by RC Boldt
Softly spoken, his words are deceptively calm. “Don’t be afraid.”
My fingers curl firmly around the weapon hidden in the folds of the towels. I duck my chin in a demure, shy manner and look up at him from beneath my lashes. “I’m not afraid.”
It’s a truth I’m grateful for. I’m no longer afraid of him or any of them.
When you have nothing left to lose, the act of extinguishing the demons still haunting you becomes devoid of the terror.
Instead, it converts into the strongest sense of empowerment.
Before he can draw another breath, I’ve already sunk the needle into one of the thick midnight-black inked swirls of his tattoo, plunger depressed, the poison infiltrating his body. Fluffy, pristine white towels lie at our feet.
His body stiffening unnaturally, I withdraw the needle and ease his weight to the floor with a light thud, thankful the music’s volume overpowers it.
Grabbing the handle of the blade from the coffee table, I kneel beside him on the carpeted floor. His eyes stare straight at the ceiling, still alive though his pulse is already weak. I look in the direction of the bedroom, hoping the boy is still lost in his own mind.
His eyes are locked on me, face expressionless.
“Cover your eyes.” I don’t dare speak too loudly, but he must read my lips because he obeys.
Once I’m certain he won’t dare peek, I lean over Fosobik, my lips a breath away from his ear, and sing, “Hush, little monster, don’t you cry. I’m gonna make sure you will die.”
Taking his left hand in my latex-covered one, I mold it around the handle of the knife and guide him to sink the blade into the flesh of his inner arm, piercing the prominent vein running lengthwise. Red blooms the deeper the steel penetrates the vein, offering a great reward.
Blood spills free, and I continue guiding him in doing the same to the other arm. It doesn’t take long for him to stain the pristine white towels red.
Staining them with the vile blood of a monster.
His heart stops beating before I lower his hand, the knife resting loosely in his limp fingers. Eyes staring soullessly, he lies in a slump on the floor, blood oozing from his wounds.
Tiny feet rush over to me, and I dart a wary glance at the boy as I rise from the floor. Joaquin stares up at me with wide eyes.
“Are you an angel?”
I nearly laugh at the absurdity that I could ever be anything good in this world, let alone an angel. “No. I’m not.”
His brow creases in confusion. “But you killed the bad man for me.”
I glance at the door, knowing I need to move quickly. “I did.” Crouching to be eye level with him, I rest my hands on my knees. “I can get you out of here and far away. You don’t have to do this or see your family or any of these people again.” I pause for a beat. “Would you like that?”
Suspicion lurks in his expression, and he doesn’t speak for a moment. “If you’re not an angel, then why would you help me?” His chin juts up in challenge. “Why should I trust you?”
What a brave little guy. Smart not to trust some random person who shows up out of the blue. He’s probably fallen for their little traps before and suffered the consequences.
I tip my head to the side, choosing my words carefully. “They’d take me to a certain room where they’d do terrible things to me. Sometimes, they’d punish me if I didn’t act like I enjoyed it. They’d laugh and cheer when they made me bleed.”
Clouds of doubt edge aside ever so slightly in his gaze, so I decide to go for broke and disclose it all. I imagine a feather-soft blanket of calmness tucked over me to try to combat the pain my confession will cause. “Because of them, I’ll never be able to have children of my own.”
My throat closes up on the final words while agonizing pain lances my chest. I’ve never spoken that aloud before.
Clenching my jaw tight, I check my watch for the time. “Gotta make your choice quick.” I only have a small window of time available while the guards will remain distracted.
“I never have to see any of them again?” A thread of hope colors his voice, and it eases the tightness in my chest.
“Never.”
He nods even while traces of uncertainty flicker in his expression. “Okay.”
A moment later, still in my “borrowed” uniform, I wheel the housekeeping cart out of the suite. I’m not granted even the barest of glances from Fosobik’s piss-poor excuse for security. A few yards down the hall, they’re still preoccupied with the distraction I’d created.
Two extremely beautiful and high-class “escorts.”
With my little stowaway curled up on the bottom level of the cart, covered with linens, I use the employee elevator that’s sans-surveillance and descend to parking level E.
Mounted cameras nearby the elevator exit have already been taken care of, smeared with enough grease to distort the view, and I ensure no one is lurking.
I push the cart along until I arrive at the corner parking spot, darkened by shadows and occupied by the Tahoe with darkly tinted windows.
Once I draw to a stop no more than three feet away from the vehicle, the rear passenger side door is thrown open, and a woman emerges.
She might look intimidating with multiple piercings in her nose and lips, dark purple hair with one side shaved, but her eyes give her away. They’re eager and hopeful, and she practically radiates a nurturing vibe.
I murmur, “You can get out now.”
Joaquin carefully emerges, his movements wary. His eyes volley between the woman and me. When he steps closer to me, I slowly bend my knees to assure him she’s safe to go with, but he rushes me unexpectedly.
Almost toppling me over backward with the force of his full-body hug, his arms cinch tight around my neck and my lungs seize, but not because he’s squeezing the breath out of me.
