He began pacing back in forth in front of us, then he stopped and pointed toward the empty chair behind us with his gun. “I’m gonna take a seat right there behind y’all with my girls, Kitty and Miranda—better known as Smith and Wesson. Then I’m gonna sit a spell and think. And then I’ll blow one of your brains out first, and then I’ll let the other live just a little longer. Of course, that’s more for me than it is for you. See, it’s those few extra seconds of life that’ll put the fear of God in ya’, and I just love to watch that. Sometimes the person’ll wet themselves…or shit their britches. Sometimes both, even. I’ve seen it happen. I have.”
“You don’t have to do this,” CJ said.
“Well, darlin’, yeah, actually, I do. Oh, there was a point in time where that might’a been true. But that point’s done gone. You can blame yourselves for that. If y’all just could’ve left well enough alone, none of us would have to be here. But ya’ couldn’t do that, could ya’? Ace Reporter and his little sidekick had to start digging, had to try and figure it all out.” He turned to me. ‘‘‘Course, you didn’t quite figure everything out, now, did you, Nathan?”
Chapter Fifty-Three
A world I visit only at night. While I sleep.
A rundown shack surrounded by trees. An old white pickup parked alongside it. An angry storm brewing overhead.
This is how the dream always begins.
Thunderheads pick up speed, rolling through turbulent skies, casting a shadow of darkness over everything. The rain begins to fall, lightly at first, then with gathering intensity. A flash of lightning explodes, followed by a violent clap of thunder. The wind howls.
Even though I’m looking at the scene from outside the shack, I have a strong sense that inside there is chaos. Something bad is happening. Something evil.
I hear footsteps on a wood floor, someone pacing back and forth, rhythmic, like a clock ticking.
A door slowly creaks open, then slams. Next, two men’s voices. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but in the background I hear metal clanging; or is it glass? I smell something, too, something medicinal, sterile, like alcohol and gauze. Makes me anxious, frightens me.
A shadow slips quickly across the window.
Then suddenly I’m inside the shed. Laid out flat, the two men standing over me now, holding me down. I can’t move. I can’t see their faces—the room is too dark.
Something warm and wet rolls down my cheek, tickles my skin, and then I see the men’s hands are covered in blood.
I scream as loud as I can. The other man quickly shoves his hand over my mouth to muffle my cries. I can only breathe through my nose now, but it’s difficult. I feel as though I’m being smothered. The room starts spinning. I’m suffocating.
“Do it Raphael. Do it now, Damn it. Right now!”
A needle.
And everything goes black.
Chapter Fifty-Four
“It’s like a stupid fucking dog chasing after his own tail, I tell ya!” He let out a hysterical laugh, which erupted into an uncontrollable coughing fit. “All this time you been tryin’ to figure out what happened to poor little Nathan, and all this time, you didn’t have a dang clue!”
“You’re lying,” I said.
“Am I?”
“Either that or just plain crazy.”
“That, my friend, may be right, but the truth is the truth. You ain’t nothin’ but a bastard child, a whore-son. Warren ain’t your uncle—he’s your papa. And your momma Jean, well…” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “She was spreading it all over town. Wave some cock in front of the tramp and she’d fold over faster than a cheap lawn chair.” He allowed himself a short, contained chuckle. “And Warren never could keep that eleventh finger in his pants. No sir. Those two’d been carrying on for years.”
I saw white, felt light-headed, could hear my heart go racing.
“Then things got a little complicated—well, actually, a lot complicated—the day you fell and hit your head on the playground. That changed everything. Momma Jean had to rush you to the hospital when they couldn’t stop the bleeding, on account’a that disease you got. But the plot thickens. Yessir. It’s passed on by one parent. Well, Momma Jean didn’t have it. Neither did Daddy Dennis. But Warren did, and everyone knew it. And so little Nathan became a walking time bomb. Tick, tick, tick.”
The room began to spin. I closed my eyes tight, tried to get my bearings.
Bill continued. “So they had a bit of, what they call, a situation on their hands. Had to do something about it. I mean, they couldn’t risk word getting out that he’d had an affair, let alone a love child. No-siree-Bob. After all, he had a political career to think of, and she didn’t want Dennis finding out. Nope. Damage control time. So Jean and Warren made a deal with the devil.” He tipped his hat, smiled big. “That’s me.”
Breathing shallow, heart pounding in my head, I felt my whole body go warm, tried to speak from a throat as dry as wool but couldn’t force out so much as a word.
“So Warren hires me to kidnap you, take you to that whack-job sister of his. You didn’t really believe she could be your momma, did you?” Big laugh. “The woman couldn’t raise a turnip. But Warren didn’t care, so long as he could stay close, watch his boy grow up, and keep his political career from falling apart.”
Images flashed through my mind. The white pickup truck, the shack, the boy in the woods. Suddenly, I blurted out, “The thunderstorm.”
“Huh?” Bill looked at me with raised brows.
“There was a thunderstorm that day.”
Nodding, smiling. “Yep. Sure was.”
