by Tim Wellman
Lisa didn't seem bothered. "See, mom always says to wear your shoes, even indoors! I bet that really hurt, didn't it?"
"Fuck yes!"
"Sorry. If you've got some needle and thread I'll stitch it up for you," she said. "I sewed an arm back on my teddy once."
Heather glanced toward her bag on the other side of the room, then back to the girl. "The bathroom is over there, freshen up and we'll go get some food."
Lisa nodded and smiled. "But your bag is over there and there's a gun in it, right?"
She jumped up and darted toward her bag, but the pain in her foot was too much and she collapsed. But the little girl was straddling her back almost instantly, and had the knife next to her throat. She laughed as the knife cut into the teenager's flesh. Not much, but it was enough to draw blood. "For fuck's sake!" Heather yelled and jerked her head away and toppled the girl onto the floor.
Lisa rolled toward the bag in the corner, grabbed it, and then pulled out the small handgun. "Oh, stop whining," she said. She waved the gun and smiled again. "Get back to the bed; we need to talk."
"What are you?!" Heather cried as she stood up, moaned in pain, and then fell backward onto the bed, barely managing to sit up again. As she did, Lisa was holding the gun to her face.
"Open up," she whispered as she pushed the barrel of the gun against Heather's lips. She jerked her head back, but the little girl followed her movement, pounding the metal barrel into her lips. "Now, you've got blood on the gun!" She pushed the gun into her lips again. "Open."
For the first time, Heather was really scared. Before she had just been in pain, but now she was scared. The little, innocent girl was not what she was supposed to be, not what she had expected. Something was terribly wrong with Lisa Marie Lovins. She opened her mouth slightly, then felt the metal barrel on her teeth and opened wider before the little girl knocked her teeth out. She felt the barrel on her tongue, the salty, bitter metallic taste mixed with the taste of the blood from her lips.
Lisa smacked the side of her head, almost playfully, but still firmly. "Now, you know what I'm capable of doing, right? You made a terrible mistake when you picked me. No matter what shit you’ve gone through in life, I’ve already gone through it and kicked its ass." She nodded her head toward the table beside the bed. "You need to call my mother and tell her what I tell you to say."
Heather tried to nod and the little girl pulled the gun out of her mouth. "I'll do what you want me to do," she said.
The child picked up the phone, dialed a number, and then handed it to Heather. "My mom's personal cell number. You've kidnapped me. The ransom is one hundred thousand dollars, delivered by Regina, the maid, to the old green dumpster behind the Mini Market on Route 75 at four o'clock today."
"Ah, hello?" Heather said. "Yeah, this is the kidnapper. I have your daughter. If ya want to see her again, have the maid Regina leave a hundred thousand dollars in cash in the dumpster behind the Mini Market on Route 75 at four o'clock today."
"Mommy! Mommy!" Lisa screamed. "They're beating me! There's a big man and he's taking his pants off! Mommy!" She put her finger on the disconnect button on the dial pad. "I should be an actress when I grow up."
Heather put the receiver back in place. "She said she'd pay but didn't want you back." She tried to remember when she lost control, but it wasn't clear. She was losing a lot of blood from her foot and starting to feel dizzy. Suddenly, she felt the little girl's hand slapping her cheek. "Owe! Shit!"
"You were nodding off," Lisa said.
"I'm losing too much blood," she said. "I need a doctor."
"Don't care," the little girl said and then sighed loudly. "Well, shit!" She opened a table drawer and then another one. "There," she said and pulled out a small sewing kit. "Every cheap-assed motel room I've ever been in has one of these in it somewhere." She tossed it into Heather's lap. "You do it; I can't trust you now. You were going to kill me with this gun so I can't take the chance of putting it down."
"Do what?" Heather said.
"Sew up your fucking foot, shit-for-brains!" She reached down and ripped the bed sheet off the teenager's foot, then motioned for her to pull it up on her other leg.
