Eric jumped in circles.
“Hey, Eric!” cried Wesley. “People want to see your dick, not your ass. Face the camera for God’s sake.”
Eric turned and jumped.
“Now, girls,” growled Wesley.
The girls giggled and leered. Then ran up the stairs to Eric, jumping with him for a few seconds before they pushed him down.
Hunter felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw the call was from his father. He pressed the home button and sent Jazz a text. I need you in here. After a few seconds, Jazz entered the room, and Hunter held out the phone to her. She walked over. “Talk to him. I can’t stop now.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jazz took the phone and walked into the kitchen, swiping the slider to accept the call. “Hello, Joe. This is Jazz. Hunter is busy right now. Can I help you?”
“Hello, Jazz. Has Hunter written more stories since he left last night?”
She moved into her bedroom and shut the door. “Yes. And he’s had more memories of his mother.”
Joe paused. “Such as?”
“Having sex with her. She tried to seduce him, he resisted, she used his brother to make him jealous, then he finally gave in to her.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing beyond having repeated sex with her. In the last scene, you were scheduled to return home, and he thought a major argument was coming.”
“He’s right about that.” Joe sighed.
Jazz sat on her bed and spoke gently. “Joe, why don’t you tell him what happened and get this over with?”
“Because I saw how he reacted the last time. It nearly killed him.”
“He’s older now. He’s already seen so many other kids being abused that the stories don’t affect him the same way they did before. He’s more angry than destroyed by them. He wants to help others like him. He wants the world to know what happens to kids while everybody is looking the other way.”
“What other kids?” Joe barked. “Who’s he talking to? And how does he plan to tell the world? What kind of nonsense is he planning?”
Jazz tried to check her anger and keep her voice calm and persuasive. “He’s trying to save others, just like he saved me. He took many of my memories this morning, and I feel so much better. I’m not ashamed of my scars. You have no idea what that feels like.”
“He’s going to get himself hurt unless he resets his chip!”
She took several deep breaths. Why was this man so stubborn? “He’s saving kids, Joe. One of our friends was raped at fourteen. Now she doesn’t remember that. How can helping her be bad?”
“Because she’ll tell others, and eventually the government will kidnap him and have him interview terrorists. Or another country will take him and make him identify traitors. Lots of people with bad intentions will want him. He’d lose whatever freedom he has.”
Jazz’s suspicions rose with the blood rushing into her head. He seemed to be trying too hard to convince her of an impending calamity. “Are you really concerned about him or about protecting the secret you’re hiding from him?”
“His doctor agrees with me! He called me a little while ago and asked me to do the reset.”
“Really?” Jazz’s nerves tingled. She had just read an update about Ru and the shooting while Hunter was with Eric. The shooter’s parents blamed Ru for their son’s mental breakdown and planned to sue him. “Why did he call?”
“He wanted to know if Hunter had shown any signs of violent behavior.”
Jazz’s mind whirled. There must be something in common between the shooter and Hunter. The parents claimed Ru wanted to talk to their son and when they denied access to him, Ru told them about an implant that should be reset. They’d never been told about an implant, they claimed. Then Ru supposedly denied telling them anything about an implant.
Jazz flipped open her computer. “Have you heard about the school shooting near Bremerton, Washington?”
“Yes. Why?”
“The shooter was Ru’s patient. Is Ru worried that Hunter will kill someone?” The article was still open on her screen.
“He mentioned that one of his other patients started hearing voices and seeing visions in his head. That this patient had received treatment similar to Hunter’s. Ru said nothing about who the boy was.”
“What did you tell the doctor?” Jazz scrolled through the article until she found quotes from the parents.
“I told him I’d get back to him. Then I called Hunter.”
“Ru’s lying about the chip. The parents claimed they were never told about an implant. Did Ru tell you that Hunter was given an implant?”
Joe paused. “Only yesterday. But he claimed he’d told me years ago. Maybe I forgot.”
“Or maybe he never told you or never put one in. Ru had told the parents the boy was improving, then suddenly he had anger episodes, breaking things in his room. They called Ru about the sudden change. He wanted to speak to the boy, but they said no because they had been misled and decided to find another doctor. Then he told them about the chip and reset.”
Joe spit out his words. “And they ignored him then the kid murdered a bunch of students and teachers!”
“Hunter’s trying to help kids. There’s no possibility he’d murder anyone. Why should we listen to anything Ru says?”
“Because Hunter was suicidal and catatonic before Ru treated him. And for almost a year since his treatment, Hunter was fine.”
Jazz leaped off her bed, her muscles tense. “Fine? You and Ru ripped everything away from him, all of his good memories as well as the bad.”
“Because the bad was more than he could take.”
“He’s already seen a lot of what his mother did to him. Plus other kids’ memories of rape and horrible abuse. He’s not suicidal at all. In fact, he’s determined to help others who’ve experienced the kind of suffering he lived through.”
Jazz heard the exasperation in Joe’s voice. “No matter what he thinks he knows about his past now, the full story will put him back to where he was—cutting himself, screaming and crying all the time. Please, take my word for it. We need to try the reset.”
