by Lucian Bane
“Car,” he mumbled.
“Car, okay. I think we should leave.” A moment later. “I have to check if it’s clear, hold on.”
He rested against the wall feeling like death was five minutes away. He needed to know which one was still there. If it was Jason, they were dead. The other two he wasn’t that worried about.
“Which car?” she asked, her voice shaking.
“Black.”
“Please God, please,” he heard her praying with the sound of the car door opening. She guided him in, and he stifled a roar as he fell into the seat.
“Are you okay, what do I do?” she whispered.
“Get…” he seethed between huge breaths, “in… the car.”
“Getting in, getting in.” She shut his door and he waited for her to scream, waited for whoever was still there to take her out before she could make it.
The driver’s door opened, and the sound of shallow breaths said she was still alive. He heard the gun hit the back seat, and he felt like it should have shot one of them. That’s how fucked up the night had gotten, it seemed fitting that the worst should happen.
“Lock…”
“Lock the doors, ok. Shit, how do you lock them?” The locks engaged. “Got it, I got it, how do you start it.”
“Keys. Visor.”
“Keys visor, keys visor,” she repeated.
The jingle of metal came with her triumphant cry. “I got the keys. I’m putting them in the ignition, I’m starting it.”
“Stop… talking.”
The engine revved. “No talking.”
“Drive.”
The car jerked in reverse at high speed and he waited for them to hit something. Instead, his body was thrown into the door when she turned sharply and slammed the brakes then shot forward. “I’m driving,” she gasped. “I’m driving. Where am I driving to?”
“Get to the interstate.”
“And then what, what then?”
“GPS. Interstate 87. North to Exit 14.”
“GPS,” she muttered repeatedly, the car jerking around.
Mordecai felt along the dash and located it. “Here.”
“Got it, I got it. Interstate 87…”
“87… north, exit 14,” he mumbled, fighting that darkness again.
“Interstate 87 north, exit 14” she repeated.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that,” the female computer voice announced.
“Interstate 87 north, exit 14,” she repeated.
“Routing to… 87 north, exit 14 in thirty point one miles.”
“Thirty, that’s not far,” she whispered. “Just rest, are you okay? Oh my God, you need a doctor.”
“Drive,” he grit. “Wake me when you need to.”
C H A P T E R S E V E N
Now What?
Miriam bit her tongue on the millions of questions she needed to ask. But none of them required being asked immediately. Mordecai’s plea to sleep was like life or death, and that had her worried. She had no idea the extent of his injuries, no idea how badly they cut him or what else they may have done. What if he was bleeding to death? She had enough nursing skills to patch him up and save his life unless his injuries were internal. In that case, he’d need a hospital or a miracle.
She figured out how to get the radio turned on. If anyone heard those gunshots, the police may have been notified and if that had happened, she needed to know. She felt like shooting the two was self-defense, but how long would it take to prove that?
She fought with all her might to shut the door on the image of that hole she’d blown in that man, but her brain refused to aid and abet her, seeing it as her trying to push it under the rug. But she had to, so she could think. As it was, she was dealing with the physical effects of the trauma that had kicked in. She had to keep herself afloat until she reached land. If she considered the dead bodies, she’d drown.
She searched for things bigger than that problem and the only one she could think of that held equal weight, was Mordecai himself. The issue with that was a lot of the recent data involved the trauma she needed to not think about.
She went to just before the trauma to the Mordecai trying to force her stuff. And yet, while it was also traumatic, to her mind, it was less so. And why was that? Perfect puzzle to chew on for the indefinite drive. For one, something told her Mordecai wasn’t as dangerous as his behavior indicated. And yet, the second she thought that, her brain offered recent facts to argue otherwise. As if on cue, the very stuff she couldn’t think about entered her mind. Those three men. Who were they to him, really? How involved was he in their “group” and what sort of… group was it, what purpose did it have?
They’re sadists who planned to chop you up while you watched.
Yep, that was damning evidence against Mordecai right there. Being involved in any capacity with that crew brought his character scores way down.
She shot a glance at Mordecai and freaked at finding his swollen eyes slit open, staring right at her. “Mordecai?” she whispered, eyeing him and the road, his lopsided face making her cringe. Panic hit her when he didn’t answer, and she pulled off to the side of the highway. “Mordecai?” she called, trying to come to a smooth stop. She shoved the shift into park and quickly pressed two fingers into his neck while staring at his glazed eyes. The strong pulse brought a huge sigh of relief. “Are you… are you awake? Can you hear me?” she called, her face crimping at the horrible abuse covering his handsome face.
His lack of answer could mean only one thing. He slept with his eyes open. Could there be anything creepier? Maybe it was temporary… something from his injuries. God that would be awful. She allowed herself to look lower, her gut tensing at what she might find. The worst would be where they cut his leg, but the darkness prevented her from seeing anything.
Once back on the road, it took five minutes for the GPS to announce their destination in one mile. Her pulse went to racing for some reason as she glanced at Mordecai, again startled at meeting that slit stare. She wanted to turn his head toward the window. She could stop for supplies at the exit and then wake him for directions.