She did as told, but started crying and gagged. "I cain't do it!"
"Well shit," Lisa said. She watched as Heather fell over backward on the bed. She had passed out. "I should sew your lips together."
***
Heather opened her eyes and then suddenly became aware of someone slapping her in the face. It was the child, kneeling on her chest, slapping her with all her might. "Stop it!"
"Oh, you're awake," Lisa said as she climbed down and jumped off the bed. "You're lucky I didn't use a baseball bat." She pointed to Heather's foot. "No need to thank me for saving your life."
The teenager looked down then screamed in horror. "You! You sewed my toes together!"
"Oh yeah, cool, huh?" Lisa said. "I figured sewing up your wound would just make it harder for you to run away, but you put any kind of real force on those toes, that thread is going to slice you open like a hundred razor blades."
"Run away?" Heather whispered. "I kidnapped you." She was beginning to wonder if that was actually true.
"It's nearly four," the little girl said, ignoring what Heather had said. "We give dear old Regina till a few minutes after four, then pick up the cash."
"Why are you doing this?"
"You can call the police on me if you want to," Lisa said, and then laughed. "I'm sure they would believe your story once they interview me." She waved the gun toward the phone and shrugged. "No?"
"Just let me leave, please? I can't say a word, you know that. Please, just let me walk out the door."
"Sorry," Lisa said. "No can do. You have a car. That's the only way to get to Mini Market. That’s like a million miles walk with my little legs." She thought for a moment. "I guess I could hitchhike, but that's so dangerous, you know. No, for now, it's you and me, sister. Wrap that pillow case around your foot and tie it off. We won't have time to keep stopping for medical emergencies. We're on a mission."
"Until it's over and you blow my brains out," she said.
"Enjoy life!" Lisa said in an animated voice. "Live each moment like it could be your last!"
Heather stood up and tried to put weight on her foot, but the pain was just too much. But, with some effort, she could hobble on her heel. She watched as the little girl waved the gun toward the door, and grabbed her bag from the bed and limped toward it. "I was set up, right?"
"Well, let's say I've been through this kidnapping thing before," Lisa said. "You were the… what’s the word… convenient idiot. Why is it a little kid playing in a big yard is just so tempting for all of you shitheads?" She shrugged. "But I always get home. In fact, I've got more money stashed away in this town than I'll ever spend. But, it is so fun to play the game with mom."
"She's in on it, too?"
Shit no! She's so hopped up on pills she barely knows what state she lives in," she said. "That's why daddy left us, the stupid cow! But for a fucked up old bitch, she really can entertain me!"
"All of this is because you like torturing your mother?"
"Nope!" Lisa said as they both stepped out of the motel room and into the hot midday sun. "I like torturing everyone. But, mom is special. She even tried to kill me once when one of her boyfriends told her he didn’t want no kids around. She tried to drown me in the bathtub. But, Regina came in and dear old mom pretended nothing was going on. She lost all her nerve after that, and most of her mind. Gets real pathetic when I bring it up." She walked around to the passenger side door of Heather's old wreck and opened it, pointing the gun across the seat and through the far side glass at Heather as she opened her door and climbed into the driver's seat. Then Lisa jumped in and slammed her door. "Oh, don't try driving anyplace except our destination. I know the route by heart." She sniffed the air inside the car and crinkled her nose. "Damn! So this is what a two dollar whore house smells like in the hot sun."
"I can barely drive at all in this much pain," Heather whispered.
"Just think, you can pretend to be a hero later," the child said. "Hobble into a hospital and make up some sob story about being abducted. Tell 'em some black guys did it and you'll be on the news."
"You mean it? You're going to let me go?" she said. She sniffed away the forming tears and pulled out of the motel parking lot and onto Route 60 which led through the center of town and merged into Route 75 just past the underpass that led out of town. They were both silent. "You always play the game like this? You always win?"
