by Jonas Saul
Sarah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you serious? Used panties? That’s insane. Who would buy such a thing?” His expression didn’t change. He wasn’t joking. “You kidnapped me to make me wear panties for your company? Are you insane? What the fuck are you? Nobody does shit like that.”
“You’ll do as I say. I know you will, because you’re not my only hostage. He is too.” The man nodded toward Drake. “When you prove difficult, I will start to take body parts off him one by one and mix it in with his food. You can watch your friend eat himself alive over the coming months. I’ve got all the time in the world, as do you.”
Sarah felt something akin to horror. “You are certifiably fucking gone. Those words you just said signed your death sentence. When I get out of here, I will murder you with these hands.” She held them high for him to see.
Elmore stepped back from her bars. “You might want to monitor your threats as I’m the one on this side of the cage. Clip your nails now. You don’t have the option to say no. And don’t worry, we’ll get along in time. You’ll grow to depend on me and love me.”
“Fat fuck-off chance,” she said. Then she mumbled, “The only thing I’ll love about you is watching you die at the end of my arms, you sick fuck.”
“I warned you about the threats.”
Elmore moved away from her cell door and started toward Drake’s.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
“The tongue is better than a sharp knife. It kills without drawing blood,” she said. She couldn’t let anything happen to Drake on account of attitude. “Sometimes, my words get away from me.”
“Nails. Start clipping.”
She got off the mattress and picked up the clipper. After doing her nails, she stepped over to the toilet, held them over it and then flushed them down.
She turned around and smiled at him. “Sorry about that. This batch was a little dirty. I saw how clean your house is. You wouldn’t want those nails.” She shrugged her shoulders and said, “You’ll have to wait a few weeks until they grow back out.”
“You really don’t get it, do you?” he walked under the light and crossed his arms. “I’m your everything now. All my girls break. You’ll break too. I’ve been looking forward to this for five years. You’re not super human. I’m your only source of food, water, the outside world, companionship. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is right here. I’m it.”
“You’re a hierarchy of asshole if you think you’ll be able to break me. I’m the one looking forward to this, because I will get out and when I do, the price will be too high for you. You won’t be able to handle the cost.”
Elmore blew air out of his mouth. “I expected you to be strong, but you’re showing strength beyond your years. Admirable, Sarah, admirable. But I’ve been doing this for a long time. There have been a lot of young girls in those cages over those years and all of them are buried out back after spending a few months servicing me and my needs, whether it was business needs or personal needs. You will be no different. And guess what?”
He stepped closer to her cell door. “Not a single cop ever came to my door looking for a lost girl. I’m too good. Are you even aware of how many people go missing every day and are never seen again? My basement is soundproof. No one saw you come here. You’ve disappeared. The next time you see the sun again will be when I take your used dead body upstairs to bury you out back. That’s what’s going on here.”
She couldn’t let him see how he was getting to her. She realized he was right. If no one knew where they were or where to look, she may be in his cell for some time.
Keep him talking, find a hole somewhere.
“How could you be that good?” she asked. “No one can stay under the radar that long.”
“I have. It’s been so easy. The girls come to me. They’re so stupid.”
“How’s that?” she asked. Keep him talking.
Elmore unfolded his arms and turned away from her. He grabbed a small armchair and carried it to the front of her cell where he sat and leaned forward on his thighs.
“The panty business is legitimate. I own a photo studio downtown Toronto. I have ads in local papers for non-nude photography, no experience necessary. Do you know how many responses I get for those ads? In the hundreds per week.”
Sarah’s stomach dropped. The man before her was the worst kind of predator. Brilliant, cunning, and dangerous. She couldn’t detect an ounce of sympathy, care or guilt in him. Females were simply on earth to provide a service to him, even if that service was sex.
“The real draw for these girls,” he continued, “is that none of the pictures are ever of their face. I don’t need that, only the panties. They whine and complain during the shoots. Their boyfriend is horrible or their parents disowned them. They’re living with friends. Things like that. But once every few weeks, a girl will enter my studio and tell me the nobody knows I’m here story. She couldn’t tell anyone because they’d be upset. These girls are down on their life with nothing really going for them. So I offer them an amazing opportunity. I need someone at our bigger studio north of Toronto to do a glamour shoot and they’d be perfect. I compliment them just enough. Sarah, you could almost see their eyes widen at their newfound luck.”
She hated every time he used her name. With no chair to sit on, she got down on the floor and crossed her legs.
