The Last To Die

by Beverly Barton

  "Okay, okay," he sho­uted. "Eno­ugh. Wha­te­ver it is you want, you've got it. Just tell me what you want from me."

  "I tho­ught that wo­uld be ob­vi­o­us." She ho­ve­red the kni­fe over his chin. "I want you to suf­fer the way you've ma­de so many ot­hers suf­fer." La­ug­h­ter bub­bled up in­si­de her. "No, that's not true. Ac­tu­al­ly, I want you to suf­fer far mo­re."

  "What ot­hers?" he as­ked. "Who ha­ve I ma­de suf­fer? I've ne­ver do­ne so­met­hing li­ke this to an­yo­ne. Not ever."

  She nip­ped his chin with the kni­fe. "Physi­cal tor­tu­re is the only thing you un­der­s­tand, be­ca­use so­me­one has to ha­ve a he­art and a so­ul to suf­fer men­tal­ly and emo­ti­onal­ly. And we both know that you don't ha­ve eit­her a he­art or a so­ul."

  "Don't do this. Wha­te­ver it is you think I've do­ne wrong, ho­we­ver you think I might ha­ve hurt you, I'm sorry. Just let me go and I swe­ar I'll ma­ke it up to you. Wha­te­ver you want, you-"

  "I'm get­ting exactly what I want right now. You're beg­ging. You're sca­red. And you're suf­fe­ring." She re­ac­hed down and cup­ped his scro­tum in her hand. "But the fun has only just be­gun."

  While Dal­las dro­ve to­ward the Up­ton Farm, Genny tri­ed on­ce aga­in to call Jaz­zy. She'd be­en trying on and off for the past twenty mi­nu­tes, but no one had an­s­we­red. She'd just con­tac­ted the pho­ne com­pany and was as­su­red the li­ne was in pro­per wor­king or­der and sug­ges­ted that the pho­ne might to be dis­con­nec­ted at the so­ur­ce.

  Damn! Jaz­zy was in the ha­bit of oc­ca­si­onal­ly un­p­lug­ging her pho­nes when she didn't want her sle­ep dis­tur­bed. But why this mor­ning of all mor­nings? If Genny had ti­me, she'd go in­to town and wa­ke Jaz­zy, but ti­me was of the es­sen­ce if they wan­ted to sa­ve Jamie's li­fe. Genny co­uld sen­se his li­fe for­ce be­gin­ning to dra­in from him.

  "No luck?" Dal­las as­ked.

  "No. She's ta­ken the pho­ne off the ho­ok aga­in."

  "Since Jacob has cal­led in his de­pu­ti­es and I've got every ava­ilab­le man on my for­ce jo­ining for­ces with Jacob's guys, I don't ha­ve an­y­body who can check on her. Why don't you call Ca­leb and see if he'll go over and let Jaz­zy know what's go­ing on?"

  "Good idea, but I don't know his pho­ne num­ber and all the Che­ro­kee Ca­bin Ren­tal num­bers are un­lis­ted. I'll ha­ve to wa­it un­til so­me­one's in the of­fi­ce to get the num­ber."

  "It's not go­ing to hurt to wa­it," Dal­las sa­id. "After all, may­be by the ti­me you re­ach Jaz­zy, we'll ha­ve fo­und Jamie and ha­ve his wo­uld-be kil­ler be­hind bars."

  "If only I co­uld be­li­eve that…"

  Dallas ma­de a sharp turn as he kept the SUV on the ro­ad go­ing down the mo­un­ta­in. "Are you pic­king up on so­met­hing you ha­ven't told me abo­ut?"

  Genny shi­ve­red. "I'm get­ting stran­ge vi­bes. Li­ke I told you, I'm sen­sing Jamie's li­fe for­ce dra­ining away. If we don't find him so­on, he'll die."

  Ten mi­nu­tes la­ter, they stop­ped at the open ga­tes in front of the dri­ve­way at the Up­ton Farm. The ro­ad­way was li­ned with ve­hic­les and Big Jim Up­ton sto­od be­si­de Jacob's Dod­ge Ram, which bloc­ked the dri­ve. Sally sto­od by the truck bed, whe­re she'd al­re­ady pla­ced Pe­ter and Paul. Jacob wa­ved at Genny and Dal­las as they pul­led to a stop be­hind his truck.

