by Sean Platt
She stared at the reporter’s name, finger hovering over the CALL button.
She set the phone down, went into the living room, grabbed her pills and the bottle of Jack, and went back into the bathroom.
She took two pills, washed them down, and set both bottles on the sink.
Then she dialed.
* * * *
CHAPTER 19 - JESSI PRICE
Jessi Price couldn’t sleep.
She sat in the bed in Officer Bob’s secret room, staring at the ceiling, lit only by the glow of the pink night light.
She wished she’d never gotten in the car.
Officer Bob had told Jessi that he’d been sent by her father and that she had to keep it a secret from her mom because if they got caught, her dad would go to jail. He said that her mom was a very bad person and that she was trying to hurt Jessi’s dad. He was going to help her reunite with him.
Her parents had been arguing a lot on the phone. She hadn’t seen her dad in more than six months, and missed him terribly. That was why she got in the car. She missed her daddy more than she missed her cat, Mable, who died last year.
She had thought the police officer was telling the truth when he said he wanted to help Jessi and her father.
But the more she thought about it now, he probably wasn’t even a cop.
What was he?
Who was he?
Was his name even Bob?
And why did he take her?
Why was he hiding her in this room, if her dad wasn’t coming?
She wanted to ask him, but there was something scary about the man. Even though he’d been perfectly nice until now, there were times when they were eating, and she’d catch him staring at her in a weird way. She always looked away, never asked why he was looking at her like that. Doing so was rude, and she wasn’t ever supposed to be rude to adults. Besides, the question might anger him.
Officer Bob had never let her outside, or even upstairs in the main house. He said that she had to hide here, that he was risking his job to help her father. He also said that she had to follow his rules — stay quiet, be good, and listen to what he told her to do.
Officer Bob said that those were her father’s instructions.
And Jessi wanted to believe him.
But in the dark of the night, in this strange bed in this room that wasn’t hers, she no longer could.
Jessi realized with a sudden certainty, the only way she would ever see either of her parents again was to break this man’s rules.
* * * *
WEDNESDAY
OCT. 18
CHAPTER 20 - PAUL DODD
Paul arranged the two plates of eggs, toast, and sausages on the tray, adding a decorative flourish — an orange slice and parsley — to each breakfast. He wrapped a fork into a pink linen for her, then a fork and knife in a white linen for him, and smiled. The presentation would be worthy of an Instagram photo if he chose to dabble in such mindless trivialities.
He glanced at the clock. It was five fifteen. He’d wanted to wake up a bit earlier today so he could have breakfast with Jessi. She hadn’t eaten at all yesterday. He should be there to make sure she got something in her stomach.
He carried the tray to The Room, opened the door, turned on the light, and saw Jessi still asleep, covered in blankets.
“Good morning, sweetheart. Officer Bob made a yummy breakfast!”
The girl didn’t move.
He sat the plate on the dresser, then went to shake her gently.
He reached out, touching her shoulder under the blankets.
Jessi didn’t move.
His heart began to race, a panic swelling in the pit of his stomach.
Oh, God. She’s dead.
Then she moaned and moved beneath the covers.
He sighed with relief and pulled the blanket aside.
She turned away, burying her face in the pillow.
“Come on, sleepy head. I’m going to eat breakfast with you.”
She turned, looking at him, confusion knitting her brow. “Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s not here yet. But he will be. This weekend.”
“I need to pee.” She got up, went to the bathroom, and closed the door behind her. She probably would have locked it if she could.
Paul waited, listening as she pissed, wondering if today would be a turning point, that she’d eat something and maybe find a better mood. There was nothing worse than having someone who so obviously didn’t want to be there, who fought you every step of the way. That made it difficult to enjoy the moment when they finally made love. It reminded Paul of the angry women he dated back before he gave up on ever having a real relationship.
The door opened.
“Did you wash your hands?”
She looked at Paul and shook her head.
He pointed to the bathroom.
She turned, went back inside, washed her hands, then came back out and headed to the bed. She started to crawl back under the covers.
“Nope. First, we eat.”
She looked back at him, groggily, eyes with dark circles around them. He wondered if she’d been up all night crying.
He carried the tray to her bed, set it down, then took a seat at the corner.
Jessi sat up, looking at the plate, then at him suspiciously. “What is it?”
“Eggs and sausage.”
“I don’t like eggs.”
“Have you ever had them?”
“No.”
“You’ve never had eggs?” he laughed. “How could you have never had eggs?”
“I dunno.”
“Then how do you know you don’t like them?”
“I dunno,” she said, her stomach growling.
He picked up a fork, dipped it into the eggs on her plate, stabbed it through, and lifted the fork to her mouth. “Open up.”
She shook her head, lips pursed.
“Come on, at least try them. If you don’t like them after you try them, then you don’t have to eat them.”
“I don’t want to.”
