by Heather Mace
“I know I tore your life apart, Mac,” she continued. She was relieved to have the knife out of her flesh. “I didn’t mean to.”
“You didn’t mean to?” He roared, smacked her, and then squeezed her face.
She tried to shake her head. She felt tears rolling from her eyes. “I,” she choked a little. He let go of her face and squinted at her. She continued before he started cutting again. “I’m sick, Mac. I’ve got problems, mental problems. I don’t know how to have a healthy relationship.”
He shook his head slightly. One part of his brain screamed that this was all bullshit. Another part thought he’d finally made her see that she had been the problem all along.
“The more I…” she started sobbing, “the more I care about someone, the more of a train wreck I become.”
“You ruined my life.”
“I know.”
“I was just about to get on with Comal County Jail.”
“I know. And you would have had a straight shot at being a deputy from there,” she repeated what he’d spat at her so many times. “I know what I cost you. I hate myself for it.”
He slapped her. “It seems more like you hated me.”
“It was easier to blame you than face what I had done.”
He abruptly got off of her, and off of the bed. He paced the short width of the house a couple of times and went back to sit in the old chair. “I think you’re bullshitting me, Jen. I’m not a moron. I’m still going to kill you.”
“I know. I understand.”
No begging? He thought. He allowed himself to wonder if she was telling the truth. She accepted what she had done to him, taken responsibility, and was willing to pay for her crime.
“No,” he said.
“No?”
“Derrick said you’d try and trick me.”
She turned her head as much as she could and looked at him. “Who’s Derrick?”
“John Derrick. He’s a buddy of mine from the prison. Women have done him just like you’ve done me. You hear about that dead girl in the park? That was his work. He knows what women are capable of. He learned the hard way. And he warned me that you would say anything, and do anything to get out of being punished.”
She looked away. “I’m not trying to get out of it anymore.”
Malcolm stared at her for a long time. He jabbed the tip of the knife into the top of the cooler and left it standing at an angle. He stood up and took his shirt off, dropping it on the chair behind him. He kicked off his shoes, and took a step toward the daybed.
Jennifer could see him in her peripheral vision. She knew that if she resisted, or cried, or did anything to make him doubt her sincerity, he would slice her up and then kill her. She forced herself to turn and look at him again. She tried to project guilt and acceptance, while choking down the bile creeping up the back of her throat.
He stepped over to the bed and unbuttoned the jeans that she had hastily put back on in his earlier absence. He pulled the pants down over her ankles and dropped them on the floor. Malcolm unbuckled his belt, watching, waiting for any sign that she was lying to him.
She watched him with horror churning in her gut and serenity plastered on her face. She looked at the bulge growing beneath the denim. She watched him slide out of his jeans. He took one last step toward her and then dropped to the floor in an unconscious heap.
12
Though it was her day off, Monica had been monitoring her radio all day. She had been waiting for any word or movement on both the missing college girl, and Jennifer Golden. She had been relieved to find out that Terry Smith was located unharmed. She had grave doubts that the same would be true for Jennifer.
She turned down the volume to answer her phone. “Hey, Judy,” she said seeing her friend’s name on caller ID. “What’s up.” She turned the volume down on her police radio.
“You know I’m curious by nature.”
“Once a cop, always a cop.”
“Something like that,” Judy said. “So I did a little digging on Malcolm Cole after you brought up his name the other day. My ex is his attorney. I didn’t bother to call Leslie, because she takes client privilege very seriously. But…”
Monica sat up a little straighter and switched her radio off. “Yes?”
“Even with my resources it’s taken me a few days to come up with anything that seemed useful. I found a thin connection between Cole and a guy named Wade Jansen. Cole listed him as next of kin on a form he filled out. I haven’t been able to figure out yet if he is, or isn’t, a legitimate relative to Cole. But the interesting part, is that Jansen owns a piece of property out in Comal County. From my view on Google maps, it looks like it’s right smack in the middle of nowhere.”
Monica was already up, grabbing her wallet, keys, badge, gun, and blue tooth. “Text me the location, Judy. I have to check this out”
“You keep in touch. It should take you around forty-five minutes to get there. If I don’t hear from you in fifty minutes, I’m calling Comal County.”
“I’ll let Detective Sherman know where I’m headed. You didn’t come by this information by any illegal means did you?”
“No. It’s all legit. Stay safe.”
***
Jennifer looked over the side of the bed at Mac’s unconscious form. For a split second, she was elated, at the thought that he had dropped dead. Almost immediately she realized that if he were dead, she would likely starve to death cuffed to the filthy daybed.
She grasped the bed frame with both hands and pulled herself into a reclining position. She pulled her knees up and used her legs to turn herself over so that her hands were on the frame and her knees on the bed.
She looked more closely at Malcolm and realized that he was still breathing. She slid the cuff attached to the frame, down toward the mattress as far as it would go and slipped her feet to the floor. She stretched out with her left leg and got her big toe on her discarded jeans. She carefully slid the jeans toward her until they were right under her. She sat back on the bed with her arms positioned awkwardly to the side of her body. After several attempts, she was able to use her feet to pull the pants up far enough to catch a belt loop with her right hand.