  Dallas got out, ro­un­ded the ho­od, and re­ac­hed the pas­sen­ger do­or of the­ir SUV in ti­me to help Genny on­to the gro­und. "If I see you're get­ting too ti­red or if you get suc­ked in­to the dar­k­ness too de­ep, I'm ta­king you ho­me. Un­der­s­tand?"

  "Yes, Dal­las, I un­der­s­tand." She lo­ved him for be­ing so pro­tec­ti­ve.

  Side by si­de, they ap­pro­ac­hed Jacob and Big Jim. When they drew clo­ser, Genny saw the stra­in on Jim Up­ton's fa­ce. Jamie had put his gran­d­fat­her thro­ugh hell for ye­ars, but the old man still ca­red abo­ut his only gran­d­c­hild.

  "We're all set," Jacob sa­id. "Big Jim pro­vi­ded us with a pa­ir of Jamie's socks. The ones he wo­re yes­ter­day, so we're set to let Pe­ter and Pa­ul lo­ose on­ce you he­ad us in the right di­rec­ti­on."

  Genny nod­ded.

  "I can't tell you how gra­te­ful I am that you're wil­ling to help Jamie," Jim sa­id, his ex­p­res­si­on som­ber. "Con­si­de­ring how Jamie has tre­ated Jaz­zy. I know she's yo­ur best fri­end."

  Genny la­id her hand on Jim's arm and squ­e­ezed com­for­tingly. "The only thing that mat­ters right now is fin­ding Jamie. And I'll do my best to help." She didn't tell the man that she wo­uldn't let any li­ving cre­atu­re die if it we­re wit­hin her po­wer to pre­vent it, not even a sorry son of a bitch li­ke Jamie.

  "Is what Jacob sa­id true?" Jim as­ked. "Did you… did you see him be­ing tor­tu­red?"

  Genny's ga­ze shot to Jacob's fa­ce, and she im­me­di­ately un­der­s­to­od that he'd had no cho­ice but tell Big Jim ever­y­t­hing, ot­her­wi­se he wo­uldn't ha­ve be­li­eved Jacob.

  "Yes, it's true. So­me­one is hol­ding Jamie cap­ti­ve. She is tor­tu­ring-"

  "She? It's a wo­man who has him, a wo­man who is… God help him. It co­uld be an­y­body. That boy has no con­s­ci­en­ce when it co­mes to ta­king ad­van­ta­ge of wo­men." Jim lo­oked di­rectly in­to Genny's eyes. "Do you know who she is?"

  Genny sho­ok her he­ad. "No. I can't see the wo­man cle­arly." Only her short red ha­ir.

  Jim drew in a de­ep bre­ath and nod­ded. ''Then we'd bet­ter be off, hadn't we? It'll be day­light so­on, and I don't want my wi­fe or La­ura and her fa­mily to know an­y­t­hing abo­ut this, un­less it's ab­so­lu­tely ne­ces­sary. Jacob was go­od eno­ugh to call me first be­fo­re he sho­wed up so I co­uld me­et him down he­re at the ga­te. If an­y­t­hing hap­pens to Jamie, it'll kill my wi­fe."

  "We're re­ady." Jacob lo­oked to Genny. "Which way?" Genny tur­ned back to Dal­las, who sto­od only a co­up­le of fe­et away. She wan­ted him ne­ar, in ca­se she ne­eded him im­me­di­ately. So­me­ti­mes when she del­ved too de­eply, she had dif­fi­culty re­emer­ging. Dal­las had be­co­me her li­fe­li­ne to re­ality. He pos­ses­sed the abi­lity to draw her back from the ob­si­di­an depths.

  With Dal­las at her si­de, Genny clo­sed her eyes and con­cen­t­ra­ted, pra­ying that her sixth sen­se wo­uld pick I up so­met­hing on Jamie's whe­re­abo­uts. Dar­k­ness des­cen­ded qu­ickly. Swir­ling, ma­le­vo­lent dar­k­ness that in­di­ca­ted evil.

