“Whatever he is, he has some place private,” Owen said.
Jake shook his head. “Unless he kills them, disposes of the body, then leaves. Maybe this is like a pilgrimage to him.”
“No,” Rachel said. “Owen’s right. He has some place private. He’s keeping these kids for a week. He states that in the note.”
“If he’s kidnapping and murdering, I doubt he’s worried about anyone calling him a liar,” Jake countered.
“True.” Rachel grinned. “Only he sent you a photo of one of his decomposing victims, weeks after the kid was taken. Unless he’s taking the bodies on the road with him, I’m betting he lives in the area—at least during the winter months.”
“Gee, and what males in the age range we’re discussing live in the area only part of the year?” Owen asked with heavy sarcasm.
Rachel’s big green eyes grew round. “Males who work at the university. The only summer classes the university offers are online. A professor teaching a summer course could do so anywhere.”
“The university might not have classes during the summer, but maintenance and security are there year round, and are locals from either Bola or the neighboring county,” Jake said. “I’m not one hundred percent certain, but I believe some administrators also maintain residences around here, too. The dean you’re meeting with would have that information, or at least access to it.”
Rachel jotted a note, then tapped her lips with the pencil. He stared at her mouth, and wondered if Jake thought about tasting her lush lips as much as he did. Shaking the thought from his head, he said, “So the plan for today…”
“Meet with the dean, campus security, the RA that had been on duty Saturday night—”
“Abby Zucker?” Jake asked.
Rachel frowned. “Do you know her? Never mind, that’s right, you already interviewed her.”
“Yeah, I talked to her. She also works for me. I’m not trying to stop you from talking with her, but to save you time, she was working on a paper that weekend and saw Sean and Josh when she dropped off their pizza.”
“Is that typical?” Owen asked. “Does she always make deliveries?”
“That I don’t know.”
Owen glanced at Rachel, who met his gaze. “I guess there’s only one way to find out,” she said, then smiled at Jake. “Aside from meeting with Abby, we also need to speak with Sean’s doctor. I’m waiting on the toxicology reports for both my brother and Bill.”
Jake tapped the table, then pushed his chair back and stood. “Sounds like you two have a busy day.”
“Would you care to join us?” Rachel asked, and stood as well.
With a smile, Jake looked to the floor. “Maybe for dinner,” he said, then met her gaze. “I was sorry to have to cancel yesterday, but really enjoyed talking with you last night.”
Fucking Jake.
“Me too.” Rachel sent the sheriff a syrupy smile. “Same time, same place?”
Jake slipped into his coat. “Sounds good.”
“Yeah, sounds great,” Owen said. “I keep hearing about how fantastic the food is at River’s Edge.”
They both looked at him as if they’d forgotten he was in the room. Then Jake pulled out his car keys and nodded. “I’ll check in with you later,” he said to Rachel, who followed him into the foyer.
He had no idea what they were discussing, which bugged the shit out of him. Were they making plans for after dinner, maybe trying to figure out a way to ditch him so they could be alone? Not going to happen. The jealousy that had been clawing at him since yesterday finally pierced his gut.
Although he knew he could be making a monstrous mistake, jeopardizing his professional relationship with Rachel, his career with CORE, he had to know if there was something, anything between them. He didn’t mind her sassy mouth, or the abrasive barbs she’d throw at him. Actually, he loved the way she didn’t hold back around him, how she didn’t pretend to be anything but herself. Unlike a lot of the women he’d dated, Rachel didn’t try. Her “what you see is what you get” attitude intrigued him, made him want to climb inside her head and maybe her…heart?
No. This wasn’t about love. An intimate friendship with some hot benefits, that’s what he had in mind. Did she? He’d caught her checking him out last night when he’d gone to her room. The moment had been so brief he could have imagined it. Still, there had been other times when he’d been certain she held…something for him. Or maybe he was delusional and she was really into Jake.
Until he knew the answer, Jake didn’t have a chance in hell.
