by Leslie Wolfe
“You understand,” he whispered, the same hand now gently caressing her hair, triggering daggers of pain in her skull and nausea in the pit of her stomach.
“I do, but no one else will.” She chilled the warmth she’d put in her voice and her eyes. “They won’t leave one stone unturned until they find me.”
“She’s right, Dad,” Mitchell intervened. “They’re already looking for her. How long do you think—”
Avery turned toward his son and grabbed his lapels with unexpected force. “Get the mixers rolling. Prepare the loads and line them up. We pour in ten minutes,” he added, hissing the words between clenched teeth. “It’s already late.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” Avery suddenly bellowed. “There’s no room in my life, in my business, for a coward. If you don’t have the guts to do what needs to be done, get ready to join them in the concrete.”
Father and son locked eyes for a long, loaded moment, then Mitchell lowered his gaze. “As you wish. I was just concerned with pouring in this weather. Just look outside, is all I’m asking.”
Avery approached the window quietly, his lips a tight, disapproving line. Rain was coming down persistently, rapping against the roof of the mobile office in an incessant, monotone drumming. The sky, now a solid leaded gray, was barely visible, hidden in the haze of raindrops falling endlessly. His lips moved, but Kay couldn’t hear what he was saying. He seemed to mumble to himself. Then he turned to Mitchell, anger joining his bushy eyebrows at the root of his nose.
“We’ve done this before, haven’t we?” he asked, disappointment heavy in his tone. “You know what you have to do, so quit playing dumb.”
Mitchell and Victor—who’d sat silently on a chair by the window the entire time watching them as he would have an entertaining show—exchanged a quick, somber glance.
“I’ve set the sheeting already,” Victor said. “We’re ready to pour. The wind might still pick up overnight and rip the sheeting, and expose the concrete, wash it all away before it cures.”
“That won’t happen,” Avery announced sternly. “She will accept the sacrifice and the storm will end. It always happens this way.” A crooked smile twisted his white beard. “Feel free to spend the night watching over things if you’re concerned.”
For a dizzying moment, Kay wondered if what she heard was real. Accepting the sacrifice will end the storm? All storms ended, eventually. Avery’s psychosis ran deeper than she’d estimated. He had done an amazing job hiding it from everyone.
Victor rolled his eyes but decided to stop talking. Maybe he hadn’t done such a good job brainwashing Victor.
Satisfied with the defiant silence he probably interpreted as agreement, Avery turned to Mitchell and said, “Get that concrete ready. Now.”
Mitchell nodded quickly and lifted his collar before stepping outside in the storm. As he closed the door behind him, thunder rolled loudly, and a gust of wind rattled the building.
Two was easier than three. Kay almost smiled, but it wasn’t over yet. Far from it. She shot another glance toward Julie. The girl seemed to be sleeping or maybe she was unconscious, because she hadn’t moved an inch since she’d first seen her, but her chest was still heaving, slowly, her breaths shallow and far apart. She was still alive.
Kay focused her attention on Victor, the youngest of the three and most likely the least driven to kill. The psychosis and urges behind the initial murders were Avery’s. Based on what she’d witnessed already, his son and grandson had inherited some psychopathic traits, but lacked the determination to kill, the bloodlust. Maybe, like it happened in all documented cases of generational serial killers she’d read, they’d started questioning the motives, or the thrill of taking lives wasn’t that great with them. Most likely they’d been led into a life of killing by Avery, then found themselves bound by the mere fact that they knew about the blood he’d spilled, and had spilled some themselves.
“You know, after a certain age, life in prison doesn’t mean much.” The statement, spoken in a neutral voice, earned her an angry scowl from Avery she was quick to ignore. “Although, killing a cop gets you the chair.” She shrugged, instantly regretting the dramatic gesture when pain shot through the back of her skull. “Well, only for you it would matter. Him, he’d probably die on death row, waiting for someone to throw that switch.”
She feigned a chuckle, observing the dynamics of the duo. Avery was increasingly angry, and she risked a silencing blow any moment now. But Victor was interested in what she had to say, his pupils enlarged with fear, his hands restless, fidgeting, his left foot tapping in a quick rhythm against the floor. A deep frown ruffled his brow, and tension twisted his mouth in a grimace. He was ready for some more.
