Her Last Day (Jessie Cole Book 1)

by T. R. Ragan

  “That’s Natalie,” Zee said. “And there’s a man named Dog in the locked cell over there.”

  “Natalie Bailey?” Jessie asked.

  “Yes. Are you here to save us?”

  The sight of the two women made Jessie want to cry. She’d found Zee and now Natalie, too, yet she was powerless to help them. She’d fucked up. Never should have gone charging into the barn before calling 9-1-1. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “Someone’s locked inside a box outside. My only thought was to get her out of there. I never should have—”

  “She’s still alive?” Zee asked.

  “Who?” Jessie asked. “The girl in the box? Is it a child?”

  “I don’t know her age. I never saw her, but I know the madman found her on the side of the road and locked her up after she disobeyed his orders.”

  “My husband is Mike Bailey,” Natalie said. “Do you know if he’s alive?”

  Jessie inhaled slowly, swallowed, then looked at the woman who had moved closer now. She was so very thin. Her ribs jutted out, and the skin framing her haunted eyes was a sickly grayish yellow. “He’s alive,” Jessie told her. “Your husband has been all over the news asking for help to find you.”

  Natalie began to sob, her body shaking uncontrollably.

  “That chair you’re sitting on isn’t chained to the wall or the floor,” Zee said. “If you could move closer to me, I might be able to reach through the bars and untie you.”

  Jessie pushed up and forward, a hopping motion. The chair moved forward at least an inch, then nearly toppled over.

  “Not so fast, stupid.” Laughter followed.

  “Sorry,” Zee said.

  Jessie scooted her chair a half inch at a time toward Zee’s cell. Arlo had warned her that Zee could get violent. Without meds, there was no telling what she might be capable of, but that was the least of her problems.

  “Hurry,” Zee said. “He could return any moment.”

  Natalie had crawled closer to watch. Jessie had seen stories about the woman who had been taken from her home in the middle of the night. She looked nothing like the pictures her husband had provided the media.

  Jessie hobbled onward, her legs shaking. She wasn’t sure she would make it, but then Zee reached out with long arms and helped pull her along, dragging and turning the chair so she could work on untying the ropes. The girl was strong. Jessie could feel her fingers pulling and tugging at the rope, determined to free her.

  Footsteps above, and then a scraping noise stopped Zee midmotion. “He’s coming.”

  The woman in the other cell dropped to the straw-covered ground and scrambled to the corner, where she curled into a ball like a pill bug.

  Jessie thought Zee would run off to a far corner, too, but her fingers began to move at a quicker pace, frantically working the knots in the rope. Pulling. Tugging. Loosening.

  Jessie was helpless to do anything but sit there. She pulled on her wrists until Zee yanked her hand, making it clear she wasn’t to move.

  She thought about Olivia being home alone, how worried she would be when Jessie failed to return before dinner. She thought about Colin. Once he heard the message she’d left him, he would find her. He’d find them all.

  A door creaked open, allowing a sliver of light inside.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, so loud they shook the rafters.

  The young man standing before Jessie looked exactly like the image reflected in Zee’s sunglasses. A regular-looking guy, average in height and weight. He wore denim pants and a plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, as they had been in the picture she’d shown around. His hair had grown some since and hung straight and limp past his ears, one of which was missing a chunk of flesh.

  It was him. Her attacker.

  He set a tin bucket on the ground, then lit two oil lamps, smiling when he caught Jessie’s gaze. It was only then that she was able to catch a glimpse of the underlying evil within.

  Through it all, Zee continued to work at the ropes. Nothing was going to stop her. She wanted her freedom.

  Forrest Bloom walked over to her. He slapped Zee’s hands away, grabbed the chair Jessie was sitting in, and dragged it back across the room away from Zee.

  “How many more people are you going to bring down here?” Zee asked. “It’s getting a little crowded.”

  Zee’s fingers were wrapped tightly around the metal bars when he walked back to her cell. He clasped his hands over hers and held tight. “Feeling claustrophobic, Zinnia?”

