The metal poker slipped from his other hand and dropped to the rock with a clank. Gripping the boy’s face with both hands now, he rested his forehead against the pledge’s. “That’s what Mother said was important. Vengeance.” His tears burned a path down his cheeks, and as he rested his face against the puke’s, he realized the boy cried, too. Their tears mingled and bathed each other’s faces.
Awareness caused him to draw a sharp intake of breath. He raised his head and stared at the pledge. Never had he touched a pledge in this way. He’d never once allowed any of them to see his weakness, to see the pain that still haunted him. For some inexplicable reason, this new cognizance didn’t bother him. He touched his wet cheek, relished that he couldn’t tell the difference between his tears and the pledge’s. And, as if he’d been baptized by the chosen one, by his savior, his heart and soul lightened with hope.
“Yes,” he hissed and gripped the pledge by the shoulders. “You will save me, won’t you? You will take me out of Hell Week and make me whole again.” Grinning, he wiped the boy’s wet cheek. “I will owe you for an eternity.”
The pledge’s watery, bloodshot eyes shifted nervously with confusion. “I…I don’t understand, sir.”
Reeling at the thought that all was not lost, that Junior’s fuck up might have been a blessing in disguise, he stepped away from the pledge. No doubt, his anger for her remained and she would be punished…eventually. For now, though, he’d tap into some of his mother’s mantra.
Be a man…get your revenge.
“All in good time, Puke.” His step a little lighter, his world a little brighter, he moved to the corner of the cellar. He picked up the can of yellow paint he’d purchased months ago, along with a paint tray and roller. “Has anyone ever called you a coward?” he asked as he poured the canary yellow paint into the tray.
“Yes,” the puke answered quickly.
After wiping the paint can clean of any drips, he looked at the pledge. The boy stood tall now and no longer dangled from his restraints. There was a fierce glint in his eyes that he admired. No. This pledge was no coward, not like the others who sniveled, whined and begged for release.
“Who?” he asked, curious.
The pledge raised his chin. “My father.”
He smiled. “That doesn’t surprise me. But you do realize that your father is the coward. He preys on those he deems weaker than him rather than battling those who are his equal or stronger. He’s pitiful.”
The internal struggle the puke suddenly dealt with was evident in his eyes. He’d bet the boy, who had defended his father just the other day, didn’t know whether to agree with his assessment or support the demon who’d spawned him.
“You know my dad?”
He dipped the roller in the paint tray until every inch had turned yellow. “Yes,” he admitted. “Quite well. You can thank him for your current situation.” Standing, roller in hand, he approached the boy. “And while I do not find you cowardly in any way, I must keep up with tradition.”
Using the puke’s body as his canvas, he painted. Rolling over his concave stomach, his bony ribs, skinny legs and arms, his mangled foot, then across his face. When he forced the pledge to turn, which must have put a tremendous strain on the boy’s shoulders based on the pain crossing his face, he painted the puke’s back. Covered all of the open sores and abrasions as he ran the roller over his knotty spine. After he righted the boy again, he looked at his artwork. “Voila.”
He returned the roller, tray and paint can to the corner. “Normally, this is where we would have stopped for the night, but something has come up that has forced me to shorten Hell Week.” He paused. “I believe, technically, we won’t be able to call this Hell Week considering a week consists of seven days.” He shrugged. “We’ll just call this…Hell.”
“Sir?” Junior’s voice drifted from the upstairs foyer. “Can I come down?”
“May I come down?” He shook his head. “My daughter is showing signs of her idiocy left and right today,” he muttered to the pledge, who stared at him with a strange mixture of confusion and hatred.
“Yes, Junior. You may come down.” When she reached the bottom rung, she looked first at the pledge, then to him. “So glad you could join us,” he said. “Thanks to you, I’ve been forced to add more calisthenics to this evening’s agenda.”
She frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Doesn’t know what I mean?” Guffawing, he approached the pledge and pressed a finger to his painted chest. “Still a bit tacky, but I see no sense in waiting.”