“Oh, but let me tell you what happens to cop killers in jail,” she added with a wicked smile she didn’t have to fake, her voice brimming with excited amusement. “You’d think you’d be the hero of the general population, but in fact, you’re spending your days on death row, isolated, at the whim of—you guessed it—other cops.” She laughed quietly, wincing from the throb in her head. “You have no idea what those guys can do with a baton. Whew.”
Victor sprung from his chair and approached her angrily, but Avery stopped him with a firm hand against the man’s chest.
“She wants them pristine,” murmured Avery. “Control yourself.”
Victor growled, his eyes drilling into Kay’s, loaded with homicidal rage. “I’ll make you pay for this, you—”
Two short honks alerted them to the arrival of the concrete mixer. It passed by the mobile office and disappeared to the left, probably pulling over by the foundation, where the new concrete was about to be poured. Transformed, both Avery and Victor seemed to have forgotten all about her and focused on the job at hand.
“How do you want to do this?” Victor asked matter-of-factly.
“I’ll take the girl, you bring her,” Avery said, gesturing in Kay’s direction. His eyes were shining with the glint of madness, as if his visions were present in flesh and blood, haunting him right there, under Kay’s eyes. He seemed transfigured, possessed, touched by something beyond her comprehension.
Demonstrating unusual stamina for his age, Avery lifted Julie’s inert body in his arms and headed for the door. Victor opened it, struggling to hold it in place as a forceful wind gust threatened to rip it off its hinges. A blast of cold air loaded with icy raindrops swirled through the space, then died when Victor closed the door.
And then there was just one.
“So far, you haven’t really broken any laws yet,” said Kay, without wasting any time.
Victor shot her a doubtful look, then crouched at her feet and cut through the cable ties around her ankles. “Shut the fuck up, bitch.”
“Don’t let yourself land in the electric chair, ’cause that’s the punishment for killing a fed, and Mother Earth will not defend you in court,” she added in one breath, seeing how quickly she was running out of time. “My partner was calling me, and he knows where I went this morning. He’s already on to you and your entire family. They know how to track phones these days.”
“Get up,” he snarled, grabbing her by the shoulder and forcing her to stand. It felt good to be on her feet, but she didn’t feel well enough to fight the man. He was young and strong, with the type of upper-body strength one develops when pumping iron or working in construction.
“Don’t you want to walk away from this?” she asked, undertones of surprise in her voice. Had she been wrong about him? Maybe there was an urge to kill behind those gray, cold eyes, so demanding it annihilated his self-preservation instinct. Perhaps it had been there the entire time, and she’d missed it somehow.
He pushed her toward the door. A few more steps and she’d be outside, in the storm, where Avery and Mitchell were waiting to bury Julie and her under a layer of concrete.
“I’m sure you have some cash stashed away somewhere that could buy you a pretty decent life somewh
ere south of the border,” she added, starting to oppose resistance as they approached the door. “Think margaritas and underage girls, as opposed to cops and their batons.” Doubt was seeded deeply in his mind. “How did you end up mixed in this madness, anyway?”
Victor grunted, still pushing her, but not as convinced. “The damn initiation,” he muttered, as if words were leaving his lips against his will. “I thought it was supposed to be some party, welcoming me to the company business in an official role. By the time I realized what they were doing, I’d already witnessed a crime—a kidnapping at first, then a murder. I could’ve turned them in, but—”
“The company would’ve been finished,” Kay rushed to say, eager to finish the conversation before Avery could return.
“Screw the company!” he bellowed. “They’re family! My father, my grandfather, my uncle.” He swallowed hard, tension making his muscles dance under the skin of his jaws. “And once I’d witnessed the first sacrifice, I’d become an accomplice. But I’ve never killed anyone myself. Never.”
She didn’t see a flicker of deception on his face. “Then, why not make a run for it?”
“You’d really let me go?” he asked, although his hands tightly gripped her arms.
“You’d have to let me go first,” she quipped, “and make it quick. My partner and the rest of the cavalry are minutes away, at best.”