It was all coming back to me now, the dreams, the images. I wasn’t flying through the woods; I was being carried under his arm. “You tripped…or you dropped me...or…something. I hit my head on a rock. There was blood everywhere, all over the leaves.”
He pointed at me. “Bingo! And what a pain in the ass that was.”
“You took me to the shack.”
He clapped his hands together, spoke with excitement. “Right again, Hoss!”
“Do it Raphael. Do it now, Damn it. Right now!” I said, tears now streaming down my cheeks. “The needle! The damned needle!”
He shrugged. “Had to settle your ass down so we could stop the bleeding.”
“You fucking animal!”
“Now, now, Nathan,” he said. “No need to pull your britches up in a wad. All in a day’s work, partner, all in a day’s work.”
I caught CJ’s gaze and saw a pair of sad, sympathetic eyes looking back, searching mine. Then I looked at Bill and gritted my teeth so tightly that my temples began to burn. I spat my next words at him, “You did this to me! You sick—”
“Well, not exactly,” he said, looking down, shaking his head. “Not really. Technically, your momma did it. She and Warren did. Me, I was just the go-between, did all their dirty work.”
CJ said, “But Jean was the one who paid the price for it. Not Warren.”
“True. Can’t argue there,” he said, nodding. Then back to me, “And you were just their sacrificial lamb, Nathan—that’s all you was, all you’d ever be. Warren slept fine at night, like a little baby, but she couldn’t, and in the end it drove her nuts, right into the loony bin.”
“Where you ended up killing her,” CJ said.
“Had to,” Bill said, throwing his hands up. “Had to shut the whore up. Warren needed her gone. And fast.”
All of a sudden Bill glanced down at his watch, then up between CJ and me, his expression one of pretend surprise. “Criminy, would you just look at the time? Where does it all go, I ask you? I think story hour is over, kids.”
He looked at CJ. She glared back at him.
“‘Course, I wouldn’t mind a little pre-execution bonus right about now. Nope. Not one bit.” He walked up behind her and pushed his crotch up against the back of her head, began thrusting against it, giggling like a thirteen-year-old boy. CJ closed her eyes and pursed her lips as he forced
her head to bob back and forth. “So, how ‘bout it, darlin’?”
“Leave her alone,” I said.
“Put a lid on it, Nathan. You ain’t got nothing to say here.” He looked down at CJ. “So whad’ya say, Sugar? How ‘bout givin’ up some of that sugar? Ever been with a real cowboy?”
“No, but I’d settle for a real man.”
Bill smacked her on the head with the butt of his gun, and blood began oozing down the side of her face. He came around, grabbed her by the collar, pulled her close to his face, then through gritted teeth said, “You’re makin’ me hard, darlin’. Nothing I like more than a good grudge fuck.”
I shouted out, “NO!”
“Shut it, Bastard Boy.” He pointed the gun at me. “Or I kill you first and then fuck her.”
Panic and anger twisted through me and came out as fiery words. “Leave her the hell alone, you stupid, inbred prick! What’s the matter, did your whore of a mother knock the crap out of you when you were a kid? Treat you like her little bitch? Is that why you have to beat on women just to stay hard?”
Bill swung his head toward me with a cocked eyebrow and a maniacal grin that told me I had his full attention. He walked over and began ripping away the duct tape, leaving just my hands bound in front of me. Grabbing me by the collar, he jerked me straight up into a standing position, then hoisted me onto a meat hook so I was hanging by my wrists. He spun me around toward him, held me in place with his right hand, wound up with his left, and delivered a powerful left hook to my gut.
Everything blurred. I gasped for air but couldn’t draw much in—the pain in my abdomen prevented it. I knew I could be bleeding internally, the lifeblood inside flooding my body, drowning my organs until they could no longer function.
My vision returned just in time to see Bill coming at me with something long, something metal.
Something sharp.
“It’s been a long time since I seen you bleed, Nathan,” Bill said, full malice in his voice. He began pushing the rod against my body, the tip barely tearing through my clothes, forcing me to swing back and forth. He used that same momentum to drive the end into my leg; it felt wet and warm with intense pain. Then he plunged the point into my shoulder, more pain and more blood now trailing down my arm.
CJ screamed.
I caught a glimpse of her, wondering how much longer before I bled out and died.
Bill stepped back and prepared to take another jab, but as he did, the end of the rod snagged on a panel behind him. I heard a sharp click, followed by a long, squeaky whine, and the machine came to life. A hook swooped in from behind, caught the back of his jacket and lifted him into the air. Now we were both moving along the track within an arm’s length of each other. He grabbed hold of my shirt, and I kicked him away with all the strength I could muster, forcing him to release his hold and swing away. He came back and slammed into me with such force that the hook began tearing through the tape around my wrists. Before I knew it, I’d dropped onto to the floor.
I scrambled to my feet, gasping in pain. I was soaked in blood, could see it now, oozing out fast from my shoulder, my leg, too. I couldn’t see what might be happening inside me but knew one thing: I wasn’t going to last long.
I spotted Bill moving along the track, heading for a junction where the conveyer split in two directions. To the right, the track was broken—if he continued on that course he’d eventually derail, then come off and fall to safety. I didn’t know where the track to the left led, but I made up my mind that’s where he was going.
