His Sweet

by Hildur Sif Thorarensen

  The man set the table for the both of them and offered her a beer, which she declined, saying she was on the job and would prefer water. There was a well-established rule against accepting food or drinks from a suspect, and while she wasn’t keen on breaking it, in this case, she’d make the exception.

  He had a big pot on the stove, and there were already two bowls out, as if he had been expecting somebody, which only verified that she was in the right house. One of those was most definitely supposed to make its way down to the cellar. Still, she pretended not to notice anything and just smiled at him, gratefully accepting the bowl of warm stew.

  “Please, go ahead,” he said as he sat down and dug in himself.

  “Mmmmm... that’s a great stew.” She struggled not to betray any displeasure with the fact that she was eating his food. The food that he had prepared for the little girl who was at this very moment locked in his basement. Yolanda tried her best not to think about the fact that the girl had to starve even longer because she was now sitting in the kitchen. Mentally forcing herself to hang in there, she thought of her comrades, not far behind her, maybe forty minutes away at most.

  “So, what was it that you wanted to tell me about?” He had opened the brochure in front of him, ready to pay attention to the young woman here to educate him.

  “Yes, well. It’s very important for us in the sheriff’s office to raise awareness of the public service we provide. We’re here to help you out, and you should never hesitate to call us with any questions or concerns. If you see something suspicious, if you are unlucky enough to be burgled, God forbid, or in case of anything you feel is worthy of reporting.”

  “That’s very nice. So if I need assistance, I can call...”

  “Yes, you just call the number written on the bottom of every page in the brochure, and we’ll be with you in a jiffy.” She smiled, pointing at the phone number listed on the page in front of him and moving her hand in a go-get-’em gesture.

  “Alrighty. That’s good to know. You never know when there might be need for help from the sheriff.” He put his spoon down and stood up. “Do you mind if I get my daughter so you can explain the same to her? I’d feel better if she knew about this, too, straight from the source.” He didn’t wait for an answer but started moving toward the doorway that was located behind Yolanda.

  She nodded, not knowing what to say or think, even. His daughter? Did this man have a daughter? Before she managed to finish the thought, something hit her from behind, hard. “Ouch,” she uttered and tried turning her head, but then it hit her again. As she drifted out of consciousness, a horrible feeling washed over her. He had made her, and more than that, she had given him more time to react than he otherwise would have if she had just waited in the car. Her own insensible actions might have killed the girl.

  As Yolanda came to, she felt her head pounding like never before. She was lying on the floor on her side, next to the chair she had been sitting on, seeming to have taken her bowl down with her, if the stew smeared on the floor was any indication. She tried to get to her feet but to her horror found her hands bound behind her back. How long had she been out? A couple of minutes? An hour? These thoughts were interrupted when she heard some commotion from downstairs.

  She pulled her knees closer to her chest and managed to rise by using her elbow, and she clumsily got to her feet. Thankfully the prick hadn’t wasted time tying her feet together, or she would have been in much more trouble. She looked around and saw a wooden knife block. Backing up toward the counter, she grabbed a bread knife and started slowly hacking at her restraints while maneuvering toward the commotion.

  “I’m sorry, my sweet. I didn’t mean to do this so soon, but my hand has been forced.” She could hear the man’s voice echo from the basement.

  A sense of relief washed over her as she realized he hadn’t killed Lily yet—she was not too late and could still save the girl. She gently peeked down the staircase to see the man holding the girl’s arm. On a table next to him she saw, to her horror, her own gun. Holy shit. She knew she couldn’t go down, or he’d shoot her before she made it halfway down the stairs. She quickly gave her rope one more swipe and voila, freedom.

  First things first. She had to take off her shoes to silence her movement. She had an extra pistol in the trunk of her car, but that was too far away, and he’d definitely hear the door if she tried to leave. The adrenaline was coursing through her veins, her mind running at a million miles an hour, trying to find a solution to the situation she was in. She desperately needed a weapon, something that would give her an advantage.