“Sir.” She took a step forward. “I really don’t understand.”
In a heartbeat, he knocked her back, pinning her against the ladder’s rungs. Holding her by the throat, her thick coat no protection against his ire, he slammed her head against the rung. “Don’t.” Breathing hard, he tightened his grip. Satisfaction oozed into him when her eyes bulged and her face reddened. “Don’t lie to me, Junior. I know what you did. I know all about the security guard.”
Mouth gaping open, she clawed at his hands. He could easily kill her. He could easily dispose of her like he had with the others. There was plenty of room at the bottom of the old well, and he owned plenty of muriatic acid and lye. But she did serve a purpose and he might still have use for her. His reach was far, but she could infiltrate areas with inconspicuous ease. Should things become…complicated, he would need to quickly dispose of the pledge and leave Bola. Permanently. When this was over, he’d kill her. She didn’t deserve to carry on his legacy. Her ineptness, her lack of respect for Hell Week, for him, was the proof.
Releasing her, he stepped away and moved toward the pledge. Her wheezy inhale, her coughing and pathetic sputtering echoed off the rock walls. The sounds were quite nice, triumphant, really. Hopefully his daughter would remember this moment should he give her another assignment. He refused to tolerate another one of her fuck ups.
Rubbing her throat, she leaned against the ladder. “I’m sorry, sir,” she rasped, then cleared her throat. “I…I should have told you, but I wanted to prove my worth to you. Show you I can clean up any mess.”
“Fool,” he shouted and reached for his belt buckle. “You created this mess. You should have never involved that stupid Townie in the first place.” He whipped the belt free from his pants, held both ends together until the leather strips were taut. “The sheriff and those buffoon, rent-a-cops are going to be more determined than ever to stop Hell Week.” He struck the wall with the belt, and both Junior and the pledge flinched. “Damn it! If you left any evidence—”
“I didn’t,” she said on a grating whine. “I swear.”
He stalked toward her, slapping the leather belt against his palm. “What did that security guard do to you?”
“I…what do you mean?” she whispered and stared at the belt.
“Did he sneak into your room and try to molest you? Rape you like—”
“No,” she yelled. “I used his truck to bring you your pledges. I drugged him and borrowed his truck. That’s it.”
Rage simmered under the surface. “You drugged him?”
“Yes, like I drugged him and the other guy,” she said and pointed to the puke. “How else was I supposed to bring them here?”
“How else?” he asked, and smacked the belt against his palm. “How about the way I told you? The way I thought you did. You lied to me.”
“No.”
“You lied to me and now I’m wondering how many other lies you’ve told.”
“I swear. Sir. Dad,” she pleaded. “You’ve been nothing but good to me. You took me in when I had no place else to go. You’re giving me an education…you’re giving me my life back and along with it, confidence and strength I’ve never felt before.” She dropped to her knees and hugged his legs. “Please believe me. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I wanted so badly to prove to you that I’m worthy enough to be called your daughter. Please.”
Tears streamed down her face as she looked
up at him. Part of him wanted to kick her hard enough in the jaw her teeth would pierce the back of her skull. Pride held him back. While he was used to whining and pleading from his pledges, this was different. Junior wanted acceptance. While he’d never publicly accept her as his daughter, and he would likely kill her when everything was said and done, he admired her spirit.
“Stand up,” he ordered. “Why did you use the security guard’s truck instead of luring the pledge here the way I instructed?”
“It was dark and I was afraid I’d get lost in the woods.”
“Try again. You know that path like the back of your hand.”
“Fine,” she shouted. “I was afraid, okay? I didn’t want to be alone with them in the woods. After…after the last time I was alone with a man like that…I was afraid the two of them would…” On a sob, she turned away.
Stupid girl. She should have been upfront with him. He would have found another method to obtain his pledge. “Understood,” he said and kept his voice quiet, gentle. “But why kill him?”
