by Tim Miller
She pulled her arm out and ripped the rest of the straps away, kicking her feet free as she climbed off the table. Lawrence wasn’t sure what to think as she punched him in the face, knocking him onto his workbench. Ezra came running up behind her. She knew not to tangle with him and dove under the table, slid through the legs and bolted for the door. It was unlocked as she headed into a hallway and raced to the exit.
She burst through the exit door to find herself in a parking lot. Just ahead was a highway. Looking at the buildings she knew she was in Dallas somewhere. Wearing only a ripped up tank top, she ran from the parking lot and to the road leading to the highway. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Ezra climbing into a van and the engine starting. Shit! She had to get somewhere fast.
Another car came down the road just as she turned the corner. It was headed toward the highway. She jumped up and down, screaming. The car pulled over and an old woman leaned out the window.
“Are you ok dear?” She asked.
“No! That man in that van is after me! Please help me!”
“Get in.”
Bailey got in the passenger’s seat as the women stepped on the gas. The car was an old Buick Skylark, but it still had pick up as the tired squealed. Within a minute they were on the highway and Ezra’s van was nowhere in sight.
“Oh my God,” Bailey said. “Thank you.”
“No problem sweetie. This car’s got some balls!”
She laughed as the old woman looked her over.
“My goodness! What did they do to you?” The woman asked.
“Long story. The guy was trying to kill me. He thinks I killed his son.”
“Did you?”
“Hell no,” Bailey liked. “I don’t even know those people. They’re fucking crazy.”
“Well, I’ll take you to a hospital. They’ll get you nice and cleaned up.”
She didn’t want to go. Bad idea.
“That’s ok. I’m from Austin. I need to get back there as soon as I can.”
“You’re all bleeding and barely have any clothes. You really need to see a doctor.”
“Lady, I appreciate your help. I really do. But I hate hospitals. I really can’t go there.”
“Don’t you worry. The folks at Dallas General are great and will take good care of you.” The woman said.
Bailey rolled her eyes. This was a nice old lady and she really didn’t want to kill her, but it was looking like she might have to.
“I’m going to stop and get something to eat her at this gas station up ahead. I’ll get you some water.” The woman said as she pulled in. As she went inside, Bailey looked around the backseat and felt around. There was an old shoe lying back there. She grabbed the show and ripped out the shoe lace, wrapping her fingers around the ends. She held her hands in her lap until the old woman returned carrying a bag. She handed the bag to Bailey as she climbed in.
When she turned around to close the door, Bailey wrapped the shoelace around the woman’s neck and squeezed. The woman’s hands went up and clawed at Bailey’s wrists, but had no effect as the rest of her body twitched and flopped. All the while the woman’s mouth drooped open as she made a wheezing and gasping sound, but no air was getting through. After a couple minutes it was over.
The old woman lie motionless in the driver’s seat as Bailey removed the shoe lace and tossed it into the back seat. She flipped the driver’s seat back and rolled the woman into the back seat, flipped the seat back up and slid over. When she got to a less crowded area, she’d dump the body. For now, she had to get home and start planning. This wasn’t about revenge against Lawrence Freidman. She knew he had infinite resources to keep after her. There was only way to make him stop, and she planned on doing just that.
Chapter 16
It took just over three hours to get back to Austin. By the time she made it back, it was almost 3 am. She had pulled off the highway to a side road and dumped the old woman’s body in a ditch. Later she ditched the car in a field and stole another one for the rest of the trip. She parked the stolen car downtown and took a cab home. She had to break in her back window, to get inside; once there she got cash from her house to pay the driver, and immediately got in the shower.
This was the last fucking time someone would get her by surprise like that. It has happened twice in one week and it was two too many. She was the Lady fucking Wendigo dammit. No one hurt her like this. She was the killer, the bringer of death. Hell, she ate their fucking souls. Well if their souls are inside their skin and organs, she sure as hell ate them.
Whatever, she closed her eyes as the hot water poured over her naked body. It stung as it hit her many wounds and abrasions. All she could think about was making those assholes pay. Realistically, it should have been unsettling to her how well she’d taken to killing. She took out that old woman without a second’s hesitation, but she’d had no choice. The old bat was going to take her to a hospital, which meant police reports and cops. That was the last thing she needed.
Upon thinking about it, she couldn’t even stay here. They’d come looking for here again and her home was the first place they’d look. Bailey turned off the shower and toweled off as she put on clean clothes and packed a suitcase, or four. Once she had everything, she loaded up the Tahoe and headed to San Antonio where she found a nice hotel on the Riverwalk. It was expensive, but was big and had a parking garage so they wouldn’t just see her car sitting there.
She rested on the hotel bed and dug out her laptop. Immediately she began searching for Freidman Foods and Lawrence Freidman. As much as he pissed her off, she had to admit it was almost cute watching him try to play serial killer. It was obvious his son inherited his lack of empathy and the antisocial personality disorder or psychopathy/sociopathy. While they were each different they all had similarities. She leaned toward pure psychopathic. She’d self-diagnosed herself long ago. Though she was sure Lawrence had a good mix of narcissism anti-social and some other goodies mixed in.
