by Ryan Horvath
48
JACK, BRIAN, AND RIVER
“How’s your head?” Jack asked.
“Better… I’ve still got a little aching behind my eyes but I think the worst is over,” Brian answered.
“You going to tell me what that was?” Jack probed.
Brian was unloading the last of their haul, the shot guns, from the cargo hold in Jack’s SUV. Jack was gathering up the camping gear, his tents, sleeping bags, a small cooking burner with several small cans of propane to fuel it, and two lanterns. Ian had left a few minutes ago with Simon.
“I’m not sure. It’s just when Simon reached for the door knob it was like an alarm went off. A pretty fucking loud one at that too,” Brian said, rubbing his temple with the back of his hand absently.
“Simon belongs with us,” River chimed in from where she was sitting in her usual position next to the pile of hunting knives the men had purchased this morning. “There are too many coincidences for that not to be so.”
“All right, all right. If you guys are sure then I’m with you,” Jack said.
Jack walked over to a chalkboard that hung on the wall and crossed off the camping equipment items that he had just gathered. “Do you get anything from him?” he asked Brian.
“What? Who?” Brian said.
“You know. Do you get anything? From Simon? Like you do from me?” Jack pressed.
“Oh. No. Well, I mean I didn’t notice but I didn’t exactly try. Do you think I should?” Brian asked.
“No. I was just wondering. It’s not so nice to poke around in people’s heads you know?” Jack said with a smirk and a wink. He now walked over to the weapons Brian had finished unloading. In addition to his older Mossberg 500, Jack had selected two new Mossberg 500 Flexes. Ian had chosen three new Remington 870 Expresses. The five shiny new black guns leaned against Jack’s work bench with his older, well used, wood finished Mossberg. The Walther was in its holster sitting on the bench above the shot guns. Jack picked up one of the new Mossbergs and tested its weight in his hands. He pulled the butt of the rifle up to his shoulder and stared down the barrel.
“So you said there were others. Any ideas? Either of you?” Jack said to Brian and River.
“Nothing from me, Jack,” River answered.
“I’m not sure,” Brian started. “We’ll meet them soon I think though.”
“Any idea who they are, Brian?” River mewed.
“Not a clue,” Brian answered.
“How ‘bout how many there are?” Jack said. He set the Mossberg back down and eyed the pile of food Brian had purchased. It was a lot for the four of them but what if there were suddenly ten more hungry mouths to feed? Or twenty?
“I don’t know that either,” Brian replied, shaking his head.
“Why them? Any ideas about that?” Jack continued. He was now taking a box marked winter stuff off one of the shelves. He set it on the floor and opened it. He perused the contents and was satisfied that the various hats, scarves, gloves, and two winter jackets were still inside where he had left them this spring.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I got nothing,” Brian said.
“I have a theory about that,” River said from her perch.
Jack and Brian exchanged a glance and then both simultaneously said, “Spill it.”
“Well, those men on that bench made a connection between me and Simon and me and you, Jack. You, Jack, have a connection to Brian and Ian. My theory is that whoever is going to be joining us has some kind of connection to one of us… to the puzzle. Otherwise, they wouldn’t fit. You know, one or two of them must be connected in some way to one or two of us,” River posited.
Jack and Brian looked at each other. Neither on them was sure what to say. Finally Jack spoke.
“My family’s all gone. Everyone I love is here. It couldn’t be through me. Maybe,” he looked at Brian. “Maybe your parents?”
“Not mine,” Brian started. “I mean I love my parents and I know they love me but we’re not all that close. Dad never said it but I could tell he wasn’t thrilled about the gay thing. And my sibs are scattered like salt in the wind.”
“Ian’s then.” Jack stated.
“I don’t think so, Jack,” Brian protested. “If either his folks or mine had experienced changes or evolution or whatever, like we have, then they’d have felt drawn to us. They would have called by now.”
“But we didn’t call them either,” Jack pointed out.
“I guess that’s true. But I don’t think it’s either of our parents,” Brian said. He looked down at his feet, feeling sad that he was all but writing his folks off. Neither he nor Jack nor River had any way of knowing that both Brian’s and Ian’s parents were not responders to the new gas in the Earth’s air and that this part of their discussion was a moot point.
