by T. R. Ragan
“What about your other brother, Randy? Can’t he protect you?”
She laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s the one I’m running from.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Miranda walked into a home theater, where the old man was shoving a handful of popcorn into his big mouth. His expression hardly changed when he looked up at her. He was sitting in one of four leather recliners, wearing a robe and white socks.
She didn’t want to give him time to grab a weapon, didn’t know if he had access to a gun or knife, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She walked straight up to him and Tasered his wrinkled chest, close to his throat.
His body jolted and convulsed.
Popcorn and drool slithered out the side of his mouth.
His bowl of popcorn jiggled in his arms, his legs straight as two-by-fours. Sadly, she didn’t get any pleasure out of torturing him.
She’d expected to feel something. Anything.
Revenge, she realized, wasn’t all it was made out to be. She’d been fantasizing about this for weeks.
As she watched him, disappointed that it had come to this, and knowing she needed to make sure he’d never hurt anyone again, she slid the strap of the bag she’d brought off her shoulder, unzipped it, and rifled through the contents until she found what she was looking for.
Her plan had been to drag him into his bedroom, that is, if he wasn’t there already, and then do all sorts of ghastly things to him. But after getting no joy out of watching him quiver and drool, she realized she wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Instead she stripped his robe and socks from his body and tossed them to the side. Next she pulled out the duct tape and began wrapping it around his chest and the leather recliner. She did the same with the bottoms of his legs, making sure he was spread-eagle.
While she waited for his breathing to normalize, she walked through the house. In the master bedroom, she found many more sex toys and disgusting gadgets than she’d expected to find. She carried a box filled with his playthings back to the TV room, where she’d left him.
It was a while before he found control of his voice and could talk, but once he got started, he wouldn’t stop. “Who are you? Why are you here? What do you want from me?”
“Whoa. Whoa, old man. Slow down.”
“Let me go right now, and I’ll pay you. Name the price.”
She took a seat on the edge of the couch and then leaned forward and dragged his disgusting box of toys closer. “I came here to kill you, but now I’m not so sure I can go through with it.”
He released a sigh.
“I was going to spend hours giving you a taste of your own medicine,” she told him. She rifled through the bag she’d brought with her and pulled out a string of firecrackers. “Guess where these were going to go?”
“You won’t get away with this, you know? Breaking into my house and making threats.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “But then again, maybe so.”
She reached into his box of toys, picked up a double dildo with sharp spikes on both ends, and held it up.
The ugly old fuck actually blushed.
“The women I see ask for those things. They beg for it.”
She pulled out a metal rod. An image of him holding it in the hotel room flashed through her mind. He’d used this very item on her. She wanted to throw up.
“They love it,” he said with delight. “Every minute of it.”
One of the walls in the room, she noticed, was some sort of secret wall you might see in a movie. The wall had been opened, and inside were shelves filled with DVDs. She walked that way and ran her finger over row after row of plastic covers. On closer view she noticed that every DVD had a label with handwritten dates and places.
“Hotel Durant, May 26, 2012. Lafayette Park Hotel, February 2, 2014,” she said aloud. “Renaissance in Walnut Creek, October 11, 2015.” She continued on for a while until she came to a DVD labeled with the hotel in San Francisco on the exact date she’d been repeatedly raped by the fucker. She pulled it from the shelf and opened the casing, then took the DVD and slipped it into the DVD player. She found the remote and returned to her seat. Ignoring his pitiful pleas to let him go, she hit “Play.”
The wireless surround-sound speakers made for incredible audio quality and intense listening, drowning out anything he had to say.
Back stiff, teeth clenched, she watched her worst nightmare being replayed on the big screen. The DVD was hours long. She lasted eighteen and a half minutes before she hit “Stop.”
Back on her feet, she retrieved the DVD, slid it back into its case, and put it in her bag. Then she looked about the room, feeling confused and off balance. Watching what he’d done to her on the big-screen TV, seeing the blissful expression on his face, and hearing his cackles of glee changed everything.
She grabbed the string of firecrackers and walked toward him, wrapped them tight around his head and neck.
As he shouted obscenities and demanded she stop, she pulled another roll of firecrackers from her bag, bigger and better bangers than the first round, and wrapped them around his dick and testicles and the upper part of his scrawny legs to keep them in place. When ignited, they would explode in rapid sequence.
She worked quickly until she had only two explosive devices left in her bag. She placed the quarter stick in his mouth, taped it there, then shoved the M-80 with the long fuse right up his asshole. With the help of a little lubricant from his box of goodies, it was a tight fit, but it worked.
With her backpack on and the long-reach multipurpose lighter in her right hand, ready to go, she lit the quarter stick and the M-80 first since they had longer fuses; then she lit the two rolls of firecrackers and ran from the room. She’d gotten about halfway down the hallway when she heard endless rounds of pop, pop, pop, and then a loud crack followed by a deafening bang.
