Sweeping his arms wide, he encompassed the kitchen with his comments. “Well, this is the kitchen. The rest of the house is fairly boring.” He moved across the floor to a solid-looking wall decorated with a picture of ducks – Mallards, I think, judging by the deep green heads. Positioned above it was a standard television monitor with a black and white picture or… holy shit, the little girl’s tree house next door. No wonder he’d known I was in there. The man wasn’t only a revictimizer but he got off on watching little kids play.
A new need to note every move he made pinpointed my attention squarely on him. He pressed on the top corner of the wall beneath the monitor, bent his fingers and pulled.
Matthew slid the wall open. I inhaled sharply, careful to keep my volume down. The wall slid open like some freaky James Bond movie. Or worse – a Saw movie. If he had to hide the place we were headed, I wouldn’t make it out of there. Plus, Deegan had taught me to stay out of rooms and places that didn’t have more than one exit or entrance – windows, doors, anything that made the room more than a box – and a secret passage didn’t stay secret with a window in it.
I almost whimpered, but he couldn’t make me cry out… I wouldn’t let him.
Even though I was his captive, I had to turn things around or Deegan would go to prison and I… well, I most likely would be dead. Because that’s the only way I’d allow myself to be held. Dead.
Matthew stood at the opening which framed a finished stairwell, white walls and a sleek brown railing. A warm light backlit his dark features and even darker sweatshirt and jeans. Who would’ve thought such a good-looking man would be one to watch out for?
“Come on. You know you want to see what’s down there. You’re going to be begging me soon, if I don’t take you now, aren’t you?” He nodded, curling his fingers toward himself. “Yeah, you will. You’re the begging type.” Melodic and soft, his voice sounded so sure. He worked as a counselor. Maybe he knew. Somehow he took what he knew about me and figured out what I wanted? I’d read about that before… profiling or something. But it didn’t make sense. I’d never even told him my name.
I never begged.
Ever.
His voice hardened. “Stand up and get over here.”
Fear sliced through my nerves, and even though I tried telling my legs to stand, to get off my ass and get over there, nothing worked. A weird hazy numb feeling covered me. I clenched my jaw. Oh crap. He stalked toward me, reaching out and, oh the pain as he dug his fingers into the round part of my shoulder.
I closed my eyes as he lifted me. His other hand clamped on the other shoulder and he shook me slightly. His breath wafted over me, laced in liquor. “You get moving now, or I’m going to give you what you want here on the floor.” He thrust me toward the stairs and I stumbled forward.
Grabbing hold of the wooden rail, I took a second to gather myself. Fear. I had to gain control of my fear. Nothing was different. Adapting to the predator’s surroundings was how I got out of the situations. Keeping a relatively calm head and not panicking. I could do it.
I exhaled, looking down into an equally well-lit hallway. With the secret panel in the wall, I expected it to be dungeon-like and dirty down the stairs. But the warmth in the lighting and the cushiony carpet beneath my feet threw off my expectations. Like a game. Everything about him seemed like an oxymoron. Like a beautiful poisonous flower. Or a zombie baby.
Rubbing of the panel on the floor as he closed the door gave me another second to process what I was doing. No plan to that point. I needed to get out of there so the next time… well, so the next time I’d be prepared. And alive – a very important necessity.
The walls closed in on me. I blinked, trying to make the claustrophobic sensation go away.
He grabbed my elbow and propelled me down the steps. Thirteen of them.
I didn’t want to leave the stairs. Something about them gave hope, like if I left them, my only way out would disappear. What if I couldn’t find the door again?
It wasn’t musty or even slightly stale smelling the further we went. Instead there was a distinct scent that reminded me of flowers that were delivered when my mom died. They had filled the house and every time I’d walked by, a wave of perfume had all but slapped me across the face.
Not my favorite smell.
The not-knowing worked on me. Each step grated my control. “What are you going to do?”
His laugh filled the space around us. “Whatever I want.” His swagger had a cocky bounce to it like John Travolta’s in Saturday Night Fever. A girl had been raped in that film, too. Things were not looking up.