“I even offer them a full-time job at ten thousand bucks a month. They usually fall for everything I spoon feed them. When they’ve agreed, I offer to drive them up and show them the studio right away so they can meet the other executives. I drive them here and all they meet is another girl that I’ve held captive for the past few months. The new girl gets to watch while I have the old one perform numerous sex acts on me and then I kill her. It’s quite something to have the new girl see what’s in store for her if she doesn’t behave. A man has never had sex like the kind coming from an obedient eighteen-year-old doing exactly what she’s told to do.”
Sarah almost got up and ran at the bars. Knowing they were steel made no difference. In that moment, she would find a way through. It took everything in her power to contain all urges of murder.
She wanted to weep for all the young girls this beast of a man had hurt.
When he comes looking for something, I’ll be waiting. He’ll be dead soon.
“Sometimes I just need a change, or I meet a prettier girl at the studio.” He shrugged and looked down at his hands. “The best, kinkiest sex comes from frightened girls. They do it thinking they’ll keep me happy. If I’m happy, they rationalize, maybe I’ll begin to like them and it’ll be different for them. I even let these stupid ones think things are going their way.” He looked up at Sarah. His left hand went to his head where he picked at something. “How pathetic are they? I only use them. The pleasure I take is in their pain. My existence is misery. I know who and what I am and I’m comfortable with it. I love it when I’m pumping them and they cry. There is no greater sex.” He stood from his chair. “One day I’ll make you cry too, Sarah. You watch.”
She felt detached from the conversation. Like it wasn’t happening. Somehow, it didn’t feel real. The day he touched her would be the day she drove her thumbs into his eye sockets all the way to the back of his skull.
“Now, the price you have to pay for the fingernails in the toilet mistake will be one bullet in your friend here. Somewhere low so he won’t bleed out too much.”
Elmore stood and walked closer to Drake’s cell door, his gun in his hand again.
“Wait. I’ll get you the nails.”
“Too late, Sarah. They’re dirty now. I told you not to let them touch the floor. The toilet is a little worse. You understand who I am now, so you’ll also know I don’t play games.”
Drake’s feet moved. Either he’d been awake or was just waking up.
“Let’s talk about this.”
Shit. There’s nothing I can do.
“The time for deal making is over now.”
Elm
ore lifted the weapon and took careful aim.
Something banged upstairs. Sarah turned at the same time Elmore did.
“What was that?” he asked out loud.
She detected doubt in his voice. Something was wrong above. That meant no one else was supposed to be in the house, otherwise the sound wouldn’t have startled him so much.
The noise came again.
Knocking.
The asshole left the basement door open and now someone’s pounding on the front door.
“Feed an opportunity, starve a problem,” Sarah said. “You fail.”
Elmore’s face changed instantly to anger. The gun disappeared into the back of his pants as he ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time.
The single bulb flicked off and the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut.
The lock clicked as Sarah tried to get her breathing back under control.
That was close. That was too fucking close.
Chapter 22
Elmore locked the basement door and moved down the hallway quietly. It had to be six in the morning. Who could be at his door? Even door-to-door preachers stayed out of the area because it was too hard to walk the long distances between houses.
As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, he had no doubt that it was the police at his door. But how? He couldn’t think of a single mistake he’d made. How could they track him so well? He’d been too good for too many years. It didn’t make sense. He wasn’t followed. His cell phone jammer covered radio frequency devices too, so it wasn’t that.
In the living room, he pulled a curtain back. Two black and whites were parked out front. A couple of uniformed men stood by the vehicles and two men stood at his door.
Cops. Fuck.
He slipped into his office and took the gun out of his pants, placing it in the bottom drawer of his desk and then hustled back out to the door.
When he had gotten up from his short sleep this morning, he’d put on a brown T-Shirt and jeans. That would have to do for their impromptu visit. He fluffed his hair a little and stepped up to the door as they knocked again.
He twisted the knob and opened it. “Good morning. A bit early for a Policeman’s Ball funding drive, isn’t it?”
The man on the right wore a black fedora hat and appeared to be very cool, but Elmore could tell something brewed under his collar. The man on the left looked nervous like just being there bothered him.
What is this all about?
“Elmore Ackerman?” the one with the hat asked.
Elmore nodded, not sure if he should be identifying himself.
“Have you seen this girl?” the man with the hat asked. He produced a picture of Sarah Roberts. “She was last seen with this man, Drake Bellamy.” He produced another picture of the guy in the cage beside Sarah’s.
“Badges please,” Elmore said. “I’d like to know who I’m talking to first.”
The two men looked at each other. Elmore knew it was the law. They had to identify themselves with their name and badge number. After a brief pause when Elmore thought they weren’t going to comply with his request, the man on the left pulled his out.
“Spencer Milton. I’m the lead investigator of the Rogers Centre shooting yesterday and this here is Rod Howley. He’s with the American authorities.”