Hesitantly, he let go of her arms. She took a step sideways, putting some distance between them. Her hand reached instinctively for her holster. It was empty.
He laughed. “You didn’t think we’d leave your gun, did you?” A thought wiped his smirk off his face and replaced it with worry and anger. “You were going to shoot me, weren’t you? So much for trusting a cop.”
“Nah, I’m good on my word. It was just reflex.” He didn’t seem convinced. “Do you know the amount of bullshit a cop’s got to go through to justify the loss of a service weapon? Paperwork up the wazoo. It would be nice if I could avoid that.”
The smirk returned. “Sorry, can’t do. Avery snatched that off you the moment Mitchell dragged you in.” He put his hand on the doorknob, and the other reached for her arm, but the grip was softer, tentative. “How come you’d let me go?”
She shrugged, immediately wincing from the pain. “One hand washes the other,” she winked. “And you never killed anyone, as far as I know. The rest of the stuff is nothing. I’ll get Avery and Mitchell to pay for my cracked head and bruised ego.”
“No, I never killed anyone,” he replied calmly. There was a glint of something indiscernible in his eyes. “And no love lost if Avery fries. I’m beyond tired of him ordering me around.” His lips stretched into a satisfied grin. “His money will be well spent, I promise.” He opened the door, and a draft of wind splashed rain against their faces.
“Then make for that truck of yours and don’t stop until you reach the border,” she said. “All I can give you is a few hours.”
As she stepped out, her foot slid on the mud and she flailed, instinctively reaching for balance, grabbing Victor’s jacket. The zipper gave and exposed the sweatshirt he was wearing. Staring her in the face, were the narrow eyes of a snake, the open mouth of a viper with sharp teeth and a green, slit tongue.
Monster.
She’d been wrong.
When she looked at him, he sensed immediately something was off. He raised his hand to strike her, but she was quick to avoid the blow and returned a direct hit to the side of his neck. Pain, shooting mercilessly through her skull, had her seeing stars again, but she didn’t stop. She slid behind him and wrapped her arms around his throat then let her entire weight hang, in a lame attempt to suffocate him.
He was quick to free himself, throwing her to the ground where she landed hard, her breath knocked out of her lungs. She kicked him in the groin but not hard enough. Muttering a curse, he then straddled her and wrapped his hands around her neck, choking her. She writhed and pulled at his hands, but he was too strong. Resisting the urge to fight the constriction around her airway and knowing she had mere seconds left to live, she reached and felt around in the mud for something to strike him with.
The boulder wasn’t large, but it had sharp edges. It was covered in slippery mud, and she struggled getting a good grip on it, but eventually she did. The blow to Victor’s temple was hard, his hands letting go of her throat enough for a lifesaving breath of air to enter her lungs. He groaned and his fingers started squeezing again. Then she delivered a second blow, and felt the salty, metallic taste of blood on her lips as his body fell heavy and still over hers.
Heaving and gasping, she pulled herself from underneath his body and stood shakily on weak legs, then looked around to see where Avery had taken Julie’s body. From where she stood, only a part of the foundation was visible. She turned the corner around the mobile office and stopped, stunned, when the full picture came into view.
52
Site
Crouched behind a pile of cement bags covered with a tarp weighed down with two-by-fours, Kay watched in horror at how Avery paced around Julie’s thin body, his arms raised in the air, chanting and shouting unintelligible words covered by the rage of the storm. Under the blue plastic sheeting, elevated on posts, he’d set her down on the rebar grid in a section of foundation that had been formed and prepared for pouring, dangerously close to the crown of a fresh landslide. The side of the hill had drifted down, leaving the raw scarp exposed. Vengeful raindrops ate away at it, washing off the earth bit by bit and carrying it downhill in muddy streams.
Rebars were laid one foot apart, the inch-thick reinforcement steel bars, touched by the orange brown of rust, ready to reinforce the concrete soon to be poured, like a hidden skeleton under the gray, concrete surface. Only now, it served as support for the girl’s weak body, not letting it touch the ground, keeping it elevated two inches above the muddy surface. Her white dress fluttered in the wind, already soaked and stained with mud, a shroud in the making.