He set her fork on her plate. “Do you like sausage?”
She looked at the plate nervously.
“It’s good.” He said picked up his fork and knife, cut a piece of sausage, then raised it to his mouth.
He made an mmm sound as he swallowed the warm, peppery meat. “You never had sausage?”
She looked at it like she couldn’t remember. “Do you have ketchup?”
He chuckled. “Ah, ketchup. I should’ve thought to bring that. Ketchup makes everything great, even eggs! Do you want ketchup?”
She nodded, and he’d swear something close to a smile tugged her mouth at the corners.
He stood, crossed the room to her door, closed and locked it from the outside, then headed into the kitchen. He smiled as he thought of her almost smiling. Maybe ketchup would be the thing to bond them.
He laughed at the idea of something so silly making such a difference, but he should’ve known better. On the days he had lunch duty, his kids slathered their food in ketchup. And those little moppets would put it on everything — French fries, meatloaf, potatoes, pizza, corn bread, pretty much anything you put on their plate that wasn’t sweet, was worthy of ketchup.
He grabbed the bottle from the fridge and headed back into the room, hopeful for the first time since bringing Jessi home.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and held up the bottle. “Ta-da!”
She looked up at him, with a nervous half-smile.
He opened the cap and plopped a dollop onto her plate. “That enough?”
She looked at it, then back up at him. “A little more?”
He added a second dollop, then added some on his plate.
She wiped the eggs off of her fork, stabbed a piece of sausage, dipped it in the ketchup, then took a bite.
“Here, let me cut that for you,” he said, going to grab his knife.
But it wasn’t on the plate.
He looked at her plate, th
en up at her. “You see my knife?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it fell under the bed when you got up.”
He looked at the ground but saw nothing. The blanket was draped there, so the knife might have been covered.
He got on all fours, then looked under the bed. It was too dark to see far, so he reached under the bed, feeling around.
“Hmm,” he said, rising, “I can’t—”
And then she stabbed him.
* * * *
CHAPTER 21 - JESSI PRICE
Jessi plunged the knife at the man, aiming for his neck.
But he raised his hand, catching the blade as she stabbed.
He screamed.
Blood gushed from one hand as he grabbed the knife with another.
She saw the open door behind him.
A voice in her head yelled, Run!
She was afraid to do it, just as she’d been afraid to stab him.
But she couldn’t stay in the room. Because now he was really angry.
She jumped out of bed and raced toward the door.
She was almost halfway out when he grabbed her by the hair.
She stopped.
Then he swung her backward with a loud scream.
She slammed into the wall.
“You ungrateful little bitch!”
She looked up to see him standing over her, blood dripping from his hand, all over his face and the front of his shirt.
His eyes were red and wide, his teeth like a dog’s.
He wound back to strike her.
“I’m sorry, mister,” she said, raising her hands. “Please, don’t—”
He grabbed Jessi’s arms, yanked her up off the ground, and dragged her toward the bathroom door.
Oh no, what is he gonna do?
He’s going to kill me.
I hurt him, and now he’s about hurt me.
She tried to kick and pull away, but the man was too strong.
He shoved her into the bathroom.
She fell hard to the tile floor.
Instead of coming into the bathroom with her, he slammed the door.
She sat on the ground, crying, staring at the door, waiting to see if he’d come in.
She heard the door lock.
The lights went out, and she remembered that the switch was outside the bathroom.
“See how you like being in a dark room all day!”
He stomped out of the room, then slammed her dungeon door.
She got up, went to the bathroom door to see if it would open.
But of course, it wouldn’t.
She was trapped in the darkness.
Jessi fell to the ground and sobbed.
* * * *
CHAPTER 22 - PAUL DODD
Paul slammed the door then locked it, growling as he stared down at his gashed palm.
How the hell am I supposed to explain that to people at work?
He couldn’t believe the little bitch had stabbed him, and after he was trying to do something nice by getting her ketchup. She’d seemed so sweet when he’d first laid eyes on her. Not the kind of girl who would do something like this.
But maybe her change was starting early. The same change that had turned his sister into a bitch who ruined his life. The same change that turned all little girls into devious fucking little cunts. Why couldn’t they stay nice and innocent forever? Was it some cruel trick by God? Some biological thing that determined women were better off by becoming horrible bitches? Whatever it was, Paul didn’t like it. Not one fucking bit.
With each girl, he hoped it would be different. That they would be the one to appreciate him for who he was, that they’d see his actions as a kindness, that he was trying to preserve them in a world out to poison them.
But not a single one had seen the light.
That’s why none lasted longer than a couple of days after their tenth birthday. Jessi Price wouldn’t suffer the same fate. He wouldn’t wait an hour after the clock struck midnight to finish her off.