Wiping her nose with her sleeve, she looked over her shoulder. “Those agents from Chicago wanted him to get some blood work done. If he made it to the lab, they’d know he was drugged with the same stuff I used on the kid I left on the side of the road, and him.” She jerked her head toward the puke. “So, I pretended I wanted to fool around with him, took him out into the woods where I told him I knew of a great spot, and knocked him out. Then I tied him to a tree, went back to his truck and put it in the river to get rid of any evidence I might have missed.”
Good God, maybe his daughter wasn’t as stupid as he’d thought. Still. “Why tie him to the tree, why not just kill him?”
“I needed to make sure the drug was out of his system,” she said. “Please don’t be mad at me. I know I should have told you…”
“Yes. You should have, but what’s done is done. Unfortunately I still need to move Hell Week along faster than I’d like. Rather than ending on Sunday, our puke will be initiated Friday evening.”
“Friday? That’s so soon.”
“I know. Not enough time to fully enjoy myself. As much as I hate to deviate from my plan, I must improvise.” Belt raised, he approached the pledge. “Starting now.”
The leather whistled through the air just before it cracked along the boy’s abdomen. The puke howled in pain and twisted his body to avoid the next blow. And as he wielded blow after blow, just as the puke’s father had done to him twenty-five years ago, he released his rage on the pledge. The boy might not deserve the pain and torture, but he couldn’t quite whip Junior.
Yet.
*
The darkness normally scares me. Most nights I lie in this hospital bed watching the shadows of vengeance creep along the wall, waiting for it to reach out and snare me. Drag me into a living nightmare that just won’t quit. And while those shadows linger, tonight they’re not dragging me into the fringes of madness. Excitement has replaced fear. Tonight sleep eludes me, but not because I refuse to give into the nightmares, but because my thoughts are solely on tomorrow and the hope the new day will bring.
I love my new soft-spoken speech therapist and her positive attitude. From the moment I awakened from the coma, my attitude has been anything but positive. Unable to move and talk, unable to forget the past and the pain I’d caused…I couldn’t find a sliver of hope in my broken heart. All I could do was endure this institution I’ve been forced to call home. Live in a shell with no means of escape. But now I not only have my dear friend, Lois, I have Bunny.
Embarrassment momentarily knots my belly, but I quickly shove it away. I didn’t quite make the best first impression with her. At least, not in my mind. But when Olivia started to tell Bunny about what had happened to me…I couldn’t handle it. I wanted to. I wanted to hear everything they had to say, everything they knew. What the police knew. Unfortunately, if anything had been said, it had happened after I’d blacked out. But that no longer matters. Yesterday, the day before, the weeks and months before that…none of it matters.
A fantastic flutter unknots my stomach, then zips and weaves its way into my chest. The heart rate monitor to the left accelerates with a series of beeps. If I could smile, I would—big and toothy. Tomorrow things will change. I believe it. I feel it.
Bunny had left early today with the promise she’d see me tomorrow. She also promised she’d bring something with her that would give me what I haven’t had in over a year and a half. Mobility. Control. Speech.
The beeping monitor rang in rapid sequences. If I don’t settle down, the nurses will burst into my room and possibly sedate me. I don’t want that. Clear headed is what I need to be if I’m going to work with Bunny tomorrow.
Closing my eyes, I picture steering my wheelchair throughout the ward. Knowing Lois, she’ll probably joke about racing her, which would be completely inappropriate and immature. It also might be the first thing I suggest we do when I finally have the chance to talk. Bunny explained that my voice would be synthetic for now, but that’s okay. I’ll be able to express myself. Tell Lois what a wonderful, beautiful person I think she is, and that I love her and need her to fight the cancer. Tell Lois, tell them all, that my name isn’t Jane, or Janie. Tell them to call me…
I snap my gaze to the ceiling. I’d thought my earlier hope had chased those shadows of vengeance away, but they’re here. Looming over me in a thick, foggy cloud of fear and despair.