I needed to get to the rail switch and change Bill’s course before he reached the junction. I stumbled to the control panel, pushed the button.
And nothing happened.
I pushed it again. Nothing, again. Damned thing was broken, and Bill was coming up quickly to the end of the track. I could push him onto the other track manually, but that meant having to run alongside him. I looked up at the hooks rolling past with their spear-like tips angrily tossing back and forth, clawing at the air. Telling me to stay away.
I couldn’t. I’d spent my whole life terrified of my own blood, and in the process became terrified of living. Not anymore. My anger had arrived; it was strong, it was powerful, and it would drive me through this. I’d use it to make sure that bastard never took another breath.
I found a screwdriver sitting on top of a machine, stuffed it in my back pocket, handle first. I caught up to Bill, ran ahead of him, and reached for the manual wire. He kicked out and wrapped his legs around my neck, squeezing hard. Now he was dragging me along the ground by my neck, choking me. I reached up, tried loosening the grip, but he was holding on tightly, his boots locked together. I pulled the screwdriver from my pocket and buried the end in his thigh. He shouted and his leg twitched, releasing his hold, dropping me to the floor.
Bill continued on, grunting in pain, now barely a foot from the juncture. I rushed up beside him, pulled the manual wire, and forced him onto the other track just in time. He swung in the other direction and began moving away from me. Suddenly, the hook released, dropping him into a chute. When I got there and looked down, I saw him laying face up, eyes wide open, with a metal stake pushing up through his chest.
And covered in blood.
But I had no time to revel in his death, because I was bleeding too, the red running wild from my body. My vision blurred and I began to shiver. I knew these were all effects of severe blood loss. It wouldn’t be long now.
I staggered back toward CJ, leaving a trail of blood along the way. I think she said something, but I didn’t hear it; I was too focused on ripping the duct tape from her arms, legs, and waist.
And that was the last thing I remembered.
Chapter Fifty-Five
My eyes shot wide open.
The packing plant was gone, replaced now by white light—in fact, everything was white. And clean. It took me a moment to realize I was lying in a hospital bed.
I looked up and saw CJ standing beside me, head tilted, watching me with studied concern.
I smiled.
She did, too, and then in a soft voice, said, “How you doing there, kiddo?”
“Pretty lousy,” I said, “but thanks for asking.”
She smiled wider, brushed a hand across my forehead, pushing the hair away from my eyes. “You know, that was some pretty crazy stuff you pulled back there. You almost died.”
I frowned, closed my eyes, nodded.
Another voice said, “You know, being a hero is not such a great idea.”
I opened my eyes. “Sully…holy…how did you…?”
CJ grinned. “I found your phone on the floor while they were loading you into the ambulance. It rang, so I answered it.”
“Guess who?” Sully said, with a wave and a smile. “So I had to come see for myself if you were all in one piece.” Then he said, more seriously, “And I’m glad you are.”
“He flew out here right away,” CJ added.
Sully pointed to me. “I warned you not to take that bastard on yourself—so what the hell do you go and do?”
I looked at CJ and gave her a scolding grin.
She said, “Guilty, but you’re partly to blame.”
“Me?”
CJ put a hand on her hip. “It seems once again you’ve been holding back on some very crucial information. Doing that guarded thing. The bleeding? Good Lord, Pat. You want to explain why you never told me about it? And you’d better make it good.”
“I didn’t want you to worry?”
Her voice had a little anger in it. “I never would have let you do half those things if I’d known.”
“Which is the other reason why I didn’t tell you.”
“They had to revive you twice,” she said. “The second time you almost didn’t make it.”
I struggled through my memory. It was all coming back to me now, the rolling chicken fight with Bill, seeing him dead. I looked up at CJ. “It was worth it putting that bastard to the metal. I’d do it again.”
She fought back a smile, and her eyes began to glisten. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “He was going to kill me first.”
I turned my gaze toward the window and nodded, squinting against the harsh sunlight. Alive.
Then I felt CJ’s hand gently cup my chin. She turned my face toward her and looked into my eyes. Hers were full of tears.
She said, “Thank you, Patrick.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
It was time to head home.
Suddenly, the thought of going back to my empty apartment didn’t seem so bad anymore. I wondered why. Maybe Corvine, in some way, had managed to correct that distortion for me.
Maybe life had.
But there was still one final matter weighing heavily on my mind, and I couldn’t leave until I took care of it.
I rode Highway 72 to the 24 exit, parked in the lot, then went inside. The woman’s expression brightened as soon as I walked through the door.
“Is he still here?” I asked, worried she might say no.
She nodded. “He sure is.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Wonderful. Want to see him?”
I felt my smile widen. “Yeah.”
She got up, then hurried toward the back.
A few moments later, she was standing in the doorway, leash in hand, and one big happy-looking dog on the end of it.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was a completely different animal. About ten healthy pounds heavier now, he had a full-bodied coat that was slick and gorgeous, and an expression that told me he’d finally tasted happiness.
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes.
The Lion, The Lamb, The Hunted Page 19