by J. S. Bailey
They went to the next room and the next, finding luggage in the one where Tom had emerged, but no children.
All rooms on the first floor—even a kitchen and communal dining area that had to have seated at least fifty people—revealed the same.
They ascended the stairs to the second floor. Randy swept his gaze across a large rec room stocked with pool tables, ping-pong tables, one blackjack table, a dartboard, and a television. Sprawled on the floor between the pool tables was a middle-aged man dead from a bullet wound to the head. Feet away a woman curled into fetal position lay in a pool of congealing blood. The smell of it made Randy ill.
A janitor’s cart and vacuum sat near the bodies. The vacuum was still plugged in.
“Do you think Jack did this?” Adrian whispered, looking from the dead woman to the dead man.
“I don’t know. He may have wanted to clean up a bit before killing his boss.”
“Why did he leave some of the others alive, then?”
“I don’t know. Listen.” Randy placed his hands on the slender woman’s shoulders, hoping she would remain calm enough to keep her head. “I had the misfortune of running into Jack last week. There isn’t time to explain all of it right now, but he loves to be in control. The fact that he’s wiped out his boss and some of the other employees doesn’t surprise me. Control is his weakness.”
“He tried to control me,” Adrian said, eyes downcast. “And I was too foolish to realize it. He acted like he cared about me. I should have known it was too good to be true.” She sniffled. “I wanted to make a good impression on Bobby, and Jack—he called himself John—said he could help me do that.”
“He did it to get back at Bobby for something that happened last week. You must have told him Bobby’s name.”
Adrian blanched. “That’s why I was kidnapped?”
“Yes.” Adrian opened her mouth to object, but Randy held up a finger. “But because of that, we found out about this place. So don’t beat yourself up over it. Okay?”
“Okay.” She smiled, but hesitantly.
They returned to the stairwell and commenced their descent to the ground floor. Randy found himself wishing he had Bobby’s ability because he had no way of knowing how many Domus employees Jack had spared. One could be creeping up the stairwell toward them that very minute, quiet as a cat.
Randy sent up a prayer of thanks that Lupe didn’t know what kind of situation he’d gotten himself into. She would be worrying herself to the point of illness right now (especially since the chaos of last week was still a fresh wound in their minds), but at least she could always entertain the possibility that Randy was safe wherever he was and that the reason she couldn’t reach him was because his phone was dead.
“They’re all in the basement, aren’t they?” Adrian asked as they passed the set of doors leading to the first floor and continued downward past them.
“Looks like it.”
“You don’t think Jack…?” Adrian left the question unfinished.
Randy cleared his throat. “Lily was alive, right? So I don’t see why the others won’t be, too.”
BOBBY THOUGHT Dusty was taking the curves too fast in the logging truck, but his nerves were wound too tightly for him to object. Ten hair-raising minutes later—not the fifteen that Dusty had estimated—the road leveled out and the trees gave way to small patches of farmland. A faded green sign on the side of the road read “Peabody,” the town of which consisted of about four houses and the aforementioned gas station that sat off to the left.
“This is it.” Dusty pulled onto the opposite shoulder of the road. “Truck’s too big to fit in their lot. I’ll wait here if you need me to.”
“Thanks.” Bobby scrambled out of the cab and crossed the road. A lone car sat at the pumps while an attendant filled the tank.
When he burst through the station’s glass doors, Bobby eyed a wall-mounted phone behind the counter. He yanked it out of the cradle and dialed 911, certain he’d just broken the record for emergency calls made by a single person in one month.
An operator squawked the customary greeting in his ear. “This is 911. What is your emergency?”
THEY WERE in the basement.
Again.
Adrian could hear faint male voices coming from behind a mahogany door as soon as they exited the stairwell into the topmost level of the basement.
Gripping the knife with one hand, Randy held a finger to his lips.
He pushed open the door.
Two men Adrian hadn’t seen before—one with a ponytail and the other bald—stood just inside, apparently deep in discussion. Each wore a gray t-shirt and nondescript gray slacks. Their expressions morphed into ones of astonishment when they laid eyes on Adrian and Randy, but what was more astonishing was the number of children, teenagers, and twenty-somethings gathered in the large room behind them. Rows of cots lined the walls, all covered in identical gray pillows and blankets.
Several of the children—and even some of the ones well into their twenties—were sucking their thumbs as if they had the mental capacity of infants. The sight of them made Adrian want to cry, but she held back so she wouldn’t show weakness to the men who stood between her and the children.
“Put your hands up,” Randy ordered the men, stepping forward with his knife pointed outward.
Ponytail Man let out a high-pitched laugh that betrayed his nervousness at their unexpected arrival. “I thought people were only supposed to say that if they had a gun.”
Randy’s voice took on a dark tone that sent goosebumps racing down Adrian’s arms. “Knives don’t run out of ammo.”
Bald Man snorted. “Get back to your suite, buddy. Guests aren’t allowed in here.”
Adrian and Randy exchanged glances. “We don’t have a suite,” she said. “At least not by choice.”
Ponytail Man gave her a suspicious look.