“Did Ru ask to speak to Hunter?”
“Yes. I said no because I was afraid his voice would trigger his memories.”
‘Then he mentioned the chip. Right?
“Yes.”
“That’s the same pattern that happened with the shooter’s parents. Why don’t you give me his number so Hunter can call him?”
“Not a chance in hell! Hunter needs the reset!”
Jazz remembered the Tremarian story she’d read earlier. “Tell me this, Joe. Did Hunter get his mother pregnant?”
Joe gasped then said nothing for several seconds. “Has he told you that?”
“No. I read it in one of the stories he used to write before all the memories invaded his mind. But you just told me that he did by your reaction. How did his mother die, Joe?”
Almost robotically, Joe said, “In a car wreck on an icy—”
“That’s bullshit. Did you kill her? Did Hunter?”
She heard him breathe a few times then very quietly say, “No.”
Jazz could not stifle her anger any more. “If I were Hunter’s parent, I know I’d come over here to be with my son and try to comfort him. But you won’t because it’s more important for you to protect your secret than to help Hunter. You’d rather wipe his mind clean again no matter the cost to him. Are you worried he’ll hate you if he learns the truth? Do you really care that much about his opinion of you?”
“No. My opinion of me. I’m sorry, Jazz.”
She pleaded with him. “He can help you forget, Joe. Your mind will be clear. The weight will be gone. I know what I’m talking about. You can’t believe how good it feels to remove that burden. Let Hunter help you.”
“I’m sorry.” He disconnected.
She threw her phone onto the bed. What is
this man so scared of? Did he really want Hunter to lose his memory again? Why wouldn’t he want his son to face his past and try to cope with it? And how could he not appreciate what Hunter was doing for others?
But she realized she hadn’t had to deal with a suicidal Hunter, slashing his wrists. And soon, Hunter would relive those days. She was determined to help him as much as she could because she knew that the worst part of cutting was its isolation, the feeling that you’re entirely alone, your only friend—the knife. And the fear of being caught made the isolation worse. She’d needed someone to kiss her scars, not be repulsed by them, not flee from such craziness like it was the plague.
And what was the truth about Ru? Was there an implant or not? She’d researched that topic and knew that an implant needed power from a sizable battery pack. Where had Ru implanted that? It made no sense.
Had the shooter started seeing visions, too? Maybe he didn’t know what they were and freaked. She tried to swallow, but acid burned her chest. Ru had called Joe because he was worried Hunter would turn violent. Could he?
She opened her bedroom door and walked into the kitchen where she heard Hunter’s raised voice.
“Are the girls still with Wesley?”
She moved toward the living room.
“Yes.” Eric looked at the floor, breathing heavily.
“All this time? They’re still in a cage?”
“Yes.”
Hunter stood. “What do they look like?” His face looked haunted with dark shadows under his eyes and deep lines across his forehead.
“A little taller. Skinny. He doesn’t feed them much because he wants them to look like kids, not teenagers. He makes more money off them if they look twelve, not sixteen.
Jazz went to Hunter. “How do you know this, Eric?”
Hunter glared at Eric. “When’s the last time you were out there?”
Eric raked his fingers up his hairline. “Two weeks ago,” he wailed.
“You’re still fucking them?” Hunter charged toward him and shoved him back onto the couch.
Eric’s face turned red as tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
The cords in Hunter’s neck bulged as he leaned over Eric. “All these years you cared more about your dick than the lives of two girls who’ve been living in a cage for . . . what? Four years, five? Did you ever feel any pity for them?”
Eric stared at them, his eyes glazed, panting his breaths. “No. They liked having sex with me. They told me.”
Hunter spit his words. “You piece of crap! They acted like they did because Wesley wouldn’t feed them if they didn’t. I saw it in your goddamn memory. How would you like being them, Eric?”
“You need to take away all those memories,” he begged. “I keep thinking about them. I keep having sick thoughts. I can’t help myself.”
“I’m not taking another memory from you until we figure out a way to save those girls. You need to talk to the police.”
Eric stood. “I can’t do that, Hunter. Wesley films everything. He’s got cameras everywhere.” He waved his arms while his face reddened. “If I send the police, they’ll find all kinds of files with me committing crimes. I can’t go to jail. Buddy gets raped all the time. Prisoners hate pedophiles. I’m not going to jail!”
“Then you’d better think of another way to get those girls out. If I have to drive up and down the highway and try every gravel road leading through the woods to find Wesley’s house, I’ll do it. And I’m sure the troopers would help me.”
“Please don’t. I’ll think of something.”
“You need to leave, Eric. Get back with me tomorrow.”
Eric turned and looked at Jazz. She thought he wanted her to reassure him and tell him, again, that he was trying to make amends, but Jazz could barely stand to look at him. “Go home, Eric,” she said. “Think of a way to help those girls.”
He nodded and left.
Jazz pulled Hunter into her chest. “I’m so proud of you.”