  She yanked her hands free, then swiped them across her pants as if to rid herself of his germs.

  He chuckled, then left her alone, turning his attention back to Jessie.

  Jessie lifted her chin. “I called the police. They’ll be here any moment now.”

  “No, you didn’t. After I knocked you over the head, I was able to use your thumbprint and check all calls made before I shut your phone off. But not before I wrote down Olivia’s name and number so I could pay her a visit later. You know—tonight or maybe tomorrow. Whenever I happen to get bored.” He lifted a brow. “And believe me—sooner or later I always get bored.”

  The idea of this man going anywhere near Olivia made her chest tighten. “There are people who know where I am,” Jessie said as she fiddled with the rope, felt it give. “This is the end for you.”

  “Oh, really? Who do you mean, exactly? Do you think it will be that lunatic crime reporter you’ve been hanging out with? Is he going to save you?” He rubbed his chin. “Hmm. The one who doesn’t remember who he is or where he’s from? We both know it won’t be that cop friend of yours . . . the one who arrested Zee’s father as a suspect in the Heartless Killer case. He’s way too busy to come looking for you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Zee asked. “How would you know any of that? You’re a liar.”

  He smiled at Zee. “I watched the news. I have Internet. I’m not a mental case like you.”

  “Is it true?” Zee asked Jessie. “Was my father arrested?”

  “It’s true,” Jessie said. “I spoke to him this morning, told him I would find you.”

  Forrest Bloom clapped his hands. “And you kept your promise. Good job, Jessie Cole.”

  “My dad doesn’t like being trapped in confined places any more than I do,” Zee said before she shook the bars again, making a racket. “Let me go, you fucking monster!”

  Forrest’s facial expression changed in an instant. He lifted both hands and shook the metal bars right along with her. “You’re the fucking monster!” he yelled. “When are you going to get that through your fucked-up brain? Where are all those people you talked about that were going to come out here and mess with me? Huh? Where are they, Zee?”

  She backed away. “You’re an ass.”

  “You’re a coward,” he shot back. “If you could see yourself now, you would realize all those voices in your head are just worthless thoughts in your brain. Nothing more.”

  “Shut up!” Natalie shouted. “Just shut up! Both of you!”

  “Well, would you look at that,” Forrest said. “The only daughter of the most inept social worker ever to live has some life left inside of her.”

  “What’s your endgame? What’s the purpose of all this?” Natalie asked as she pushed herself to her feet, struggling to stay upright as she walked his way. “Did you bring us all here as payback for the things your daddy did to you? Is that why we’re here? Did anyone ever tell you that two wrongs don’t make a right? Did you ever stop to think that you’ve become worse than the man who you spent your whole life despising?” She snorted. “How can that possibly make things better for you?”

  Forrest turned away and walked back to the stairs.

  Jessie felt the ropes loosen. She continued to work her hands, rolling her wrists, ignoring the areas where the rope had chafed her skin. Almost there. Just a little longer and she’d be free.

  “Where are you going, Forrest?” Natalie asked. “Off to get the hose again? Or
do you have more spiders to toss at us? They were delicious, by the way, kept us nourished, thank you very much. What new-and-improved torture have you worked out in that demented mind of yours?”

  Forrest stopped, his foot resting on the first step. “I’m going to rip that tongue right out of your mouth.”

  “Oh no!” Natalie cried, her tone lined with sarcasm. “Please don’t do that!”

  Jessie tried to ignore the scene playing out before her. She needed to focus on getting free. Maybe Natalie knew that. Maybe she knew exactly what she was doing.

  “Did you get kicked out of college because you were as dumb as your father always said you were?” Natalie asked him. “Or did one pretty girl too many turn down your unwanted advances? I mean, come on—nobody could love a boy like you. A boy his own father couldn’t love.”

  Forrest had continued climbing the stairs as Natalie hurled every taunt imaginable at the man. Once he reached the top, his steps were loud stomps above their heads.

