Tourniquet

by Chuck Buda

  “It’s Zoe for sure. They have no idea about us.” Aiden’s eyes watered as he reflected on Leah. “They don’t know about Leah. Yet.”

  “What the fuck do we do? How are we going to find her?”

  Aiden began texting on his cell phone.

  “We tell the others what we have found so far. See if they have anything on their end.”

  “Then what?”

  Aiden paused, fingers lingering over the message.

  “Then we finish what we started.” He resumed texting. “What we never should have started.”

  Chapter 11

  Spencer crept through the house. His athleticism helped him maneuver quietly. He hoped his parents were in bed. The notion of them discovering him sneaking out his father’s war relics frightened him. It would be worse if they saw him in his current state.

  The pain of his missing eye had only been dulled by the handful of pain medication he had swallowed. The throbbing ache overshadowed the feeling of emptiness in his socket. His vision suffered due to the lack of depth perception and peripheral scope.

  CLUNK.

  Spencer’s knee caught the edge of a chair in front of the weapons display case. He cursed under his breath for making a noise. Spencer paused and strained to listen for movement above him. Confident he hadn’t aroused his parents’ attention, Spencer continued on toward the display.

  The darkness in the room made it even more of a struggle for him to find what he needed. Spencer relied mostly on his memory of the room and where each item had been posed. The glass case before him reflected the ambient light reaching through the window on the far side of the room.

  Spencer ran his fingertips along the glass, searching for the beveled handle that would allow him to slide it open. He found the notch and slowly slid the glass to the right. Spencer gently felt along the shelving, careful to avoid knocking an item off its stand.

  St. Michael’s sword.

  Spencer recalled his fascination with the story. Not the biblical rendition. His father’s story.

  His hand went cold at the touch of the steel blade.

  Spencer was six years old. He had pointed at various relics in the display and his father had a long talk about each one. The wonder of such holy weapons and historical ramifications excited Spencer. It had been better than watching a movie or reading textbooks.

  St. Michael’s sword had been one of his favorites.

  It was a short, broad sword fabled to have sent the devil back to hell at the hands of St. Michael.

  Ice cold steel. The smell of polish oil filled his nostrils.

  Spencer’s father said this sword was only a replica of the actual sword. However, it had been no stranger to blood. Or evil.

  “This sword had been used by a descendant of the Knights Templar. An adornment really. Until it had been discovered in Austria. There, it was found by one of the head members of the SS.” Spencer understood the importance of the Nazi regime from his studies. “And that man used this specific sword to dispatch hundreds of Jews in Poland. Know who that man was?”

  Spencer had shrugged his shoulders.

  “Heinrich Himmler. The man who developed and oversaw the concentration camps.” His father placed the sword delicately back in the case. “Himmler used the sword in occult rituals before gifting it to another evil man. Josef Mengele. The Angel of Death.”

  Spencer felt the goose bumps return to his flesh from all those years ago when he had heard the tale.

  “The Angel of Death escaped to South America, with many Nazi leaders. The sword was found buried in some demolished safe house decades after the war. The Nazi leaders had died off but relics such as this, St. Michael’s sword, had remained. Reminders of the bloodshed and the evil many have witnessed.”

  Spencer grasped the weapon. He slowly lifted it, feeling the immense heft. It was much heavier and denser than it looked. And it looked solid. He cradled the sword against his bare chest. As he backed away from the display case, Spencer sensed a presence nearby. The cloying sensation tingled in his belly like nervous butterflies.

  “Spencer?”

  His blood ran cold. Spencer paused before turning to face his mother. He was grateful she hadn’t turned on the lights. He lowered the broad sword and shifted it behind his back as he spun around.

  “What are you doing? Do you know what time it is?” Spencer watched his mother step forward, squinting to make out his features in the darkness.

  “Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m going to stay at Todd’s tonight.” The lie sprang forth to cover his tracks and provide an avenue of escape.

  She stepped closer. “What are you hiding behind your back?”

  Spencer gritted his teeth. He had been cornered and now he had to work his way out of it. Sweat began to bead atop his shaved head.

  “Nothing. I was just...”

  “Spencer? What happened to your...” His mother covered her mouth to stifle her horror. She neared him, staring into his vacant eye socket. “My God!”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Spencer hissed at her. He regretted his instantaneous reaction, but he needed to keep his mother from waking his father. If his dad got involved, Spencer would be fucked. He’d never escape.

  She cried through her fingers, eyes darting back and forth along his bloody visage.

  “I’m sorry. I’m okay. I have to go, Mom. Please. Don’t wake dad.”

  She tried to sweep Spencer into her arms. Her crying blossomed into hysterics. Spencer clutched his mother back, squeezing her tightly with one arm. He attempted to suppress her noise by burying her face into his chest. It also helped to keep her from staring at his mangled face. It was a sight no mother should be made to witness.

