by Logan Fox
He hadn’t even turned off the ignition.
He paused. She stiffened, preparing herself for another blow to his stomach. He grabbed hold of her chin and wrenched up her face. His eyes were the color of pond scum. His mouth twisted into a fond smile as something pricked into the crook of her arm. She dragged her face free and stared at the needle jutting from her flesh. A droplet of blood welled up when he tugged the syringe free.
A warm wave, like a primordial ocean heated by magma, engulfed her. Her head was helium — hot and light and floating away like a balloon.
Her knee slammed into something, but there was no pain. And then those strong, cold hands were dragging her up, over, in.
Her head bounced against heavy duty carpeting. But she felt nothing except the warm, tacky cotton wool blanket around her. Invisible, but so soft. So warm.
Her mind went blank.
What grip she’d had on the man’s sleeve slipped away. Darkness bled into the world. Was it night already? Where’d the rest of the day gone? Something tugged on her jeans, hard enough to chafe her. Which was strange, because she could remember putting on her underwear. Damp, and it had been itching her on the way down the mountain, but better than nothing.
Cool air battled against her own warmth. A line of fire flashed down her legs. Warmly damp fabric twisted around her ankles. Then her jeans, thick fabric dragging up her thighs.
There was a thump from somewhere, close and loud enough to shake her. Didn’t matter; she was warm. Was she in the sleeping bag? But there were no arms around her.
Why wasn’t Finn here with her? He had to be, but she couldn’t feel him.
Why did she feel like he was touching her? Filling her? His warmth on her. His weight. But air moved over her, and she knew she was alone. Somewhere dark. Confined.
A haven.
A grave.
Her grave.
* * *
Finn was blowing like a racehorse when one of his furious inhalations brought him the stench of weed. He came up short at that incongruous smell, grabbing a tree branch as he fought for breath.
Then voices. Kids, yelling at each other. Laughing. Swearing. Crunching through the underbrush as they moved toward him.
Breath like bellows, he struggled into his jacket. It would make him sweat — more than he already was — but it would hide his holster and pistol. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and down his face. Tucked in his shirt. It was the most he could do to look presentable before the small crowd of kids pushed their way through the overgrown path. Obviously, the hot springs weren’t as secret as the store owner had assumed.
His mind flickered to the sleeping bag he’d left behind. The blood.
Fuck.
The kids passed. Two of the girls frowned at him over their shoulders. He couldn’t blame them. He looked a mess, and he knew it. He moved on, steps as quickly as he could manage without flat-out running.
Finn slowed down to a brisk walk when he finally emerged in the cul-de-sac. Three cars, no one inside. No sign of Cora. His heart still hammered from his descent. He doubted it would stop until he found her. It knew he needed as much fucking adrenalin as it could force through his veins.
Christ, this place was popular.
He took the Jeep — it was an old model, and one he knew how to hotwire from memory. All it took was a few blows to the steering column to loosen the cover and some seconds spent fiddling with the wires leading to the ignition block.
Loose stones and dust sputtered out from behind the tires as he swept the car in a wide arc. He threw it into gear and tore down the road, narrowing his eyes as he forced them to pierce into the shadows between the trees.
Had she hitched a lift back to town? If she did, would he find her before he lost her trail? It wouldn’t take more than being thirty minutes behind her. Maybe less. Then she’d be gone; dust snatched by the wind and scattered. Maybe he’d hear about her on the news — the conclusion to the report that had pronounced her missing. This one pronouncing her dead. The discovery of her mutilated remains.
What if someone had trailed them, waiting until dawn to make their move. Or just waiting for them to come down the mountain again.
Too many questions and a complete lack of fucking answers. He couldn’t think about that now; he had to focus on finding Cora.
His lungs felt too tight. Finn rubbed a palm over his chest. The bruises were still there but the pain was good. It kept him here, in the present.
There was something in the road. If he hadn’t turned his head at that exact moment, he might have missed it.