We reached a doorway which he unlocked using a key hanging from his neck. He replaced the key under his shirt and turned the knob.
The smell of dry urine, feces, and sweetness like that of rotting fruit struck me. I swallowed the vomit I’d gagged into my mouth. Nothing would get me used to that odor.
But the sight… oh, no… I couldn’t comprehend the cages, the locks, the buckets in the corners. I didn’t want to acknowledge the young girl sitting on a bale of hay in one cage or the even younger boy backed against the wall as he watched us enter.
Matthew’s first mistake was showing me other victims.
He pushed me alongside him with a hand at my back. “I don’t care what you do while I’m gone. You’ll have to share a room with her. She doesn’t talk. Much.” His laughter again shattered anything good in the air, chasing my anger up. To the girl he pointed his finger. “Tell her the rules. If she breaks them, it’s on you.”
She didn’t react. Her ratty, lopsided hair hung over a bony shoulder poking from under a thin t-shirt. Pajama bottoms too dirty for me to recognize or make out the design displayed her pale flesh through torn holes in various places. Dirt around her eyes and trailing in streaks down her cheeks made me choke on a sob.
The little boy was a little cleaner and seemed more afraid. Fresh bruises colored his cheeks and on his neck with vivid purples and blues. His right eye had swollen so much, it didn’t open. Tufts of hair poked up around his head. His fingers scratched at the wall at his back, like even subconsciously his body tried to escape.
“Come on, little girl. You know you came here for this.” And he winked. At me. Like a fun little game was in the works.
His second mistake – little girl.
I ground my teeth, catching part of my cheek. The coppery taste of blood sharpened my focus. The girl in the cage didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge us. She stared dully at the limp straw under her.
If I didn’t take the upper-hand right then, I’d never get another chance. Surroundings… come on. Buckets. That’s all within sight. I had no backup, no help with anything.
Unlocking the combination padlock to the cage, he turned to me, smirking. He reached out and clutched my wrist with fingers confident in their power. The padlock hung from the bar haphazardly as if dangling for the next set of instructions. He dragged me inside – one step, two steps. It was then or never. If he locked that door on me, I’d never get out.
An image of Deegan behind bars for the rest of his life superimposed over the girl on the hay. I couldn’t handle never.
With one hand on me, Matthew snapped his fingers at the girl. “Hey, you!” She blinked hard and, standing, began removing her clothes. He looked at me to watch my reaction, while standing inside, half a step more than me. I stared wide-eyed, momentarily confused at what was going on. Oh, man. I couldn’t take it.
I returned his gaze, dropped my right leg back and then lifted it – smack – slamming my knee directly into his nuts.
He doubled over, grabbing his crotch and gasping for air.
But I didn’t wait. I slammed the door shut on him, clicking the lock shut. He knew the combination, but that would take precious seconds to twist the knob. Seconds I could use… would use.
He rushed to the cage entrance, reaching for me. I backed away and glanced behind him at the girl. If I wanted to save her or the boy… or myself, I had to
run. And run fast.
Run, Cassie!
Spinning to the door, I opened my stride and pushed through, not wasting time to shut it. Already the clinking of the lock on the metal bar warned me he’d be right behind. Come on, Cassie, RUN!
He roared in anger, drawing whimpers from both of the children in their prisons. I wanted to go back, but just pushed harder, faster.
Arms pumping, I tore through the hallway, up the stairs, and scrambled at the door. He’d shut it and I had no idea how to open it.
From behind me in the hallway, the door slammed shut. “You little bitch!” His yell marked his progress. He’d made it to the hall. He only had one way to go and probably wasn’t rushing since he knew I didn’t have a fricking clue how to get out.
Dammit!
My stomach twisted, my lungs couldn’t fully expand. I couldn’t open the door but I’d sure as hell try to go through it. I backed up down the steps, down two, crap, no three, and rushed up them, slamming my shoulder into the paneling. It had to be thin… it had to be thin. I ignored the ache when I connected.