*
He rinsed out his coffee mug, then placed it on the top rack of the dishwasher. After drying his hand on the dishtowel, he put the toaster away, then reached inside the refrigerator for a bottle of water. In the time he’d been here, the pledge hadn’t had much to eat or drink, and he needed to make sure his puke didn’t dehydrate before the week ended. What fun would Hell Week be if he couldn’t make his pledge scream, cry and beg?
No fun at all.
But he could have a little fun now. Not much, he did have his day job to consider. Yes, just enough fun and games to remind the pledge of his fate. That he was nothing but a little puke. If the pledge hadn’t realized it last night, he’d understand by the day’s end. He’d understand who held the control, that his supremacy and domination outweighed that of anyone else in the young pledge’s life. Namely, the puke’s father.
After shrugging into his coat, he took the now cold, burnt toast from the counter, then shoved it into his coat pocket along with the water bottle. Smiling, anticipation humming through his veins, he moved into the hallway, then opened the trapdoor leading to the basement. Once he’d connected the garden hose to the utility sink, then dropped it through the trap door, he made his descent into the basement. When he reached the bottom rung of the ladder, he stepped onto the rock floor, then turned on the lantern.
“Good morning, puke.” He approached the pledge who flinched and winced, craned his neck away from the lantern’s light. Even standing a few feet away, the foul odor of feces and urine emanating from the puke caused bile to rise in his throat. He tamped down the urge to regurgitate the delicious crepes he’d eaten for breakfast and said, “It’s amazing how quickly our eyes adjust to the dark, isn’t it? Personally, I find the dark easier than the light. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The pledge kept his head turned, while his body shivered and his teeth chattered. “C-cold. S-s-so cold.”
“Then maybe we should do another round of calisthenics. That seemed to warm you up last night.”
“No. P-please, no.”
“I don’t have time anyway. Here.” Ignoring the pledge’s putrid scent, he pulled the burnt toast from his pocket, then shoved it in the boy’s face. “Eat it.”
The pledge’s dry lips cracked with tiny beads of blood as he opened his mouth without hesitation. His thin, pale cheeks hollowed as his jaw worked. After a moment had elapsed, he swallowed, then finally looked at him. “More. Please.”
“This isn’t a buffet and I don’t have any more toast, well, toasted. I do have some leftover maggots in the refrigerator. I could climb up the ladder and—”
“No.” The pledge shrank against the rock wall.
“No, what?” he asked and cupped his ear.
“No thank you.”
Smiling, he withdrew the water bottle. “Because you’re chained to the wall of a cold, damp, dark, rat-infested basement doesn’t mean manners should be forgotten. And because of your politeness, I’ve brought you this.” When the pledge jerked his head away, he said, “No tricks this time. This is nothing but pure water. You have my word. You don’t doubt me, do you?”
Eyes wide and alert, the pledge hardened his jaw and stared at the water bottle. Seconds passed, then he shifted his gaze to him and shook his head. “No. I don’t doubt you.”
“Good. Now open.”
The pledge obeyed, then greedily drank the water.
“Slow down before you regur
gitate it back up along with your breakfast. I’d hate to have to force you to clean your mess again.”
Nodding, the pledge took his advice. He slowly drank until he emptied the bottle, then he licked his chapped lips and said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. See, now. You’ve stopped shivering. All you needed was a little nourishment. I’ll be sure to bring you something more substantial for dinner. Do you like fish? It’s very good for you.”
The pledge glared at him for a moment, confusion and uncertainty clouding his eyes, then he looked to the ladder.
“Ah, you must be wondering where Junior has gone to. Unfortunately she had a previous engagement, but sends her regards. Don’t worry. She’ll be with us this evening. She’s looking forward to what I have planned, I know I am. I’d tell you all about it, but would rather keep it a surprise. I love surprises, don’t you?”