  Pain. So much pa­in. Un­be­arab­le suf­fe­ring. She co­uld he­ar Jamie's pi­ti­ful cri­es in­si­de her mind and the gen­t­le­ness wit­hin her co­uld ba­rely en­du­re the know­led­ge of what was hap­pe­ning to him. The dar­k­ness tur­ned a de­ep red, a thick, clo­udy crim­son co­ve­ring ever­y­t­hing. Blo­od. Blo­od. Oh, God, so much blo­od.

  Concentrate on whe­re Jamie is and not on what's hap­pe­ning to him, she told her­self. Con­nect with the pla­ce, not with Jamie.

  Although she was unab­le to vi­su­ali­ze the exact lo­ca­ti­on, she did re­cog­ni­ze Scot­s­man's Bluff when she tri­ed to pic­tu­re the pla­ce whe­re Jamie was be­ing held. Only a few months ago, a vi­ci­o­us se­ri­al kil­ler had mur­de­red an in­no­cent se­ven­te­en ye­ar old not far from Scot­s­man's Bluff. The pla­ce was de­ep in the fo­rest, high in the mo­un­ta­ins. Sec­lu­ded. Dot­ted with ca­ves. Plen­ti­ful with wil­d­li­fe. And a few old, de­ser­ted ca­bins still sto­od he­re and the­re, wit­hin sight of Scot­s­man's Bluff. Jamie was in one of tho­se ca­bins!

  "He's so­mew­he­re clo­se to Scot­s­man's Bluff." Genny ope­ned her eyes. And al­t­ho­ugh she had be­en ab­le to re­turn to the pre­sent mo­ment wit­ho­ut any dif­fi­culty, she felt a sud­den and po­wer­ful we­ak­ness. When she swa­yed slightly, Dal­las cur­sed un­der his bre­ath. "I'm all right,"
she as­su­red him.

  "Okay, let's get or­ga­ni­zed he­re," Jacob cal­led out. "Mr. Up­ton will ri­de with me, as will Genny and Dal­las." He lo­oked at Sally. "You ta­ke Genny's SUV and stay right be­hind us. Le­ave Pe­ter and Pa­ul in the truck with us." Sally nod­ded. Dal­las tos­sed the old wo­man his keys. "Ever­yo­ne el­se will fol­low us and stay in ra­dio con­tact at all ti­mes. I don't want an­y­body do­ing an­y­t­hing wit­ho­ut my spe­ci­fic or­ders."

  Once they he­aded back up the mo­un­ta­in, Genny res­ted her he­ad on Dal­las's sho­ul­der and tri­ed her best to con­cen­t­ra­te on whe­re Jamie was lo­ca­ted. Scot­s­man's Bluff co­uld be se­en from mi­les aro­und, which me­ant it co­uld ta­ke ho­urs to se­arch the vi­ci­nity. Genny felt cer­ta­in that Jamie didn't ha­ve ho­urs. She sen­sed that the wo­man who held him cap­ti­ve was gro­wing we­ary of tor­tu­ring him, es­pe­ci­al­ly now that he kept pas­sing out from the pa­in.

  * * *

  She ope­ned the ther­mos, til­ted it, and po­ured wa­ter over Jamie's blo­ody fa­ce. He didn't res­pond. Damn, he was such a lily-li­ve­red we­ak­ling. A lit­tle pa­in and he pas­sed out. Oh, well, she'd had her fun with him. He had suf­fe­red the tor­ment of the dam­ned. And his pretty boy fa­ce and per­fect body we­re ne­it­her pretty nor per­fect any lon­ger. She step­ped away from him and ad­mi­red her han­di­work. His fa­ce and body we­re co­ve­red with nu­me­ro­us cuts and burns. She had sli­ced his fin­ger­tips and to­es with ra­zor bla­des and nip­ped off his tiny ma­le nip­ples with a pa­ir of pli­ers. She had used the hot po­ker re­pe­atedly; ho­we­ver, she had one fi­nal des­ti­na­ti­on for that par­ti­cu­lar in­s­t­ru­ment.

  Kneeling be­si­de him aga­in, she pat­ted his fa­ce. Blo­od so­aked her hands. The hu­man fa­ce had so many tiny blo­od ves­sels that with a few cuts, it lo­oked as if a per­son was ble­eding to de­ath.

  "Wake up, dar­ling. I've got anot­her sur­p­ri­se for you." Jamie's eye­lids eased hal­f­way open. "That's a go­od boy."