  Wondering where a guy like this would keep his gun safe, she slowly made her way around the house. Thankfully, his house was as neat and as uncluttered as it could possibly be, so it wouldn’t be too hard to find it. She checked by the entrance, but there was nothing but a closet. She then went into the bedroom, finding one of the ugliest wooden beds she had ever laid her eyes on and a big mounted deer’s head above it. She secretly wished that the thing had fallen one night, the horns impaling the man in his sleep, but then the girl would have starved to death, so while a gratifying fantasy, it was not a helpful one.

  She entertained for a second the thought of taking the mounted trophy with her and throwing it at him, but shook her head at the impractical idea and continued searching. She was careful to open the bedroom closet only halfway when glancing inside but found nothing except men’s clothes, while a peek in the nightstand revealed only a single Bible. Kneeling down by the bed, she looked underneath and found what she was looking for—a long wooden box with a lock. Shit, of course the thing had to have a lock. Where would he keep the key?

  A flutter of a thought rushed through her of a movie she’d seen where people kept important things inside books. It wouldn’t, no, it couldn’t… she went back to the Bible and flipped the pages. A small key hidden inside fell to the floor. Yes! She had to restrain herself from screaming in joy before opening the box and withdrawing a shotgun. Alongside it was a box of shells, which she quickly emptied into her pockets, two of them going into the weapon itself.

  Moving back to the basement door, she peeked down again and saw that the man was standing with his back to the stairs and holding the girl in his arms, hugging her close as if saying a final goodbye. She looked so small, so fragile, like a beautiful little bird locked in a cage. She had a nightgown on, and Yolanda wondered whether she always wore that or if he had also given her normal clothes to wear during the day. The girl looked up at Yolanda and flinched, her eyes moving in every direction as if she didn’t know what she was seeing or what she should do.

  “What is it?” The man had clearly noticed, and without hesitating, turned his head toward the top of the staircase, already lunging for the pistol on the table next to him.

  “Don’t move a muscle,” Yolanda said cocking back the hammer of the shotgun and aiming it straight at him. He was too fast. She didn’t know how, seeing as he was past his prime and clearly in bad health, but he had managed to grab the gun. He didn’t point it at Yolanda but at the girl.

  “I’ll shoot her if you come any closer!”

  Her options were slim. Very slim. Trying for a Hail Mary shot with a shotgun was beyond optimistic, and considering her own experience earlier in the day, where the shooter had been standing even closer than she was now, it wasn’t going to work. Still, she couldn’t put her gun down because then he’d definitely shoot them both. Her only choice was to try negotiating with him, try to get inside his mind and sway it toward her will.

  Her mind frantically raced through her single course on psychology back in the academy, and she recalled distant memories of training rats, and there was something called a bystander effect, where people are less likely to help somebody in need when others are around. Damn it, nothing of use. She should have paid better attention and not spent the entire class thinking about Joshua and looking forward to their meetup by the library after school.

  “Is this your wife?”
she asked, acting all innocent, as if her visit had nothing to do with the girl in the cellar.

  He hesitated. Hadn’t expected her to say that. And for a moment his muscles seemed to ease, and his shoulders dropped just a tiny bit. “Yes… well, no, I mean… She’s my fiancée. Aren’t you, honey?” He directed his words toward the girl, who was shaking in terror.

  “Yes.” She swallowed. “Yes, I am.”

  “She’s just lovely. You make a wonderful couple. I don’t understand why you hit me—I’m not here to cause any disturbance.” She tried to sound as unthreatening as possible.

  “You’re not the deputy, I know him. The brochure you gave me wasn’t even from this county; the area code was wrong,” he said between his clenched teeth.

