by E. E. Borton
“That didn’t take long,” said Kate, pulling up a chair closer to him. “I wonder what twenty seconds would feel like?”
“No,” said Brad, taking a deep breath and starting to cry. “Please don’t do that again.”
“You’re all the same,” said Kate, reaching out and putting her hand on his arm. “You all cry like babies and beg for mercy when the tables are turned. How does it feel, Brad? How does it feel to be powerless to stop me from hurting you? Powerless to stop a woman from hurting you?”
“I’m sorry,” said Brad. “I swear to God, I’m sorry.”
“I know you are,” said Kate, squeezing his arm. “You never meant for any of this to happen. You were just doing what you were told. You’re not responsible for anything you did. It was all someone else’s fault. Deep down you’re a good guy who doesn’t want to see anyone get hurt, right?”
“Yeah,” said Brad. “I don’t wanna hurt nobody.”
“But you did hurt someone,” said Kate. “You hurt Emily.”
“I’m scared,” said Brad. “I’m really scared.”
“Of course you are,” said Kate. “You’re tied to a chair in my basement and there’s nothing you can do to stop me from torturing you. But here’s the sad part. I know what you did to Emily was much, much worse than what we’re doing to you. I just hope we can close that gap before you die.”
“Please, please, don’t kill me!”
“Is that what Emily was saying while you tortured her? Was she pleading for her life while you laughed at her? Was she crying and begging for mercy while you cut up her face and murdered her son?”
“I-I didn’t –”
Brad screamed when the back of his chair hit the ground after Kate stood and delivered another kick. It was muffled when the Chief put the towel back over his face, but Grey didn’t pick up the bucket. With tears in her eyes, Kate grabbed it and poured. Fifteen seconds is an eternity when the brain is convinced it’s dying.
“Please!” said Brad, coughing up water as Grey lifted the chair. “Please God, stop doing that!”
“That was only fifteen seconds,” said Kate, returning to her seat. “I think we can get to twenty next time.”
“You won’t have to do that again,” said Brad, lowering his head and sobbing.
“We’ll see about that,” said Kate. “Do you remember Emily now?”
“I do.”
“Is she dead?”
“Yes.”
They were all convinced Emily was dead the moment they accepted the case, but there was always a glimmer of hope that they were wrong. Until they found her body, or a monster’s confession of murder, they still had hope. In that moment, it was taken away by Brad.
Kate placed the bucket of water in front of him as a reminder. It wasn’t necessary. He was broken. He knew his only hope for survival was to tell the truth about what they did to Emily.
Abby and Evan were upstairs watching the interrogation on a video monitor. Their job was to record the event so they could go back and analyze the information that was about to flow out of Brad’s mouth like a waterfall.
“He never said he cut up Emily’s face, and she doesn’t have a son,” said Abby.
“I know,” said Evan. “I figured you’d catch that.”
“This is too much for her,” said Abby. “Grey or Chief should be putting the screws to him, not my sister.”
“She just got a little confused,” said Evan. “There’s a lot going on down there. She’s fine.”
“No, she isn’t,” said Abby. “Not at all.”
Chapter 37
Fried Chicken
(August 27th, 2013)
Emily was his trophy. In his mind, they were in a relationship. Bullet would never have a chance with a girl like Emily if he didn’t control the addiction he gave to her. She was spending less time at home with her mother and more time with him.
She didn’t care that people would see her in town with him. Everyone she had thought cared about her was gone. When she needed them the most, they turned their backs. To them, Emily was just another sad statistic who couldn’t control the impulse to get high.
She became numb to the sex. For her, it was a transaction. It was a way to feed her habit without having to steal. She still paid the bills and made sure there was food in the house, but her connection with her mother wasn’t strong enough to break Bullet’s grip.
He was drunk with the power and control that he had over her. There were other women who paid for their drug of choice with their bodies, but Emily was special. She was young, beautiful, and vulnerable. Bullet wanted her to become more addicted to him than the heroin before he crushed her.
Bullet was on top of the world. His drug business was booming, and he was earning respect from other dealers with his uncanny ability to avoid law enforcement. He followed Judge Hall’s rules, and most of the drug deals transpired within the walls of his home. As promised, she had made him untouchable.
He knew the arrangement wasn’t going to last forever, so he became more creative with the ways he kept Emily in the town’s gutter. His efforts were rewarded by staying in the judge’s good graces. Bullet knew Emily would do anything to get her next fix. She knew that as well and didn’t care. All she cared about was pushing away the pain, sadness, and stress of her new lifestyle by pushing more heroin into her arm.
“We got us a little problem,” said Bullet, greeting Emily when she walked through his door.”
“What kind of problem?” asked Emily, squeezing her hands and rocking back and forth in the doorway.
It had been over a day since her last dose. Bullet told her he was out, but a shipment would be delivered soon. He was intentionally making her dope sick. The longer she went without it, the more agitated and vulnerable she became.
“The Coast Guard intercepted the boat last night,” said Bullet. “They took everything. I ain’t got shit.”