  The weight of the sword dragged down the arm behind his back. It strained his shoulder to keep it hidden. Spencer stepped away from his mother. He brought the sword around to his chest, clutching it with both hands.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I have to go now.” Spencer brushed past his mother toward the door. She immediately dropped to her knees and screamed. The silence instantly broken like a mirror struck with a stone. As Spencer ran for the door, he heard the shuffling of slippers upstairs on the hard wood floors. His father shouted to the darkened house. “What the hell’s going on? Honey, where are you?”

  Spencer ran for his car. He was out of time. His mother would explain what she knew to his father. Then his father would either get in the car and try to find him, or he would call the police. Spencer liked to believe his father would attempt to search for him without the help of the police because he wouldn’t want to get his son in trouble.

  Trouble had long since sped down the tracks. Spencer was looking trouble in the rear-view mirror. The world had gone to shit in a matter of hours and he was getting swallowed up in the whirlpool of chaos.

  I created this chaos.

  Spencer chastised himself as he revved the engine. He had taught Zoe the secrets to forces that were beyond her control. Beyond everyone’s control. Now Zoe was on the loose and Spencer knew she would destroy much more than she had already.

  He glanced at the front of the house he had grown up in. A tear welled up as he thought this might be the last time he saw the place of his childhood memories.

  Chapter 12

  Turner waited for the police to arrive.

  He hadn’t found Rebecca or Jordyn anywhere in the house. He had tried their cell phones but wasn’t able to get through to either one. Turner found it unsettling that neither would answer, especially considering the scene he had found in his bedroom.

  A pit in his stomach ate away at his nerves. Turner was torn between jumping in his car and looking for Rebecca and Jordyn or awaiting the arrival of the authorities. His heart told him to leave and look for his loved ones. His brain told him to stick to the house lest he be considered a suspect in Leah’s murder. Fleeing the scene of a crime, even in pursuit of his family, would be looked upon with skepticism.

  Turner stepped onto the front por
ch. The thought of waiting inside with a dead body close by made him sick. He was a grown man, but the boy inside him feared Leah’s body would get up and come after him while his attention was elsewhere. A shiver ran down his spine.

  As he stood in the front yard, Turner stared across the street at the Fisher’s house. The home looked like it always did. Normal. He wondered what his neighbors would do once they found out their precious daughter had been murdered in his house. There would be no more peace and friendship between the two households. The Fishers would resent them.

  Turner glanced up the street. It had only been a few minutes since he had called the police. He thought about walking across the street, ringing the doorbell and informing Holden and Samantha about Leah. Visions of their reaction ran the gamut from complete despair to rage. Turner pictured Holden slugging him in the jaw.

  What the hell happened to our peaceful lives?

  Turner heard the whining sirens on their approach. His thoughts jumped from Samantha and Holden back to his wife and daughter. He hoped the cops would split up on the scene. One could process the murder while the other could hit the road to find his family. Maybe they can just radio another car to track them down.

  It overwhelmed him to try and figure out the best plan.

  A squad car turned up their street. The sound of the siren and the strobing lights reached Turner’s yard ahead of the vehicle. He shielded his eyes against the bright lights. The car screeched to a halt in front of his house. Two uniformed officers hurried up the lawn to where Turner stood. One officer pulled his gun from its holster. The other cop kept his hand on the gun handle, leaving it in the holster but ready for action.

  “Are you okay?” The taller officer with the gun drawn asked.

  “Yeah. I mean, no. But I’m not hurt.”

  The shorter officer with his hand on his weapon instructed Turner to stay put while they cleared the house to be sure the suspect was no longer on the property. Turner assured them the house was empty. He directed them to where the body was, pointing at the bedroom window on the corner of the house. The officers ran to the door, then began their slow, methodical search of the residence.

  Turner started to shake and cry. He suddenly realized they were in big trouble. A murder in his house. His family missing. There would be questions. Trials. Legal bills. Am I going to go to jail now? How will Rebecca and Jordyn survive with me in prison? We’re going to lose the house. Everything. All I did to build our lives up and now it will come crumbling down. It’s not about your stupid money and possessions, you idiot. It’s about your family. They will be laughed out of Tenafly. The murder house. The killer family.

  Turner got a hold of himself, wiping some tears from his cheeks. He needed to find Rebecca and Jordyn. The fear that they both might be dead somewhere cork-screwed through his gut. They could be hurt somewhere while he stands in the front yard worrying about what other people might think of them.

  What would his co-workers think? His boss? The clients?

  Shut the fuck up, Turner screamed inside his head. He punched his own thigh to shock the selfish thoughts from his mind.

  The shorter officer approached Turner. He heard the taller officer shout that the home was “all clear.” Turner sniffled, composing himself for the questions. He didn’t want to come off as nervous or scared, giving the impression he had anything to do with the crime.

  The cop asked Turner to walk through what had happened. Turner took a deep breath and related how he had just gotten back from a business trip. He had entered the house and found that his wife and daughter were missing. He had found the master bedroom in complete disarray, the dead girl on the floor and blood splashed everywhere. He told the officer he had no idea who had been in the house, what had happened, where they had gone. He asked if they could help him find his family.

  The officer spoke quietly into the microphone attached to his shoulder. He requested a search for Rebecca and Jordyn based on Turner’s description of them. The cop threw in the fact that caution should be used as both women were considered armed and dangerous.