Julie didn’t move. From where she was, Kay couldn’t tell if she was drawing breath anymore. In the cold and angry gusts of rain she should’ve woken up, she should’ve turned her head to shield her eyes and nose from the falling rain. She should’ve given a sign—any sign—that she was still alive.
Kay stared at Avery, thinking of a plan to take down both men with bare hands, seeing her gun bulging at Avery’s belt. She always carried her service weapon in condition one, with a bullet on the spout, ready to be fired. No way she could approach him, not with his son nearby.
Mitchell was behind the wheel of a concrete mixer truck, maneuvering it close enough to pour. He reversed slowly, his rear wheels inches away from the edge of the landslide’s crown, where fissures were already starting to appear under the massive weight of the loaded mixer. He stopped when the discharge chute was close enough to the form, and the rhythmic beeping that had accompanied the truck’s movement ceased.
Then the concrete mix started to come down the chute, landing near Julie’s legs. A tremendous roar of thunder seemed to shake the ground, and Kay crouched closer to the ground. Terrified, she watched the concrete coming down with speed, gushing down the chute faster than she’d expected. Within seconds, it reached Julie’s feet and started to engulf them.
Julie shifted her leg slightly, nothing more than a twitch, pulling away from the cold concrete. She was still alive, but seemingly so weak or perhaps drugged that she couldn’t fight back.
Frantic, Kay focused her attention on Mitchell. He’d turned off the truck’s engine, but the drum was still spinning, and the concrete was still pouring down the chute. Soon it would reach Julie’s head, suffocating her.
Mitchell jumped out of the truck and joined Avery under the tarp, and appeared to engage in a heated conversation. At some point, they both looked her way, most likely wondering where Victor was and why it was taking him so long to bring Kay. Then they continued their conversation, their voices raised, probably to hear each other over the storm’s fury.
That was her opportunity.
Running in short sprints between the various piles of materials she could use for cover, Kay made for the truck’s driver side door. She opened it slowly and climbed in, cautious to not be seen by the two men. She reached for the ignition, but the keys weren’t there. A few yards away, Mitchell played with them casually, throwing them in the air then catching them, again and again.
Desperate, she started pushing buttons on the large dashboard, but nothing seemed to stop the flow of concrete. Even if she succeeded, they’d immediately be on to her and start it back again. She willed herself to breathe slowly and steady herself to the point where she could find real solutions to her current bind.
A lopsided smile stretched her lips. Carefully, she slowly released the parking brake, knowing the truck would immediately start sliding downhill. With a little bit of luck, it might end up at the foot of the landslide, smashed to bits.
The truck set in motion sooner than she’d expected, before she had the opportunity to get out. Alarmed shouting came from Avery and Mitchell, then the younger man rushed to the truck. She barely had the time to slide over to the passenger side, crawling across the seats with her head held down, and climbed out of the passenger door, expecting an immediate bullet through her aching skull from her own gun held by Avery’s hand.
But he hadn’t noticed her, and neither had Mitchell, who fought desperately to stop the truck’s careening on the wet grass mixed with mud. Revving the engine, he had the wheels spinning in place and skidding over the damp grass, dislodging chunks of it and uncovering stretches of slippery mud underneath. Engine roaring, the truck still slid backward, almost to the edge of the landslide.
Good. Mitchell was going to be busy for a while.
Seizing the opportunity, she pounced and attacked Avery from behind, reaching for the gun at the same time. She managed to pull it from Avery’s belt, but it slipped from her wet and muddy hands. The old man was stronger than she would’ve given him credit for at eighty-three years of age. With the dilated, psychotic pupils of a maniac and his long white soaked hair whipping in the gusty wind, he bellowed and attacked her frontally, delivering blow after blow with his fists. One hit her in the jaw, and she screamed, the rapid twisting of her head rekindling the intense pain at the back of her skull. She felt the metallic taste of her own blood in her mouth as bursts of green stars exploded in front of her eyes. Forcing a few rushed breaths of cold air into her lungs, she managed to remain on her feet. She dodged Avery’s next blow, then threw herself to the ground on her side, kicking Avery in the ankle forcefully with both her feet as she landed. He dropped to the ground like a log and remained immobile, his eyes wide open, appearing tear-filled under the relentless rain.