The Temptation of Silence

by V. J. Chambers

  Anyway, when he couldn’t get this across, he started thinking about making a video. He’d long wanted to practice video editing, and he thought he could make a video with clips of the various episodes and it would be something he could show people who were interested in the show. Maybe a ten-minute video or something easy.

  But as he tried to find the clips, he started to feel as if the video was ballooning into something that might be hours long, and so, he decided to limit his scope. He would only take clips from the first season, and he would just focus on that. Then, when it was still too big, he thought he might break it up into parts, ten minutes for each episode.

  Before he knew it, he was making ten-minute videos that highlighted whatever was brilliant about each episode in the first season of Hitgam. And though he’d thought his audience would be people he was trying to convince to watch it, instead, his audience were already fans of Hitgam, who enjoyed his incisive look into the themes and messages of the show.

  He was well aware that tapping into an already rabid fandom was what had made his career, not him. He’d brought skills to the table, of course, but he had given an audience something they were hungry for—more content related to Hitgam. That was why he was successful, and that would be what he would tell other people to do as well.

  He began working on recording voice-over for his next video, but he was interrupted by his phone ringing.

  Damn it.

  He usually turned the phone off when he was working, because it ruined the audio.

  Since he’d already been interrupted, however, he answered the phone.

  It was Belinda. “I just got an automated call from the school system,” she said. “Madison isn’t there.”

  “What?” said Liam. “Automated?”

  “The school system takes attendance, and then they call parents to let them know, so if your child is skipping school, you can punish them.”

  “You think she’s skipping school?”

  “I hope she’s skipping school, but I’m afraid it’s not that at all.”

  He took a deep breath. “Okay, have you called the police?”

  “I’m calling you.”

  “Hang up and call 911,” he said. “And I’ll call Dawson.”

  “I thought there were supposed to be officers following her,” she said. “They were supposed to be watching the school.”

  “I know, I know,” he said.

  “These police are incredibly incompetent.”

  “Maybe they have eyes on her, Belinda. Maybe they know where she is right now.”

  “Liam, if you tell me that they are using my thirteen-year-old daughter as bait for that monster—”

  “No,” he said firmly. “They wouldn’t dare.” Dawson had expressed her frustration with finding Finn, but she wouldn’t do such a thing. He was sure of it.

  * * *

  Madison thought the house was cold. It was also dark in here. She would have asked about turning on the lights, but she didn’t want to say anything at all, because she was scared.

  They were in a house down by the beach, one of the really big ones with three stories and a room with a pool table and a pool on a deck that overlooked the beach.

  She thought maybe the electricity had been turned off in the house for the winter. Maybe that was why there was no light or heat.

  She didn’t think that Phineas actually owned this house.

  It was strange to call an adult by his first name like that, but she didn’t know what else to call him. His last name was apparently Slater, and she didn’t think he should get the respect of Mr. Slater. He was sitting on the opposite side of the living room from her. He had a gun. It was resting against his thigh, almost casually pointing at her, but she was well aware of the fact that he could squeeze the trigger at any moment, if only because he’d told her that.

  It was her own fault that she was with him, which was something else he’d told her.

  She shivered.

  She knew about Phineas Slater because her mother had told him a little bit about him, mostly to warn her away from him. Her mother had shown her a picture and said that if she ever saw that man, she should scream and run and use her phone to call for help. Maybe not in that order. Madison was a little foggy on the details, because it had all seemed silly, not real.

  Her mother was worried about all sorts of things, like Madison having an eating disorder or bullies at school, and she was always sitting Madison down to have “very serious” talks about these things.

  Madison thought her mother was overreacting. She hadn’t taken it seriously at all. She should have. When she realized there were police following her around, a cop car sitting outside as she walked into her school, that should have clued her in.

  But she had thought… oh, she didn’t know… that her mother had somehow enlisted the police in her crazy overreaction, and that it was all just bullshit.

  So, that morning, she’d gone into the school building, with the police watching, and then gone out the back door and run off to meet her friend Niveah, because they were going to skip school together that day.

  She and Niveah were planning to meet at a little coffee shop, where they were going to order cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate and begin the day together. It was only a block away from the school.

  But Madison never made it there, because Phineas showed up and he showed her his gun. He said, “I watch you every day since Liam betrayed my trust. I made him a promise, and now it’s time to make good. I just want you to know, Madison, this is your own fault. If you hadn’t tried to leave school, I couldn’t have done this.”

  He took her phone. He took it apart, taking out the SIM card and the battery and tossing pieces out the window as they drove away in his car.

  He had her in the back seat with the child locks engaged, so that she couldn’t open the door and jump out while the car was moving, not that she would have been crazy enough to try such a thing.

  Eventually, they arrived at this house, and it was cold and dark, and they sat in the living room, and Phineas stared at her.

