Amanda's past hadn't been terribly different. The only discernible difference was that someone had managed to reach her in time. The tub girl aroused memories of her own violent teenage years, and there was no desire to relive them.
"Don't worry," Amanda said, determined to end this. "I'll take care of you."
"I just need to sleep," the girl mumbled. "That's what they told me to do. Said that I'd wake up and this would all just seem like a bad dream."
They lied to you.
"Do that," Amanda said. "Go to sleep."
Turnings were ugly and witnessing them never got any easier. This girl teetered on the brink of consciousness and if she slipped under, there was no coming back.
I can't let that happen.
Amanda crouched beside the tub and aligned her eyes with the narrow and lifeless slits. "Where did you meet them?" She had to know this was truly the end of things. That after tonight, it was over.
The girl smiled, as if she had nostalgic memories of them. Blood dribbled down her chin as her mouth curled. "Asked me if I wanted someone to belong to. Told me I would be joining a cause. That I'd finally have a family I could love. Please, just call my mom and tell her that I’m okay." Her head slid back against the acrylic tub. Her eyelids were curtains that drifted down, finally covering foggy eyes.
"Where were they taking you?" Amanda asked. "Where's this new family?"
No answer. The room went silent, save for the dribbling faucet. Amanda remained at the girl's side hoping she would regain consciousness. After a few minutes, once it was certain that she would not, she stood and raised the MP5. A three-round burst tore into her skull. Her head slammed hard against the acrylic and then disappeared beneath the rippling crimson water.
Another search of the room, this one more thorough. Amanda found herself powered by renewed curiosity. Motivated by unease over something the girl had said.
"I would be joining a cause."
She had never known them to recruit.
She fished through a blue duffel bag that reeked of perspiration, pulling out a single, crinkled piece of paper from the bottom. It was a map of Massachusetts that had been marked up with a green marker. A line was drawn along Route 90 from where New York became Massachusetts, branching off onto Mountain Road and running all the way into a town called Greifsfield.
"Great," she mumbled. No idea what was there but she was going to have to check.
Just when I thought I was four nights away from a bubble bath and endless bottles of wine.
Amanda was going to need those bottles to forget about what happened here. Even though it was for the best, she had to keep telling herself that there was no other way to save the girl. That, in the end, she had given her mercy.
She folded the map, slipped it into her pocket and finished her sweep. When nothing of interest turned up, she tucked the MP5 beneath her coat and slipped back through the busted entrance.
Amanda's steps were soft as she went down the stairs, taking the closest set this time. A quick glance over her shoulder said nobody was following. In fact, there was no sign that anyone had heard anything. There wasn’t any reason why anyone should've; aside from kicking in the front door, there hadn't been any noise. It shouldn’t have sounded any differently than someone slamming a door.
The truck was a sight to behold. A welcome sign that said she had survived another job. She climbed into the cab, flicked the MP5's safety catch on and stuffed it back into the storage space. Then she switched on her cell phone and brought the engine to life, driving into the night and leaving the obnoxious neon glow of the Thunderbird Motel behind.
You can relax for now...
The Thunderbird vanished from the rearview as the road twisted around endless woodland. She brought her speed down to 40 after passing a sign for the posted limit. No need to get pulled over for that.
Amanda couldn't take her mind off the young girl she'd just slain. The memory stung the same as any fresh injury, only they had drugs for every kind of physical pain. Nothing she could take would reach down into her psyche deep enough to make her forget about the things she'd done, necessary or not. Those emotions brought tears.
That child, mutilated and suffering, had clung to the belief that she'd get better. Those bastards had preyed upon her naïveté. It was their fault that she'd been forced to kill an innocent girl. Amanda couldn't help but feel she'd let them get off easy, despite the fact they were dead already. Was there a career out there more thankless than this?
There wasn't time to ponder that, because her search of the Thunderbird begged a more troubling question: Who in Greifsfield was expecting them?