Brian didn’t want to think about his parents anymore so he turned back to the stuff around the garage. “So, how should we start loading this?”
Jack thought quietly for a few moments as he stepped to various places in the garage, looking at the items they had assembled so far. It suddenly occurred to him that with the addition of Simon, there wasn’t going to be room for everything. Especially since jugs of gasoline and a couple more cans of propane were on the list of things they still had to acquire this afternoon and evening.
“We’re going to need to use Ian’s car too, I think. This isn’t all going to fit even with my trailer and storage box on top,” Jack said. “And if we’ve got people joining us, we’ll need the space. We should make sure each car has some of everything in case we get separated.” Jack dreaded the thought. “My SUV will have to take the bulk of it. If we have to leave some of it behind, we can try to get it later… if things have calmed down enough for that, that is. If not, well, we’ll have to play it by ear.”
Brian nodded in understanding but did not say anything. Instead, he busied himself separating the cases of drinks.
After a few minutes Jack said, “They’re almost back. They just pulled up to the light at the corner.
Brian looked at Jack and asked, “How do you know that?”
“I can recognize the sound of Ian’s engine,” Jack said with a smile.
Seconds later, Brian heard the car pull in outside the thin metal garage door.
Jack walked over to the service door, opened it, and said, “That was fast.”
49
ART
Art stood in the litter of containers from his last meal glaring out his bathroom window. His stomach was full and his temper was full to boiling. The Shepherd look alike had yet to come into Art’s view. While he glared, Art thought about the woman he held captive.
She knew me he thought.
But how?
The bitch better be awake when I get back.
He felt his penis stiffen yet again behind his zipper as thoughts of sexual acts he intended to force upon the woman as part of her physical torture flashed in his mind. Having never raped a woman before, he wondered if he would be any good at it. He decided he would give it his best shot and torture her with ways of degradation as well as ways of blood. He thought about the woman on her knees before him and her hair wound tightly in his fist so she could barely move her head. He envisioned her on her hands and knees while he drove into her from behind. He foresaw forcing her knees to her shoulders while he spanked her harshly. Through it all, she would be crying and whimpering and grunting in resistance but she would be powerless beneath his superior strength. And while all these thoughts of rape were new to Art, they felt right at home. And after he raped her, he would cut her, or burn her, maybe see what a little bit of that acid did to her flesh.
Thoroughly aroused now, Art shifted his leg. His erection had gotten large enough to the point that his underwear barely accommodated it.
All right. Calm down he thought to himself. Release was not something he was going to get at this time.
Art concentrated down at the street below. Soon, his lust quenched for the time being,
mid-afternoon traffic began to move on the street making the surveillance a bit more difficult for Art. But still, by 4:00, there had been no sign of the doctor.
Art was about to abandon his position when his phone buzzed. He snatched the phone off the window sill and looked at the screen. It was a text message from the contact of this assignment.
This damn assignment Art brooded. A whole day… Wasted!
He read the text message he had just received.
TARGET SPOTTED. TRAFFIC CAM. IN BLACK HONDA. PLATES SHOW A ROCHESTER MN ADDRESS AND OWNER. CHECKING LEADS. LOCATION OF SIGHTING: HENNEPIN AND CENTRAL AVES NE. PURSUE FROM THERE WHILE WE CONTINUE TO DIG. MISSION NOT RESCINDED.
Art reread the message and nearly threw his phone against the far wall. He was so angry that this was still going on and even angrier that his plans to defile and inflict wounds on the lovely Amanda Breck would continue to have to wait.
And all because that little fuck got on an earlier flight. He sure fooled us Art fumed to himself.
Suddenly another text came through and the phone jiggled in Art’s hand. It read:
ONE MORE THING: TARGET DOES NOT LOOK HIMSELF. LOOKS MUCH YOUNGER.
He decided what his next moves would be. Standing there in the crapper was no longer an option. Given that rush hour traffic was in full swing now, he could probably make it to the farm house and change the bitch woman’s IV then make it back to the city by six or six thirty. He could grab some quick food and take up a new position near the recent Shepherd sighting and hopefully acquire him from a chance encounter while the idiots in the intelligence offices tried to find the doctor again too.
