by Logan Fox
The kid’s not even in a basement. Yeah, I couldn’t go down into the dark earlier, but he’s in a bright and sunny room.
Pussies.
But then I hear Rube swallowing. I look back at the screen.
It’s gone black.
My stomach clenches.
Light returns. It shows a slim figure walking away from the camera that resolves into a young, pretty woman.
Late twenties.
Dark, curly hair.
Bright blue eyes.
Freckles.
She goes to sit beside the little boy, and puts an arm around his shoulder. He cringes away, but she just ducks her head a little closer.
“Would you like some cookies and milk while you wait for Mommy?” she asks.
The little boy looks up at her, wary, and shakes his head.
“Are you sure?”
He drops his head a little. Sniffs.
She scoots closer. “I tell you what, Justin. Let’s have a nap, me and you. And when we wake up, your mommy will be here.”
Justin shakes his head. “I’m not tired.”
“I know.” She moves a lock of hair off his forehead, and looks straight at the camera. “But it will make the time go by so fast.”
Rube clears his throat. “Is that Monica?” he asks, looking up at Apollo and Cass.
“Who else?” Cass says. Apollo nods.
Rube doesn’t look at the camera again. “How does this help?”
Cass frowns. “Gabriel said Apollo should show this to Trinity. I’m guessing he told her Monica was involved, and she wouldn’t believe him.”
“Yeah, she didn’t mention any of that to us,” Apollo adds.
I’m looking at them too, but I can still hear what’s going on. The rustle of fabric. The cooing sounds Monica makes.
Rube goes to turn off the cell phone, but I stop him. His head whips to look at me. “Really?” he murmurs. “You really want to watch?”
“It’s not in a basement,” I tell him.
“Does it matter?” His voice drops low and deep. “You know what’s going to happen. Why the fuck do you have to watch it?”
“Because it’s not in a basement!”
Apollo leans back from my yell. I rake my fingers through my hair and snatch the phone from Rube’s hand. I move my finger over the time bar.
There’s a brief snatch of Monica’s voice.
…show my husband what a handsome boy you are, Justin…doesn’t that feel nice…don’t cry now…
“This didn’t happen in a basement. This boy isn’t one of us.”
“And that makes it okay?” Cass begins, indignation rife on his voice.
“Just fucking listen to me!” I pause the video, hesitate as I check the screen, then hold it up Cass. “There. See?”
Cass glances at it, and then immediately looks away. “Jesus Christ, you’re a sick fuck,” he mutters, and his face goes a shade whiter.
“Not…fuck…” I grit my teeth. “Look past the fucking bed. Behind it. There’s a window. See? The curtains are open.”
“Yeah, sure, I believe you,” Cass says, but only looking at me out of the corner of his eye, not at the screen. “First prize, Zach.”
“Wait…are you saying…” Apollo reaches for the phone, but then plucks his hand away. “Is there like a landmark or something?” he glances at Cass, bumps him with an elbow. “We could use it to triangulate the location of the house.” And then his face falls. “But this must have been taken years ago. What’s the point?”
“The point is, she didn’t bother trying to hide anything. She didn’t pull the curtains. She used the boy’s real name.” I tap my fingernail on the screen, but then hurriedly lock the phone when the video starts playing again.
Everyone goes rigid, jaws clenching, glaring at me.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
They don’t need to hear that.
Fuck, I didn’t need to hear that.
“She felt comfortable enough to shoot a video on her phone and not worry about someone finding it.”
“It was password protected,” Rube says.
“Yeah.” Apollo might have been trying to sound cheery, but his words just come out all wobbly. “Want to know what it was?”
Rube and I look at him. He drops his eyes. “Forgive us our sins,” he says, sounding much less happy than before.
I push past them, unlocking the phone again. I turn down the volume and head into the living room, then hurriedly detour and go into the kitchen instead.
I don’t need to be sitting next to a pool of my own blood trying to work this shit out, that’s for sure.
Cass follows. He makes me a cup of black coffee and sits opposite me as I watch the whole video.
It makes me sick to my stomach to the point where I want to go puke up everything I ever ate…but near the end, Monica picks up the phone again and takes it over to the bed. As she’s arranging it on the nightstand—bright blue like the dresser, with a night light shaped like Mickey Mouse—there’s a clear shot of the window.
So clear, you can make out the horizon.
I freeze that frame, take a screenshot. It’s got Monica’s left eye in it, near the bottom. Her face is tilted down, but she’s looking at the phone.
Probably imagining her husband’s delight when she shows him the clip.
That eye sure is beautiful.
If you don’t look too hard.
Because if you do, then you can see pure evil coiling in the darkness of her pupil.
Forgive us our sins?
Bitch, not now…not fucking ever.
Chapter Forty
Trinity
Exodus, Matthew, and Ephesians say you must honor your father and your mother. They don’t mention whether that still applies if your parents sold their souls to the devil.
“Who were they? Those boys you were with?” my father asks.