He cleaned his wound in the bathroom, noting that the cut wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. It looked awful with the blood flowing, but holding a bandage on it, Paul saw that he’d be fine. He washed his wound a final time, dressed it, then wrapped himself in a bandage.
That gave him an idea. So delicious that it caused him to smile.
No, he wouldn’t kill her right away.
He’d keep this one longer, prolonging the pain.
He quickly showered, found a change of clothes, then grabbed his computer bag and headed out to his car.
He got in, keyed the ignition, and … nothing.
“What the fuck?”
He tried again.
Nothing.
“Damn it!” Paul hit the steering wheel with his banged up hand.
He screamed, realizing the error as pain shot through his hand and arm.
“Fuck!” he banged again, this time with his good fist.
He grabbed his phone and found the number for a local cab service.
No response.
“What the fuck?” He got out of his car and glared at the broken Infiniti.
He looked up and down his street for any sign of someone leaving for work, but nobody was out. Paul didn’t know any of his neighbors well enough to ask for a ride. And it wasn’t a good idea to start asking for favors, and possibly invite unwanted attention into his affairs.
“Fuck it,” he said, gripping his bag and walking down the block. He was less than a mile from a bus stop for a route that went by his work. He’d used it once before when his battery died. He wasn’t a fan of buses, particularly the dregs of humanity that rode them, but it was his only solution if he expected to arrive at work on time.
He grabbed the phone from his pocket, called the front desk, left a message saying he might be a few minutes late, and asked if they could pull a sub to watch his class until he got there.
As he walked to the bus stop, Paul wondered what the hell he’d done to warrant such a shitty morning.
* * * *
CHAPTER 23 - JASPER PARISH
Jasper and Jordyn drove to the beginning of the bus’s route early in the morning, timing it so they’d be on the bus passing Rooster’s at around the same time as the killer.
Jasper took a seat in the back, while Jordyn claimed one a row ahead.
The bus was half-full with the saddest lot that Jasper had ever seen — the tired, the poor, the huddled masses all on their way to jobs they hated, or night shift workers heading home from their graveyard misery.
Nobody talking.
Nobody chatting.
Nobody smiling.
It was too early for pleasantries.
Jordyn was listening to loud music through her ear buds while reading a book on her phone. Each time the bus stopped, she looked up, scanning incoming riders for the white man with a bandaged hand.
Jasper watched and waited from behind dark shades and a faded Miami Marlins cap. He was dressed in old jeans, a ratty shirt, and a black leather jacket, looking more like a tired, possibly homeless man than a vigilante hunting for a child killer.
They were one stop from Roosters, and still no one fit the bill. As the bus pulled to a stop and nobody boarded, Jasper wondered if they’d timed the schedule wrong. Or maybe Jordyn was off on the date or time.
Maybe he should get off, wait for the next bus.
Outside, someone was sprinting in the early morning darkness, trying to catch the bus before it pulled away from the stop.
“Driver,” Jasper called out. “Someone’s coming!”
The driver looked back in his rearview, seemingly annoyed, likely eager to get on with his day.
He stopped and waited for the straggler.
The man boarded the bus: tall, good-looking, white with curly brown hair and a bandaged left hand.
Jasper pretended to look out the window, using the reflective glass to watch the man walk the aisle toward them.
He took a seat in the middle, seeming to keep
his distance from the unwashed masses.
He sat and rifled through his computer bag, looking flustered as he did. Jasper wondered if he was looking for something lost, or checking to make sure he left the house with everything he intended to. Seemingly satisfied, he zipped the bag closed, then leaned back and sighed.
They passed Roosters, and just as Jordyn had seen, he checked his phone.
Jordyn glanced back at Jasper, smiling.
Jasper smiled back.
I’ve got you now.
**
The bus had been driving for fifteen minutes, stopping every half mile or so for pick-ups and drop-offs. Jasper ignored them all, holding his focus on the man.
He thought not only of the fact that this man had killed the cop’s kid, but also about Jessi Price. Assuming the kidnapped girl was still alive — hardly a safe assumption, particularly given his hand — Jasper had to figure out the best way to save her.
He had two options: follow the man to his job, wait for the end of his workday, then follow him home and strike.
But that was risky.
If the man figured out he was being followed, he’d probably run. Jasper was in excellent shape but wasn’t willing to put the little girl’s life into a test of his ability to chase down this killer.
That meant the equally dangerous second option.
The bus stopped alongside a busy street corner surrounded by several storefronts and restaurants.
The man stood.
This is his stop.
Jasper had to act.
The killer was among four people standing to disembark, one in the front, the others in the back. He was second in a line of three waiting for the back door to hiss open.
Jasper got out of his seat, casually so as not to attract attention.
Jordyn stood, too.
The back door hissed open.
The three people in line began to step off the bus.
Jasper moved toward the doorway but was blocked when a tiny old black woman in a waitress’s uniform got up and clogged the aisle.