She dug the map from her pocket, switched on the cab’s interior lights and glanced at the marked path. An address was scribbled in pencil in the upper most corner.
Christ.
This was ballooning into something. What did they want with a freshly turned child? Her mind calculated endless possibilities.
"Oh shit," she said. "Dexter."
She pulled up his number on the cell. She was supposed to check in with him as soon as she’d crossed the state line—ninety minutes ago. Her thoughts had gotten lost in the wide-open air of the countryside, making her temporarily forget about procedure.
Dexter answered halfway through the first ring.
"Christ, girl. I was worried about you." He didn't bother masking his annoyance, not that she could blame him. These checkpoints were an important component in their line of work. Miss one and people tended to think you were dead. She immediately felt bad for making him worry.
"I know, I'm sorry. I'm okay and we’re all clear."
"I thought we were all clear yesterday?"
"We were supposed to be. I ran into some trouble in Albany. Had to follow them to Massachusetts. I'm in the Berkshires now."
"Okay. I'll put in for clean up. Where'd you find them?"
"A real nice place. The Thunderbird on Mountain Road. You would've loved it. They had HBO."
"How many?"
"Three."
"Okay. I'm calling it in. You won't even read about it in the papers."
"Good. That's how I like it."
"Making your way back here, then?"
"Not yet."
"Trust me, you won't like Massachusetts in the summer, it's too sticky."
"As opposed to California? It's actually pretty nice right now. There's a cool breeze in the air, but believe me that's not why I’m sticking around."
"Finally find a cute guy worth your time? It's Massachusetts, kid. He’s probably a fag."
"Not funny, you bigot. I'm heading to a town called Greifsfield. Our boy seemed determined to go there and I'd like to know why."
"Probably figured it's a small backwater town with lots of tourists. Nobody notices it when the occasional one goes missing."
"There's more. I've got an address to check up on. Something's up."
"Be careful," he said. "Check in with me twice a day. First time you don't, I'm coming out there myself."
"You? Sorry Dex, this job requires tact."
"Fuck you. And be careful."
"As can be."
She tossed the phone into the empty seat beside her and yawned. Mountain Road didn't yield another sign of life, although she might have welcomed one. The creepy isolated feeling was coming back. For some reason, the barren landscapes unnerved her. Frustrating, considering she usually felt victorious after pulling off a successful job. Not tonight, though.
Amanda did her best to combat the dread, switching the radio over to 80’s hits and piping along to Flashdance, What a Feeling.
The bad feeling gnawed at her gut, no matter how many times she tried dismissing it as intuition. It told her things were going to get a lot worse in the upcoming days.
I'm too much of a pessimist, she thought.
She passed a sign that read: Greifsfield, 40 miles.
Amanda read it with a sigh.
It wasn't ending tonight.
Two
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The dinner date was a sinking ship taking on water fast.
Conversation around the table had come to a grinding halt for the fourth or fifth time, and Jack Markle was ready to throw in the towel.
Some situations just couldn't be helped.
Jack scanned the restaurant out of boredom. People were crammed around small tables, laughing, drinking and enjoying mutual conversation. A row of miniature booths lined the back wall, occupied by couples partaking in quiet, intimate conversation. This place, The Cove, had managed to squeeze an impressive amount of patrons into a pretty small space. They had to be guilty of a fire code violation or two.
But The Cove wasn’t a building. Not technically. Set back a ways from the resort’s swimming pool, it consisted of three phony rock walls, each one about twelve feet high. Discrete neon lights decorated the tops of each wall, occasionally changing from green, to blue, to red, to yellow. The bar counter was backed by a cascading waterfall that ran behind Plexiglas.
It was a little tacky, but the outdoor environment was both novel and refreshing. Enough to make Jack wish that he’d been enjoying tonight.
The early June breeze blew from the west, ruffling several hairs on his scraggly head free from the confines of his hair gel. His eyes were desperate as they dropped to his cell phone.
It wasn’t even nine yet.