A white piece of cloth. Rumpled, dusty.
Then he saw movement in the trees.
The Jeep skidded when he slammed on brakes. He threw open the car door, his pistol out before his first boot landed on the road. He swept it left to right, hunting those dark shadows with his eyes, ready to put a bullet in anything that wasn’t Cora.
He recognized the piece of clothing now. His gun dipped as he stared at it.
A pair of panties. Lacy. Slightly torn and bloodied. He walked closer, and something glittered ahead. Feeling sick to his stomach, Finn walked past the discarded underwear and crouched beside the thing that had caught the sun.
An empty syringe.
There was a sound behind him.
Finn spun, popping to his feet. The man who’d been coming up behind him hesitated for a second. It was all Finn needed.
His bullet took the man in the eye. He was so close, optic fluid and blood sprayed in Finn’s face as the man’s head snapped back. The body crumpled to the ground.
Finn’s vision was blurred. He blinked hard, used his thumb to wipe gunk from his eyes. Heard the scrape of boots on the road behind him.
This time, he wasn’t fast enough. He caught a blow to his face that sent him sprawling backward. Scrambling up, he got his gun pointed at the man. A shot went off that echoed through the trees. Then another. Another.
The man charging him stopped. Fell to his knees. Fell on his face. But he was dead, so it probably didn’t hurt. Finn spun around, gun out, in case there were more.
But no. They’d left two behind to take care of him. No wonder — if a girl had escaped him, two thugs could easily have taken him down. He spat blood from his mouth and brought a tentative hand to his split lip.
Back in the Jeep, his mind raged war.
They’d drugged her. Because she’d put up a fight, or because that had been the plan all along? Heroin did a fucking bang-up job of keeping someone docile and submissive. But how much had been in that needle? Too much, and she’d be dead inside the hour if they weren’t paying attention. Weren’t checking to see if she was still breathing, if she hadn’t turned blue from oxygen deprivation.
Too little, and they might be tempted to give her another dose, OD’ing her for sure.
Finn punched his fist into the window. It shattered, a few splinters of glass raking across his knuckles. The pain brought him back, washed out those tar-black thoughts from his mind, sticky as they were.
Find our girl, roared the beast in his head. Bring her back to us. Remind her who she belongs to.
30
A Wonderful Itch
“Eleodora? Eleodora!”
Her body shook. She tried batting away the hand on her shoulder, the voice, consciousness, but all three were too insistent to keep ignoring.
Fluttering eyes revealed dim light. Twisting shadows slowly resolved into trees. Nearby, the busy swish-swish of traffic.
Hands on her — strong, warm. Finn?
“Can you hear me, honey?”
Whose voice was that? She tried lifting her hands to wipe hair from her face, but her arm flopped like a slack rein.
“It’s Noah, honey. I’m a friend of your father.”
She turned her head, and the man slowly released her. Her eyes fought to focus. A face swarmed into view.
Warm, dark eyes. A curving mouth. Thick brows.
“No…” But her mouth wasn’t wor
king properly. Her tongue lay thick and heavy in her mouth, tingling. Her lips dry and stiff.
Those dark eyes widened. Panic? Who knew? Who cared? She didn’t. Warm air flowed over her from every direction, like currents in a bathtub.
Because she was in a bathtub. Naked. Scented candles leaked bergamot and lavender into the air. Water swirled around her. Finn perched on the side of the bath, staring at her as he dipped his hand in the bathtub and swirled, swirled, swirled the water. Fingers touched her ankle. Her calf. Her thigh. Her eyes flickered to a wide window behind Finn. An orange sunrise painted it in twisting hues of gold and umber.
* * *
A hand shook her awake. It didn’t feel like she was moving anymore.
“Can you breathe, Eleodora? Should I call you Elle?”
The smell of scented candles filled the air.
Or Finn?
Something spicy and warm. Exotic. Delicious.