Shit, she had no money, what was she thinking?
“Mordecai?” she called, waiting for a few seconds. “Mordecai,” she called louder. “We’re getting to the exit and I need to know which way to go. Can you wake up for me?”
“Mordecai,” she called even louder.
“What,” he croaked.
She glanced at him and his eyes were closed, his forehead pinched, like he was in pain. “I’m sorry to wake you, but we’re coming to the exit.”
“What… exit?”
“The, the 87-north exit? You said to wake you when we got to it.”
“Stop… yelling,” he mumbled. “Take the exit north. Enter… 6312… Helmington Lane, Saratoga Springs, into the GPS.”
Shoot. “I’ll have to stop at the exit and enter it.” She checked her mirrors, putting on her signal. “Do we have any money?” she wondered. “I mean, do you? I don’t have anything on me.”
“At the… next house.”
Next house. How many did he have? “I hope we have enough gas to get there.”
“We do,” he strained, then groaned.
“Are you in a lot of pain?” She guided the car to the shoulder of the road on the exit ramp. “I’m stopping to input the address,” she informed him. “Can you give it to me again?”
“6312,” he gasped. “Helmington Lane, Saratoga Springs.”
“I’m sorry, wait, wait, I have to figure out how to reset it.” She studied the panel, pressing several buttons.
“Home button,” he whispered.
She looked and found it, pressing. “There’s… four here.”
“6312 one.”
She pressed the address on the screen and the map tilted, lining out the route with the first set of instructions audibly narrated by the lovely British navigation expert. And thank God for her. Only ten miles left, then she would have to deal wit
h Mordecai’s situation. She was not looking forward to that.
****
Mordecai woke to agony and the sound of groaning.
“I need to get you inside, we’re here.”
The voice was familiar.
“I’m going to help you out of the car. Mordecai,” she said louder. “We’re at your home. 6312 Helmington Lane.”
What? Why were they…?
“You were half killed by your three friends,” she said as though reading his mind. The information brought it all back with a clarity that left him seething and breaking out in a sweat. His fucking leg was killing him. They were carving him to the bone last he remembered. How the fuck did he get out of that? How was Miriam alive? And with him?
The details, particularly the ones that explained their impossible freedom, were nowhere to be found in his head. He’d passed out. Something had happened during that.
Miriam happened. And he needed to know all the intricate details of that. He’d also managed to help her get them to the safe house, something he barely recalled.
He remembered something she’d said, or had he dreamed it? One had run and she’d shot the other two. If Jason had escaped, they needed to get inside the house immediately. He was the type to hang back and follow them to learn every secret he’d worked meticulously to hide.
The agonizing twenty feet from the car to the side door of his hide-away had him nauseated and seeing black dots. He leaned against the wall, gasping as he reached and groped along the door, finding the entry pad. He pressed his fingerprint onto the smooth surface and the lock disengaged with the opening of the door.
“Welcome home, Mordecai,” another female computer voice announced as Miriam helped him inside.
“Emergency lock down,” he ordered.
“Initiating emergency lockdown.”
The deep hum of motors eased the tension deep in his muscles. Knowing the thick metal plates would soon cover every point of entry was better than a pain killer.
“You need to sit,” Miriam said, her words shaking as she fought to hold him up.
“Bathroom,” he grunted, ready to tend to his fucking eyes. But only because he needed to see her. His body wanted to do more than see her even in its broken state. It wanted to make physical contact. It needed to go over details it had learned, confirm them, sort them, arrange them.
“Where is it?”
He turned and hobbled in the direction, not resisting the support she offered with her entire body under his arm. She was small but strong. He already knew this but feeling it with his hands, experiencing it, brought him deeper into that knowing.
“Just tell me when we get close. I got you.” The strained words said he was a bigger burden than she could handle but did, anyway. Because she was a fighter. He knew this as well. But knowing it in this capacity in direct relation to him was different. Unique. Anything he and she did together created new things. Their dynamic was his new addiction and he wanted to explore it, see what all he could create and how much.
The lights flickered on as they moved from room to room. “Straight ahead,” he grunted.
“I see it. What do we do when we get there?”
“Sit.”
“Sit. Good idea. Very good idea,” she grunted, stumbling slightly under his weight. “You’re going to owe me something amazing after all this,” she huffed. “I’ll take… pancakes and… syrup for all this trouble.”
Pancakes. She had no idea what she was doing to him. Every other step came with new revelations about her, about him, about them. New enigma’s dangled that needed dissecting and the physical pain was secondary to all of it, a nuisance, an obstacle to what he had to have.
As he sat there fighting to control his body’s response to pain, he realized something. Two of his greatest kinks had merged with her. His requirement to kill and dissect real things, and his need to solve puzzles were both satisfied in her. Before, the world had generously supplied him with puzzles, and dissecting those things he hunted fed his need to touch, explore, and connect with various aspects of life, but she was both. And more than ever, he had to have that, he had to have her. He had to finish what those fuckers had interrupted. It was like he’d taken down an animal in the woods and was unable to bring it home and do the one thing he lusted to with every cell in his brain and body to do.