He actually hated surprises. Hated happenstances. Hated not having control. He hadn’t been able to control the circumstances of the Hell Week his pledge’s father had put him through. Since that week twenty-five years ago, he’d had very few incidences that he hadn’t been able to control. With the exception of fathering Junior, he’d always made sure to think through every decision, consider all worst and best case possibilities. He refused to ever allow another person to influence his life, his decisions, his destiny.
This pledge, this particular Hell Week, would define him and close the gap of what he considered the circle of his life. At the week’s end, no one would doubt his legendary status. Not the Townies, the students at Wexman, or even those rent-a-cops from Chicago. They might never know his real name, or that of Junior’s, but they would know and understand the true meaning of vengeance—without a shadow of doubt.
Wrinkling his nose, no longer able to bear the stench, he took a step back from the reeking pledge.
“Wait, please,” the pledge said and yanked on his chains.
He glanced at the metal clasp secured to the wall, to the taut chain, then back to the pledge. “There is no more food or water at this point. You will have to wait until dinner.”
“No…I…the woman, Junior. I know her.”
“I expected as much.”
“I know you, too.”
“Of course.”
The pledge’s eyes clouded with tears. “You’re not going to let me leave, are you?”
He tilted his head and considered how to answer. If he told the pledge the truth, the whiny puke might give up, refuse to eat, and become a useless pawn in this final match of Hell Week. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Killing the pledge would be easy. After all, he’d killed ten others. With the exception of one, he’d held no regret. With this pledge, regret would not come into play, at least not on his part. The pledge’s father?
Looking at the pledge, at the similar traits the puke shared with his despicable father, he lifted a shoulder. “You will eventually leave. In what fashion? That will be up to you.”
“I don’t understand,” the pledge said in a rush and continued to pull on his chains. “If it’s money you’re after, my father is wealthy. He can give you—”
Gripping the stinking, pitiful puke by the throat, he slammed him against the rock wall. “I want two things from your father.” Ignoring the disgusting odor, he leaned closer and tightened his hold. “His son and his…confession.”
Eyes bulging and watering, skinny face purpling, the pledge’s chains knocked against his arms as the boy tried to pry his hands away. Spittle frothed around his cracked lips. He opened his mouth and whispered, “Please.”
Releasing the pledge, he took an immediate step back, then reached for the garden hose. “Understand something. Unlike your father, I am not a sadist. I abhor brutality and under normal circumstances, I’m not prone to violence.” Against his palms the garden hose pulsated, the pressure of the water mirroring the mounting force, the overwhelming need for revenge straining every fiber of his being.
“My dad’s not a sadist,” the pledge shouted as tears streamed down his sunken cheeks.
“I’ve seen your academic records. I doubt you even know the definition of sadism.” He shook his head. “It’s a wonder you managed to gain entry to the university. I suppose having a father who had not only graduated from Wexman, but has extremely deep pockets, helped.” Mentioning that he’d played a part in the pledge’s admittance to the university seemed, at this moment…gratuitous. “Hmm, well, enough of that. Time for your morning toiletries.”
The pledge opened his mouth as if to speak. Sure that the boy would defend his cruel father, he aimed the nozzle of the garden hose at the puke’s face and sprayed. With the water pressure on high, he coated the pledge’s head. The boy squeezed his eyes shut, turned his head from side to side. He kept the nozzle aimed at his head until the pledge finally opened his mouth and drew in a ragged breath. Water hit the puke straight in the mouth. He coughed and spat, threw his body against the wall.
Satisfied and certain the righteous puke would say nothing further with regards to his father, he directed the nozzle to the rest of the boy’s body. After he’d sprayed his lower half, and hopefully washed away some of the stench, he turned off the hose.
The pledge continued to cough and sputter, but now shivered, his body shuddering with tremors. A shiver ran through him as well. The basement temperature had dropped overnight and he worried it might become too cold for his pledge. Death by hypothermia wouldn’t work in this instance. The boy’s death would have an effect no matter what, but if his death came from the abuses of Hell Week, the effect would be that much sweeter.