  He tri­ed to sha­ke his he­ad, but co­uldn't ma­na­ge. His bur­ned mo­uth for­med the word No. Using her fin­gers, she wi­ped the blo­od from his fo­re­he­ad whe­re it was drip­ping in­to his eyes.

  "It's al­most over. All my fun. And all yo­ur pa­in. But then when you die, you'll go to hell, and the suf­fe­ring the­re will last fo­re­ver." She la­ug­hed at him, la­ug­hed with the gid­di­ness bub­bling in­si­de her.

  She got up and wal­ked over to the fi­rep­la­ce. The po­ker sho­uld be red hot now. She lif­ted the po­ker from the fla­mes and car­ri­ed it with her as she sto­od at Jamie's fe­et. She knelt, pic­ked up the sharp but­c­her kni­fe, then eased up bet­we­en Jamie's spre­ad legs. She la­id the po­ker asi­de for a mo­ment whi­le she lif­ted his scro­tum. Then, in one swift sli­ce, she to­ok off his ge­ni­tals. Tos­sing the kni­fe asi­de, she pic­ked up the hot po­ker and ram­med it in­to his anus.

  Leaving the po­ker im­bed­ded in him, she craw­led up be­si­de him and to­ok a go­od lo­ok at what was left of Jamie Up­ton. She for­ced his mo­uth wi­de apart and stuf­fed his blo­ody pe­nis in­to his mo­uth. Then she sto­od, wi­ped her blo­ody hands off on her blo­ody body, and sig­hed.

  ''That's that. Job all do­ne." If he wasn't de­ad, he wo­uld be very so­on.

  Now you ha­ve to cle­an up, she told her­self. Gat­her up all yo­ur things, put them in the gar­ba­ge sack, and get re­ady to le­ave.

  Andrea Wil­lis wo­ke at six o'clock. So­met­hing was wrong. She co­uld sen­se tro­ub­le. It was un­li­ke her to wa­ke so early, es­pe­ci­al­ly af­ter she'd ta­ken a sle­eping pill. And whe­ne­ver she got a sen­se of fo­re­bo­ding, it usu­al­ly in­vol­ved La­ura. Sud­denly she re­mem­be­red that ne­it­her La­ura nor She­ri­dan had co­me ho­me last night. She didn't worry so much abo­ut She­ri­dan. That fe­isty yo­ung wo­man co­uld ta­ke ca­re of her­self. But what abo­ut La­ura?

  Andrea got out of bed, slip­ped in­to her ho­use sho­es and ro­be, exi­ted the bed­ro­om whe­re Ce­cil was still sle­eping, and wal­ked down the hall. She knoc­ked on her da­ug­h­ters' do­or. No res­pon­se. This ti­me she didn't wa­it She simply flung open the do­or and tur­ned on the over­he­ad light. Ne­it­her of the twin beds had be­en slept in. Both we­re still ma­de up from yes­ter­day mor­ning.

  What was that odd so­und? Whe­re was it co­ming from? She stop­ped de­ad still in the cen­ter of the ro­om and lis­te­ned. So­me­one was we­eping, and the pi­ti­ful sobs we­re co­ming from the adj­o­ining bat­h­ro­om. Had one of the girls re­tur­ned? Was She­ri­dan or La­ura crying? If Jamie Upton had do­ne so­met­hing to hurt La­ura aga­in, she didn't know what she'd do. Yes, she did. She'd ma­ke Ce­cil for­bid La­ura to marry the sorry son of a bitch and they'd ta­ke La­ura ho­me to­day.

  When An­d­rea eased open the bat­h­ro­om do­or, she gas­ped when she saw La­ura, to­tal­ly na­ked, stan­ding in the sho­wer. The sho­wer was off, but La­ura was so­aking wet and shi­ve­ring. Te­ars stre­amed down her fa­ce.

  "Laura?" For a co­up­le of se­conds An­d­rea co­uldn't se­em to mo­ve. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" La­ura tur­ned her he­ad slowly and ga­zed at An­d­rea. That's when An­d­rea knew that La­ura had had anot­her spell. She rus­hed to her da­ug­h­ter, grab­bed a lar­ge to­wel from the rack by the sho­wer stall, and wrap­ped it aro­und La­ura.