Jen took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. Getting her legs into the jeans was going to be tricky. Her heart was pounding, her breathing was labored, her right eye was almost swollen shut, and to make matters worse, for the first time since she had awakened, she had to pee.
On her first try, she got her left leg into the right leg of the pants. She held tightly onto the belt loop, slid her leg out, and tried again. She got the left leg in and changed positions to try for the right.
Malcolm stirred.
She froze and stared at him until he seemed to lapse back into unconsciousness. She hurriedly got the jeans on, stood as best she could, and pulled them up to her waist. She slid the handcuffs upward along the rail and moved her body closer to her hands so she could get the zipper pulled up. While she worked the zipper, she was eyeing his blue jeans, hoping she could reach them and pull them to her. With any luck, the keys to the handcuffs, the house, and his truck would be in the pocket.
Malcolm groaned at her feet and started to move his arms.
She sat quickly back on the bed and nudged him with her toes. “Mac,” she said. “Mac, wake up.” He settled for a second. Jen sat very still, watching him. When she was just about convinced that he wasn’t going to wake up, he reached out and grabbed her ankle. Startled, she gasped, and then tried to cover her reaction. “Mac,” wake up.
He pulled himself to a sitting position and rubbed at his head. “What the fuck did you do to me,” he slurred.
“I didn’t do anything. You just collapsed.”
He squinted up at her. “What are you doing?” He started to climb unsteadily to his feet. “You did this,” he said more clearly. He grabbed her thigh roughly and pulled h
imself up onto the bed. Still hanging onto her, he leaned his face in close to hers and spat out, “you, did this to me.” He pinched her thigh, and yanked at the leg of her blue jeans. “Going somewhere?”
“I was trying to get dressed so I could figure out how to get you to a hospital.”
“Bullshit,” he shouted into her face. “You want me dead.” With his free hand he smacked her in the face again.
She felt the cheek under her swollen eye split open. “No, Mac. No,” she pulled back from him. She started to cry. “After everything else I’ve taken from you, I can’t take your life, too. Please, I don’t know what’s wrong with you. We need to get you some help.”
“You think I’m that stupid?”
“No. We can go to the hospital. You can leave me tied up in the truck. Nobody has to know I’m there. I can’t have your death on my conscience along with everything else I’ve done.”
He blinked and his head listed to the side. “I don’t,” he moved away, falling into a sitting position on the bed next to her, “feel very good. What the fuck?” He put his hand over the lump on his head. “Shit, Jen, am I dying?”
She kept her mouth shut, hoping he’d drop dead and that his keys would be in reach when he did. If not, she would roll his corpse out of the way and drag the bed all over the house to figure out where the keys were.
“You know what? I believe you, maybe I’m a fool, but I believe you’re sorry for what you did to me.”
The surge of hope that she might get out of this alive made Jen’s heart skip a beat.
“And I want to forgive you. I need to forgive you.” He struggled to his feet and swayed when he leaned down to pick up his jeans.
As he pulled up and fastened his pants, she eyed the pockets, looking for a sign that they were laden with a ring full of keys.
“This is going to be a fitting end for us, Jen.”
“Me saving your life? You forgiving me?”
He looked at her, puzzled as to how she could come up with such a ludicrous idea. “No,” he caressed her cheek, “us dying together.” He pulled the keys out of his pocket and staggered, barefoot and shirtless out the front door.
13
Martinez reached the turnoff to Jansen’s property just as dusk was settling in. She punched the button on her blue tooth and sent a voice text to Judy letting her know she was going in search of the dirt road. She turned onto what was left of a potholed, badly paved road that was thick with cedar trees on either side. It was passable by two cars in most places, but the depths of the holes that pockmarked the asphalt would make a fast getaway impossible after night completely blanketed the landscape. She wove toward to the end of the road, passing only one unpaved property entrance along the way. She did a U-turn at the end of the street and cut the headlights.
She pulled out her cell phone and took a dim photo of the property entrance that was roughly fifteen yards in front of her vehicle. She prepared a text for Sherman with the location, the property owner’s name and the photo. She used her thumbs to type in her message: Came into some info on acquaintance of Malcolm Cole. Possible location for Jen G? Going in on foot to check for activity. Will report back if it appears inhabited. She silenced the ringer on her phone and slipped it into her back pocket.
***
The call came in as Glade was chewing the last bite of his dinner. “Glade,” he answered with his mouth full.
“The warrant came through,” Jones informed him. “If Cole’s phone is turned on, we should have his location shortly. I’ll text you as soon as we know where he is. Saddle up, Glade, and pray that we get to her in time.”
“We’ll be ready, Jones. I hope you don’t need our services when we get there.”
***
With the one eye that she could still see out of, Jen watched in horror as Malcolm carried in a bottle of charcoal starter fluid and set it down on the counter. She couldn’t help but thinking that she’d rather be beaten her to death, than to be burned alive. She was pretty sure she’d run out of options.