  She didn’t like the way he looked at her, because there was something wrong with him. She didn’t know how to explain it, but he seemed… blank. When he’d first talked to her, he’d been animated enough, like a regular person, but then, here, it was as if all of that had been a costume he put on—his mannerisms, his smiles, his vocal inflection. He’d taken it all off, as if it was unimportant, and now he simply stared, and he was like…

  Well, it reminded her of a bird, actually, how still he was, how his eyes gazed, how he had no expression on his face. He was sizing her up as if she was his prey, and she was afraid.

  She wanted to ask him what he was going to do to her, but she didn’t want to know, not really, and she didn’t want to talk to him.

  The one time she had talked, to tell him that she had to use the bathroom, he’d taken her outside the house and told her to squat behind a bush. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her the whole time.

  She’d wanted to protest that she couldn’t do it while he was watching, that she couldn’t do it here, but she hadn’t. She’d only shaken her head and said she didn’t have to go after all.

  Except she did, and she was very, very uncomfortable now.

  She wanted to cry, but she was too afraid to cry.

  A little notification trill suddenly rent the air.

  Phineas pulled a phone out of his pocket. He looked at the screen and then put the phone back in his pocket. He gestured with the gun. “Get up.”

  What had that notification been about?

  She shook her head.

  “The food is here,” said Phineas. “I can’t leave you alone while I go to get it. You might run away. Let’s go. Up.”

  “Food?” she whispered.

  “Up,” he said again.

  Wait, wait, wait. She was remembering this. This was what he did. He bought food for women, made them eat it, and then he killed them. She let out a little whimp
er.

  Phineas sighed, annoyed. He crossed the room to her and seized her by the arm. He wrenched her to her feet.

  She let out another whimper.

  “We’re only going to get food, for fuck’s sake,” Phineas said. “I miss the days when no one knew what I was doing and no one was afraid.” He yanked her along with him.

  They went to the door and there was a paper bag sitting there.

  Phineas picked it up, and then led them back to the living room.

  Madison looked up at him, as a fury began to build in her belly. She wasn’t sure where it had come from, but she preferred the anger to the fear. “I’m not going to eat your stupid food.”

  He glared at her. “You’d rather I shoot you?”

  “You’re not going to shoot me. You want to stab me. I remember that’s how you do it. And you want me to eat first, but I won’t.”

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I’m not,” she said. “Because I have to pee, and I can’t think of anything besides that.”

  “I took you to pee.”

  “I need a toilet.”

  “I don’t think the water is on in this house,” he said. Then, he shrugged. “Of course, what do I care if you leave piss in one of these toilets.” He took her by the arm again and led her through the house to the downstairs bathroom.

  It was decorated in blues and light browns, with a net on the wall full of shells and seahorses and starfishes, both dried and dessicated. She swallowed.

  “I’ll let you go in by yourself,” said Phineas. “But first, take off everything below the waist.”

  Her eyes widened and she started to shake. “No.”

  “I’m not going to do anything to you,” said Phineas dismissively. “I’ve been thinking about it, but I don’t think I can. I have limits. You’re too afraid and too young, and it wouldn’t be any fun. But I want your panties.”

  She let out another sound, and this wasn’t a whimper, but a strangled scream. “No.”

  “You want to pee or not? Take it off.”

  She clenched her hands into fists. What she really should do is pee now, in her underwear. He probably wouldn’t want them then, would he?

  She tried, but her bladder would not cooperate, not when he was looking at her like that.

  He regarded her, waiting.

  “Fine,” she snarled, and she unbuttoned her pants. She crouched down, hiding herself as best she could as she divested herself of her pants and underwear.

  He snatched them up off the ground as soon as she did.

  She pulled her pants back on to cover herself and then threw herself into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

  “Don’t be too long now,” he said in that blank voice of his.

  But when she came out of the bathroom, he was nowhere to be found.

  She didn’t look too long for him, admittedly.

  She threw herself out the front door and went running down the street, stopping to bang on the doors of every house she came to.

  But they were all locked up and dark and silent. The street was like a tomb.

  The only sound was the crash of the waves on the sea, and the February sky was gray and oppressive overhead.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When Liam was satisfied that every police officer in all of Cape Christopher was looking for Madison, he left his apartment in order to go and be with Belinda while they waited for news. He didn’t think she should be alone then.

  He opened the door to his car, and there was something sitting on the driver’s seat.

  He backed away, and his entire body seized.

  Unable to help himself, he turned and vomited, emptying out all that breakfast he’d eaten that morning.

  When he recovered enough to straighten and wipe his mouth, he simply gaped at the tiny pair of panties on his seat. He didn’t want to touch them.

  He shut the door and leaned and against the side of the car, struggling to breathe.

  Why now?

