by Jack Kilborn
“Who are you?” Joan managed to say.
“Erinyes.” His eyes narrowed. “Say it.”
Joan repeated the strange word. “Erinyes.”
“You might have heard of our work. They call us The Snipper. My better half took you from Tom’s house last night.”
Joan felt a scream building, and Erinyes put a finger over his lips. “Shh. There is a time and a place for screaming. This isn’t it. I only have one ball gag, and I took it out so you wouldn’t choke on your vomit from all the drugs you’ve taken. But I can pick another one up.”
Joan swallowed the scream, and tried to keep the fear out of her voice. She failed.
“What do you want?”
“Are you familiar with the Furies? Ancient Greek deities of vengeance from the underworld, sent to earth to punish sinners?”
He pointed both fingers at himself and made a that’s me expression.
“I heard…” Joan stopped her sentence short.
“You heard Tom. You are correct. I was being a bit nosy listening to your voicemail.”
Erinyes held up Joan’s cell phone, and began to play Joan’s messages.
“I’m sorry. Can we talk? Please? I love you.”
“Isn’t he so sweet?” Erinyes said. His words were like pouring salt on a third degree burn.
“Me again. You’re right about everything. I’m really sorry. Please call me back.”
Hearing Tom’s voice, and him sounding so sad, made it hard for Joan to breathe. Her eyes glassed over.
“Joan, you’re my everything. I know I messed up. The ring… I wasn’t thinking. You told me marriage was stupid. I guess I thought… I dunno what I thought. Just please call me back. I… I love you so much.”
The tears were flowing freely now. Erinyes paused the messages. “He sold all of his comic books to buy the ring,” he said. “It cost him over seven thousand dollars. White gold, a yellow diamond. Tom was particularly excited that it was an antique Cartier, and came from France.”
The sob came out of her like it had been ripped out.
“I bet you feel like such a bitch right now,” Erinyes said. “I’m a Greek deity. I see all. I know all. And let me tell you, Joan; you should have said yes.”
He played another.
“Joan, I gotta stay here overnight, for observation.”
Erinyes paused. “He’s sugar-coating it. He had surgery on his arm. Some horrible infection, flesh eating bacteria, pretty serious stuff.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about you. About us. You… you’re the only thing I want. The only thing I can’t live without. Call me back.”
“Please…” Joan said. “Please let me go.”
“Shh. Last message.”
“I’m at a crime scene in Evanston. The Snipper just slaughtered seven sorority girls, and kidnapped an eighth. I’m done, Joan. I’m quitting. I’m going in right now to turn in my badge. I assume you’re on your way back to LA. Please call me when you get in. Please. I love you so, so much.”
Erinyes put Joan’s phone into his pocket and said, “So you got your way. How do you feel?”
Joan felt…
Helpless. Terrified. Ashamed. Devastated.
No matter what Erinyes did to her, Joan couldn’t imagine it hurting more than she already hurt. If only she’d stayed with Tom. If only she’d said yes to his proposal. If only—
The slap was abrupt, rocking her head back.
“Penance works best when you confess your sins, Joan. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
Another emotion took over.
Anger.
Joan stared hard at the man. “I’m not telling you shit.”
He smiled, stroking her stinging cheek with his thumb. “Oh, you’ll tell me everything. By the time we’re through, you’ll tell me every detail, every sin, every secret you’ve ever had. Then you’ll beg to tell me more.”
He slapped her again.
And again.
And again, until she could no longer hold the sick feeling back and the vomit came. Erinyes quickly reached on top of the sheet-covered box on the floor next to her, and held a plastic bag under her head until she stopped throwing up.
“The drugs I gave you made you sick,” he said, tying the handles of the bag into a knot. “But if you do it again, I swear, I’ll cut off all your fingers, drop them in your puke, and make you lick up the whole mess.”
CHAPTER 48
Captain Bains wasn’t in his office. Tom asked around, and found Bains had taken a personal day. Station gossip said it was health-related.
