by Jessie Cooke
Ciara opened her eyes and looked down at her body. She had been thin for years, painfully so. From the first time she tasted heroin when she was only sixteen years old, she loved the taste of it more than food. But how she was now, pushed the boundaries of thin. She thought she was more like concentration-camp emaciated, a skeletal mass of bruises and bleeding wounds. Some of the wounds were from the tip of the psychotic bastard’s knife. The sight of her blood and the sounds of her screams excited him and since he was nude each time he came in the room, save for a pair of latex gloves, it was nauseatingly obvious. Some of the wounds were simply from the pressure of her bones against her parchment-paper skin and others were remnants from a life on the streets.
The sheet underneath her was filthy, stained with sweat and blood, and other…excrement. The most disgusting thing about that was that Ciara was almost positive that she wasn’t the first person who had sweated and bled there. He didn’t seem like the type to change the sheets. When Ciara was detoxing from the heroin after he first took her off the street, he would sit next to the bed every night while she writhed against the pain and the bonds he held her in, and he would tell her stories about the other women he had killed. He would talk until she no longer heard the words; just the sound of his annoying voice, and her aching head would want to explode.
Sometimes he’d masturbate while he talked. Ciara supposed that she should be grateful that seemed to satisfy whatever sexual urges the freak had, but God, she hated watching him. He would lean his head back and close his eyes and that sick little smile would play across his lips when he was ready to have an orgasm. His disgusting body fluids are caked on and around her almost as thick as her own blood. Her empty stomach lurched and another bolt of pain threatened to tear her in half. She knew that she had to get her mind off of him and his sick games and back on her own survival.
She slowly turned her head to the right. The windows there were boarded up with thick pieces of plywood that blocked out all of the light. Ciara hadn’t seen as much as a sliver of sun in…she had no idea how long. If she had to guess she would say that she had been there for at least a month. Turning her head painfully to the other side, she saw that the door was closed tightly, as usual. She knew that it wouldn’t be long before he came through it. It should be getting close to time for her daily drink of water and crumb of whatever he was going to feed her. The water was always warm and sometimes it tasted like he’d sprinkled it with salt. Most days before he came in, she would promise herself that she wasn’t going to take any of it. She knew she was only prolonging her inevitable death. As frail as she was, she knew that a day or two at the most without any kind of food or fluids should be enough to kill her and then it would all be over. But each time she worked up the energy to resist, he would whisper that name and tell her what he was going to do to him and his family as soon as Ciara drew her last breath. The “family” part confused her…but it had been a while since she’d seen him. She knew that she’d have to die if anything happened to him, or anyone he loved. Living would mean being haunted by bloody images forever. Ciara’s brother was the only person who ever loved her, truly. He had tried to save her so many times and she knew that she was responsible for so much angst and heartache in his life. That was bad enough…really bad…but she couldn’t change that now. What she could do was refuse to be responsible for his death.
She let her head rest once again against the thin mattress underneath her. The bare bulb overhead had to be at least a hundred watts and the psychotic bastard had made sure it was level with her eyes. She had long since grown so used to the halo effect it gave everything around her, when she stared at it for too long, that she wondered if she would ever be able to see normally again. That would only matter, she supposed, if she was able to get out of there alive. She looked towards the foot of the bed, at the chair he sat in when he came in, and it felt like it was staring back, threatening to be full of him at any moment.
Besides the fact that his aroused state disgusted her, the rest of him wasn’t easy to look at either. He was completely bald from head to toe…not a stitch of hair anywhere. He was also so pale that he appeared almost ghostly and he had the smallest, darkest eyes that she had ever seen. The pupil and the iris all blended together and made them almost look like black button doll eyes. His chin receded to the point of his almost not having one and his forehead was slightly dented in like maybe he’d had a lobotomy. He wasn’t tall, or muscular, and she knew, sadly, that if she had been a healthy woman, she probably could have taken him the night he grabbed her. But her pathetic heroin addiction and hard life on the streets had made it way too easy for him.
When he first took her, she had been aching too badly for a fix to even care. Once her body went through the detox process and her mind was somewhat clear, she tried appealing to him as a human being. She told him how fucked up her life had been and how badly she had hurt the only person who ever cared about her. She told him that she just wanted one more chance to do it right. She hadn’t realized until she saw that satisfied smile on his face that she had wasted her breath. Her devotion to Noah was exactly what he wanted to hear. He wanted to know that she would fight for her brother, although the only thing she had to fight with was her life. Her captor told her that as long as she stayed alive he would leave Noah alone.
She knew Noah and she also knew that killing him wouldn’t be an easy task. Ciara’s brother was six foot three and over two hundred pounds of muscle. The crazy man would never be able to just take Noah down the way he had her. Ciara told him that, smugly. That was when he showed her the pictures. He had pictures of the inside of Noah’s house. Pictures of him making love to a beautiful redhead that the man said was his “wife.” Pictures of him sleeping, and in the shower…and there was a little boy too. The psycho told her the boy was Ava’s…Noah’s wife’s…and that Noah had grown attached to him. Then he told her he was going to kill the little boy first, and make Noah watch, and then he’d kill his wife, Ava, next.
Ciara’s eyes drifted shut again and she held them like that for a minute. Between the sweat that dripped down into them and the fucking spotlight, they burned like they were on fire. She could feel sleep tugging at her and a part of her brain called out in a pleading voice, Just die, Ciara. Noah can take care of himself. Just let yourself go to sleep and not wake up. Imagine it, Ciara…no more pain. Then the other part of her brain…the one that remembered what it was like to be a real human being…yelled out in protest, Noah would never give up on you, Ciara. If things were the other way around, Noah would never close his eyes. He’s been fighting for you for twenty-nine years. It’s your turn. Open your fucking eyes and fight for your brother!