I guess I don’t have to call him that anymore. I’m not his daughter. I should feel relieved, but instead I feel violated.
It wasn’t my father who lived upstairs in that house with me and my mother.
It was an impostor.
A stranger.
But they made me call him Dad. And they made me obey him.
The impostor walks closer. Calm, collected.
My head snaps to the side when he backhands me. Pain blossoms on my cheek, and I see stars when my eyes squeeze shut involuntarily.
“Who were they?” he asks again, so quiet I can barely make out the words over the sound of blood roaring in my ears.
“No one,” I manage, blinking back tears of pain and terror.
They tied me to a chair, Hoody and Polo, while the impostor and the woman watched. I’m in a den or a study. Plushly carpeted, thick drapes—drawn. It was gloomy inside until Hoody turned on a desk lamp.
There are lots of books on the wall here. A big desk. It looks a lot like the study Dad had at home.
No, not Dad.
The impostor.
He’s standing in front of me, legs hip-distance apart. Casual, but ready.
For what? Does he expect me to be overcome by some feat of superhuman strength, shred these ropes, and make a go at him? I don’t believe in miracles.
I thought I didn’t believe in God either, but on some level I must have faith. Because I know the Devil’s standing in front of me, and if there’s a Devil, there must be a God.
“Trinity, child…” The impostor crouches in front of me. “There will only be more pain if you insist on being uncooperative. Do you understand?”
“They’re just a bunch of boys,” I tell him.
“What were you doing with them?”
“What does it matter?” I yell.
I glare up at him, but the second our eyes meet, I drop my head.
I’m not brave enough to stare Satan right in the eyes. Especially when those eyes belong to the man I thought of as my father for close to two decades.
The impostor sighs as he stands. He tur
ns to Hoody, and they walk to the study door. Even though their voices are low, I can hear what they’re saying.
“You got their plates?” Keith asks.
“Zachary Price. Dana Point, California.”
My heart starts pounding.
Shit.
I guess it doesn’t matter what I say, the impostor knows they’re not just some random guys.
“Find them. Kill them.” Keith looks at me over his shoulder. I wasn’t expecting a look of fatherly adoration or anything—he’s never looked at me like that.
My entire life, I don’t think I ever did anything that made him proud, or gave him a reason to smile. I just always thought that was the kind of man he was—severe, chaste, Old Testament.
But now it’s all starting to click into place.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love me.
He didn’t have to, because I wasn’t his. But I’m sure even the parents of adopted kids feel more for their children than he ever did—ever could have—for me.
Because there’s not a trace of emotion in his voice when he says, “Kill her too.”
And then he turns and leaves, not even bothering to look back.
My mouth falls open. The woman who brought me here comes in front of me and holds out her gun. But it doesn’t have the same menacing effect as before.
Keith Malone just shredded my life to pieces.
And now I’m going to die.
Finally, the fear comes back. It shoots through me like needles of cold steel. My stomach twists, and I start dry swallowing like there’s something stuck in my throat.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t fucking be happening.
I struggle, but the ropes are tight. I scream, but that just makes the woman frown.
She curls her finger around the trigger. I close my eyes, holding my breath as I wait for the inevitable.
“Jess, wait.”
A hand lands on the woman’s shoulder. She looks at it, glances behind her. “What?”
“I’ll do it,” Hoody says.
“Christ, Nick, there’s no time for that shit.” She shakes him off, points the gun.
“You go on ahead. I’ll catch up.” Nick wraps his fingers around the hand holding the gun. She twists it, snarling at him with irritation, and it goes off.
I scream.
My body’s stiff as I wait for death or pain…but there’s nothing. Just my pounding heart and the ice-cold flash of adrenaline pouring through my body.
“Fucking retard,” Jess mutters, but her voice is moving away. “I’m leaving in ten, with or without you.”
My eyes fly open. There’s a hole about an inch away from my left foot. I manage a choking breath, and then there’s a hand around the front of my throat.
Nick uses his thumb to prop my chin up, forcing my eyes to his. “How many times do you think I can come in ten minutes, Missy?”
I cringe when he licks his lips.
“Let’s go find out.”
I fall to my knees, but I’m up a second later, scrambling to get away. Behind me, Nick barks out a laugh and then shuts the door.
Locks it.
Pockets the key.
But I’m already on the other side of the room, grabbing the window sash and hauling it up.
The curtain wraps around my arm. I swat it away and lean out, lifting my leg—
The ground sways toward me.
But from a distance.
I hadn’t realized it, but I’m on the third floor. And below me? A gravel path hugging the side of the house.
Oh Lord, I’ll never survive that.
I spin around. Nick veers around the bed I clambered over, a filthy smile on his mouth. I look back at the drop. Swing my leg over the window ledge.
It’ll hurt, but hopefully only a little. Then I’ll be dead, right? No need for them to go after my men.
Except…I don’t know if that’s what will happen. Nick and Jess were given orders. Who am I to say they won’t follow them to the letter?