Only sheetrock with a basic frame, the panel cracked. I pulled back my fist and pummeled the space I’d weakened. The tearing of my knuckles didn’t faze me. I pushed through, hammering the wall.
“You can’t escape.” He hit the wall as he came closer. The steady thump and thud as he walked energized my heart and I tried to keep up with the rhythm.
I moved to the top step and kicked and kneed at the weak spot, making the hole big enough I could roll through.
Behind me, Matthew had reached the bottom stair. I stepped over the paneling and into the hole, barely able to fit through. The slight size of the opening offered little comfort, but I’d take it. He’d never fit.
He grabbed for me, fingers moving at my arm for some kind of grip, pinching and scratching. I jumped out of reach. His eyes stared at me as he reached for something, probably the release to open the panel. I couldn’t go too far when I left the house. He’d dispose of those kids so fast.
I patted my pockets. I had to call the police. I needed help. Where the hell was my phone?
Matthew’s sing-song voice rang through the hole. “Looking for this?” He flashed my cell at me.
Groaning, I backed further into his kitchen. I had to get out of there. Immediately.
“You dropped it in the tree house.” A slight click suggested he’d accomplished releasing the panel. But trying to slide it open became impossible with the damage I’d done to it. Rage colored his face almost purple and spittle formed at his mouth. “If you leave, I’ll kill them… both of them. I’ll do it.”
And the narrowing of his eyes assured me his threats were in fact promises. They’d die because I was too afraid to follow through with what I’d gone there to accomplish.
He had to have a house phone. I’d use his. Most houses still had landlines in the area. I continued backing toward the door, scanning the kitchen for a phone. Mounted to the wall to my right, a sleek white piece mocked me. Just within reach.
I yanked the handset down and dialed nine-one-one. Pressing the phone to my ear, I returned my gaze to the furious Matthew.
He yelled, kicking and slapping on the sheetrock that I’d already weakened.
The phone rang.
“Put that damn phone down, little girl!” Little girl. There it was again.
I lifted my chin. The phone rang again.
His voice dropped to a purr. “Don’t do it. Don’t you dare.”
A voice on the other end of the line said. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
I held my stare steady. Even my own voice didn’t have the audacity to quiver. “Help. I don’t know the address I’m at, but I’m about to kill a man who has two children chained in the basement. Hurry.” I let the phone drop to the ground, still connected to the wall. The cord’s curly construct bobbed it along the trim on and off the tile. They’d trace the call. Hopefully, she took me seriously. I meant what I’d said. I was going to kill the son of a bitch.
Matthew’s gaze flicked from the phone to me and back. He moved to the side and disappeared behind the unmoving panel.
The kitchen door was a mouse step behind me. I turned, working on the deadbolt. I couldn’t turn it. Holy crap! I pressed on the door and tried. Pulled on the door handle. The damn thing wouldn’t budge.
Crash! Matthew dove through the door, landing on the floor. He rolled back and forth for a moment, gathering his bearings.
New fear shoved strength into my hands and I turned the deadbolt like I’d never had problems with it. I pulled the door open, bracing myself to race down the cement steps.
Slammed from behind, I spilled across the door frame. He grabbed me at the knees, arms around them like cords. He breathed heavily, much harder than me. I pushed both arms on the welcome mat and struggled into somewhat of an Army crawl position. He clawed me back. I pulled forward two shoves and he clawed me back again.
A hard stinging and burn grew in my upper thigh. He growled and the vibration of his voice buzzed the pain. Holy shit, he’d bit me. I cried out, grunting as I pulled and pushed to get out of the house.
He dragged me in deeper. I couldn’t think. The pain in my leg and the tearing skin in my forearms from scraping on the ground combined with my split knuckles to override my logical capabilities. Matthew had a good hold on me as he moved backward. I scratched for a handhold, anything to keep me from slipping further under his control.
The back of my hand ran over a cool handle. I clasped it, recognizing it as a tool, but not sure which one I’d gotten. The spot of hope snapped me back to myself.
Dang it, come on, Cassie. You can do this.