“Pleased to meet you both. To answer your question, I have not seen these two people. I have no idea how this has anything to do with me.”
Rod turned around and appeared to scan the property.
“Is there something you’re looking for?” Elmore asked.
Rod came back around and stared at him. “As a matter of a fact, I am. These two people. And I think you know something about them.”
Spencer grabbed Rod’s arm. “Rod, that’s not how we do it here. There are procedures. We have to follow them.”
“Procedures?” Elmore asked. “What are we talking about here? You’re looking for two missing persons and you knock on my door and talk about procedures. What’s going on?”
Rod pointed and waved at one of the black and whites. The back door opened and the security guard from last night who had helped Elmore walk his two prisoners to his car stepped out.
Shit. It’s over.
He debated whether or not to slam the front door, walk to his office, grab his two pistols and shoot every single cop in the face.
The guard stepped closer and tilted his head. The sun was still rising, but it came from behind the house, shining on the guard and casting Elmore in a shadow.
The guard lingered a little longer, then shook his head.
“No, I don’t think so. It was dark last night, but I don’t think so,” he said.
Elmore almost breathed a sigh of relief, but stopped himself, knowing they’d hear it.
“Look again,” Rod said.
“I did look. The guy last night had a mustache. This guy doesn’t.”
Rod glared at Elmore and then stepped up to him, staring at his lips. Spencer grabbed Rod’s arm again, but Rod brushed it off.
“Stubble,” Rod said. “You have stubble. I wondered if you shaved your mustache off, but you have stubble. It’s been at least two days since you’ve shaved.” Rod stepped back and crossed his arms. Elmore could see he was getting quite angry about something.
What brought him here? How could he be so sure?
“Was it someone else, like a brother?” Rod asked Elmore, not letting his gaze waver. “Or did you wear a fake mustache. Wait, don’t tell me, it was fake, right?” Rod lifted his knee, slapped it and laughed as if he’d cracked a fabulous joke.
“Okay, I think this is enough,” Spencer said. “We’re sorry to trouble you, Mr. Ackerman.”
“No trouble at all, but I’m still confused as to what this is all about. What brought you to my door?”
Rod’s face lost all sense of humor. His eyes bore through Elmore, his lips pursed. “Sarah Roberts brought us here. We’re looking for her and I think you know something about that.”
“Rod,” Spencer said. “Come on, let’s go. We’re done here.”
“Not yet,” Rod said. “Mr. Ackerman. May we continue this conversation inside?”
“It’s six in the morning,” Elmore said. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m. Very. Serious.”
“No, it’s not a good time. I won’t be bullied by American cops.”
Spencer stepped off the stairs and started toward the black and whites. He stopped and turned back. “You coming, Rod?”
“I know you know more than you’re letting on,” Rod said. He moved closer to Elmore and whispered, “I’ll be back and when I am, it’ll be on my terms.”
Rod stepped off the front steps and walked backwards, studying the front of the house. He pointed at the roof. “What’s that up there?”
He doesn’t miss a thing.
“It’s a roof-top patio,” Elmore said. “I had it built in early 1986 when Haley’s Comet made a pass that March. I’ve always been interested in astronomy. That patio and railing is equipped with a chair that leans back to where I’m almost lying down and there’s a typical alt-azimuth mount for my ten-inch Schmidt-Cassegrain telescope. I even have a Mak-Newt in that baby — from Ceravolo Optical Systems out of Ottawa.”
I knew memorizing that astronomy shit years ago would come in handy one day. If he only knew what that tripod mount was really for, he’d arrest me on the spot.
“What does all that mean?”
Is he testing me? Does he know about this stuff?
“What are you doing?” Spencer stepped back up beside Rod. “What has this got to do with anything?”
“Let him answer if he wants to. We’re just talking here. No harm.”
“It means,” Elmore began, “that the secondary mirror is flat and imparts no power as do others.”
“You go to all that trouble to build an observatory on your roof — why not have a larger telescope than a ten inch? Couldn’t you just aim that thing out your living r
oom window?”
He’s trying to trip me up. Fuck this. I’ll bury him one day. Nobody tests me. Ever.
“With telescopes, two contradictory rules apply: the bigger the telescope, the better. The smaller the telescope, the more often you’ll use it. Sure, a ten inch will outperform an eight inch and so on, but unless I built a huge observatory, a ten inch is all I need. Contrary to your earlier comment — that’s not an observatory. It’s a patio, a deck, a veranda — or whatever you want to call it. I use a telescope up there. That’s it.”
Rod stepped backwards a few more steps to get a better look. Then his face lit up like he remembered something. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed.