"Nope, I don't always win," Lisa said. She wasn't paying much attention and was spinning the cylinder on the revolver in her hand. "Got hurt real bad once last year. Growed up real quick after that."
"Oh."
"Just made me tougher," she said.
"Ain't there places that could help you?" Heather said. "Help ya work out your problems."
"I'm six. What problems could a six year old have?" she said.
"Ya got problems. Trust me, I know. I've got most of the same problems. But your momma needs ta be horse-whipped. Ain't no child should go through all the shit she put you through."
The little girl stared at her for a moment. "There's the dumpster," she said. "Pull in over there in the alley. I've used this place before; no one can see you in the alley."
Heather drove past the dumpster, and then found the little alleyway, just wide enough for a single car, and parked out of sight. She looked over at the child. "You going to go get the money?"
Lisa nodded. She smiled and put the gun against Heather's leg and pulled the trigger, splashing the whole driver's side door and seat with blood. Heather couldn't muster the strength to scream; she simply slumped over on the steering wheel. The little girl grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. "You still in there?" She slapped Heather on the face a couple of times. "Listen close. There's a few bricks that can be pulled lose behind the dumpster. I'm going to put the money there. If you survive, it's yours." She let Heather's head bang against the steering wheel and then opened the door and hopped out. "I'm going home after this; I'm hungry. I'll get the Mini Market clerk to call 911 for me. Poor lost little girl who wants her mommy." She walked away, laughing like she was being tickled with a feather.
The Perry Legacy
The Perry house sat on the northern slop of the tallest hill in the outlying woods and farmlands around Ceres, West Virginia. From any of the windows along the front of the big old house, the entire town was visible, laid out like a model train diorama, with the Ohio River in the distance, with the twin town of Kenoa to the west, and Ten Pole Creek corralling its eastward growth. Not that the town worried much about growth, there were still more trees than people, more grass than cement, and the old house had held its high ground, the Perry clan always ready to fight to keep what it had, even though there was seldom anyone to fight against.
The old man, Jonathan Perry, had secured his position as town leader through shrewd, though ethically questionable, business deals during the war. No one was sure how he could lay his hands on so much scrap metal, but he did and quickly rolled the money he got from selling it to the federal government into local buildings and businesses in town. By the time the Japanese had signed MacArthur's documents, Perry, just out of high school, owned nearly everything in Ceres worth owning.
He held his grip from a distance, though. There were old people in town who claimed to have been friends with him at one time or other, usually before the people hearing their claims were even born, but it was certain no one in a generation had seen him. Payments were made, checks were received, once a week the grocery store he owned would make delivers to the old house, but beyond that he was more legend than fact. He owned the tiny newspaper and the bank, and his generous donations to city hall secured his privacy and any hidden vices he may have had. It was known he had a wife; no one knew her name or where she came from. 'Up east,' some said. But there was a rumor she died several years ago right after Carter became president. He also had two sons, both grown adults and presumably they had wives as well. Zeke Adkins at the drug store said he had received orders for toys, mostly dolls and such that young girls would like, so there must have been another generation inhabiting the old house, as well. Zeke had been mailing toys up there for the last few years, if he remembered correctly.
But things change. A faulty lawn mower a mile or so down the hill started the fire and caught the dry August timothy grass alight and the small fire department, though valiantly forthcoming, couldn't control it as it flashed up the hillside. Fire burned faster uphill, it was quickly learned, and by the time the other local departments had arrived with their pumpers and manpower, it was completely out of control. And as it spread toward the town and the other smaller houses in the fields around it, it became more imperative to expend their energy on saving the things they were more certain about rather than making a mad dash up the hill to fight a futile fight for someone no one really knew anyway. The Perry house would be lost, regardless of time, resources and lives spent in the battle. And so it was.