  “I think that’s enough,” Zee said in a low voice. “Getting him mad is one thing, but he’s going to kill you.”

  Jessie looked over at Natalie then, and she could see it in the woman’s eyes. That was exactly what she wanted. This wasn’t about escaping. She had given up. She was ready to die.

  FORTY-FOUR

  The moment Ben caught sight of the weather vane jutting out from the top of the barn, he pulled over to the side of the gravel road and shut off the engine. Without hesitating, he climbed out and stayed low as he crept along one edge of the road until he could see the front entrance to the farmhouse.

  Parked in front of the house was Jessie’s car.

  His heart sank. Who the hell was Forrest Bloom, and what was Jessie doing in there? The fact that she had told Olivia she would be home soon and now wasn’t answering her phone didn’t bode well.

  He pulled out his cell and called the police, gave them the address, telling them that an armed and dangerous man was inside, holed up with a gun and plenty of ammunition. People were hurt and they needed an ambulance. Disconnecting the call, he then slid his phone into his back pocket and continued onward. If he ended up being wrong, then so be it. He’d learned from experience that he’d rather be wrong than sorry.

  He made his way to the front entry, hoping he hadn’t been seen through a window. Slowly he turned the doorknob. Locked.

  Standing still, he listened. Heard nothing. No sounds of appliances running, no radio or voices emitting from a television set. He backtracked down the porch stairs and made his way around the side of the house. He didn’t like guns and therefore didn’t carry one, but for the first time in his life he wished he’d put more thought into that decision.

  As soon as he rounded the corner, he heard the grunts and squeals of hungry pigs. A dog barked in the far distance. The skinny dirt path took him the long way around the house. His senses were on full alert as he passed by a coffinlike box. Thinking he heard something, he took two steps back, leaned low, and rapped his knuckles against the plywood.

  “Hello?” came a small voice.

  His pulse raced. What the hell was going on?

  His gaze swept over his surroundings before he sank to his knees. “Hang tight,” he said. “I’m going to get you out of there.” He felt around the lid until he found a spot where new wood met with old. He jammed his fingers into the tight space and pulled, gently at first.

  “Help me.” The voice sounded weak and raspy, causing a rush of adrenaline to sweep over him and give him extra strength. Blood rushed upward through his body to his neck and face as he grunted and pulled and yanked the lid free. The metal lock was still latched, but the rotted wood beneath failed to hold.

  The young girl inside the box was naked and so fragile-looking it broke his heart to see her lying there. She was somebody’s daughter, and he thought of Abigail. Dark shadows circled her eyes. As gently as possible, he scooped her bony frame from her makeshift grave and carried her in his arms as he ran back around the house and down the driveway to his car. He placed her inside, grabbed his water bottle from the front, and gave it to her, then rummaged through a pile of Goodwill donations Melony had asked him to drop off weeks ago. He found an extralarge T-shirt and slid it over her head. She didn’t blink or move or say a word.

  He told her that the police would be there soon and to hang on just a little while longer.

  Her body shook, but she said nothing.

  He didn’t want to leave her, but the thought of Jessie inside that house with a lunatic was too much to bear. He couldn’t risk waiting for backup. “There are other people in there I have to help, okay?”

  No response. The blank look in her eyes made him clench his jaw. He shut the side door and then ran around to the back to grab the tire iron.

  Tears wet his face as he ran back to the house and up the stairs to the porch. Stopping at the front door, he launched a booted foot close to the door frame. Splintered wood rained down around him as he kicked his way through.

  Jessie struggled to loosen the ropes around her wrist when she heard the thump thump thump of Forrest Bloom’s feet as he came down the stairs to the basement.

  The monster was back.

  Time was running out.

  She yanked her arm as hard as she could, surprised when one of her hands slipped free of the ropes. Her breathing hitched. She needed to play it cool, didn’t want him to know what she’d done.

  All was quiet as he came forward.