Death by gravel is the coward’s way out. And I’ll be leaving my men clueless. For all I know, they’ll walk into our house in Dana Point and Jess and her crew will already be waiting for them.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
I can hear every future gunshot slamming home into one of my men’s chests.
Just as Nick gets in arm’s reach, I dodge to the side.
We’re in a child’s room, a boy judging from all the action figures and faded blue paint. Where is he now, the boy that used to live here?
I slam into the door, pluck at the handle. Yes, even though it’s locked, because all I can hope for right now is a fucking miracle.
Locked.
Nick laughs again. I spin around, flattening myself against the wood. He’s only got ten minutes with me. And I’m determined to keep playing this game as long as—
Nick lifts Jess’s gun. Or maybe it’s his own, who the fuck knows?
And then he shoots me.
Chapter Forty-One
Rube
“Is this seriously the fastest you can go?” Apollo yells as he thumps the back of Cass’s headrest. “I thought you said this was a muscle car?”
“Do you even have a dick?” Cass yells back. “This is a fucking SUV. The muscle car is that yellow Mustang we left back in California, you idiotic, dickless—” he cuts off with a growl that comes close to competing with the SUV’s engine.
We’re headed south down the highway at a ridiculous speed.
I’ve never been an adrenaline junkie. Going this fast makes me feel sick, not excited. But I grit my teeth and I bear it, because the faster Cass goes, the faster we get to Trinity.
She has to be there.
It’s our only hope.
I mentally urge Cass to push the SUV as hard as he can without blowing the engine, and I hold onto the seat with claws for hands, and I will the contents of my stomach to remain where they are.
“How far, Apollo?” Zach asks.
Apollo briefly relents giving Cass shit, and checks his phone. “Another ten miles.”
“Go faster,” Zach says.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Cass mutters. “Do any of you even know what a speed limiter is? And that this car has one? And that, even if I wanted—”
“Shut up and drive,” I bark.
Then there’s silence.
And fuck, it comes just in time. Else I’d have told them to find me something to puke into.
“This is our turn off,” Cass says just as we pass a sign for a shooting range a few miles up ahead. He slows the SUV and puts on the indicator. “Christ, they weren’t fucking around when they decided to go remote, were they?” he mutters.
There isn’t much to see—just another long road.
“We still don’t know which house it is.” Apollo holds up the printout from the Redford library and starts looking through the windows. “But it’s got to be at least two or three stories.”
“Sounds like we’re looking for a mansion,” Cass says dryly. He catches Zach’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Sound familiar, Mason?”
Zachary narrows his eyes, but then his face relaxes again. He nods reluctantly. “Long drive, so the main house is far from the road. Lots of tree cover.”
He’s describing the house we were kept captive in. A place that used to be his home.
That silence comes again, but Cass breaks it this time after looking first at Zach, then at me.
“How about you burn this one down too when we’re done?”
Just after the turnoff heading for the shooting range, signs start popping up for ranches and plots. We drive until we find the first house that fits our description, but since there are two kids playing in the front yard, we drive past.
A few minutes later, something more fitting comes into view. We park behind a small copse of pine trees—just far enough to keep in sight without being spotted.
It’s a th
ree-story house.
It’s remote as fuck.
If there’d been more than one of its type in this area, we’d have to have searched them all…but there isn’t. The only other houses are a few one-level ranch-style lots, most of them closer to the road.
Despite what Cass demanded, we didn’t come with an arsenal. We all have Kevlar vests on under our shirts, but only Zach and Cass are carrying.
I never handle guns, and this is no exception.
Apollo also declined. I have a hunting knife on me, Apollo a switchblade. But we’re only supposed to be backup for Cass and Zach, and we’re merely going in to scope the place and see if this is where Trinity is being held.
“You sure you want to go in there unarmed?” Cass asks, twisting in his seat and grabbing the headrest. “I mean, you could just wave it around. It doesn’t even have to be loaded.”
I shake my head.
The last time I touched a gun, I almost killed two innocent girls, and traumatized an entire family.
If I’d had a sliver of doubt left that I wasn’t a normal kid, that day changed everything.
It was a Saturday. Pissing with rain. My foster parents had a lunch date with friends, and their four daughters had decided to stay at home and watch sitcom reruns instead of going with.
I don’t know who bought the bottle of booze, but it was almost empty by the time I walked past and saw them passing it around. I wasn’t going to rat them out—I was just going to take it away. Our parents had made it pretty fucking clear how they felt about underage drinking. I mean, the youngest was thirteen. No one that young should be drinking anyway.
But when I tried to take it away, they ganged up on me. Thought it was a game. They were drunk, and I guess they’d been eyeing me for the past few weeks, because they tried to get me to kiss them.
They even started taking their shirts off.
A normal kid my age would have gone with it. But they were my sisters, and it was wrong, and the harder I resisted, the more intent they became.
My brothers think I’m a pussy because I never hit on any of them. I can’t even imagine what they’d say if I told them the truth about what happened that day.