BoneMan's Daughters

by Ted Dekker

  But they had plenty of time. It might be days before he talked to the man on the bed. His fate now hung in the balance of the daughter’s mind.

  Alvin Finch, aka BoneMan, who was really Satan, stood over the bed, lost in thoughts of the daughter again. Again his breathing thickened.

  He wanted to drag her into this room now and break her bones as the man who would be her father watched. Snap her arms and legs using his knees as a fulcrum as he had on occasion. The sudden break would likely tear through her flesh and ruin her skin, so he wouldn’t, but he wanted to.

  He wanted to break their bones because the bones of every human who’d ever been crucified had always been broken. Every human except for one, that one who’d been pierced. They’d messed up the crucifixion then; he’d do it right now. He thought about doing it right this time every time he dreamed about breaking bones.

  Filled with sudden rage, he bent down and slugged the man in his face. He may have broken his nose, he didn’t know, he didn’t care. Before this was over, a broken nose would be completely forgotten.

  Then he walked out of the room, locked the door, and retreated to the upstairs bathroom to take a shower and apply lotion.

  33

  THE SCENT OF camphor lingered with the oily smell of lamp oil from a flame that had burned out many hours ago. Bethany lay in a curled ball on the sagging mattress, staring at the thin cracks of light that cast a gray hue through the cell.

  She could just see the strange wood blocks that formed a large Y with a cross member on the wall and she absently wondered about the crosslike structure. But her mind wasn’t putting the pieces together with ease any longer.

  How long had she been in the basement? Five or six days? Maybe longer. At least a day since Alvin Finch, the BoneMan, had introduced himself to her. She’d been alone with her fear for what felt like an eternity since he’d left, battling the certainty that it was only a matter of time before he began breaking her bones, one by one.

  Funny thing how one incident can turn your entire understanding of life on its head. How one week you’re planning on going to New York to smile for the camera and the next you’re thinking that anyone who would waste even a moment of their lives trying to impress anyone for any reason is a fool.

  But aren’t you interested in impressing Alvin?

  Well, if you called trying to survive in Alvin’s world trying to impress him, then yeah, maybe she would try to impress him.

  The thought crawled through her mind and then left and she tried to get it back, but it was gone. Something about trying to impress Alvin.

  Yes, that was right, she was interested in impressing Alvin. Or Satan or BoneMan or whatever he wanted to be called.

  The one thing Bethany had learned as she waited in the dark without food or a pot to piss in was that she was powerless down here. Completely, utterly worthless and unable to change a thing about it.

  No contract from New York could save her.

  No FBI would rescue her.

  No father to come to her salvation.

  No mother to do anything but scream at the world about how they weren’t doing enough to find her little model who was going to be famous, for heaven’s sake! Still, Mother was the one person she owed her life to and she missed her. What she would give to hear a cynical, cutting remark from her now.

  The idea of worrying whether or not she would miss cheerleading practice felt like an obscenity in her mind, a little cockroach that scampered around the edges of her reality, offering her nothing but pointless distraction.

  She watched a roach climb up the wall.

  Another thing Bethany had learned was just how much her father’s failure bothered her. She might even say she hated Ryan more than anyone she knew for not adequately occupying the role of her father. She could only have one father. Where was he when she needed him? For all of his talk about how he wanted to be her father, where was he?

  Her father was about as helpful as God. I’ll be there, I’ll be there, I’ll be there, I’ll be there, but never, never, never there. Not even the theology professor at school really expected to serve a God who would actually rescue her from a bad day, much less Satan’s pit.

  What she would give to be able to rely on a huge, wonderful God who would reach down and swat Alvin aside and scoop her up into his chest. What if there was such a thing? Where a paternal father failed, there would be God to rescue her.

  The thought choked her up with desire and she even whispered a prayer to the ceiling.

  But the roots that had snaked their way into the darkness were the only thing she saw. No thunder. No one who loved her. No father.

  No, the truth of the matter was that Alvin Finch was the only one who had any power to save her skinny, worthless neck. Alvin Finch and Bethany Evans, they were the only two who mattered now.

  This was the reason she found him strangely attractive. In Alvin’s world, Alvin held all the cards. And the only way to win in Alvin’s world was to play Alvin’s game and win some of those cards for yourself.

  Like Celine said, “You want to get ahead in the world, you have to play by the world’s rules.” And Celine did.

  In this world Alvin was as much an angel as he was the Satan he professed to be. And although Bethany was fearful of him, she was also very aware of his power to save her, and as the hours slogged by she found herself wishing he would return. She thought she understood him nearly as much as she understood herself now, which wasn’t very much, granted.

  The odd thing about her feelings was that she understood that they’d been manipulated, but this knowledge didn’t help her stop them. Being the daughter of a Naval intelligence officer had filled her head with the stories that Ryan talked about when he was home. She knew about Stockholm syndrome, an acute sociopathic response to intense trauma, usually expressed by victims identifying with, even siding with, their oppressors.