THIRTY-FIVE
After dropping off the rental car and being shuttled back to the terminal at Orlando International Airport, Faith went straight to her gate since she didn’t have any bags to check. She was about to remove the binder from her oversize purse when something niggled at her—something about the expression on Robyn’s face and the serious tone of her voice. The woman had packed up fast. In order to escape her own brother and the people he worked with, she’d felt the need to move away, certain they would find her eventually, and just as certain they would now go after Faith, too.
These people were ruthless.
Before raiding the farmhouse, a caller had warned Faith they would come after her and her family, and that’s exactly what they were doing. Crashing right through her parents’ sliding glass door was proof that they meant business.
Had they been watching her parents’ house? Did they know Faith’s mom had been the only one home? Maybe they didn’t care either way. Whether the attack on her mom was to teach Faith a lesson for causing trouble or some other reason, she didn’t know.
And at the moment, the reason wasn’t important. She glanced at the clock. She had less than an hour before it would be time to board. She stood, looked around, then headed for the restroom.
She went to the last stall, sat on the toilet, pulled out the binder, and flipped it open. The first few pages were assorted newspaper clippings about the attack at Faith’s house in Granite Bay on Rolling Greens Lane. There were many pictures of Lara and Hudson and many articles, mostly speculation about who might have taken them and why. There was a clipping from a journal in Auburn, California, that mentioned Faith’s frustration with the police and how she’d let her anger get the best of her and ended up in jail. In one of the margins was a handwritten note about Faith doing everything she could to find her children.
When someone entered the stall next to hers, Faith stopped reading. She didn’t breathe until that same person washed her hands and left the room.
She turned the page. There was a handwritten note signed by Richard.
Robyn, I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you and t
he family. Too many innocent people have been harmed and or killed. And for what? In the end, I got everything I thought I wanted—flashy cars, a big house, beautiful women. And yet I never felt satisfied.
The reason I’m sending you the enclosed information is because I have a meeting with an important man tomorrow. My chances of getting out of this crazy business might be fifty-fifty. Not bad odds. In case anything happens to me, though, I wanted you to have this information because you’re the only one I know who might be strong enough to do the right thing.
Every john, pimp, and trafficker I ever dealt with has been included within these pages, including nicknames, addresses, and phone numbers. You’ll also see articles from the local papers about what happened to Faith McMann. The hard truth is I am personally responsible for what happened to her family. I was given false information that led my men to her door. Nobody was to be harmed, but as I’m sure you know by now, since the attack on her family has made international news, that wasn’t the case.
Perhaps you’ll decide to hand the enclosed binder over to the police or maybe find a way to contact Faith McMann and let her handle matters as she sees fit. In the end it’s your call. Burn it all if that would make you happy.
All my love, Richard
Robyn was right. Faith felt no sympathy or pity for Richard, only contempt. He’d obviously gotten what he deserved. She looked at her phone. It was time to board. She would have to look at the rest later.
THIRTY-SIX
It took Jana forty-five minutes to get from Granite Bay to Placerville. She parked her car on the street since the driveway was covered with snow and she didn’t have snow chains for her tires.
The house at the end of the driveway was made of rough logs and surrounded by tall redwoods. She didn’t get out of the car right away. Her eye twitched as nerves got the better of her. What if the Fryers really did live in that house and they became angry after she told them why she was here?
She didn’t like conflict, never had.
Too late now, she inwardly scolded. That’s a chance I’ll have to take, she thought as she climbed out of the car and headed down the driveway, sliding most of the way, unable to get a good foothold in the snow.
Knowing she might very well be Rage’s best chance at meeting her son before she passed away pushed her onward. At the door, she straightened, then quickly knocked before she lost her nerve.
A sharp kick inside her belly and then another caught her off guard. She smiled as her gaze rested on her swollen stomach. Just as she put a hand on her belly, the door opened.
The man standing before her was tall and broad-shouldered. His dirty-blond hair was on the long side. His eyes were big and round and the color of melted chocolate. He looked from Jana’s belly to her car parked on the road. “Having car problems?”
“No. No, nothing like that.” Her face heated. “Are you Mr. Fryer?”
He angled his head. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m sorry, yes, my name is Jana Murray. We’ve never met, of course, but I have an extremely delicate matter I’d like to talk to you and your wife about. Is she here?”
A little boy walked up behind his father and grabbed hold of his leg, peeking out at her with curious grayish-blue eyes—Rage’s eyes. Jana couldn’t take her own eyes off him. He had a thick head of hair and a mischievous expression. And then the baby kicked again, and she put a hand to her belly and laughed. “That was a big one,” she said.
“Come on in,” Mr. Fryer said with a sigh. “It’s cold out.”
“Thank you.”
He introduced Jana to his wife, Sue, who was just making her way to the front entry as he shut the door. “I’m Danny,” he said, “and this little guy is Callan.”
“Oh,” Jana said. “What a lovely name.”
“Jana is here to talk to us about a very delicate matter,” he told Sue.
She raised both eyebrows. “Why don’t we all take a seat in the living room?”