Tom would have left his gun and badge on the man’s desk, along with a note, but his office was locked. So, instead, he went back to his house.
He lasted five minutes, staring at his empty bed, then texted Harry McGlade.
I’m in.
OK. I’ll pick you up.
Tom packed a backpack with overnight essentials; shirt, underwear, socks, toiletries, phone charger, extra ammo. Then he made the bed, flipped on the television, caught a brief glimpse of Snipper coverage, turned off the television, and then got on his phone and downloaded a casual game he’d gotten addicted to. When Joan came into town, he’d removed it so he wouldn’t be tempted to play while she was there.
If only he’d had that same self-control with his job.
McGlade eventually texted that he’d arrived, and when Tom went to meet him he saw the private eye standing in front of a full-sized, candy-apple red RV.
Harry was a dozen or more years older than Tom, salt and pepper scruff on his face, eyes manic. His clothes were expensive, but in need of an ironing.
“Glad you could make it.”
“I owe Jack.”
“Hop in the side door.”
Tom opened it, and saw the familiar rotund and mustachioed face of Sergeant Herb Benedict, sitting on one of the couches. Herb was in his fifties, his suit cheap and wrinkled, and there was a stain on his tie that was probably as old as the tie itself. Next to Herb was a sleeping baby, and across from him, in a cage, was a parrot.
Tom nodded at the sergeant, climbed in, and closed the door behind him.
“Welcome to the Crimebago, Tom,” Harry said from the driver’s seat. He pronounced it Crim-ee-baygo, like Winnebago. “That’s Harry Junior, and Homeboy. Harry Junior is the one wearing the diaper and napping next to Herb. Homeboy is the one in the cage. Herb is the land whale. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge, and if the ride gets boring you and Herb can play some chess, assuming Herb knows how. Board is in the cabinet with Junior’s toys, next to the dishwasher.”
“Why is the parrot named Homeboy?” Tom asked Herb as he sat down.
“Former owners. I don’t know whether to blame their parents, or society in general. Something went wrong somewhere.”
“Why is it naked?”
“He’s addicted to methamphetamine, so he plucked out all his feathers.”
Tom nodded. A parrot with trichotillomania made about as much sense as a giant, red recreational vehicle. Such was Harry’s world. Tom looked around, taking in the expensive furnishings. The ride was certainly pimped. McGlade travelled in style. But it was a loud, abrasive style.
“So, how have you been, Sarge? Haven’t ran into you in a while.”
“I spent all morning with McGlade, that’s how I’ve been. You?”
“Not that bad. But close.”
Partly from nervous energy, partly because he didn’t want to discuss Joan, Tom began to talk about The Snipper case. He stopped short of mentioning his impending resignation.
“I’ve been following that one,” Harry interrupted. “Seems like a real nutjob. Herb and I have run into a few of those.”
Tom absently touched his arm, the bandages hidden by his jacket.
“Herb had his eyes sewn shut by a psycho,” Harry said. “I had it even worse. I was electroshocked by the same guy.”
“One guy kidnapped me, broke my arm, and kept twisting it to lure Jack to him,” Herb sai
d. “That one was bad.”
“Dude, electroshock is worse than a tiny little fracture,” Harry said.
“He was grinding bone on bone.”
“Bone on bone is like foreplay. I still don’t have full control over my bladder.”
“Did you ever?” Herb asked.
So that’s what they were doing? The scene in Jaws where everyone compared scars? The two of them went back and forth like that for a minute, bickering like brothers. Tom stared out the side window. He wondered if Joan was also staring out a window, in Business Class at thirty thousand feet.
“I was tied up and branded by a guy,” Tom said.
“How much branding are we talking here?” Harry asked.
“Enough that I passed out. And then the killer licked the burn.”
“Sounds like a fairy princess tickle party compared to my hand.” Harry waved his prosthetic limb. “Fingers cut off, one at a time, stumps cauterized with a blowtorch. Doctors couldn’t save anything, had to amputate. Remember that one, Herb?”