It would seem Lawrence’s own disorder manifested itself in different ways. In older photos she saw he’d been a politician as well as a businessman. A younger version of Ezra was in several of the photos as his private security. The guy had a full head of hair back then, but still the same dead look on his face. Through the years, she had no doubt that Lawrence had left more than a few bodies in his wake, yet he normally didn’t get his hands dirty. That’s what Ezra was for.
Since Graves grew up with a dad who was cold and distant, he probably never learned empathy or bonded with others. One article said his mom died when he was a kid, so he was pretty much on his own. The kids was just a hollow shell of a person. No wonder he was so fucked up. Realizing this almost made her feel bad. What was her excuse? There wasn’t one, she was just broken. She did some more digging on Ezra, found a last known address in Dallas. Also found out he had a grandson living not too far from his own house about two miles away. She would use that for sure. That motherfucker wants to fuck with her? He was about to learn real pain.
She closed the laptop and headed to the bed. As she lie down she felt as if despite everything she’d just been through, things were looking up. Those assholes thought they were going to snuff her out like some two bit street whore and stuff her in a trunk? They had no idea what they’d just stepped in, much like Graves didn’t that night he drugged her.
That had been the story of her life. People underestimating her at every turn. It used to piss her off to no end, but over time she’d learned to use it to her advantage. Her looks were misleading. Everyone wrote her off as the hot girl with nice tits. While she was those things, she was so much more. By her teens she had realized she was smarter than most people her age and even a good chunk of the adults around her.
It never took her long to figure out what made a person tick, what drove them and then for her to use it to her advantage. In a short amount of time she had people around her, men and women, but especially men, eating out of the palm of her hand. She wondered if Graves ha
d the same ability. He’d had some charm that was for sure. The thoughts continued to drift around her mind and before long they turned into dreams. Dreams of Ezra and Lawrence strapped to a table, covered in blood. All while the Lady Wendigo stood over them laughing as she ate their bodies’ one chunk at a time.
Chapter 17
She was amazed at how refreshed she felt when she woke up. Upon looking at her clock she’d slept for almost fourteen hours. It was nice staying at the hotel. No annoying knocks on her door. She dug her phone out of her bag and saw she missed at least a dozen calls from her brother. What was his deal? There were a few more missed calls from Detective Schmidt. She had no desire to speak to him, but she called her brother right away.
“Hey!” He said when he answered. “Where are you?”
“I’m fine. What’s wrong?”
“The cops were looking for you. Some Schmidt guy said he needed to talk to you about a dead co-worker. Then you weren’t home and your door was left open. I locked it with the spare key you left me, but your car was still there so we all thought something was wrong.”
“I had a situation, but I’m ok.”
“Are you sure? Where are you now? I was just at your house.”
“I’m fine. I got some things I need to take care of. Ok? Can you trust me?”
“Yeah. You’re usually so consistent. That and you don’t have anyone to look after you.”
In brother speak, he meant a boyfriend or husband.
“Yes I know. I’m a big girl Brian.” In the background, someone began yelling at him. Cassie. She could hear them argue.
“Who are you talking to?” Cassie asked in the background.
“It’s my sister. I’m making sure she’s ok.”
“Oh she finally decided to call you back? I swear, why do you even worry about her? She doesn’t give a shit about you.”
“Because, she’s my sister. She’s family and I love her.”
“I’m family! You love me! Ugh!” She yelled as Brian got back on the phone. There was no way Bailey could co-exist in a universe where Brian remained her brother and that witch cunt stayed by his side. She might just kill her for the fun of it.
“You in trouble?” Bailey asked.
“No. She’ll get over it,” Brian said.
“Ok, anyway. I have some stuff to do in the next few days. So, if you try to reach me you might not be able to. But, I don’t want you to freak out. Ok?”
“All right. Love you sis.”
“Love you too.” She said as she hung up. Brian was much more caring than she had ever been. Maybe it’s because he grew up mostly with their aunt and uncle. After dad committed suicide, he was way more shaken up than she was. He couldn’t stand even being in the same house. So, her mom’s brother took him in for several years. She was fine with it. Her mom could barely handle her all alone. She often seemed angry about dad killing himself but she never understood why.
The guy would beat the shit out of her mom almost daily. Seemed he was either sober and ignoring her, or drunk and hitting her. Odd thing was he never laid a hand on Bailey. Most the time he just pretended she didn’t exist. He wanted a boy, so when Brian was born, he got all the attention. However, Brian had been his only hope to re-live high school as a football star. Her dad had been an all-state quarterback many years and about one hundred-fifty pounds ago.
Before he died, he was just a loud, drunk, and fat slob. Brian had no interest in sports. He was always into comics and playing with insects. Fortunately, her dad never roughed him up too much. He just called him a pussy or a faggot. The real rage was directed at mom. Bailey always thought it was because he felt like she was holding him back. From what, no one had a fucking clue; the guy had already flunked out of college and could barely keep a job when she met him. He apparently felt he still had some shot at a pro football career if it hadn’t been for her getting knocked up.