Jana followed the three of them into the main room. Rage would like this place, she thought. The inside was all stone, wood, cozy furniture, and fur rugs. The dining room table was made of pine, and the side tables were beautifully refinished wine barrels. There were shelves filled with books and toys in every corner. The place was warm and comfortable.
After Danny helped her with her coat, Jana took a seat on one of two leather seats facing the couch. Callan walked over to her and handed her a toy truck. “Thank you, Callan. Such a sweet boy,” she said.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Sue asked.
“No, thank you, I’m fine. To tell you the truth, this is much more difficult than I imagined it would be.”
Danny was sitting across from her. He leaned forward and said, “Why don’t you go ahead and tell us why you’re here.”
“Well,” Jana began. “There’s a woman. Her name is Rage.” Jana inwardly scolded herself for not finding out Rage’s real name. Jana raised the palm of her hand to the side of her head. “I’m feeling odd. Maybe I should come back another time?”
“Say it,” Danny said, trying to help her along. “Whatever is on your mind. Just say it.”
She checked to make sure Callan wouldn’t overhear, and then she looked from Danny to Sue and said, “Callan’s biological mother is dying. Brain cancer. She’s been given six months to live, and that was a few months ago. She’s not well.” Tears streamed unexpectedly down both sides of her face.
Sue looked at her husband worriedly before she said, “I can’t pretend I’m not more than a little stunned by the news. We were assured this was a closed adoption, and nobody would come out of the woodwork, so to speak. We haven’t yet decided what to tell Callan. He’s only two.”
“I’m so sorry. I understand if you want me to leave,” Jana said. “Especially considering I can’t tell either of you the circumstances of how I found you.”
Danny Fryer frowned as he rubbed his chin and then reached over and took his wife’s hand in his.
The silence was deafening.
Jana stood and wiped her tears. “I’m really sorry. For everything.” She couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down her face. “Oh, for God’s sakes, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Don’t leave,” Sue said. “I’ll be fine. Despite the whole closed adoption thing, we always wondered about Callan’s mom.”
Danny grabbed a box of tissues and handed the box to Jana.
“Probably hormones working overtime,” Sue said referring to the tears. “I’m four months along. We were told we would never have children of our own, but we’ve been blessed with a miracle.” She looked at Callan. “Two miracles.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you both.” Jana couldn’t stop sobbing if she wanted to.
Sue straightened. “You and this woman must be very close.”
“I’ve only known Rage for a short time, but she’s smart and sweet and very caring and loving. Her only wish before she leaves this earth is to meet her son. She gave him up because she wanted him to have the best chance at a decent life, and it’s so clear to me at this moment that that’s exactly what she’s given him.” Jana looked over at Callan and smiled at him. “The best sort of life.”
Callan came up to her and rested his cheek against her leg. “Oh, my. You are so, so sweet. I hope my baby is just like you, Callan.”
Danny narrowed his eyes. “Umm, so, her name is Rage?”
“Well, no, not exactly. It’s a nickname she was given. It’s sort of a long story.”
“It’s OK,” Danny said. “We’ve got time.”
“Well, I met her through my sister, Faith McMann.”
“The same Faith McMann we’ve been seeing in the news?” Danny asked.
Jana nodded.
“I’m so sorry,” Sue offered. “Not that she’s your sister, of course, but you know, because of everything that’s happened. Oh, my gosh, I don’t know what I would do in her place.” She was crying now, too.
&nbs
p; Danny stood and transferred the box of tissue from Jana to his wife.
“I’m sorry,” Sue said to her husband.
“Don’t be. This is therapeutic for both of you, I’m sure,” he said. “Nothing better than a good cry fest between two pregnant women.”
Sue and Jana looked at each other and then began laughing instead.
Danny rolled his eyes. “So, about her name—Rage—you were saying?”
Jana got control of herself and said, “Yes, my sister, as you might have read about in the papers or seen in the news, got a little frustrated with the police and ended up in jail. The judge let her out under his orders that she would attend anger management classes. That’s where she met Rage. Everyone is forced to pick a nickname because, well, I guess nobody wants to tell their stories unless it’s all sort of anonymous.”
“What’s your sister’s nickname?” Danny asked.
“Furious.”
“Of course,” Sue said. “That makes perfect sense. I think my name would have been Maniac.”
“Or Crazy Lady,” Danny offered and seemed to instantly regret it when Sue gave him the eye. “I was kidding. Just a joke,” he said. “A very bad joke.”
“Is Rage in the hospital?” Sue asked.
“No. She’s hanging in there.”
“I’m going to go out on a limb and speak for my wife, too, when I say we’re not ready to make any sort of decision at this point, but what exactly did you have in mind?”
“I was hoping for a quick meeting, maybe somewhere public. I don’t know, a park or one of those fun houses for kids where they serve pizza? But anything you decide would work. It’s your decision.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Danny said. “Leave us your name and number, and then Sue and I will discuss this and get back to you. Fair enough?”
