from the wall, slowly, then looking at her son. "Dylan, son. One day, you'll learn that there's a difference between these people and you."

  "What are you saying, Mama?" he asked as The White Lady approached the girl with the saber between her hands, her eyes fixated on the girl.

  "Mama? What are you going to do?"

  "I’m going to end this once and for all," she said, walking closer. "No son of mine will be seen with…with vermin like her."

  As she approached the girl, the girl didn't move. She wasn't afraid of The White Lady, at least not enough to want to show her. She stood her ground and stared down at the smaller woman dressed all in white, while thinking of all the hours she had spent in her room locked behind bolted doors, crying and fearing The White Lady's wrath. She thought about all the times The White Lady had beaten her, and of all the other girls and women she had hurt or even killed. And that was when she realized this had to end now. The house—enormous as it was—wasn't big enough for the both of them.