I rolled to my back as he pulled me completely onto the tiled surface. We couldn’t have been wrestling there on the ground more than a minute, but through the open door the sounds of sirens wafted on the night air.
Even if I died, he’d never get away with locking those kids up. Or would he? First hand knowledge had me doubting that he’d get very much time. Most predators didn’t get more than probation for the crimes they committed against women and children. He’d work something out. They always did.
I clenched the tool in my hand and brought it to chest level. A sharp weed pick I could use.
The counselor rose above me. “You’re dead, you little bitch.”
“Not yet.” I curled into a crunch and jabbed the tool into his gut, just above the navel.
He dropped beside me into the fetal position, hands pressed to his stomach.
But my anger hadn’t been assuaged. There was no rush yet. I needed the rush. I had to have it.
I crawled over him and stabbed again with the pick. And again. His moans and cries fading with each stab. I remembered this part. The noisy death of a cowardly man. And again.
“You don’t deserve to live.” I spit on his face. I stabbed him again, hitting his chest, the metal bouncing off the bone of his ribs. I stabbed again, and again. And again. And again. I couldn’t stop, the motion spraying blood and pieces of flesh and who-knows-what-else over me and the floor and his nice-neat kitchen. I stabbed for me, for those kids, for Deegan, and for the victims he’d continued to victimize.
He gasped one last time. I clenched the pick and pulled it one last time from his gut, slowly rising from his hips where I’d crouched.
Dead, he didn’t fight me when I yanked the key-holding lanyard from his neck. I couldn’t make myself go downstairs again. I couldn’t do that. Not for anyone. But I could make it easy for the cops to get down there to save those kids.
I took the steps two at a time, rushing down the driveway waving my arms. Red and blue lights cut through the night, stopping outside the house I’d just left. Police climbed from their vehicles, guns raised and aimed my way. I raised my arms in the air, careful to slow down. The pick almost an extension of my hand I couldn’t let go of. I wanted to get caught, not killed. And yet, I didn’t feel extremely safe.
A male policeman
approached me. “Do you have any weapons?”
“Only this. And I have his key. Go in the backdoor. You’ll see how to get downstairs. There are two kids chained up and in cages in a room.” I tossed the key at him.
He caught it and nodded. Then motioned at the tool. “I’d feel better, if you’d put that down and kick it over here.”
I studied the pick covered in blood. If I did, then I’d truly be turning myself in. They’d have the weapon. They’d have the body. What they needed would be a confession to tie the whole thing up. I dropped it to the ground, deliberate with my kick to aim it near his feet. “Sorry it’s so dirty. I killed him with it. But it’s not my weapon of choice.” I shrugged. “Too sloppy.”
“Okay.” He didn’t leave his spot, grabbing instead a woman cop passing him. “Downstairs in the basement, two kids. Verify there aren’t any others in the house.”
A group of cops ran toward the back. I didn’t move, but crumpled to the grass as I allowed my combined injuries to take hold. I couldn’t sob. I couldn’t do much of anything but breathe with my eyes closed.
The cop stood guard over me, but overall no one paid me any attention for a while. I didn’t pose a threat as I rested in Matthew’s yard in plain sight.
An ambulance backed up the driveway, stopping feet from where I held the back of my leg. The paramedics glanced at me, but pulled a gurney and rolled it to the house. If that rat-bastard got help before me, I’d throw a fit, if I could find the energy to do it.
But within moments, the first bed rolled out with the little boy strapped in, wrapped with blankets. His crying pierced the night in jags. An EMT muttered to his partner, “… feeds a kid dog food, man? That’s messed up.”
Dog food. The poor kids had eaten dog food.
And a sob tore through me, cutting into my reality of justice and vengeance. Up until that point, saving others had only been a theory, a potential benefit to feeding the need inside me to kill them. But saving those kids – the two I’d actually seen tied up – cemented the path I’d been sent down. I had to kill. I had to protect more kids… more like me. But first, I needed Deegan out. I needed him. Because while I needed to save others, I couldn’t do it without him. I couldn’t do anything without him.
Psycho Inside Me Page 16