She forced her eyes away from the man sitting beside her, tried to focus further than a few feet away, but everything was blurry. Dim.
Her head fell forward. Everything disappeared into warm oblivion.
“Can you look at me, Elle?” His voice was deeper, faster. It could have been panic.
Finn wouldn’t have panicked. Where was Finn? She wanted him to hold her. She was warm already, but he’d make her sweat.
She grinned, but face didn’t move like it should. Her smile was lopsided, drowsy. Like her. She wanted to touch her mouth, to feel what shape it was in, but all she could do was rub the back of her hand over her lips.
“Fi…” she tried weakly, but Noah wasn’t even looking at her anymore. He shifted away, sitting back with a thump. An engine started up. Vibrations shimmered through her, and she giggled at how amazing it felt.
Noah had his hands out, grabbing a steering wheel. His silhouette blurred around the edges as he rocked forward, fell back.
“I’m taking you to see your father, okay? Can you hear me, Elle?”
“Okay.” She shook her head and laid her temple against the window glass. It was cold and smooth.
Like silk bedsheets. Where Bailey held her. Except, it wasn’t Bailey — it was Finn. Why hadn’t anyone woken her up yet?
And then she was falling. Smashing to the ground. Splintering like glass.
Her head bobbed up. Her eyes flew open like she’d woken from a jump-scare dream. A green blur of trees streamed past the window. How fast was he going? Why did it feel like she was suspended in water?
Finn.
A wonderful itch spread through her entire body. She wanted to scratch, but knew somehow she couldn’t reach whatever insects moved under her skin.
“Please, Elle, say something.”
“Something,” she said. And then laughed.
“You don’t have to worry. You’re safe now.”
She waved a hand. It felt good to have control of her limbs again. She laid her fingers against the rim of the window, feeling all the way around. Trying to find where the warm air was coming from. Did he have the heat on?
“Do you feel all right?”
“Nice,” she murmured. She’d smoked a joint before. Had enough champagne to make her swoon against Bailey.
So fucking what?
Drugs. Whatever. It felt nice.
All she could muster was a sigh. She saw Noah from the corner of her eye, touching his chest, giving her a quick glance. “You can still breathe? It wasn’t too much?”
“Yeah.” To prove it, she inhaled. Long and deep until her lungs couldn’t bear to take in any more air.
“It feels good, doesn’t it, honey?” A hand brushed hair from her face and fingertips left a trail of warmth and sparkling light over her skin.
“So good,” she murmured.
“So good,” Noah repeated like she was infecting him with her happiness and lethargy.
She slid down in the chair so her head could rest in the crook between the seat and the window.
“You still with me?”
She jerked, eyes fluttering open. The angle of the light had changed. It speared into her eyes, trying to blind her. She laughed at its feeble attempts and then held her fingers over her eyes so they’d stop tearing.
“Bright,” she murmured. When she looked up at Noah, he didn’t seem surprised.
His smile came back. He gripped her hand, held it hard against his leg. When had she taken hold of his thigh? Or had he moved her hand for her?
“Nice to meet finally meet you in person, Eleodora.” Then he lifted her fingers to his mouth. Kissed her knuckles as light as a feather.
There was something red under his nails. Like he’d been eating a popsicle that had melted on his fingers. It had stained his cuticles.
“Can I have one?” she asked, her voice sounding thick in her ears.
“One what?” he said with a laugh that made his words shake.
“Popsicle.”
He glanced down, smiled, and ran the tip of his tongue over his nails. “Last one, sorry.”
His breath swarmed over her fingers, hot and humid. When he gave her a quick glance, his eyes were the color of melted chocolate.
“He said you were pretty,” he whispered. “That you tasted like candy.”
“Who?” she sounded like an owl, and it made her laugh.
Noah laughed, too. “Friend of mine,” he said around a smile. “You remember Bailey, don’t you, you little cunt?”