  “They’re not dangerous.” Turner protested.

  “Standard protocol for anyone connected with a crime scene and on the loose.”

  “Look, they’re not on the loose. They’re missing. How do you know my wife and daughter weren’t taken by whoever did this shit?”

  The officer nodded in acceptance and assured Turner they would be found and brought in safely. He further explained how they had to be treated as potentially hostile until they could determine exactly what had taken place here tonight.

  Exasperated, Turner ran his hands down his face. He couldn’t believe how everything had fallen apart. All he had looked forward to had been coming home to his wife after a long week on the road. And now all this had happened.

  The taller cop exited the house. He pulled the shorter officer aside. Turner listened to them discuss calling in the Sheriff’s Department and alerting the County Medical Examiner. They exchanged a few glances toward Turner.

  “Sir, this is for your protection as well as ours. Please turn around.”

  “You’re arresting me? What did I do? I fucking called you here. You think I killed her and then called you to my house while I waited?”

  “Sir, this is just until we get a grip on the situation here. Everyone has to be questioned and processed so we can determine the facts.”

  Turner didn’t resist but he let the cops know how frustrated he was. He pleaded with them to find his wife. His daughter. He demanded that they focus on finding them before they turned up dead somewhere. The cops assured him they would find his family members as soon as they could. They asked him to calm down.

  As the officers sat Turner down on his lawn, the tears began to flow. Turner couldn’t keep his emotions inside any longer. His brain scrambled to figure out what was going on. He blinked tears out of his eyes. When his vision cleared up a bit, Turner noticed someone peeking out of an upstairs window across the street.

  Turner shouted as Leah’s brother Tommy slid back behind the curtain, out of view.

  Chapter 13

  Samantha searched all over to no avail. She had been through the major neighborhoods, doubling back twice to the streets Leah’s friends lived on.

  Still nothing.

  Her frustration mounted. Samantha had to find the kids quickly. She refused to allow the police to reach the pack of deviants before she had a chance to mete out her own justice.

  Samantha’s blood sizzled with the realization she was on a vigilante mission. Never in her wildest imagination would she have ever considered finding herself in such a position.

  Leah’s gone.

  Tears filled her eyes, increasing the difficulty of visibility on the darkened streets.

  Holden was gone too.

  Fuck Holden.

  Samantha put her left blinker on. The stop sign gave her an ominous pause. What the hell was she doing? Her world had already fallen apart and now she was rushing headlong into a prison life. Maybe death.

  She forced herself to punch the gas pedal, completing the left turn onto East Clinton Avenue. Red and blue flashing lights illuminated the treetops along the downhill slope. As she neared the center of town, Samantha noticed several police vehicles. And a county crime unit truck. An officer waved her to slow down, using the orange-coned flashlight like a runway employee at an airport. Samantha slowed, following the officer’s directions to again turn left. The cop forced her to go the wrong way up a one-way street along the shops and movie theater. She waved a polite thanks to the cop.

  She couldn’t help but wonder if the police were looking for her. After all, Samantha was now a criminal. A murderer on the run. She reminded herself there would be no way they had discovered the grisly scene in her home. Why couldn’t they have found out already? Tommy could have called the police.

  Samantha shook away the fearful thoughts. She needed to stay focused on her mission. Find the kids and fucking kill them. We
ll, maybe just a few of them. Especially that cunt, Zoe.

  As she neared the end of the short block, Samantha caught subtle movement from the corner of her eye. She glanced through the passenger window. Two people slid along the shrubbery and plaques on the sidewalk. Their movements appeared lithe and cautious.

  As if they were trying to get away.

  Aiden and Ryan.

  Samantha did a double-take. She smelled the blood in her nostrils. Blood she had spilled earlier. Maybe even phantom smells of blood she had yet to spill. Samantha pulled over to the side of the street. She killed the headlights and watched the boys scamper through the shadowy landscape. She picked out the car they approached. The boys got inside, fired the engine and made their way back towards County Road.

  Samantha followed them, holding back a few car lengths. After they drove about a mile, the cars came to a stop at a red light. Samantha couldn’t contain her emotions any longer. She had to confront the boys. Find out what happened. And find where the others might be hiding. She punched the gas and swung her car alongside Ryan’s vehicle. The looks of astonishment on their faces was almost worth it. But Samantha knew she had to remain in control. She had to contain her rage until she figured out their involvement. Then she could surprise them. They had no idea what a protective mother could do to them.

  They might learn though.

  Samantha pointed to the gas station across the street. Ryan seemed to check with Aiden about her intentions. He turned back to Samantha and nodded in agreement. The light turned green and the boys pulled through the intersection and into the gas station. Samantha followed close behind.

  Her legs shook uncontrollably. It felt as if her nervous system anticipated the fight or flight instinct. More fight right now than flight. She decided to stay put and let the boys come to her door. Samantha lowered the window as the two young men approached cautiously. She read the fear in their eyes. Creases of worry wrinkled their foreheads.