  “Yes, one of the boxes we got was meant for another county, but since the phone number routes all calls to the same place, we’ve just been using it while going between houses,” she lied. “I am in fact the deputy. I’ve just taken over due to...” She quickly skimmed her memory for the name of the current deputy in the county. She had met him before, so it wasn’t as deep down in her memory as she had feared, “...due to Liam’s wife having a baby and him taking a few weeks off to be with her.”

  The man seemed to consider what she’d just said, but he didn’t look to be quite on board just yet.

  “You know, I noticed you don’t have a wedding ring. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I can see that you seem to be struggling with some sickness and perhaps...” she smiled, “it would be nice to get married in case the worst were to happen. God forbid.”

  “What do you mean?” He seemed interested.

  “I mean, I’m ordained and I can marry you. That is, if you’d like. I see the lovely lady’s got her dress on and everything, so it would be just perfect.” She hoped to play into his possessive nature, which was so evident from Lily’s writing; if she managed that, it would buy her some time. Watching the girl’s face become stiff, her terror turning into complete revulsion, didn’t make this any easier. Yolanda could truly feel for Lily and wished she didn’t have to play this game in front of her.

  “That’s actually...” He was considering it. Yolanda was sure he hadn’t thought about marrying the girl before, as he feared she wouldn’t comply and would be taken away from him. This new situation was something he hadn’t foreseen, and who didn’t want to seal the deal before meeting one’s maker? “That’s not a bad idea. I’ve got my mother’s ring upstairs,” he finally replied and started moving toward the stairs, pushing the girl in front of him, the gun still aimed at her head.

  Yolanda didn’t put the shotgun down, just followed after them as he pulled Lily toward the bedroom, making sure to keep the girl between Yolanda and himself. He was just about to bend around the corner and go toward the bedroom when there was a hard knock on the door. Yolanda’s heart skipped a beat. It had all been going so well, and she was just waiting for the right opportunity to make a move. For a split second, her face became completely blank, and she knew everything had just changed.

  “Are they with you?” he demanded, and his eyes were shooting daggers.

  “No, I don’t know who they are.” She put up the straightest face she had ever mustered and stared right at him, not a quiver in her voice or expression.

  “You mean to tell me that on the same day, there aren’t one but two random knocks on my door, and they’re not connected? That they have nothing to do with me or the girl?” He didn’t believe her, that much was obvious. She needed only one chance to make a move, though… and he needed to make only one mistake that she could take advantage of.

  “Yes. I am telling you that. Now are we going to get married or not?”

  “What do you think?” he sneered.

  At that moment, a small red pointer shone through the window, flickering on the man’s body before landing steadily on his chest. Yolanda smiled, unintentionally, but it was enough for him to notice.

  “What? What is it? Why are you smiling?”

  “Nothing,” she attempted, but he noticed the beam.

  His eyes opened wide, and he jumped in surprise. “What in the Lord’s name—?”

  Before he could finish that sentence, Yolanda had barreled into him, grabbing his gun-hand with her left and pinning it down. “Lily, open the front door!” she screamed at the girl, who just stood there, utterly confused, too shocked to move. “Open the door and let them in!” Yolanda screamed again, but the girl stood rooted to the spot. Instead, she just lowered herself onto the floor, pulled her dress over her legs and covered her head with her hands in an instinctual defensive posture.

  Yolanda continued battling the asshole, who was still holding the gun. He was strong, but thankfully not as strong as he would have been when healthy. She may not have paid attention during psychology class, but this she was trained for. She got him to the floor with her on top, pinning his gun-holding hand down and pushing her arm toward his throat. She tried to overpower him, but he wasn’t giving up. He kicked her in the back with his knees and hit her in the side with his free arm, causing her to flinch in pain. Then somehow he managed to pinch her torso between his thighs, pulling her toward the floor.

  Yolanda was quick, though. Swinging her leg toward his gun-hand, she managed to kick the pistol, sending it skidding toward the sofa. He didn’t let that stop him but used the opportunity to sit up and jump on her, trying to swing at her face with his fist. She dodged the blow, elbowing him in the chest, but he still didn’t stop—just continued beating her while putting his whole weight on her legs.