  Ryan had once told her about a project or operation called Red Cell that he’d been involved in. Naval Intelligence had pretended to be terrorists, taken over a class of midshipmen, and psychologically tortured them for twelve hours. The class members began to suffer psychological breaks as soon as six hours into the ordeal.

  Stockholm syndrome, individuals’ desperate attempts to become like their captors. On a lesser scale it was why good German citizens followed Hitler, Ryan said. Or why any person might compromise his or her convictions without realizing he or she was doing so to be accepted. To be wanted.

  The world was suffering from Stockholm syndrome.

  She knew that something along these lines was happening to her, but knowing you’re worthless doesn’t give you value any more than knowing you are a captive sets you free.

  Given the choice she would either cut Alvin’s throat or thank him, depending on whether she was being sane or not. Cutting his throat was sane, very sane.

  Thanking him with a soft kiss was anything but sane. So was she insane? Was she really that far gone?

  Yes. Yes she was. Because there were times that she really would do anything to please Alvin. Like now, right now Alvin didn’t strike her as being so bad at all, really. Not really, now when you considered the alternative, which was broken bones and all. He’d shown her mercy, hadn’t he? Or was she just—

  The lock rattled softly and Bethany jerked upright on the bed. The door swung open.

  She watched, shocked by the suddenness of Alvin Finch’s entrance as he walked to the lamp and lit it without bothering to shut the door behind him. Not that he couldn’t easily cut off any escape attempt in two strides.

  He faced her, shirtless, breathing in long, loud pulls. His skin was the color of watered-down milk, silky smooth, with faint hints of veins on his upper chest. His cotton slacks were held up by a black belt that was cinched tight just below his belly button, higher than she was accustomed to seeing except on older men, and he wasn’t old.

  He wore black shoes that had been recently shined.

  Alvin was showing off, she
realized. Her captor thought enough of her to go to some trouble to be sure she was impressed. She’d struck a chord with him the last time, maybe surprised him with her boldness. Nothing else made sense.

  Encouraged, Bethany felt an uncommon urge to rush over and throw her arms around him. Monster or not, he alone had the power to save her. This was his pit. She still couldn’t see his deep-set eyes well, but she imagined that he was eying her with kind desire. Though it would also be stern. He knew what he wanted.

  Alvin walked back to the door, locked it, then approached her. “Will you stand up for me?”

  Stand up?

  She slid her legs off the bed and stood, strengthened by the adrenaline now coursing through her veins.

  “Will you step out into the middle of the room?”

  She did so. He walked behind her slowly. Then around her left side. His hands carefully lifted her T-shirt and he stared at her bared side for a few seconds before lowering the top. She could smell his lotion and found herself drawn to the refreshing scent.

  There was no way to know how long he would stay this time. He might simply inspect her and then leave her alone with her emptiness again. She couldn’t let him do that, not this time.

  Alvin stopped in front of her, naked down to his belt. “You are a very special girl,” he said.

  “Yes, I know,” she said, searching for the right words. She couldn’t seem to think clearly so she said what she’d been thinking in her nightmares.

  “And I know that you’re hurt. You killed your mother because she made you feel bad for not being as beautiful as she was. That’s why you killed the other girls.”

  He stood still. But she could see into his eyes now, and she saw no denial. Only those bottomless pits of black.

  “But I’m different, Alvin. I’m more like you. I’m the one beautiful thing that you can have. I can thrive in your world and we can be together.”

  When he still didn’t respond, Bethany stepped forward and reached for his right hand. She touched his fingers. Held his hand and drew it toward her. Against her belly.

  “Is that what you want? Hmmm?” She said it lightly with complete sincerity because she knew that she would gladly fall into his embrace to escape the helplessness of her captivity.

  “You don’t want to hurt me, Alvin. You want to love me.”

  She pulled up her shirt and placed his cold, trembling hand on her belly. “I can be yours, all yours. That is what I want, Alvin.”

  He left his hand on her skin for only a moment, then pulled it away. “Is that the way a father would treat his daughter?”

  Of course! She was still looking at the world through her eyes. In his eyes she was a daughter and he wanted to be her father, he’d said as much. How stupid of her to assume that because he was a man he would be interested in seduction.

  Yet it was a seduction, just not a sexual seduction. Alvin wanted to lure her in as his own. And he wanted to be loved the way a daughter loved a father. But Bethany didn’t know how to love a father. The thought began to panic her.

  BoneMan stood over her, breathing steadily, showing no signs that he was disgusted with her.

  “You see, that’s the problem,” he said. “All the fathers are liars, and none of the daughters know what it’s like to loved by a father. Or how to love one.”

  “Then why do you come in here without a shirt on?” she asked.

  “I wanted to impress you. Your skin is so much like mine. We are already the same. I could be your father, Bethany.”

  “But you confuse me,” she said. “How can you expect a girl to do what you need her to do if you send so many mixed signals?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Walking in here without anything covering your chest, knowing full well that your skin is so beautiful, for example. Or leaving here, talking about how much you would like to break my bones. It’s hard to tell if you love me or hate me.”