Damned if it didn't feel later. Everyone should’ve been buried beneath the inhibitions of alcohol and dreading the bartender’s final call by now. But nope. They hadn't been at this an hour yet, and the discomfort percolated.
The damn heat wasn't helping, either. His shirt was sticky against his chest while beads of sweat formed at his hairline.
What was the proper edict for bailing on a double date? His room wasn’t far and it wouldn't be that hard to feign ill. But the bigger question was whether or not he tried to get Lucy away from this disaster too, or leave her to fend for herself?
While he pondered this, the four members of the dinner party made eyes at their entrees, each one feigning hunger to excuse their lack of sociality.
Jack stole a quick glance sideways at Lucy. She stabbed at a crouton buried in her Caesar salad, refusing to reciprocate the look. It was difficult to gauge whether or not she wanted out of this as much as he did. Considering that Allen was his friend and not hers, there wasn’t any possible reason why she’d want to stick around.
No one would want to go through this.
He lifted the fork to his mouth and pulled the juicy slice of steak off the prongs with his teeth. Then he looked across the table at Allen Taylor. His attention was still locked onto the pulled pork sandwich; he sawed the roll in two, careful not to get barbecue sauce on his purple button-down.
Jack winced at this puzzling display of manners. He'd never seen a college guy slice a sandwich in two before eating. It was pseudo-etiquette and Allen only subscribed to it when there were ladies present.
As a counterpoint, Jack wanted to regale the table with stories of Allen's most unmannered moments, though he thought better of it. If Allen’s date was truly impressed with his table manners, she'd be in for a rude awakening soon enough. This was the guy who couldn’t be bothered to wipe away the excess hot sauce, bleu cheese and bits of chicken skin whenever he ordered buffalo wings. And it wasn't entirely on account of his drunken stupor, either. Allen liked to eat. To enjoy his meal. Jack had seen the ravenous appetite on display for the past two years in Fitchburg State's underground cafeteria. That was the Allen Taylor he knew very well.
The guy sitting across from him now, with his blown out brown hair and gold chains, might have been a Jersey Shore reject, but Jack wasn't sure he recognized him as a friend.
He maintained his disapproving sneer longer than intended and found Allen's date, Elisabeth, staring at him while sipping her second glass of wine.
His eyes fell back to his plate, unsure of why she made him so nervous. Maybe it was the inappropriate grin stretched casually across her mouth. Why the smile? Couldn't she see that this was a miserable evening? Was she enjoying the endless awkward pauses and failed attempts at conversation?
Jack didn't know her though, and supposed it said more about him that he always assumed people were hiding sinister motivations. He'd have to thank his parents for making him this suspicious the next time he saw them.
It might have been her faultless physicality. Jack couldn't look at her for longer than a few seconds. He didn't want her thinking that he was leering, and definitely didn't want to boost Allen’s ego any higher.
Damn my insecurities, he thought. It'd been a long time since he'd felt this way around a woman.
Elisabeth made him feel like this was high school all over again. He might as well be walking past the cheerleading squad on his way to choir practice.
She took occasional bites of her dinner, stopping to glance at the surroundings every now and again, or take another sip of wine. Never to speak. Unlike the rest of them, she showed no discomfort over the table's rising disconnect.
Either that or she just didn’t care—another trait in Allen’s conquests. The more vapid, the better, he seemed to think. Jack might have been okay with that if Allen hadn't sworn up and down that this one was different.
"You've got to meet her," he'd said. "She's an artist! You two will hit it off!"
It was possible that Allen had spent some time attempting to build enthusiasm for his friends in Elisabeth. A horrifying thought, Jack realized, wondering what approach he might’ve taken to get her excited for the big meet. ("He really likes Meat Loaf!")
In all fairness, Elisabeth probably didn’t want to be here anymore than Jack did.
Fascinating then, that Allen could meet someone so quickly while in a vacation environment. Their summer vacation was only in its second week. He'd always been a fast worker, much to Jack’s chagrin. He’d never seen his best friend as particularly charming, but he’d outdone himself this time. Not only did he have a gorgeous trophy sitting disinterested by his side, he appeared to be smitten.