  Her legs quickly became numb from his weight pushing down on them, and in an effort to free herself she turned to the side, throwing his balance and momentarily getting him off of her. He gave her the meanest look she had ever seen before lunging for the girl where she still sat, cowering on the floor. His hands were aimed for her neck, and Yolanda knew what he was going after—he intended to leave no witness to his crimes.

  “Noooooo!” she screamed and grabbed his legs with her hands, and to her own surprise, she bit him, right in between the pants and his socks, pinching his Achilles tendon hard between her teeth.

  “You bitch!” he howled and turned his attention back to her, fully fixed on getting his revenge.

  She tried to crawl toward the gun, but he managed to pin her down again, this time even harder than before. She was struggling to protect her face from his forceful blows; a few of them hit her in the torso. It was a battle to the death, and she knew she had to make a move and do it quickly before he managed to completely overpower her. Sacrificing her face to free one hand, she lunged for the crown jewels, taking a hard hit on the chin as she did. When her hand found the target, she didn’t just squeeze. She twisted and pulled so hard the guy let out an inhuman scream. It proved enough; she managed to free herself while he recovered and didn’t waste a moment, jumping toward the sofa to get her gun. She was so enraged, her whole body shook, and she just stood over the still howling man, her pistol aimed at his face. She was ready to fire when Solomon burst in through the window.

  ”Yoly, NO!” Solomon screamed from somewhere far, far away. She wasn’t herself anymore; she wasn’t even in this world. She was just alone in a desert with this monster of a man, and she had one up on him. She was the one holding the gun. One pull of the trigger was all it would take to rid the world of this man, to be forever free of him. She had the power to do that. One simple move of her finger. Just a miniscule movement to save her precious girl.

  She started slowly tugging at the trigger; she was going to savor the moment, watching him as she did so. Then she felt something grabbing her arm. Something was pulling at her. What was it? She zoomed back, and there was Solomon, standing there, pleading with her, his voice cracking. It was as if she had snapped out of a trance, a haze that assured her that all was as it should be—the girl was safe, and Yolanda would exact justice.

  “Don’t do it, Yoly. You’ll ruin everything you’ve worked for. You’re maki
ng a difference. Don’t let it all go to waste. Please,” he pleaded.

  For a moment she looked back at the girl, whom Agents Philips and Montello were helping to her feet. They pulled her toward the door and out of harm’s way. The girl didn’t look happy to see Yoly threatening the man—she looked sad. As if she did not wish for this man to die. Perhaps a natural reaction, having been locked in for so long and allowed to bond with no one but him over so many years. Yolanda hated the man who had made the little girl feel that way. She loathed him. How he could force her to be his to the point where her very heart and soul belonged to him? She wanted to pull the trigger so badly, so very badly.

  “Yolanda,” Philips was now standing behind her. “Don’t do this. I assure you that I will do everything in my power to get a speedy trial and make sure he goes somewhere where child molesters get the proper treatment. It won’t even be hard—men like him are persona non grata among even the worst scum.”

  Philips was right. Being raped in prison would be a better punishment for him, maybe even getting shivved or whatever they did to guys like him. She slowly lowered her weapon, the red fog over her eyes dissipating. The bastard was dying anyways, and it wasn’t worth throwing away her whole career as well as the potential of the next woman who might occupy her office. This guy had taken more than his share, and he wouldn’t take that too. A part of her hoped the inmates wouldn’t murder him too quickly; he didn’t deserve such mercy.

  The agents rushed toward the man, cuffing him, as Yolanda limped over to the sofa, plopping herself onto it, completely drained. It had been the longest day, from Agent Johnson getting shot to herself almost getting killed, but they had saved the girl, and that was all that mattered. She turned to Solomon, who was sitting on the opposite side of the sofa, grinning, happy with the result.