“You’re out?” asked Emily, starting to panic. “You don’t have anything?”
“I just told you what happened,” said Bullet, standing and walking up to her. “Ain’t nothing I can do but wait for the next boat. It should be here day after tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait that long,” said Emily, lowering her head. “What am I supposed to do?”
“It’s okay, baby,” said Bullet, giving her a hug. “I already got you hooked up with a friend of mine. He’s got enough to last you a couple of days.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Emily, returning the hug. “Thank you.”
“I tried to pay him for it, but when he found out it was for you, he wouldn’t take the money,” said Bullet. “You’re gonna have to be nice to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Goddamnit, girl,” said Bullet. “This whole parish is dry and I find something for you and you’re giving me shit about it? Fine, just go without. I don’t give a fuck.”
“Wait,” said Emily. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what you mean. What does he want me to do?”
“Look,” said Bullet. “I ain’t happy about this either, but he’s higher up the ladder than I am. He knows who you are and wanted to get paid the same way you pay me. You understand, right?”
Her dignity had been replaced by shame the first time she traded her body for drugs. The shame disappeared as soon as the heroin hit her veins. Her addiction didn’t care how she fed it.
“Just take care of him this one time,” said Bullet. “I’ll make sure I keep enough around from the next shipment so you don’t have to do it again, I promise. I’m sorry, baby. I don’t know what else to do.”
“It’s okay,” said Emily. “I know it’s not your fault. Is he coming here?”
“No,” said Bullet. “He’s gonna meet you at the Greenfield Motel in two hours. His name is Daniel and he’ll be in room 210.”
“I can’t go sooner?” said Emily, rubbing her arm.
“He can’t get there no earlier,” said Bullet. “Let’s go get that bottle of tequila ou
t of the freezer and knock a few back. It’ll help.”
Bullet was going to kill two birds with one stone. The word on the street was that Daniel was trying to establish a name for himself as a dealer. He was seen in a few of the dive bars on the edge of Bullet’s territory. Daniel was young, cocky, and had a reputation for running his mouth. Nobody in the drug trade of Boudreaux would blink an eye if Daniel got played.
The other bird would fall from any grace she had left. Her arrest for possession wasn’t enough for Judge Hall. She instructed Bullet to make sure she had more interaction with law enforcement. She knew that with every arrest for despicable behavior, the more distance she put between her son being accused of rape. Nobody would blink an eye for her or Daniel.
Sheriff Lewis was pleased when one of his deputies reported the tip. Daniel had evaded arrest on several occasions, but always used the opportunity to taunt his officers. Catching him red-handed in a drug transaction would give them the last laugh.
His officers set up surveillance in room 210. Hidden cameras and microphones would catch every angle and every word. Lewis wanted to make sure that the charges would be upheld in court and put Daniel behind bars. The only information he didn’t have was who was coming to buy the drugs.
“Damn, you’re fine,” said Daniel, opening the door to the motel room. “He wasn’t lying. I like this arrangement.”
“It’s not an arrangement,” said Emily. “This is a one-time thing. Let’s just get it over with, okay?”
“Whatever you say, honey.”
Everything was caught on tape. When he finished with her, Daniel went into the bathroom and came out with two baggies of heroin. A few seconds later, the police went in.
Still naked and sitting on the bed, Emily was dragged to the ground and handcuffed. Daniel received the same treatment. He lived up to his reputation of being cocky until they searched the rest of the room. Between the mattress and box springs, Bullet had planted enough heroin and cocaine to ensure a long prison sentence. When one of the officers found the loaded gun underneath the cushion of a chair, Daniel started crying.
The officers kept their charges separate, but Emily was still arrested for prostitution and possession. She kept quiet about how the arrangement was made. It had less to do with protecting Bullet and more to do with not trusting the police. Bullet bailed her out in a matter of hours. The needle hit her vein as soon as they returned to his house.
When Emily stood in Judge Hall’s courtroom a month later, she gave Emily the gift of compassion and leniency. Two traits the judge rarely showed. A condition of her charges being reduced was to enroll voluntarily into a drug treatment program. The town applauded the court’s attempt at rehabilitating a troubled young woman.
Three days into the program, Bullet went to visit her in rehab. After an anonymous phone call, Emily was subjected to a drug test. An hour after she was kicked out of the program, she was back at Bullet’s house.
That afternoon Judge Hall was informed of her breach of their agreement, but chose not to send Emily to jail. She stated that a different course of action was needed to produce better results. Once again, the town admired the judge for making a personal effort to salvage Emily’s life.
“You’re back where you belong, baby,” said Bullet, pulling out her drug kit. “I wouldn’t worry about going back to jail. That bitch just wants you to go away. A little birdy told me she ain’t gonna do nothing to you for getting kicked out of rehab. It’s all over now.”
“I need to go check on my mother,” said Emily.
“I waste half my day to come get you, and now you’re just taking off on me?”
“I’m sorry,” said Emily. “I won’t be long. I just haven’t seen her in a while and need to make sure she’s okay.”
“All right then,” said Bullet. “We’ll hold off on celebrating your freedom until tonight. I’ve got something special planned for you.”