Art stormed out of the bathroom, slipping his phone in his left front pants pocket. He grabbed his keys from the table where they sat and left the apartment. He found his bumperless car, entered, and started it up. Art then masterfully guided his way through crowded downtown traffic until he was headed west on I-394. Just past 5:00 he arrived at the farm house that stood above where his prey was trapped.
Art secured two more IV bags from his trunk. He let himself in the house and unlocked the basement. Downstairs, he stared at the woman on the table. Her eyes were closed but Art could see her chest rising and falling and knew the woman was still alive. For the first time, the bitch woman just looked asleep instead of unconscious. Art had hoped she would finally be done with her comatose behavior. He wanted to put some fear and anxiety in her about what was to lie ahead for her. And he also wanted answers as to how she had known him. He knew she had to be the congressman’s sister-in-law but how could she have known Art? He’d researched the Thomas house thoroughly in the hours before the assassination and they had only a mediocre at best security system with no cameras so the bitch woman couldn’t have seen him from his adventure on Sunday. And the neighbors Art had killed to get to Thomas’s house had nothing that would have captured Art’s image. Yet this woman who was connected to one of Art’s latest victims seemed to know him.
As he took her in, his gaze, which the woman would have described as an insane leer, stopped on her breasts. He licked his upper lip. The bitch woman’s nipples perched beckoningly from atop her full breasts. Art could see that they were erect.
Does that mean she’s not unconscious? Do unconscious people react to cold air? Art wondered. The back of his mind told him that he would bite and pinch those nipples until they were raw while he savaged the bitch woman.
Art walked quietly over to the IV stand and busied himself with changing the old bag with the two new ones. Something clacked against the stand and the woman’s eyes suddenly fluttered open, as if she’d been startled out of a dream. Her hurried gaze at her surroundings made Art smile as it told him she realized she had awakened from a dream into a nightmare. When her pale brown eyes met Art’s shiny green ones, her look changed to one of stark defiance. Art was pleased by this too and his smile broadened. It meant she would probably struggle even more against his sexual assaults, making them that much more challenging to him and thus, more gratifying once he completed those challenges.
“So we’re awake now?” Art said and turned his attention back to the IV bag, finishing the swap. The woman said nothing in response to his question.
“I heard what you said,” Art said.
When the bitch woman still did not say anything, Art continued, “Back when I… picked you up. I heard what you said.”
The bitch woman remained silent.
Art walked over to the work bench. His back was to the woman but he could feel her eyes burning holes into him. Her fear and contempt seemed to energize him. He grabbed the beat up old chair that was sitting next to the work bench. It was covered in dust and a mess of cobwebs ran between its legs. He carried the chair over to the side of the table where the bitch woman was restrained, set it down, and then sat down in it himself. He put one of his long muscular legs up onto the knee of the other, leaned back, and interlaced his fingers behind his head. The bitch woman’s eyes never left him through this.
“How do you know me?” Art said calmly.
She stared back at him, mute.
“Answer the question please,” Art gently directed her.
She remained reticent.
Art’s was delighted by her resistance. When the time came for him to start experimenting with her, she was going to be an ideal first candidate.
“Let me show you something,” Art said, rising from the chair. He walked back to the workbench and picked up a dirty mirror. He carried it back to his chair and sat back down. He showed the reflective surface to the bitch woman and heard her softly wince when she saw herself.
“Yes,” Art said. “I did that to you. You remember, don’t you?” He grinned and noticed the bitch woman break out in gooseflesh. “That bump on your head was from where I tossed you into my car. The bruise on your face, well, that came from just a flick on this little ole finger right here.” He waggled his index finger at her. You were out for two days.”
The bitch woman showed no sign of recollection of how she sustained these injuries but Art did detect that there was recognition toward him in her eyes.
“Let me show you something else,” Art said. He leaned over in the chair and grabbed a piece of rebar. It was about an inch in diameter and eighteen or so inches long. “This week,” Art continued, “I’ve experienced some changes. I guess, it turns out, I’m not the only one but I’m the only one I care about. Guess my age,” he said playfully. “C’mon, pick a prize if you get it right.”