A warm tear slips down my cheek as anxiety and dread settles in my chest and tightens my throat. I’m supposed to be dead. My killer thinks I’m dead. If I can talk, if I tell the police my name and who brought me to this place, my killer’s vengeance will be tenfold. It used to be I didn’t know enough, now I know too much.
If I talk, I’m as good as dead.
Chapter 15
Back at Joy’s, Rachel slumped on the bed and grabbed her ringing cell phone. If she hadn’t been waiting for the call from Chihiro regarding the DNA evidence—if there was any—left behind on Sean’s clothes, she would have let it roll into voice mail. She wanted, needed time to process everything that had happened today. What she needed was a good, long cry.
Before she could attend her pity party, she needed to take care of business first. Clearing her throat, she answered the phone. “Hey, Chihiro. Please tell me you have some good news.”
“Bad day?” the other woman asked.
Bill’s image didn’t pop into her head right away, but Hal’s did. When she and Owen had met him, Walter and Joy at Bill’s house, the man hadn’t bothered to hide his grief and anger. Her throat tightened and she swallowed hard as she remembered how Hal, a tough, gritty man who had served two tours in Vietnam, broke down in a way she hadn’t expected nor wanted to see again. Watching the big man openly weep over the loss of his son had torn her in two. Witnessing the way Joy had cried along with him, cradling him to her as if he were a child, had been more than she could bear. She’d been uncomfortable standing in the same room with them, surrounded by their sobs and signs of Bill. His pictures, trophies, the afghans his mother had knitted for him before she’d died, his sweet, sad Golden Retriever who had lain curled in a corner as if he knew…
“Yeah,” she finally answered. “Today was pretty bad.”
“Sorry to hear,” Chihiro said, her tone quiet, empathetic. “I emailed you the results, but wanted to go over a few that I thought might be pertinent.”
Rachel glanced at her closed laptop, but didn’t have the energy to move across the room to retrieve it. “Great, what do you have?”
“Let’s start with what I don’t have…other than Sean, there was no other human DNA on his clothes, meaning the kidnapper left no traces of himself.”
“Damn.”
“But, here are some interesting things I did find,” Chihiro said. “Dog hair—specifically from a Golden Retriever. I confirmed that with one of our techs who’s an expert on animal DNA. There were also traces of limestone and dolomite, both of which are commonly found
in the area where you’re investigating, especially along or near rivers. What really intrigued me? I found components of loose, pigmented mineral powder.”
Rachel regretted answering Chihiro’s call. The dog hair wasn’t any help at this point. Bill had been known to drive his dog around town. The limestone and dolomite weren’t much help, either. Especially if the two substances could be found all over the area. Now mineral powder? She’d been hoping for blood, or some sort of body fluid that could result in a DNA profile of their killer. Instead Chihiro was giving her a geology report.
“Okay,” she said, disappointed, and now in real need for a pity party. “Thanks for the quick turnaround. I’ll look over your email and—”
“Wait,” the tech said. “Do you realize what the pigmented mineral powder is?”
Rachel sat straighter. “I assumed it was along the lines of the other traces of minerals you found.”
“No. It’s makeup.”
“As in cosmetics?”
“Exactly.”
Moments later, after she disconnected the call with Chihiro, she stared out the window. Darkness had swallowed Bola several hours ago, but had also settled in her heart and soul. As much as she wanted to process Chihiro’s findings, she couldn’t. Not now. Not yet. Never good with emotions, she had a hard time putting her finger on the ones making her want to scream and cry. The overwhelming sadness and grief consuming her, she understood. She’d come to like Joy, and while she didn’t know Hal, he’d saved her brother. Sympathy didn’t begin to encompass the sorrow and heartache she harbored on their behalf.
A tear slipped down her cheek as she remembered watching Hal pick up a framed photograph of him and Bill. In the picture, they’d both been wearing hip-high fishing waders, and dangling large fish from hooks. Hal had lovingly stroked the photo, then turned away, his shoulders and back moving as he wept.
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