Emily made a detour before she went to see her mother. She parked the car on the street in front of her childhood home. Closing her eyes, she could see her father and Dawson working on the truck in the garage. She saw her mother in the kitchen laughing and hugging anybody that walked by. She could hear Kasey barking in the backyard as Tyler cannonballed into the pool.
When she opened her eyes, they were gone. They were all just memories that seemed to have happened a lifetime ago to somebody else. The only connection she had left to those memories was passed out on the couch.
“Is that you, baby girl?” asked her mother from the kitchen.
“It is,” said Emily, hesitating for a moment.
“Where have you been, child?”
“I-I’ve been staying at Brit’s for a couple of days,” said Emily. “I’ve been helping them with a project.”
“Well, isn’t that nice of you,” said Karla, coming out of the kitchen and licking a spoon.
“Have you had dinner?’
“Um, no,” said Emily, cocking her head and smiling. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother was so lucid and engaging. “What are you making?”
“All of Hank’s favorites,” said Karla.
As fast as the hope appeared that her mother wasn’t delusional from the pills, it disappeared. Her father had been dead for years. Emily’s smile faded and her chin began to quiver.
“Don’t you start crying on me, Em,” said Karla. “They’re our favorites too. Just because he can’t sit with us doesn’t mean he’s not here in spirit.”
“Mom,” said Emily, letting her tears fall. “You know Dad’s gone?”
“Yes, baby,” said Karla, wiping away her own. “I told you not to start crying on me. Now we’re both babbling like babies.”
“I don’t care,” said Emily, walking to her mother and giving her a tight hug. “I love you, Mom.”
“What’s all this about?” said Karla. “You okay?”
“I’ve never been better,” said Emily. “Let me help you.”
“That would be wonderful,” said Karla. “I’ve made way too much.”
The tiny house was alive with laughter and the smell of fried chicken. It would only be the two of them for dinner, but they prepared a meal big enough for the neighborhood. Emily took a shower, put on fresh clothes, and then set the table. They ate until they were exhausted from chewing and talking. It was as if her mother had awakened from a deep sleep that had lasted years.
They both avoided topics of conversation that would bring silence to the room. Instead, they reminisced and told stories they both knew, but made them happy to tell again. Emily sat on the floor as Karla brushed her hair and kept saying how beautiful she was.
Her mother retold the story of how she and Hank met. It was Emily’s favorite. They talked about Dawson’s birthday and the look on his face when Hank threw him the keys to the truck. They talked about the stage her father built and all the wonderful, silly performances Emily gave them as a child. They talked for hours about all the things that made them happy and thankful to still have each other.
As the hour grew late and Karla was recounting the story of when Hank scared Tyler in the pool, Emily flinched and grabbed her stomach. She looked down at her shaking hands and took several deep breaths. Nothing was going to take her away from her mother. Not even heroin.
Chapter 38
Seven Days
(August 28th, 2013)
She fought it as long as she could, but the craving and the dope sickness were too much for her to overpower. Her brain told her that if she could just get “well,” she’d have a better chance tomorrow. When her mother fell asleep, Emily went back to him.
“Thought you said you wouldn’t be long,” said Bullet, sitting in a dark living room. “It’s fucking two in the morning.”
“I’m sorry,” said Emily, lowering her head. “My mom cooked me dinner and we sat and talked for hours. It was wonderful. I just couldn’t leave her. It’s been so long since she’s acted like my mother.”
“She’ll be popping
pills by sunrise,” said Bullet. “I told you I had something special planned for you.”
“I know,” said Emily, holding her stomach. “I really am sorry. It felt good to see her like that again.”
“How are you feeling now?” asked Bullet, knowing the answer.
“Awful,” said Emily. “Can you help me feel better, please?”
“I drive an hour out of my way to come get you and bring you home,” said Bullet. “Then you just blow me off and go play happy family with your fucked up mom. Now you need me again. I’ve had enough of your shit, you ungrateful bitch. Run home to mommy and see if she can make you feel better.”
“Bullet, I’m sorry,” said Emily, crying. “You don’t understand. When my dad died, so did she. This was the first time I’ve been around her in so long when she looked alive again. I didn’t mean to make you mad. I swear, I didn’t.”
“Is this what you want?” asked Bullet, holding out his hand. “Will this make you feel better?”
“Yes,” said Emily, reaching for the baggies.
“Then you’re gonna earn it,” said Bullet, closing his hand and grabbing her arm.
He pulled her into the den. She recognized his brothers Brad and Eddie, but didn’t know a third man sitting with them. Bullet introduced him as his cousin, Chris.
“You boys want a piece of this?” asked Bullet. “I’ve done wore it out and she done pissed me off.”
“I’ll take some of that!” said Chris, rubbing the front of his pants. “I’ll take your leftovers like her any day, cuz.”
“No, please,” said Emily, trying to hug Bullet. “I just want to take care of you. Please.”
“I’m done with you,” said Bullet. “This is how you’re gonna pay for your shit from now on.”