It’s because this is what I imagine it would be like to have a child hug you tight as if you were the most important thing in their world.
For a mother to receive a hug from her own child.
“You’re not coming with me?” He sniffles, his face buried against my neck.
Throat painfully tight with emotion, I blink rapidly, my eyes burning. Which is odd because I never cry. Never. After being mocked and beaten each time I did, I quickly learned to erase that function.
“No, buddy. I’m not. I’m sorry. But I promise you’ll be safe with these people.”
I vetted the fuck out of them and know they’ll keep him safe. These are the same “conspiracy theorists” people scoff at, yet they’re doing more to help victimized children than most others.
His hold loosens, and he leans back to cradle my face in his hands, inspecting me closely. “Will I see you again?”
Scars line the inside of the boy’s arms, and I clench my teeth so tight my molars begin to ache. He’s so small and sweet and not deserving of any of this. It makes me wish I could fucking kill Fosobik all over again.
“I don’t think so, buddy.”
Regarding me with eyes that have seen a multitude of horrors in such a short lifetime, he nods as if he’s come to a sure conclusion. His words are delivered in a whisper, as if he’s mentioning a secret that only we are privy to. “You need to kill the other monsters, don’t you?”
A twisted smile tugs at my lips. “Yes, I do.”
He nods sagely and steps back, dropping his hands. Even without the contact, that strange connection with him still lingers.
Turning, he walks to the woman and places his small hand in hers. She helps him step up into the vehicle, and he looks back at me one final time. His eyes seem to beg for me to go with him. “Bye, Angel.”
“Bye.” The word sticks in my throat before finally emerging in a hoarse syllable.
Once they’re inside the Tahoe, I watch them drive away, knowing he’ll have a better chance at a normal life now—one that he can determine all on his own.
Shoving open the stairwell door, my feet fly down the steps until I get to
the street level. I duck past the corner of the nearest building and around a large set of dumpsters. This particular spot reeks of cigarette smoke from being utilized by the China Wok restaurant employees on their most recent smoke break, mingling oddly with the smell of fried rice.
Hovering in the darkness, thanks to the nearby broken light whose bulb I’d thrown a rock at the night before, I hastily ditch the hotel’s plain black long-sleeved uniform shirt and matching skirt.
I toss the clothes in the dumpster, grateful for the formfitting running bodysuit with the hood I promptly tug over my head. Then I take off as if I’m out for a casual run.
Silently, I send up a request to the universe that the little boy will have a better chance at leaving the ghosts of his past behind.
Better than I did.
BREAKING NEWS
News Station Five has just received some heartbreaking news from our very own city. Secretary of State Karl Fosobik was found dead from self-inflicted wounds.
Sources close to Fosobik have revealed that he has struggled for many years with mental health issues.
The White House released a statement from the Vice President saying,
“Everyone who worked beside Karl knew him to be a hard worker and a champion of children. There weren’t any children he didn’t love and care for and wish to do anything he could for.
“Though Karl was brilliant, he was also skilled at hiding his illness, and we are deeply saddened to hear that he succumbed to his struggle.”
Funeral services will be announced privately and will only be open to close friends and family members.
Chapter 46
Landon
I’m beginning to think being pissed off is his favorite emotion when it comes to me.
Exhaling a long breath, I scrub a hand over my jaw. “I already told you, I don’t have any information to offer.”
“And I told you, you need to dig deeper.” He pauses briefly. “Paulson’s still alive, but Fosobik bit the dust. I thought you said Paulson was guilty. What the hell gives?”
“All I said was, Ken—Dr. Alexandre has the evidence that indicates Paulson’s a match to the man in the video.”
His eyes narrow like a shark who’s detected fresh blood in the water. “It sounds like you and Dr. Alexandre are getting a little too chummy.”
I run my tongue along the front of my teeth, buying myself time to respond. “I wouldn’t say that.” Unless you count when I was buried balls deep in her one night. I shrug. “She’s a…tough nut to crack.”
A severe frown mars his features. “There’s no cracking necessary. I told you, you need to stay away from her.”
I grunt in disbelief. “You make her sound like she’s some small-time drug dealer, and I’m the clueless teenager she’s trying to get hooked.”
His frigid glare has my spine stiffening defensively. “Wake the hell up, Lattimer. We’re dealing with more here, and you damn well know it. Especially with Fosobik getting knocked off.”
Heaving out a breath, I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. “Look, aside from what Dr. Alexandre has, everything else points at him being innocent.
“I mean, even the Vice President seems to think so.” I shrug before frowning. “And they said Fosobik’s cause of death was suicide.”
He remains silent for a beat. “Lattimer, you of all people should know there’s more going on here beneath the surface.” His eyes bore into mine, and if I were a lesser man, I’d be shrinking back from it.
Rising slowly from the seat across from me, he zips up his distressed leather coat. “Too much is at risk. We need to get to the bottom of things.” He heads to the door of the small room, the bustling noise of the bar on the other side suppressed by the thick oak.
“I’m doing my best.”
Fingers resting on the handle, he pauses at the door. “Sometimes, our best just doesn’t cut it.”