“We were kidnapped,” Adrian explained. She tensed her muscles, ready to spring the moment the men made a move toward her, but both remained still.
Ponytail Man’s bald counterpart stared at them long and hard. Then he glanced back at the children. “So let me get this straight,” he said, lowering his voice. “You were brought here against your will, and instead of doing the smart thing and finding a way out, you came in here?”
“We’re not the only prisoners in this building,” Randy said, “and I intend to free the rest of them. Troy and Farley are dead, by the way, so if you’re hoping for backup, you’re not going to get any.”
Instead of the anger that Adrian expected, the bald man looked hopeful. “Joe, go get Lily out of her suite,” he said to his comrade.
Joe’s eyes grew round. “Are you crazy? How do we know this isn’t some trap Troy put these people up to?”
“I really don’t think—”
“I won’t do it! Not until I have proof they’re dead.”
“If you go get Lily,” Randy said, “you’ll see part of the proof with your own eyes.”
“I wish I could believe you.” Joe ran his trembling hands over his face. “Of all the times I thought I might be able to outsmart them and get away from here just to remain stuck in the end…”
The bald man cleared his throat. “Troy wouldn’t hire guests to test us. Now are you going to get Lily or will I have to go do it myself?”
Joe hung his head. “Fine. I’ll get her. But if I find out it’s all a lie, I’ll…I’ll…oh, God help me.” He hurried past Adrian and Randy and disappeared into the hallway. Randy, eyes narrowed, made no move to stop him.
“How do we know he isn’t going to come back with a gun?” Adrian asked him. “He obviously doesn’t trust us.”
“Because we aren’t allowed to have them,” the bald man said.
Some of the younger children had taken notice of Adrian and crept up to her with the timidity of deer. The older ones remained in the back, sitting on cots or on the floor, waiting to be taken to a suite while wearing expressions as blank as unpainted piece
s of canvas.
Lily, though naïve, did not appear to be as damaged as some of these other children.
Perhaps she hadn’t been here as long.
Adrian returned her attention to the bald man. “So you’re going to help us get out?”
He locked his brown-eyed gaze onto hers. “Yes.”
JACK CAME to feeling nauseated. His face pressed into carpet, and he could see nothing but shadows and a horizontal yellow line where light peeked out from under a closed door.
Where in the world was he? Certainly not at home, since he couldn’t hear Chloe arguing with their mother like she did on a constant basis. So if he wasn’t at home, then…
He blinked, groaned, and rolled onto his side. It felt like his wrists were fastened together with handcuffs.
Handcuffs…
You’re in Troy Hunkler’s Domus office, something whispered to him. And now that you’ve killed him, it’s your office.
His office. That was right. It was coming back now in bits and pieces. He’d had it with Troy. He’d had it with a lot of people. Killing Angel and Wanda out in the van had made him nervous but had ultimately satisfied him. Wanda had acted excited when he told her about the Domus on the drive over but he couldn’t let her live knowing about it because she might blab it to someone else. And Angel was expendable.
All of them were expendable.
Except for Vincent, unless Orin and Theo found someone else like him soon.
Upon arriving, Jack had gone around to the back of the lodge, entered through the rear to avoid immediate detection, and went to the top floor to search for more expendables. He’d blown away two members of the cleaning-slash-kitchen staff and relished the sensation of control that ending their lives had given him. It was more powerful by far than the feeling he’d had when he made the neighbor boy eat dirt all those years ago. It was even more powerful than when he’d taunted that holy man Bellison in the barn.
It was as if he’d become invincible.
After killing the cleaning staff, Jack stopped in the reception area to flirt with Giselle and then met up with Farley in the guard’s basement office, where dozens of screens monitored suites and Domus property. He’d told Farley what he did upstairs and recounted the rest of his plan to him. Farley had then summoned Troy, who had stopped by the Domus on one of his periodic checks to see if things were running smoothly, and then, with Vincent, they all went down to meet the Roland dweeb and his ilk.
Jack had almost been ecstatic when he shot Troy. This was the ultimate control he’d desired deep down where he hadn’t even known it. Hunkler Enterprises would become Willard Enterprises, and Jack would never have to listen to anyone again. Instead, they would listen to him. Could life be more perfect?
Jack wasn’t feeling so ecstatic now, though. Bobby, Randy, and the dark-haired bimbo he’d had kidnapped off the sidewalk would run into trouble trying to get out of the building, but who was going to come looking for him? Why hadn’t he thought about that before? Had he been too blinded by his recent accomplishments to even consider the fact that too many employees might not be left alive to come free him?
His fears proved unfounded when the office door swung open and flooded the room with light, revealing Farley’s cooling corpse lying feet away from him.
“Jack!” squealed Giselle. “Are you okay?” The overhead light came on, causing Jack to squint. “Oh my God, Farley…”
“Do I look okay?” he spat. “Go open the top left drawer of the desk. The handcuff key should be in there.”
She hurried around to open the desk. Jack blinked again. Randy had clobbered him so hard he was surprised his skull wasn’t fractured. If Jack found the punk, he would put an end to him once and for all. No more taunting. No more gloating. Just one swift gunshot to the temple and that would be it.