He pictured the agony, the utter desolation the pledge’s bastard father would experience once he saw his only son dead. His rotting corpse showing the evidence of the horrors the boy would endure. The same horrors he had endured twenty-five years ago.
No, death by hypothermia wasn’t an option. He moved the space heater a little closer to the pledge. Close enough to offer intermittent moments of warmth, but far enough that the pledge couldn’t do anything foolish with the heater. Not that the boy could move his feet far, but erring on the side of caution had helped him sustain the last nine Hell Weeks.
Nostalgia wrapped around his heart. That this pledge served as his tenth Hell Week astonished him. The English proverb, time flies while you’re having fun, came to mind. Like the powerful, fast moving current of the Menominee River, time had swiftly swept past him. He’d spent the five years after his own tortuous Hell Week planning his revenge, then the next nineteen years hoping his plans would erase the memories and give him the power and control he’d needed.
According to another English proverb, time heals all wounds. He’d gamble that the person who had fashioned the absurd proverb hadn’t experienced what he had twenty-five years ago. Physically, he’d healed. Psychologically? The shame, the terror…the sheer degradation had never left him.
As he stared at the pathetic puke, imagining the father’s revulsion, shock and overwhelming grief once he saw his son’s corpse, he realized there might be some truth to that English proverb after all. This pledge, his death, would heal him. The father’s tears would cleanse him. It might have taken twenty-five years, but he would have righted the many wrongs he’d suffered.
Smiling, he coiled the hose, then climbed up the ladder. After he placed it into the utility room and turned off the faucet, he snagged a towel, then he returned to the basement. “I’m afraid our time has come to an end,” he said, drying his hands and moving toward the pledge.
While the boy continued to shake violently, he met his gaze. “P-please…I…won’t t-tell.”
“Silly puke,” he chuckled. “I’m not going to kill you. Don’t forget, fish is on the menu for this evening’s dinner.” He took the towel and wiped the pledge’s face. “No, what I meant was that our time has come to an end…for now.”
“You’ll be back,” the pledge said, not with fear, but with… expectancy.
He stroked the towel over the pled
ge’s hair. “You’re worried I’ll leave you to rot in the basement. Strange. I would think you’d rather I leave you alone.”
The pledge’s chin wobbled and tears filled his eyes. “I don’t want to die like this,” he said and jangled his chains.
Smiling, he tossed the towel over his shoulder, then walked backward toward the ladder. “I told you I was a man of my word and you believed me, yes? Well, my dear puke, I promise that you won’t die like this.” He swept his hand around the former root cellar with the dramatic flair of a thespian, then turned off the lantern. The basement now bathed in blackness, he stepped onto the ladder and began his ascent. When he reached the top, he said, “No, you won’t die like this. But after tonight, you will wish you had.”
As the pledge screamed, he sealed the trapdoor.
Chapter 8
Rachel leaned into the leather seat, enjoying the Lexus’s butt warmer, but loving the way Owen clenched his jaw even more. His “crabby face” gave her pleasure, especially with the way he’d treated her last night. Screw him. Who was he to say whether or not she could or should mix business with pleasure? Who was he to judge her or assume Jake wasn’t interested? Again, she wanted nothing to do with Jake. Although not hard on the eyes, and a nice, intelligent guy, he just didn’t do it for her. Why Owen did, she still couldn’t be sure. He’d shattered her confidence when he’d left her under the mistletoe last year, and had knocked her ego down a few pegs last night with his assumptions.
Still, she couldn’t help the deep satisfaction warming her more than the Lexus’s seat. She might not have the skills of a field agent, but she could read people. Owen normally kept his emotions hidden behind a smile or joke. This morning, he hadn’t hidden anything. He’d been clearly ticked off. She’d assumed his anger had something to do with her blowing off his advice about Jake. Once Jake had entered the House of Joy, she’d realized she might be wrong. With the way Owen had acted—surly came to mind—toward Jake, if she didn’t know better, she’d think he was…jealous.
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