He pulled back his head until his eyes met hers. “The man who keeps the girls is Tatiana’s rapist.”
Jazz felt a cold chill flood her stomach.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The only thing that kept Hunter from puking in disgust at what he’d seen in Eric’s memories was his anger at Wesley, Buddy, and Eric and his determination to free the girls. If every client were filmed during their sex with the girls, the client would be reluctant to report Wesley—unless he could reach a deal with the police beforehand. Would Eric agree to try? Probably not because he had been involved with the girls for years, even after his brother had been imprisoned.
What about Buddy? Maybe he would provide evidence against Wesley for a reduced sentence? Maybe Eric would ask him.
What could Hunter do? Find a trooper and tell him . . . what? I read memories and saw two girls being abused, but I’m not sure where the house is?
“What’s going on in your head?” asked Jazz, still holding Hunter.
“I can’t get those girls out of my mind. How can people want to have sex with twelve-year-olds? How can they risk their jobs, their families, and their freedom for that?”
“Because it’s like taking drugs. The high has to be stronger each time or it’s not fun. If all you care about is the orgasm, then the sex has to be wilder or kinkier or nastier each time or else it gets boring. Bondage, pornography, fetishes, multiple partners—all are more popular now than ever. Every one of Mom’s boyfriends pushed her into more extreme types of sex. Leon’s sadism wasn’t even the worst example. How much kinkier and nastier can you get than having sex with little girls—or boys?”
“How do those girls ever recover? I could steal their memories for months and still not make a dent.”
“Would you try if you had the chance?”
“Yes. But how do I get the chance?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“I want to take a shower. I feel so dirty.”
“OK. I’ll make you something to eat when you’re through.”
Hunter opened his computer and sent Eric and Tatiana’s stories to his printer. “You should read these stories.” He pulled them out of the printer he had set up on the table. “Maybe you can see something I’m missing.” He handed the papers to Jazz. “Oh. What did my father want?”
“He’s desperate to reset your chip.”
“That’s for his benefit, not for me.”
“Ru called him.”
Hunter froze. “Why?”
“He wanted to talk with you. Somehow there’s a connection between you and the school shooter.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure. He told the parents about an implant then denied it. The boy complained of hearing voices. Maybe Ru deleted his memories the same way he did yours.”
“OK, but how would that turn him into a mass murderer?”
“I don’t know. I need to do more research. You go take a shower. You’ll feel better.”
“Yeah. So much to think about.” He felt dizzy.
Hunter went to Jazz’s bedroom and pulled some clothes out of his duffel bag. He also picked up the Mount Rainier knife. Who did this belong to? Is that my blood inside the sheath?
He left the knife on the floor then walked to the bathroom where he shut the door and stripped off his clothes. He turned on the bath to get the water at the right temperature before flipping the lever to start the shower. While the water poured into the tub, he looked at himself in the mirror, noting his scars. Had he used razors like Jazz did or a knife?
His mind wandered back to walking into his mother’s bedroom while she sat crying in the bathroom.
“Mom, what’s wrong.”
“Hunter. Not now. Please leave.”
He heard her grunt in pain through clenched teeth. Then cry.
He rushed toward the bathroom door. “Mom?” He pushed the door open and saw her sitting on the toilet in her underwear whil
e the bath ran. She held the Rainier knife in her right hand, the blade just above a bleeding cut on her left forearm. Hunter sank to his knees, his mouth open, his stomach swirling, unable to comprehend the scene.
Breathing heavily, she turned her face to him, a few tears running down her cheeks. “It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.” She gritted her teeth and quickly pulled the blade against her arm again, slightly lower on her arm. This time her grunt was coupled with a yelp, and she dropped the knife. More blood ran down her arm. Her breathing quivered. “That was deeper.” She shut her eyes and rocked her body.
Hunter’s head spun as he stared dumbly at the cuts. After a few seconds he lunged toward a towel and pressed it on Savannah’s arm. He noticed the vodka bottle and a glass on the counter. “Mom, why are you doing this?”
She looked at him through a fog of awareness. He could smell the alcohol on her breath. “Because that’s a pain I can deal with. I can bandage my arm and it will heal. I can’t fix what’s wrong inside me.”
“What’s wrong inside?” Hunter wanted to scream. What the hell was going on?
They both heard the honking horn outside.
Her lips curled into a half smile. “Your father’s home. You should run outside and greet him.”
“I don’t want him here. You said you were going to divorce him. He can’t stay here anymore. I don’t want him sleeping with you.”
She snorted trying to laugh. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that happening. Get me the gauze and tape out of the cabinet.”
Hunter stood, fumbled through the shelves, and nervously handed her the items.
“And some scissors. No, the knife. I should use the knife. Give it to me, Hunter.”
He reached for the blade. “I should keep this.”
“Don’t be silly. I just want to cut the tape.”
She wrapped gauze around her cuts then peeled off several inches of tape. “You cut it, then.”
He sliced through the tape with the knife.
Someone To Kiss My Scars: A Teen Thriller Page 22