She had somehow convinced him that she cared about him, and that she was sorry for everything she had done. Yet, in the end, she was to die at his hands anyway. Both escape and rescue now seemed equally impossible. Her only hope was that he’d pass out again. Unfortunately, he seemed to have grown stronger since his earlier episode. He was searching through cabinets, no doubt looking for matches.
Stalling him was all she had left. Maybe if she could slow him down, she could still find a way to talk him out of his plan. Failing that, maybe she could just convince him to shoot her instead. “Mac, what are you doing?”
“I’m looking for matches.”
As she suspected. “For?”
“We’re gonna burn together, Jen.”
“Do I get a last request?”
He paused and looked at her quizzically.
“I saw you bring in food earlier. Can’t we have one last meal together?”
His hands dropped to his sides. “It’s not much,” he said, “just sandwiches.”
“It doesn’t matter what we eat. I just want to spend a little more time with you before we go.”
“Okay.” He opened another drawer. “But I need to find some matches first.”
“Mac,” she said sharply.
He looked up, clearly irked by her tone.
“If you don’t have any matches can’t you just use the gun?”
He stared at her for a long time. He closed the drawer and nodded. “What do you want on your sandwich?”
“Anything. Hey, I don’t suppose I could pee before we eat?”
He stared at her again. It seemed it was taking longer, and longer for him to process each new concept. “I’ll get you a bucket.” He rounded the corner of the counter and stopped, grabbing at the counter with one hand, and his head with the other. “It’s getting worse,” he said. “You’re gonna have to hold it. I have to make dinner.” Keeping his hand on the counter, he went back around and dug into the grocery bag.
***
Halfway up the dirt drive, Martinez spotted a late model pickup parked just off the side of the road. She stood still at the edge of the trees that lined the driveway and watched the truck for a few minutes. When she was satisfied that there was no movement, she drew her weapon, pointed it at the ground and crept toward the vehicle. She was surprised to find the hood warm when she laid her hand against it.
***
“We got a location,” Glade said, tapping on the screen of his cell phone. “Crap. It’s all the way up in Comal County. Jones has already called the department up there and gotten them mobilized.”
“Are we still going?” Sherman asked.
“Well, I am. Are you coming?”
“Of course.”
“Good,” Glade said, “I’ll send the location to your phone so you can navigate.”
Detective Sherman pulled out his phone on the way to the car and found that he had received a text from Martinez several minutes ago. He opened her text while he waited for Glade’s to come through. “Shit,” he said when he read it. He switched to Glade’s text and compared the locations. “Shit, Glade. Martinez is already out there.”
“What the fuck?”
“She got a tip.”
“Son of a bitch!” Glade pounded on the steering wheel and pulled out of the parking lot.
Sherman’s phone signaled that a new text had come in. It was an update from Martinez that she had found a recently driven vehicle on the property and was now certain that someone was there. He relayed the information to Glade.
“Tell her to get out of sight. Tell her we’re on our way, but we’re at least thirty minutes out. Tell her Comal County is on the way, too. Then call Comal and let them know we have an idiot officer on the scene already. Then tell her if she survives this, I am going to kill her myself.”
Sherman was typing as fast as his fingers could move.
14
Malcolm had switched on all of the battery-operated lanterns, and distributed them around the daybed and the recliner. He carried two halves of a sandwich over and handed one piece to Jennifer. He cut the zip tie with his pocketknife, freeing her left hand. Keeping his half of the sandwich he dropped onto the recliner and stared at her. His movements were clumsy and his thought processes were obviously getting slower.
“Thank you,” she held up the sandwich.
“Our last meal,” he said flatly. The hand with which he held his sandwich was resting on his leg. “I feel…” his shook his head slowly, as if trying to clear the cobwebs. He closed his eyes for several seconds.
Jennifer watched him, hoping he’d lost consciousness again. When his eyes fluttered open she spoke with feigned concern, “Mac, are you alright?”
“I don’ know wha’ the hell is wrong with me.”
Jennifer knew it was because of the blow to the head. But if Malcolm hadn’t worked it out on his own, she wasn’t about to tell him she was the cause of yet another problem for him.
“Eat fast. I’m gonna get the gun.” He laid his sandwich on the torn up arm of the chair and pulled himself to his feet. He swayed a bit.
They were both startled by a knock at the door.
After a beat, Malcolm yelled, “what?” with surprising volume and clarity.
“Wade? Is that you?” A woman’s voice asked from the other side of the door.
“Wade’s not here,” Malcolm answered.
“I got a package for him by mistake. Can I leave it with you?”
Malcolm looked at Jennifer with concern.
“Who’s Wade,” she asked quietly.
“My great uncle. He’s dead, though.” He looked back at the door and shouted, “just leave it. I’ll get it later.”
“The Fed-Ex guy said it was some kind of government paperwork. I don’t just want to leave it outside.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Malcolm said under his breath. He looked around and spotted his shirt on the floor. He bent to pick it up and had to grab the bed frame to steady himself. He tossed the shirt at Jennifer. “Put this on and keep your mouth shut.” He waited for her to work the shirt over her head and get her left arm through the sleeve. He nodded his approval and went to the door, fishing his keys out of his pocket on the way. He turned the key in the deadbolt and pulled the door open just wide enough to look out.