By morning the view to the south had forever changed. Every single citizen of Ceres had seen the old house on the hill their entire lives, but now the hulking black hill held a twisted frame, still smoldering, but razed to the ground. 'They had forgotten' was the only explanation given by those who had spent the evening and night fighting the fire. They had meant to rescue them, no one was ignoring them, but minutes turned into hours and in the end, no one made it up the hill.
Finally, it fell to police chief, Steve Wilson, to gather together a team and head up the winding old dirt and gravel driveway and tie up the ends the fire had loosened. A couple of Kenoa's EMT's and his two officers plus his son, Steve Junior, headed toward the top in his four-by-four truck and hadn't made it halfway before the engine sputtered out and they were forced to walk the rest of the way. But the chief couldn't make it any further, too many meals under his belt, so it fell to Steve Junior to lead the group and see what they could see.
"Y'all keep them radios handy," he said. "Junior, ya need ta get your bearin's up there and find where ya think the front door woulda been before ya can get a good layout in your head."
"I know, dad," he said. "We've all been hiking these woods all our lives. We can figure it out."
"Well, ya ain't knowin' what ya'll find up there, though," the chief said. "Old man Perry mighta had the whole place booby-trapped er somethin'."
"Go on over to the Chatterhouse and have a burger," his son said. "We'll radio you when we get poking around."
The men continued their climb and the chief managed to get his truck turned around and bounced back down the hill. His son looked back and waved, figuring his dad was looking through the side mirrors.
"You guys hear that all of old man Perry's deeds in town will go to the people operating the places?" John Samson said. He was lugging a heavy paramedics bag and trailing behind the other men.
"That's what they say," the other EMT said. "I hope that's right. Dad's been keeping the hardware store open for twenty years. He deserves to get it left to 'im."
The two police officers, Jake Smithers and Tom Watts, both in their early twenties, were ahead of the rest. They had joined the force last year after both had returned to town after failing out of college. "Now see, if me and Jake had a stuck 'round town instead a goin' off to college, we'd a prob'ly took up one of his shops and been fixed up right now."
"You're all assuming everyone is dead up there," Steve said. "I don't know, but I'd say if any of the family is alive, they'll get all of the old man's property."
"Y'all smell that?" Jake said.
Everyone stopped and sniffed the air.
"Burnt flesh," John said. "Extra crispy."
"I know none of us really gives a shit whether our reclusive benefactor is dead or alive, but let's show a little respect," Steve said. "I reckon half a dozen or more people are dead up here."
"Don't he talk good!" Tom said and dropped back to poke Steve in the arm. "He was raised right here with the rest of us, but he didn't get no hillbilly in 'im t'all."
They all breached the top of the hill and took a quick look around. The remains of the house were hot with small hand-sized fires still burning, their fingers looking for anything else to ignite. The old stone foundation was still there but covered with the blackened timbers and a thick layer of charcoal, nails, and various pieces of heat-warped and twisted metal.
"Looks like we's late fer the barbeque," Jake said.
"Smells like it too," Tom said. He turned around and looked down the hill. "So, this is what the king saw."
The others turned and looked. "You look over there," Steve said and pointed. "That fire been another twenty feet and the pines in front of Thompson's house would have gone up like gasoline and burned him out."
They all stared at the long black line the fire had left. "Looks like something was just meanin' ta break the town away from Perry hill," John said. He turned back toward the house. "Let's see if any bodies are visible before we start poking around."
Steve pulled his radio off his belt. "Dad, you hear me?"
There was a few seconds of silence, then his dad replied. "Yep."
"How's that burger?" Steve said. "Hey, listen, we're at the house, now. We can smell burnt flesh, and it's looking like no way anyone could have survived." He walked around to the side of the house. "The fire looks like it surrounded the house before it actually lit it up, and you saw how fast it was moving."
"Get me a body count then," his dad said. "I already sent fer the county off-roader, so I'll be up there as soon as it gets here."
"Ten-four," Steve said.
"Ain't that there a body?" Jake said as he pointed through a few half-standing planks. Everyone else peered through the obstructions.