“You okay?”
The sound in her voice brought an involuntary groan. It was pure hunger, he recognized. “I’m managing,” he got out between breaths right as another revelation hit him and shot a thrill through his wrecked body. He wasn’t required to end her life in order to get at it. Her essence was tangled up in her body and mind, they both existed as one life giving force, a bottomless fountain without end, that’s what he wagered. She was a three-dimensional puzzle that required her life to remain intact to explore.
“There’s… a kit in the closet. Left,” he grunted, after she helped him sit on the leather seat in the bathroom.
“Getting it,” she whispered, hurrying off.
Mordecai got back to drooling over his latest discovery and the new concepts it came with. Things he’d never considered before or had the need to. Captivity. He had to create a habitat that not only made her want to stay but need to stay. Those puzzles demanded working immediately. But with his body needing coddling that wasn’t possible. It was like he’d spent his entire life searching for a particular treasure, found it, and then his fucking car breaks down. If he didn’t need his legs for the journey, he’d amputate the feeble fucks right off.
He was able to open his right eye enough to see blurry objects. He’d not been at the hideout in many months, but he had the place memorized since he’d personally designed it from the ground up. The home was part of his many projects that gave the image he was a constructive human being. He learned quickly that appearances served as great barriers and kept most people out of his life. And if his professional facades didn’t repel them, his personality usually did. He had no need for people. No need to please them, no need to accommodate them, and no need to involve or include them unless it fell in line with his higher appetites. Anything he wanted, he got it himself. That’s the way he required it and the only way he’d have it.
But with Miriam, it was all the exact opposite.
C H A P T E R E I G H T
Scary Lair #2
Miriam stared in momentary awe at the bathroom closet before her. Holy moley, like she’d stepped into one of those general stores from the 1900s that stocked every manner of necessity one might need while stranded on the prairie. Except upgraded to the 21st century.
The Mordecai mystery was building faster with every second. For one, this house! In two seconds, it had gone from a normal looking home to a prison with iron walls. Who had that? Again, the options were limited, and all revolved around governmental stuff or something worse, something of an illegal nature. And now she was in the thick of it. Shot two psychopaths with one left doing only God knew what. Were there more in their crazy group? A leader? She recalled the name Razor. Who was that? Without a doubt they were in trouble, or they wouldn’t be at Alcatraz.
She located the first aid bag—a fancy leather one—and headed back to where Mordecai sat with his head hanging. Just as soon as she knew he wasn’t dying, she’d ask all her questions. She had a right to know everything now that her life wrecked, ending up on his sadistic path.
But then she couldn’t blame him, not when she was sure God put her where she was. In that case, there was no mess He couldn’t clean, no trap He couldn’t help them escape. She was in Mordecai’s life for a reason, and she’d not lose sight of that one important detail. No matter how crazy it seemed or got, God was ultimately in control as long as she submitted to His will.
Which meant she needed to get back to some serious boundaries with Mordecai. And God really needed to show her what those boundaries should be. If Mordecai required special treatment for a special purpose, God would have to make her see that.
; “I need you to cut along my brow to relieve the swelling, so I can see.”
Oh God, oh God. “Before we do that, can I ask you some basic questions about your condition? I had a little training in nursing.”
“I’m fine. They weren’t trying to kill me. They’re trained in clean, safe, gentle torture. My wounds are already mending.”
She choked on her shock. “Are you kidding? Gentle torture? You can’t see what I see—”
“I think I know exactly what they did,” he assured. “Cut my eye or give me the stuff to do it.”
“What about your leg, shouldn’t I do that first?”
“There’s nothing to do. I’ll get it cleaned and inspected as soon as I can see. Then you can go take a shower or a nap or eat. Whatever you want.”
She stood there with her mouth open, head shaking. A nap? “You… listen here,” she said, making her voice firm. “I mean you need to listen right now.”
He angled his head up at her. “I’m listening.”
“I’m…” she let out a huff, not knowing where to start.
“Can’t you just cut the eyebrows and we can chat after?”
Anger hardened her jaw and she eyed the bag, going to it without a word. “You want to be cut, fine. I’ll cut your damn eyes and then I’ll go have a nice hot shower, maybe a bite to eat and watch a little TV as I drift off into la-la land. Don’t wake me until 10:00 AM, I like sleeping in.” She slammed items down on the seat next to him. “Where is the damn thing? Never mind, I found it,” she muttered. “Gonna slice your eye and leave you to your thousand stitches on your leg.”
“It’s already been cauterized.”
She froze, jerking her head to his leg, her stomach tensing at the horrific mess there. “Oh. My. God.”
“Told you,” he muttered. “Clean, gentle, safe torture.”
“What… kind of friends are they?”
“The sadistic kind,” he said simply.
That was so messed up. And she was in that mess now. “We need to get something straight,” she said, moving to his right side with the razor. “I’m not your servant, I’m not your child, and I’m not your property. You don’t get to tell me what to do, you don’t get to make me do anything that I don’t want to do. All that stuff at your other house, all that drugging and raping stuff, that needs to never happen again.”