“I found it!” Warm hands touched his wrists, and the cuffs popped open. “I can’t believe they did this to you. How’s your head?”
Jack didn’t answer. Very carefully, he pulled himself to his feet and tried not to feel disoriented. “Did they get out?”
“You mean the shaggy-haired guy and the woman?”
Interesting how she made no mention of Bobby. Maybe the little pipsqueak freaked out after shooting Farley and hid in some cranny because he was too chicken to encounter any more of Troy’s employees. “That would be some of them.”
“I don’t know if they got out or not!” Tears glistened in Giselle’s blonde eyelashes. “Jack, I did a terrible thing. I accidentally killed Vincent.”
At first Jack just stared at her. Vincent. Killed. Accidentally. “Would you mind telling me,” he said, “how you can accidentally kill someone so important to your employment status?” He’d actually planned on keeping Giselle alive since she knew so much about each client and his or her needs. Yet she had done this stupid thing. This moronic thing that effectively brought an end to half of Jack’s plans. Because how likely was it for another healer like Vincent to be found?
Giselle made an unsuccessful attempt at blinking away her tears. “The guy held a gun to Vincent’s head. He said he was going to kill Vincent so I picked up the gun I keep under the counter and started shooting. I—I didn’t know it would jerk so much in my hands.”
Jack’s face heated up as anger continued to rise within him. The odds of Theo and Orin finding a replacement for Vincent in a timely fashion were next to nothing, and Jack wasn’t about to be in charge of a Domus that had no healer since not every client was going to choose murder as a pastime. What was he going to do, keep a steady stream of kidnapped brats coming in and bury them each in a mass grave whenever a client was done with one?
He stepped closer to Giselle and put his hands on her shoulders in a gesture of mock tenderness. “You’ve been a very bad girl.”
She nodded but didn’t speak.
“I don’t have any use for bad girls.”
Her head jerked up in alarm, but it was too late for her. Jack gripped her neck in both hands and squeezed tight, his fingers digging into her soft flesh so hard his joints hurt. She kicked and struggled against him for only a minute or two before her body went slack and he released her.
She crumpled to the floor in a lifeless heap. Jack swayed as a spike of pain arced through his head where Randy had hit him.
Jack set his sights on the door and staggered toward it. Randy, he thought as he arrived in the hallway, I’m going to kill you. And I’m going to love every minute of it.
JOE AND Bald Man, who introduced himself as Larry once a white-faced Joe came back with Lily, explained that they’d been duped into working at the Domus and weren’t allowed to leave.
Larry had been a delivery driver and shuttled food and other supplies to the Domus for Troy. At the time he’d thought the Domus was just “a private club for rich snots.”
“Just shows what I knew,” Larry said, his tone oozing bitterness.
Joe, on the other hand, was an electrician Troy had called in when some wiring in the building needed updated. Both he and Larry had been roped into caring for the children who were brought here.
“Why didn’t you try to get out?” Adrian asked, hardly believing that two grown men would choose to stay in a place like this.
Joe’s face turned even whiter. “Troy had us microchipped like a couple of dogs. Anywhere we go, he knows. And there was a third guy who left against Troy’s orders. Farley caught him, and Troy made us all watch while Farley…”
“We don’t need to talk about that now,” Larry said, cutting him off. “You two are absolutely sure Troy and Farley are dead?”
“Troy is, at least,” Joe said, casting a wary glance in the direction of the door. “I had to step around him to get into the suite.”
“And Farley?”
“He was shot in Troy’s office,” Adrian said. “I’d swear it before a judge.”
“Lady, I sure hope you’re right.” Larry cleared his throat and turned to the children. “Hey. Listen up, all of you.”
The fact that the men in charge of the children were actually going to work with her and Randy seemed too good to be true. Part of Adrian wondered if it was some kind of trap they were traipsing into like a couple of blind fools.
Larry continued. “We’re all going to take a trip outside, okay? Now we need you all to be very quiet so we can leave without anyone hearing us…”
Joe nervously sidled up beside Adrian and Randy and dropped his voice while Larry went on. “I’m glad the creeps are dead.”
“That seems to be a common sentiment,” Randy mused.
“We’re stuck with these kids pretty much twenty-four seven. Some of the things I’ve seen…it gives me nightmares.”
“I hear you,” Adrian said. She looked back to the thirty-odd children, who were obediently arranging themselves into two single-file lines.
“Do you have weapons?” Randy asked Joe.
He shook his head. “I wish. Like I said, we’re basically just babysitters. Who’d have thought a guy like me would end up watching kids all day?” His hollow laugh conveyed no humor.
“No offense,” Randy said, “but it seems strange that Troy would have hired men for this line of work.”
A shrug. “Whenever a new kid gets sent here, they tend to fight back before what’s done to them breaks them down. Troy thought we’d be tough enough to handle them. But some days I wonder…”
Randy frowned and scanned the room’s many occupants. “Not to change the subject, but if everyone’s accounted for, we’d better get going. Joe, I’ll take the lead with you, and Adrian and Larry can bring up the rear. Got it?”