  Yes, Finn had threatened Madison if he told anyone about the phone calls, but there had been no immediate retaliation on that front?

  Was it simply that Finn had been biding his time, and that this was when the opportunity struck?

  Liam thought he’d gotten away with defying Finn’s orders, but Finn had always intended to do this.

  Liam sucked in a breath.

  He needed to call Dawson. They needed people out here to look at the panties—the evidence.

  His hands were shaking as he got his phone out of his pocket.

  It rang in his hands, and it startled him so badly that he dropped it.

  “Shit,” he muttered, hoping the screen wasn’t cracked.

  He picked it up. It looked fine. It was still ringing. Belinda was calling.

  “Liam?” said Belinda. “Madison called me. She’s at a house down by the beach, and I’m going to get her. She’s okay.”

  “She’s okay?” said Liam, astonished. “She’s really okay?”

  “She said he took her, but that he didn’t do anything to her. Nothing at all. She said he barely touched her.” Belinda was crying. “She won’t stop apologizing. She said it was all her fault. I told her it wasn’t.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” said Liam. “Give me the address.”

  “No, no,” said Belinda. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want anyone else to be there. I just want to hold her in my arms right now.”

  “Half the on-duty police officers are deployed looking for her, Belinda. Other people are going to be there. Give me the address.”

  “I just wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come over.” She hung up.

  Liam sighed. He dialed Dawson and filled her in on what had happened and about what was on the front seat of his car.

  “Okay,” she said, “well, I’m going to go to Belinda’s and wait for her to come back. You stay there, because I’m sending a team to bag and tag the evidence in your car.”

  He agreed to this, and then he waited.

  The police showed up within twenty minutes, and then he was in their way while they swabbed the car for DNA and fingerprints and took pictures of everything that was there. He didn’t know why that was necessary, because Finn was obviously responsible, but he guessed that if a crime of any kind had been committed, they needed to gather evidence.

  Now, Finn could also be arrested and tried for kidnapping, Liam thought.

  By the time they were done, Dawson had called him back to say that she had set up protective custody for Belinda and Madison, and that they would have round-the-clock officers guarding their door from now on, that they would have officers escorting them to and from school and work, that there was no way Finn was going to get to them now.

  Liam should have been reassured, but he wasn’t.

  This was all getting worse.

  * * *

  Dawson perched on a chair in Liam’s kitchen while he stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot. “I didn’t know you cooked,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, I haven’t in a while,” said Liam. “And this? Pasta isn’t really cooking.”

  “You’re making the sauce yourself, not just opening a jar,” she said.

  “I opened a can,” he said. “You cook down the whole tomatoes with an onion and some garlic. It’s not difficult.”

  “I’m impressed,” she said. It also smelled really good.

  “So, you really think that nothing happened to Madison?” said Liam. “Maybe she’s lying.”

  “Well, I did ask about that, and I wanted her to go to the hospital for a rape kit,” said Dawson. “But her mother didn’t want it. Madison was all for it, however, saying that they wouldn’t find any evidence, because nothing happened, and I believe her. I think she would have been acting differently if something had. I didn’t push, because it would have been traumatic for her, and we don’t need that evidence to nail him.”

  “True,” said Liam.

  “She said he told her that
it wouldn’t be any ‘fun,’ because she was too young and too scared. What do you think about that?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “I’ve heard him say things about having limits, and that he wasn’t attracted to children,” said Liam.

  “Well, that’s good for Madison,” said Dawson. “But I find it weird that he didn’t seem to enjoy her fear. Wouldn’t that be a key component of why he does what he does?”

  “I don’t know.” Liam turned and leaned against the counter. “He’s always liked his victims incapacitated before he did anything sexual to them. He used to talk a lot about wanting a perfectly submissive partner, like a living sex doll.”

  “That’s disgusting,” she said, “but I guess maybe he’s not turned on by fear, then.” She shook her head. “I was looking through the profile that was in his file, the one created by Wren Delacroix, who works for the FBI?”

  “Yeah?” said Liam.

  “Well, there’s nothing in there to account for half of the things that we now know about him. That bouquet of severed limbs? Keeping Annie Gibbons captive? The stuff I’m finding out about in college, with the other victims he tried to frame you for, it’s all… I’m just really confused.”

  “What are you finding out?” He turned back to stir the pasta on the stove.

  “Where to start…” She drew in a breath, trying to collect her thoughts. “All right, well, first of all, I discovered that Annie Gibbons was somehow involved with a weird group online, some kind of New-Age, self-help thing, and that she might have gone to them to volunteer her time in exchange for, like, enlightenment or something.”

  “That’s really… what?” He glanced at her over the shoulder, still stirring the pasta.

  “Also, I’ve been talking to the roommate of Harlow Walker, who went missing in the spring of 2004, and who was someone that he tried to frame you for.”