Chapter 47
Kennedy
You are the company you keep.
That saying may not resonate with some, but it’s the truth.
If you surround yourself with depraved, soulless creatures, you soon become one.
Senators Bomer and Trudel should’ve known the instant they were invited into the inner circle.
When they were urged to partake in vile acts with others.
Many people assume that hazing is something that only pertains to college kids, but they’re wrong. These sick fucks have requirements to join their inner circle, and once they sink their poisonous barbs into you, you’re done for.
You’ll never escape. You’ll be indebted to them and at their mercy because they’ve created a crypt of secrets you’re deeply embedded in.
Bomer and Trudel knew this, yet they didn’t turn tail and run in the opposite direction like they should have. No, they were greedy, knowing if they sold a bit of their soul, they’d gain the higher positions they’d yearned for.
From congressmen to senators, they ascended, and more of their soul was taken in the process until they joined the darkened filthy creatures who initiated them.
Discovering them in the secret room beneath the famed Le Crema restaurant isn’t a surprise.
Nor is the fact that they’re preparing to share the bound teenager who’s been drugged on what’s likely to be Ecstasy.
I swore I’d never step foot in this place again, that I’d never so much as grace the doorstep of Le Crema. But this requires me to change course and go against my will.
I can’t allow them to survive any longer.
“Look at the little slut,” Bomer grunts while he strokes his dick. “She’s begging for it.”
Instrumental music echoes throughout the room, co-mingling with their arrogance and it stifles their awareness of my silent approach. Trudel climbs onto the bed, scooting forward on his knees to where the girl is restrained spread-eagle. Eyes darting around, pupils dilated, she writhes.
Trudel places his hands on her bare thighs, and even amidst the drug’s effects, the panic is vibrantly etched on her features. My mind flashes back to a memory I’d hoped never to revisit, but it returns with palpable effects. The skin at my wrists and ankles burns as they, too, recall the chafing from being bound.
“You like to be tied down, don’t you, little girl?”
His hands on my bare skin had felt akin to fire ants marching over my body, stinging me with their poison. Uncaring and ruthless, they roamed while I was futile to stop them.
Bomer is the first to fall, and the sound of dead weight dropping to the floor has Trudel turning an irritated look our way. Eyes flicking wildly between Bomer’s motionless body and me, he remains frozen in place, and a wide, menacing smile forms on my lips.
Because I know that scent. I’ve come to embrace it when I deal the hand of death to these bastards.
It’s the decadent aroma of fear. Fear radiating from an evil predator.
Withdrawing the other needle from my pouch, I remove the cap, never tearing my eyes from Trudel’s. I crook my finger, silently beckoning him to me.
He shakes his head from side to side so violently, I half expect it to roll right off his shoulders.
I nod slowly. “Come here, Senator.”
His eyes dart around the room as if he’s trying to make another exit materialize. One that I’m not blocking. I watch as it sinks in that he has no other means of escape, the resignation that his fate is in my hands.
He slowly slinks over to me, his large belly acting as a roof over his shriveling dick, and stops two feet away. Body stiff with alarm, his lips quiver with fear when I approach, the syringe firmly in my grasp.
“Do you remember me?” I circle him, moving to his back.
“N-no,” he stutters.
I step closer, my breath eliciting goose bumps on his skin as I taunt, “That’s too bad. Because I remember you.” A tremor rolls through his body. “I remember you raping me time and again with your puny little dick.”
Needle poised at his throat, I plu
nge it into his neck and express the poison in his body. His knees give way, and I follow him down to the floor, forcing myself into his line of vision.
“Look into my eyes. Do you see your favorite girl you loved to defile?” A tiny flicker crosses his face before falling prey to the poison’s effects.
I lower my mouth to his ear, and my tone is smug with malevolent glee. “Yes, it’s me. I’m back to watch you die.” Capping the needle, I tuck it in my pouch with the other empty one and rise to attend to the young girl.
I recognize her as one of the young “Future Politicians of D.C.” from the organization’s website sponsored by Trudel and Bomer.
Quickly unfastening her bindings, I grab her clothes and help her from the bed. Minutes later, thankfully, others assume we’re two young people giddy and tipsy late at night. By the time I manage to steer her toward the nearest police precinct, some of the drug’s effects have subsided, and she’s coherent enough to understand my command.
“Go. Tell them everything and make them file a report.”
“But…” Her eyes dart around wildly. “What do I say about you?”
I step away. “That’s your choice.”
Either way, I’m not concerned. I’ve applied enough liquid latex to disguise my features, and my auburn wig serves its purpose.
“Just do yourself a favor. Stay away from these fuckers.”
She nods rapidly and rushes for the entrance.
By the time she’s inside, I’m already gone.
8chan message boards
▶Anonymous 08:41:52 0e32bd No. 158051
Two more pedos bite the dust!
Rumor has it Senator Bomer and Senator Trudel both died of “heart failure.” Neither of them had any documented heart issues, but they succumbed to heart failure early yesterday.
Why is this not in the news? I smell a coverup in the making.