As smitten as Allen Taylor had ever been, at least.
Not hard to see why, Jack thought as he snuck a few more glances at the raven-haired ice princess.
His eyes dipped toward the generous display of cleavage. She wore a black dress with a v-cut that ran to the bottom of her ribs. Her firm and round breasts were bare at the edges of the fabric, revealing enough to get the blood pumping. His gaze lingered long enough for Lucy to catch him, knocking a soft knee against his thigh.
Elisabeth Luna didn't fit Allen's prior type in terms of age or looks, but that was because she didn't look like she belonged anywhere other than a fantasy.
It was difficult to guess her age, but she looked like an artist’s rendition of the perfect woman. The sort of creature whose face was displayed on a billboard: narrow, piercing blue eyes offset by a tiny ring of green circling the pupil; the vivid color created a compelling contrast with her porcelain white skin. Pink lips, full and thick with corners that arched ever so slightly upwards, gave her a constant and seductive grin. She wore raven-black hair straight, allowing it to drape past her shoulders and accent her impeccable complexion.
A far sexier woman than any Jack had ever seen in the flesh. Trivia that he intended to keep to himself, or away from Lucy, at least.
It was Allen that finally broke the silence.
"The food here’s great, Luce."
"I'll have to tell my dad," Lucy sounded relieved just to be talking. "He spent like six months screening the right chefs before giving it to some guy he saw beat Bobby Flay on Iron Chef."
"It's awesome. This whole place is. I never would’ve thought twice about visiting the Berkshires until Jack told me your father owned this place. And that it wasn't just a boring motel, but a bona fide resort. I feel like I'm on spring break at the Riviera Maya."
"He doesn’t believe in doing anything unless he can be the best at it. A trait he tries to instill in his kids...which is why I'm currently majoring
in liberal arts. I figure it's the furthest I can get from his business acumen."
"I don’t know, he did something right by getting this place up and running. Why rebel? What made him think to put this place all the way out here?"
Jack chewed his food and eyed Allen with a mixture of suspicion and resentment. First came the upper-class table manners. Now this. Total civility between his two most uncivil friends.
Even Lucy seemed surprised by Allen's cordiality, stammering before she spoke. "That's my father," she said. Her words were flanked by pronounced hesitation. "Always enterprising. We used to vacation here when I was real little. That must've put the idea in his brain. Every other hotel up here capitalized on the history of the mountains and the area's rustic charm. My father realized people would fork down big bucks to stay in a resort without hesitation. He figured out that people might come here for sightseeing, but would jump at an alternative. And that they'd be happy to relegate the sightseeing to a single afternoon of a weeklong getaway."
Jack struggled to suppress a laugh. He should be grateful for the shattered silence, but the artificiality of this conversation was too much to bear. Lucy seemed as shocked as he did, although she’d uncharacteristically decided to be a good sport about the whole thing.
Allen couldn't stand Lucy. Their relationship was, at best, complex. Her fault, mostly. Never being one to tolerate the arrogance of college pretty boys, Lucy was at odds with Allen from the moment Jack had introduced them. Their acquaintanceship came from a mutual admiration for Jack. In its best moments, their passive-aggressive rivalry had produced instances of genuine hilarity, often at Allen’s expense.
The three of them had gone to a party off campus last December, where Lucy had taken the liberty of telling everyone that she and Allen were a thing. She’d been smooth about it, too, managing to reveal this fiction to every girl there, selling each syllable of the lie with the utmost conviction.
That strategy crushed Allen's game early in the night, making him look like the world's most lecherous man. Here he was, trying to hook up while his 'girlfriend' was in the next room. Each of his smiles toward the opposite sex, every suggestion to take a walk was met with mounting derision. Until, in a show of solidarity, one of his potential targets slapped his mouth and called him a skeeze before storming off.
Feral Page 2