“Yes. I got a chest full of roofing nails.”
“Yeah! Right! I remember making a joke about you getting nailed. You missed it because you were in the ER, under sedation. Also, I didn’t go visit you. What else you got, Tom?”
“I was just bitten by a guy.”
“Bitten, huh? Well, it’s not a contest. Because if it was, you’d lose. But you’re young yet. Plenty of time for more maniacs to torture you before your career is over.”
“Fingers crossed,” Tom said.
Then he sat back and tried to settle in for the long, boring drive ahead.
CHAPTER 49
Joan’s phone buzzes.
Tom again.
Erinyes waits for him to leave a message, and then listens.
Interesting. He’s heading to northern Wisconsin.
Erinyes drums her fingers on the steering wheel, thinking.
He’s following the news on his laptop. Things are getting hot in Illinois. Between the house being raided, and the sorority adventure, the police and the media are all whipped up in a convulsive frenzy. There are rumblings about bringing in the FBI, and even mention of road blocks.
Exciting. But risky.
This might be a good time to leave the state for a while. Let things cool down.
Erinyes reaches out to his better half, who agrees.
He tracks Tom’s location by his phone, and then points the van north.
CHAPTER 50
Fear threatened to devour her.
One-two-three… one-two-three…
She was bound, gagged, and waiting to be killed by the maniac who had butchered all of her sorority sisters.
One-two-three…
This wasn’t in her head. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a paranoid delusion. It wasn’t a hallucination or a fantasy.
It was real. And there was no escape.
One-two-three… one-two-three… one-two-three.
Kendal managed to retain her sanity by tapping the back of her head against the interior wall of the vehicle.
One-two-three… one-two-three… one-two-three.
The woman next to Kendal had her eyes closed and was jerking and twisting her arms. It wouldn’t do any good. You can’t break duct tape. Kendal owned a purse made entirely out of duct tape, bought on a whim at a craft fair. That stuff was stronger than leather.
One-two-three…
“We’re stopping, ladies.” It was the man driving. “I need you to behave. The walls of this van are soundproof, so if your scream all it will do is make me angry.”
He parked the vehicle, and shut it off. After more than a minute, the curtain moved back, and her abductor appeared.
Kendal wet herself with fear. It was only then that she realized she was wearing a diaper.
The man squatted next to her, grinning. “Hello, Kendal. I’m going to take your gag off. Do you want that?”
He nodded, and Kendal nodded along with him.
“And will there be any screaming?” he asked, shaking his head.
She repeated the gesture. He unbuckled the ball gag and pulled it from her mouth. Kendal closed her sore jaw, swallowing several times.
“I’m Erinyes. Say my name.”
“Erinyes,” she whispered.
He gave her a rough pat on the cheek, then turned to the other woman. “Guess where we are, Joan?”
The woman doesn’t answer.
“Don’t want to talk to me? I’m hurt. Is it because your heart belongs to him?” Erinyes raised up a cell phone and showed her the screen. “I just took this picture of Tom a minute ago. He’s right outside, walking into that restaurant. Less than twenty meters away.”
“TOM!” Joan screamed.
Erinyes grabbed Joan by her bangs and began to slam her head into the side of the van, until she was either dead or unconscious. Then he smoothed out her hair, pulled back his hand to stare at his fingers, and wiped the blood off on Joan’s jeans.
“I told her not to scream,” he said, turning to Kendal. “Are you going to scream?”
“No.”
Kendal felt herself shrink, like she was about to disappear. The psychological term was disassociation. She was detaching from her surroundings, going to a safe place in her mind where she couldn’t be hurt.
It was an effective way to cope with horrifying situations. But it was a last resort. If Kendal detached, she’d have no chance to get away.
So she focused on the head tapping, this time harder.
One-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three…
“What are you doing?” Erinyes asked.