* * *
Finn slammed on the Jeep’s brakes, sending the vehicle into a brief skid. He hopped onto the dusty road and scanned the length of the 180. Nothing, of course. They easily had a twenty minute lead on him.
A few yards away, an old man sat in the shade of a building that claimed to be a laundromat.
“Morning,” Finn called out, trying not to run up to the man and scare him half to death before he’d even gotten a question out.
“Mornin’, boy.” The old man got to his feet. “Help you with somethin’?”
“You see a dark blue car pass this way?” It was the only connection he had with anyone who might have been following them. That, and a red cap, if Cora was to be believed.
“Sure did.” The man pointed up Route 181. “Came from Bernie’s place, and then headed up to the springs.”
“Bernie’s place?”
“The rental shop.”
“You didn’t see them leave?”
“Nah.” The old man cracked his knuckles and sat in his chair again. “But I went inside for a piss, so I might’ve missed ‘em.”
Finn glanced down Route 181, and then at the road leading to Turkey Creek Rentals. He jumped back in the Jeep and raced down the road. Please, God, let Bernie have seen something. Dust trailed in his wake and bloomed around him when he parked the Jeep close to the door of the rental shop.
The stench of blood and piss and shit rolled into him when he opened the door. He didn’t gag — he’d gotten used to the smell a long time ago — but it made him hesitate before crossing the threshold into the cool shop.
Bernie lay sprawled against the register, intestines spilling to the dusty floor from an open stomach. Flies swarmed on him as if they’d already produced a new generation from his dead flesh.
Finn hurried outside, glanced up at the eaves of the shop. One lone camera had been bolted to the corner. It pointed toward the door, but whether it would have been able to catch anything of significance, he didn’t have a fucking clue.
He scrambled past dead Bernie, slipping in the man’s blood, and let himself into the back. In the same room Bernie had gone to fetch the moth-eaten sleeping bag, sat an ancient computer on a rusted metal desk.
Finn wriggled the mouse, and the computer’s fan started up like a jet plane. Seconds later, the screen flickered to life.
Bernie — trusting soul that he was — didn’t have a password. It took Finn a few seconds to locate the security footage and call it up, and then figure out which video file would be useful.
He played the fo
otage.
A man wearing a baseball cap ambled through the shop door. It might have been a red cap — the footage was black and white, so it was impossible to be sure. From the camera’s angle, he could see most of the shop and a slice of the front parking lot.
No car.
He could, however, watch as the man in the cap drew a gun and pointed it at Bernie. Bernie’s hands shooting into the air as he tumbled from his stool and came to a panicked stand by the registrar. Mouths moving. The gun waving. Bernie making frantic gestures with his hand and then drawing a crude map.
It looked like directions to the hot springs.
Bernie had just sagged with relief as the man turned to leave when the man spun back and put a bullet between his eyes.
Finn fast-forwarded the video as the man came around the counter and drew a knife.
He knew what was coming. Even sped up, Bernie’s disembowelment took too long. The man had taken his time, and then stared down at Bernie’s remains for the longest time, jerking from side to side as if — in real time — he’d have been swaying gently.
Finn swallowed hard at the thought that this man might have Cora.
Might? Who the fuck was he kidding?
The red-capped man left the store, and Finn put the video back on real time. Finn waited, his stomach growing tighter and tighter by the second. Some of Bernie’s guts slid out as silently as he’d been gutted. And then a dark flash moved past the slice of parking lot.
Finn paused the video and went back frame by frame until he could make out a grainy square of the license plate.
A barely legible partial.
“Fuck,” he muttered. Then, louder, “Fuck!”
His fingers fumbled with the cell phone he’d disassembled yesterday as he from the store. He turned on the phone, tapped irritably against the casing as it started up, and then leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree as he dialed.
“Two calls in one day?” came Lars’s voice. “Now I know something’s—”
“You still in contact with the chick from the DMV? The one who ran you those plates a few months ago?”