The bitch woman said nothing. Her eyes darted to the rebar and then back to Art.
“I’m twenty-fucking-nine. Can you believe it?” he said with a flourish.
The bitch woman just stared.
“Yeah, I got younger. Suddenly got a lot more physically defined too, you know, broader shoulders, fuller chest, tighter abs, harder thighs, a little something I’ll show you in a bit,” he reported as if he were engaged in an infomercial for a high powered protein drink or fancy new exercise machine. “I accidentally tore the sink off the wall in my apartment,” he said, feeling silly for how he must have looked when that happened, naked, rear in the air, and the plumbing spraying everywhere.
The bitch woman continued her unspeaking pose.
“Do you know what this is?” Art asked her, indicating the rebar in his band. He didn’t expect an answer. He met her gaze, hers almost stoic to his akin to goading. They sat this way for a moment before Art went on. “After that, I picked up my refrigerator. Overhead pressed it even. Then I picked up my car.” Art didn’t want to tell her that he had probably met his strength limit with only half the car. He still hoped things would change. He saw doubt in the bitch woman’s eyes. “Oh, it’s true,” he insisted. “Here, I’ll show you.” He presented the rebar to her. “In case you don’t know, this is rebar. That’s short for reinforcing-bar. They use it to make buildings mostly. I’ve used it to bludgeon three people to death.” He paused for effect. “It’s actually one of my favorite weapons. Do you know wh
y?” Art didn’t wait for her not to answer this time and continued on. “I like it because it’s so light weight. Easy to wield, you know? Also it’s versatile. You can bludgeon with it and you can stab with it. Finally, I really like it because it’s so damn strong and solid; real tough stuff. Man can’t bend a piece this thick on his own you know?” Art wiggled the rebar in front of the bitch woman. “But thanks to these… changes, I can.”
Art rapped the rebar against the metal leg of the table, showing the bitch woman that it was the real deal. He then took both ends of the bar and bent it easily in the middle to a ninety degree angle. After that, he did two more ninety degree angles on either side of the first so that the rebar looked like a set of stairs. Art saw the bitch woman’s eyes widen a little in amazement or shock. Art didn’t know which.
“Ah, I see now I have your attention,” Art said. He tossed to rebar to the floor where it landed with a loud clanking sound. He stood up. “So, youth, and strength but my changes don’t end there. I mentioned my body did some growing with all this, one part I haven’t told you about yet. But it’s not just my body that’s grown. My… appetites have grown too.” Art saw the faintest glimmer of confusion in the bitch woman’s eyes. “You see, I’ve been a killer for a long time. I’m on assignment for the big six-oh as we speak, which is why I haven’t started on you yet. And don’t worry, I will start on you soon. What I haven’t been, or rather what I have been with my victims is a perfect gentleman. What I mean is, I never did anything to my victims of a sexual nature; before or after they died, just to clarify. But once I have my sixtieth anniversary, so to speak, all that’s going to change with you. Ah yes, another change is my sexual appetite.” He beamed at the bitch woman, looking proud of this revelation. Understanding was showing on her face.
“That’s right,” Art said. He unbuckled his belt, undid the clasp and unzipped his pants. “The last thing I wanted to tell you about goes with my improved physical condition. It’s the darndest thing but something most every man wishes for at some time in his life. My freaking dick got bigger. I mean, I was no slouch to begin with and I only added a couple inches but, well, I like it. My fifty-ninth victim really liked it too. And I’m going to give you a taste of it. Well, more than one taste, actually.” Art reached his left hand into his briefs and pulled out his stiffening prick. He rested it in between the two sets of teeth on the zipper of his trousers. He tucked the waistband of his underwear behind his testicles and brandished his manhood, which jutted perpendicular from his body, at the bitch woman. “Tomorrow, I’m going to rape you. It’s a new concept to me but I’m going to do it none the less. I will have you however I see fit, you know what I mean by that, don’t you?” He paused eying her with a raised eyebrow and half grin. “And you will find what I do to you to be the most degrading thing you have ever experienced.” He walked over to the workbench, and turned back to face her.