  Chills crawled up her spine as she realized he only had eyes for Natalie. He was furious with Natalie for taunting him. It wasn’t until he passed by that she saw what he held behind his back—a butcher knife, the steel blade glittering in the semidark room.

  “He has a knife,” Jessie warned.

  But that only stirred Natalie to insult him further. “What’s the matter, Forrest? Don’t tell me that after all this time we’ve spent together, I finally managed to piss you off. The truth sucks—doesn’t it?”

  “You’re just like your slut mother,” he said with a sneer. “The bitch knew my father was abusing me, and it turned her on—didn’t it? I watched her shake his hand, her eyes heated with desire as she looked at him. He could have taken her right then and there atop the kitchen table if he’d wanted to. Your mother was panting for it. But she was a used-up hag by then—wasn’t she? Your own father didn’t want her, and neither did mine.” He snorted.

  “The difference between me and you,” Natalie said, her voice calm, “is that I know the truth about myself and my mother. My truth can’t be distorted by the words of a demented man who still cowers beneath his father’s larger-than-life shadow. You’re weak, Forrest. You couldn’t help yourself, let alone your poor, dear mother, and now everyone must pay.”

  At the same moment he raised his hand, Jessie lunged for him, bringing the chair still fastened to her other wrist with her. She used her free hand to grab a fistful of his hair and then pulled back hard.

  “Rip his head off!” Zee shouted, rooting her onward.

  The knife dropped to the floor.

  Enraged, he whipped around, picked Jessie up along with the chair, and tossed her to the side. Her head smacked against the wall. Pain sliced through her skull, and her other hand came loose as she hit the ground.

  She crawled toward the knife, but he snatched it from the ground and turned back to Natalie, who remained pressed against the metal bars.

  “Run!” Jessie shouted to Natalie.

  But Natalie didn’t move a muscle, not even when he brought the blade down hard and swift, through the bars and straight into her chest.

  “No!” Zee jumped up and down, her hands clasped around the metal bars as she shook them, shouting obscenities.

  Natalie’s fingers held tightly to the knife’s handle as she stumbled backward, a smile on her face.

  There was nothing Jessie could do for her now, and she looked away. Chaos surrounded her. Upset about Natalie, Zee was making a racket. An eerie howling came f
rom the enclosed cell, and a loud crash sounded upstairs. She wondered if Forrest had heard the noise as he walked past her. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and picked up the bucket he’d set there when he first came down.

  What was he up to?

  “I usually interview the people I bring down here to my private study,” he told Jessie, speaking loudly enough to be heard over Zee’s anguished cries.

  Jessie crawled toward the chair, hoping to use it as a weapon.

  “But I learned enough about you when I sliced open your pretty face,” he said as he headed her way.

  The dizzying pain in Jessie’s head slowed her.

  “Leave us alone!” Zee cried.

  Taking slow, casual steps toward Jessie, Forrest said, “I wish I could replay the look on your face when you saw the blood on your hands. A private eye who’s afraid of blood. Who would have guessed?”

  “I hate you! I hate you!” Zee chanted.

  Jessie reached the chair just as he caught up to her. She grabbed the wooden leg and pulled, but it was too late. He stood over her, a sickening smile on his face as he poured the contents of the bucket over her head.

  Blood, thick and dark red, oozed its way through her hair and down both sides of her face. She squeezed her eyes shut as rivers of the stuff coated her nose and mouth, making it difficult to breathe.

  He took his time, making sure to drench every part of her, including her clothes.

  Unable to hold her breath, she coughed, her hands shaking as she swept a thick coat of blood from her eyelids. This was not the stuff made for movies. No ketchup or corn syrup and red dye, but instead metallic and coppery in scent.

  Every muscle stiffened.

  She tried to move, willed herself to do so, but her body failed her. Finally her eyes snapped open. Through the blood dripping down her face, she stared at Forrest Bloom as an eerie howling erupted in the enclosed cell behind him, dampening his glee.

  Beneath her blood-soaked body, her pulse raced.