  “That’s because I love you and I hate you,” he said without a hint of anything but pure sincerity in his voice.

  “I… I thought you liked me.”

  “I do. But I find myself wanting to break your bones at the same time. It’s hard, you know, standing in the same room with you and not letting my desires take over.”

  “So you really want to kill me?” she cried.

  Their eyes seemed to be locked in a trance, finally broken by BoneMan, who looked at the door.

  “Can you be honest with me?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you be afraid to walk down the street with me?”

  She wanted to be truthful and had to think.

  Alvin faced her again. “Would you be grateful to have me by your side to guide and love you while others looked on?”

  “Why would you think I wouldn’t?” she returned. “Isn’t that what everyone does? Pretend to be someone they aren’t? Driving their fancy cars and wearing the latest fashions? They all sleep with the devil every day.”

  “Is that what I am?”

  “You told me that you were Satan. Isn’t that how you think of yourself?”

  He was back on his heels and Bethany assumed it was her boldness and unapologetic acceptance of him that he found so jarring. This was her advantage.

  She took a step closer and placed one hand on his shoulder.

  “You’re already like a father to me, Alvin. In some ways more than my own father was ever a father to me.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “You have the power to save me,” she said. “To protect me. Isn’t that the least a father can do?”

  He frowned for a moment, then stepped over to the blocks of wood on the wall and spoke quietly.

  “I’ve brought him here.”

  “Brought who here?”

  BoneMan ran his hands along the cross. “The man who has pretended to be your father. I brought him here yesterday.”

  “Burt Welsh?”

  “No. I killed that one because he was a liar. I brought the other father of liars.”

  Ryan? She felt her heart skip a beat.

  “He abandoned you, didn’t he, Bethany?” BoneMan turned around. “Now you’re all alone. So I brought him to you.”

  “You… you brought Ryan here?”

  “He’s in your old bedroom.”

  She felt as if he’d struck her with his fist. Ryan, here?

  On the one hand she wished this kind of entrapment on no one. On the other hand she found herself thinking he deserved it more than she did.

  And the idea that she could even think such a thing disturbed her more than either thought.

  Still, in her state of insanity, trapped in Alvin’s world, there was some truth to her feelings.

  “I can see that it bothers you,” he said.

  “Are you going to kill him?”

  “Should I?”

  “No. No one deserves to die like this.”

  “You can’t have two fathers.”

  In the end it all came back to that. To having a daughter.

  “Is it really so important to have a daughter? You’re overreacting.”

  Alvin Finch stood very still and at first she thought that he wasn’t responding because she’d asked a good question. But then she saw that his jaw was locked and his hands shivered by his sides. Maybe he wasn’t speaking because he was fighting off waves of rage. She didn’t know what to say or do, so she just stood there while he shook.

  Then Alvin walked up to her, lifted her left hand, gripped her pinkie finger between his own, and snapped it.

  Pop.

  Pain screamed through her hand and up her arm, but she clenched her jaw and stared at him, refusing to make a sound.

  He dropped her hand and backed away. “I’m sorry, but that was a stupid question.”

  Tears stung her eyes, then rolled down her cheeks. But she held her eyes on his face, determined not to show her fear. She wanted to ask him how he could even think about being her father if every time he got angry he b
roke her bones. Instead, she apologized.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s too much to ask a young girl to understand why her love is so important. I should just kill you now.”

  “Then you’d never know what it was like to have a daughter,” she said, taking her broken finger in her good hand.

  The man’s chest was now covered in a layer of sweat that had mixed with lotion, leaving thin white trails as it ran down his body.

  “Would you rather I kill your mother?”

  “No. It would hurt me more than you breaking my bones. If you want a daughter who knows how to love, then you can’t expect me not to love the mother I already have.”

  “I’ve watched your mother. She is a witch and my mother was a witch.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can kill her!” Nausea from the pain in her hand crawled up her throat. She stepped back to the bed and sat to still her dizziness. “You can’t just kill people because you’re jealous of what they have.”

  “I can do far more than you think I can. That’s who I am. The man who calls himself your father has never been by your side when you needed him. I would never let you out of my sight.”

  His reasoning had its own kind of compelling sense. “But that doesn’t mean Ryan deserves to die.”

  “Only I have the power to give you and your father life. You’re in my world now.” He took a deep, catching breath. “If you don’t want me to kill your father, then he has to stop being your father, because you can only have one father.”

  She was confused by the train of emotions that now ran through her exhausted mind. Her hand ached and her mind struggled to stay on a particular line of thought.

  “I want to break your bones, and I want to break his bones,” BoneMan said. “I hate you and I hate your father even more for being your father. But more than either of those things, I want to be your father.”

  She swallowed, no longer able to follow his thoughts. “So what do you want from me?”

  “I want you to hurt him. The way I would hurt him. And then I want you to send him away so that he will never want to come back for you.”