  "Come on, swe­etie, let me help you." With gre­at gen­t­le­ness, An­d­rea ur­ged La­ura in­to mo­ti­on, hel­ping her step out of the sho­wer. She rub­bed La­ura's body dry, then to­ok anot­her to­wel and wrap­ped it aro­und her he­ad tur­ban-st­y­le. Ta­king La­ura's trem­b­ling hand, she led her da­ug­h­ter in­to the bed­ro­om, whe­re she eased her down on the ed­ge of the bed. La­ura con­ti­nu­ed we­eping. Softly. Mo­ur­n­ful­ly.

  While she se­ar­c­hed the clo­set for so­met­hing su­itab­le for La­ura to we­ar, An­d­rea tho­ught abo­ut what must be do­ne. Ce­cil wo­uld fight her, but she didn't ca­re how much he obj­ec­ted. La­ura ne­eded help. If she co­uldn't ma­ke La­ura le­ave Che­ro­kee Co­unty to­day and if Ce­cil wo­uldn't back her up, she'd call a lo­cal doc­tor and see if he co­uld at le­ast gi­ve La­ura so­me me­di­ca­ti­on. So­met­hing to so­ot­he her ner­ves.

  Andrea wor­ked qu­ickly, hel­ping La­ura dress in lo­ose-fit­ting lo­un­ge slacks and top. Then she com­bed La­ura's long blond ha­ir, and all the whi­le she spo­ke softly, so­ot­hingly to her tro­ub­led da­ug­h­ter. When An­d­rea sat down on the bed be­si­de La­ura and to­ok her hand in hers, La­ura stop­ped crying.

  "Feeling bet­ter?" An­d­rea as­ked.

  Laura nod­ded.

  'What's wrong? Tell me abo­ut it. Why we­re you crying?"

  "I don't know," La­ura sa­id. "I-I can't re­mem­ber."

  "Where we­re you last night and early this mor­ning? I chec­ked in he­re and both you and She­ri­dan we­re go­ne."

  "I don't know." La­ura squ­e­ezed An­d­rea's hand. "I re­mem­ber Jamie kis­sing me go­od night and I ca­me up­s­ta­irs to get re­ady for bed. She­ri­dan wasn't he­re. I was alo­ne."

  "And then what?" 'That's all I re­mem­ber un­til a lit­tle whi­le ago. I-I was in the sho­wer, scrub­bing my body. And I was crying."

  "Are you sa­ying you don't re­mem­ber whe­re you we­re all night?" An­d­rea's he­art ca­ught in her thro­at. Ple­ase, God, ple­ase, don't do this to us. La­ura isn't to bla­me for the way she is. And Ce­cil, my po­or Ce­cil, can't go thro­ugh this aga­in.

  "Oh, Mot­her, it's hap­pe­ning aga­in, isn't it?" La­ura flung her­self in­to An­d­rea's arms. "I'm lo­sing my mind. I'm ha­ving anot­her ner­vo­us bre­ak­down, aren't I?"

  Andrea hug­ged her da­ug­h­ter fi­er­cely. Pro­tec­ti­vely. "No, no, swe­etie, you'll be all right. No one knows you we­ren't he­re al
l night. And you mustn't tell an­yo­ne. Ever­y­t­hing will be all right. Trust me to ta­ke ca­re of things, to ta­ke ca­re of you."

  "Oh, Mot­her, what wo­uld I do wit­ho­ut you?" She la­id her he­ad in An­d­rea's lap.

  Andrea stro­ked La­ura's damp ha­ir. Help us, de­ar God, help us.

  * * *

  They had let Pe­ter and Pa­ul lo­ose the mi­nu­te Scot­s­man's Bluff ca­me in­to vi­ew. The she­rif­fs de­pu­ti­es and po­li­ce­men had fol­lo­wed the blo­od­ho­unds, run­ning at top spe­ed to ke­ep up with die lum­be­ring dogs. Big Jim wa­ited with Genny and Dal­las out­si­de Jacob's truck, par­ked on the si­de of die ro­ad. Jacob ra­di­o­ed to the truck se­ve­ral ti­mes, gi­ving di­em up­da­tes, let­ting them know the dogs hadn't lost the scent.