One day when she was thirteen, he had given mom one of the most epic beatings of her lifetime; the woman laid on the kitchen floor broken and bleeding. He’d gone up to the bedroom and downed a whole bottle of Jack Daniels in one sitting. It had been his third bottle that day. When Bailey went into the room, he was sitting in his chair looking out the window. She asked him if he was ok and he replied with slurred gibberish.
Seeing her chance, Bailey opened the nightstand and took out the .357 he’d kept there for “protection.” Even though they didn’t own shit, so no idea why anyone would want to break in. She took the revolver, checked the chamber to see it was loaded with six rounds. As she came up behind him, he tried to turn, but was too fat and drunk to make it all the way around. He swatted at her with a half assed swing, but she grabbed the flailing right hand and wrapped his big sausage fingers around the gun, pressed it to his head and used his own forefinger to pull the trigger.
The gun went off with loud bang as it jerked right out of his hand and fell to the floor. She jumped away as blood sprayed her face and hands. He laid slumped halfway out of his chair, his head now blown in half with a huge hole on the left side. Bailey ran to the phone on the nightstand and called 911.
“Hello? My dad just beat up my mom really bad and then he killed himself,” she sobbed into the phone. She hung up and ran back to her dad’s body. When police found her, she was standing there cradling his head and crying. To them, she was a distraught teenage girl recoiling over finding her dad had just shot himself. What she was really doing was giving herself a reason for her fingerprints to be on her dad’s body and to be covered in his blood.
Besides that, she had a mostly good childhood. Things were great from there on out. As she walked out to the parking garage, she thought of how far she’d come along since those days. She looked at her note pad as she situated herself in Tahoe; the list of names and addresses plainly written. While she wasn’t looking forward to the drive back to Dallas, she was looking forward to what awaited her there.
Chapter 18
First she needed to make a quick stop at her house. She wanted to pick up a few more things before the long drive. Her only hope was the police or someone else wasn’t sitting outside. As she approached, there was no strange cars or anyone around, so in she went. She grabbed a bag from the closet and went to her fridge, grabbing some snacks and bottled water to help her minimize any stops along the way.
Once she had enough, Bailey headed to the door when someone came walking in. Cassie.
“You and me need to have a few words,” Cassie said.
“No we don’t. I have to go.”
“The hell you do. I am really sick of you trying to turn Brian against me! He is his own man now. A grown man! He doesn’t need his crazy possessive sister leading him around by the dick or whatever sick fantasies that bounce around in that twisted head of yours!” Cassie shouted. All Bailey could think was what fucking drugs was this psycho on. Leading her brother around by the dick? What the fuck was wrong with this girl?
“Ok, right. I’ll stop, now I have to go.” Bailey said as she tried to walk around Cassie. Cassie grabbed her and shoved her backward.
“Don’t you walk away from me! I’m talking to you!”
Bailey set her bags down.
“Look, Cassie. I get it, you love Brian, you’re into him or whatever. Great. I’ve got some serious shit to take care of right now and don’t have time to take part in your little sideshow. Ok? Now, let me by, and don’t fucking touch me again. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me? Hurt me?” Cassie laughed. “Bitch, I did roller derby in college. I will fuck your pretty little face up!”
“Roller derby? You fucking serious?”
“Try me bitch!” Cassie screamed as she stepped into Bailey’s face. She didn’t see Cassie swing until it was too late. Her fist caught Bailey on the side of the head. She moved just in time, but the blow still caught her enough to sting. That was it. This bitch was going to die.
Bailey lunged at Cassie, knocking her into a coffee table as the girls flipped ov
er it, onto the ground. Bailey rained down blows on the back of Cassie’s head as she tried crawling away. Bailey got to her feat, grabbing a handful of Cassie’s hair as she did so. Dragging her across the floor, Cassie dug her nails into Bailey’s wrists until blood oozed from them. It hurt enough to cause Bailey to loosen her grip.
Cassie jumped to her feet, ran up and kicked Bailey square in he vagina. Bailey had heard that referred to as a “cunt punt,” but had never previously experienced one. It was not pleasant. Her hands went to her crotch as she dropped to one knee. Cassie’s kick had landed hard and with precision aim. As she tried to get her breath, Cassie lunged for her this time, clotheslining her and sending her flat on her back. Bailey’s head bounced off the wooden floor, causing her to see stars as Cassie dug her nails into Bailey’s face and raked them along her cheeks.
Bailey felt blood running down her face as the pain snapped her alertness back. She put her hands up, grabbed one of Cassie’s hoop earrings, and ripped it out with one swift yank. Blood and a chunks of her ear hit the floor along with the discarded earring.
Cassie grabbed her bloody ear and screamed as Bailey seized the moment to punch her square in the nose. Cassie fell backwards as Bailey blasted her again, as she attempted to get her feet. From there she kicked Cassie repeatedly in the nose and stomach until the girl was lying there crying and wheezing. Certain she was down for the count; Bailey went to one of her bags and took out a roll of duct table. This little cunt had pushed her too far, and she was going to finish it for good.
She taped up Cassie’s hands and feet, lying her across the floor. Once she was secure, she went to the kitchen to grab a few knives. When she got back, Cassie was starting to realize what was happening.