“I have obsessive compulsive disorder.”
Erinyes nodded. “I thought there was something odd about you. Like Jack Nicholson. In that movie. Do you wash your hands all the time?”
“No. I count.”
“Count what?”
“Everything. Steps. Ceiling tiles. Cars that pass.”
Erinyes tilted his head, seeming to appraise her. “So you’re crazy.”
“We’re all a little crazy.”
He took her throat in his hand. “Are you saying that I’m crazy, Kendal?”
One-two-three-one-two-three…
“My father had antisocial personality disorder,” Kendal said, speaking as quickly as she could.
“Is that what you think I have?”
Kendal began to spit out what she memorized for Abnormal Psych class. “Several behaviors must be present before a diagnosis of ASPD can be made. The subject must fail to conform to social norms or laws; lie or use aliases; be impulsive, aggressive, and irritable; have a reckless disregard for the safety of themselves or others; show consistent irresponsibility; and lack remorse.”
“And what did Daddy do to make you think he was a sociopath?”
One-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three.
“There are seven subtypes of ASPD, according to Theodore Millon. My father was the unprincipled type. He did whatever he wanted to,” Kendal swallowed the lump in her throat. “Regardless of who he hurt.”
The man’s eye twitched. “Sometimes fathers do things we don’t understand.”
“My father raped me.”
Erinyes had no reaction. “Were you tempting him? Acting like a whore?”
“I was eleven.”
“AGE DOESN’T MATTER!” Erinyes screamed in her face, flecking it with spittle. “We’re all sinners, Kendal. All of us. Even little babies.”
ONE-TWO-THREE…
“Stop that head tapping thing. It’s irritating me.”
“I can’t,” Kendal whimpered.
“Men naturally lack discipline,” Erinyes said. “My father taught me that. Impulse control is directly linked to the penis. But women… they have control, Kendal. They don’t do things impulsively. They calculate. They plot. That makes them worse sinners than men. With women, everything they do has intent. So stop that damn head tapping.”
“I wish I could,” she cried, “oh god I wish I coul
d.”
Erinyes narrowed his eyes, and Kendal cringed. She was sure he was going to hit her, or slam her head into the side of the van, or worse.
But instead he said, “The Erinyes are Greek deities of vengeance. They give Penance to sinners. When a sinner suffers, their soul is cleansed. The more sins they have, the more they must suffer. Do you think it’s easy to be Erinyes, Kendal? It’s a great burden, punishing the wicked.”
He moved next to the small box, on the floor of the van next to Joan. It had a sheet over the top.
“All of the furies wear a special crown,” he said, pulling off the sheet.
It revealed a small, glass aquarium, no more than ten gallons. The interior appeared to have been speckled with mud.
Then Kendal realized the specks of mud were moving.
“It’s a crown of spiders,” Erinyes said.
Kendal began to thrash her head back and forth.
Oh no. No-no-no-no-no…
“I think Joan should be awake for this, don’t you?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and white. There was a snapping sound, and Kendal smelled ammonia. Joan’s head popped up.
“Welcome to the party, Joan. I was telling Kendal about my pets, here. Eratigena agrestis. Also known as the hobo spider. It is one of the very few spiders known to attack humans. That’s why it has picked up another name. The aggressive house spider.”
Erinyes took the screen cover off the tank, setting it aside. Spiders began to crawl onto the van’s floor, spreading out in all directions like a creeping stain. Some of them were at least two inches long.
“I was telling Kendal that all of the furies must wear a crown of spiders. I did, when I was sixteen years old.” Erinyes lowered his voice to a whisper. “A word of warning. If you move too much, they bite. And it really, really, really hurts.”
He reached into the bottom of the aquarium and pulled out—
A plastic bag. The grocery store kind.
Erinyes held the bag by one of its handles, bouncing it on his fingers. “A few ounces of spiders. That’s a lot.”
He moved to Joan, who began to violently flail, stretching to move away, but with nowhere to go.