Ciara opened her eyes and her first impulse was to pull against the ropes again, but she realized something. As she lay there perfectly still and relaxed, there was slack in the ropes around her ankles. Trying not to tense her muscles, she pulled her head up once more and looked at her wrists. There was slack there too…a minute amount, probably from the weight she had lost, but it was slack all the same. She closed her eyes again and this time willed herself to relax. Her breathing was slow and shallow and her limbs felt weightless. She visualized the rope in her mind and then using the last shred of energy inside of her feeble body, she began moving her right hand slowly. The sweat caked around it acted like a lubricant and with her hand relaxed instead of tense like it usually was, she was able to slip it through the loop. She was free! Well, almost.
Ciara opened her eyes and stared at her free right hand. It was lying limply against the left one, which was still bound. Her muscles were so wasted that she had to concentrate to the point of pain in her head to get that hand to move over and hold up the loop enough to slip her other hand through. Once she had done that, she had to face the daunting task of sitting up so that she could untangle the rope around her waist and reach her feet. As she struggled with that, she had to keep a clear picture of Noah in her head. She tried to remember the last time she ha
d seen him smile. It had been so long since she had done anything to make him happy that it wasn’t easy. Ciara summoned a vision of his face the first time she walked out of rehab after completing a six-month program. His joy for her was so apparent that she couldn’t even think of it now without smiling. It took her a long time to finish taking off the rope, but she did it…and then she was free…sort of.
For several long minutes all she could do was sit there with a thousand tiny pinpricks in her hands and feet as the circulation began to return to them. Her heart was beating so fast that she was afraid it would crack her frail ribs. At last, she pressed her hands into the nasty sheet and pushed upright. That took her several tries, but finally she ended up on her feet. Her skinny legs felt like wet spaghetti, though, and the floor was wet and slimy. She tried not to retch at the thought of what she was stepping on.
She had to stoop over several times and put her hands on the ground to keep from falling. She reminded herself of Quasimodo, half crawling/half limping to the door. When she was finally there, she had to hold onto her right hand with her left, to steady it enough to grasp the knob. She hadn’t thought about what she was going to do if he was out there, but she thought at that point, she didn’t have much of a choice. He would know that she was free even if she didn’t go out there and at least try.
Ciara slowly turned the knob and pulled the door in toward her. As soon as she did, she felt a cold breeze on her wet, naked skin and the smell of his nauseating aftershave filled her senses. All she saw was his arm and what he was holding in his hand. Her last thought before the wooden bat made contact with her head was, God, please let Noah know that I tried.
18
Collin’s parents were looking at him like he’d grown another head. It had been a really long time since anyone said anything, and he could feel the sweat forming across his brow. His brothers were in the room too…but he didn’t dare look at them. After this was over, if he lived through it, he’d still have to tell Ava. Knowing his little sister, once she finished telling him what an absolute fool he was, she would turn the blame on Noah. He took a deep breath and said:
“It’s not like I don’t want to be a firefighter at all…”
“Oh!” his dad said, in that sarcastic, Irish way of his. “Well, that makes it all better. So, when you’re not wearing leather and riding a motorcycle alongside some of the most hardened criminals in the state, you’ll still pop in at the firehouse every now and again? What’s there to worry about then?” He rolled his green eyes and Collin looked at his mother. She had tears in her big, hazel eyes. He almost turned and looked at Sean…but he chickened out at the last minute. Instead he said:
“They’re not criminals, Dad.” He heard one of his brothers snort—Daniel, he thought.
“So where do they get money?” his mother asked. “They ride around all day on those fancy motorcycles, I’ve seen them all over town…not at work on any given weekday.”
To the Kelly family, working hard and taking care of your own was everything. Both of his parents had been brought over from Ireland by their parents when they were young. They’d come from nothing, and they’d built a comfortable life for their children and themselves. Now, they expected their children to do the same. Collin understood that, but he also understood that people like Jace had managed to do that while not denying their true selves. Jace told him he’d loved motorcycles since he was a little boy, and he was doing what he truly loved. That was what Collin wanted, a life that he could love.
“They own a bike shop and Jace is a wizard with customizing them. They work there, and on the property where they live. They’re building houses and planting…” He was going to say “gardens” but Sean interjected:
“Weed.”
Collin finally looked at his brothers. Sean smiled at him, but not like he was on his side. “They’re not growing weed,” Collin lied. He knew they were, but he was already too loyal to Jace and the club to tell their secrets to anyone, not even his family. He knew growing marijuana for sale was illegal in Arizona, but he was willing to keep an open mind. One thing he’d learned in life was that things weren’t always as black and white as his parents thought they should be. Collin hoped he would enjoy his life more when he began to learn to live in the gray areas. He thought about Brian Zane, just for a second. His parents would be shocked to learn he was the one who had shot him, and not Noah. Looking back at his parents he said, “Our entire lives, all you ever wanted for all of us was for us to be happy. This is going to make me happy.”
“You’re not a teenager any longer,” his father said, coming to his feet. Even in his late fifties, Jack Kelly was an imposing man, and when he was angry, an intimidating one. Collin loved his father, but he wasn’t going to let him intimidate him any longer. All of his life he had done what his father wanted him to do. Now, it was time to start living his life for himself. “What about your future? This motorcycle club…they have a retirement plan? Are you going to be able to use them as a reference when you finally want to buy a house? Jesus, Collin, use the brain God gave you, for Christ’s sake!”
Summoning all his internal strength, Collin said, “You’re right, Dad. I’m not a teenager any longer. I’m tired of being told how I should live my life, or what I should want for the future. You and Mom worked your entire lives for this,” he said, holding out his arms. “And we appreciate it, probably much more than you know. We had a great childhood, all of us. You taught us right from wrong…but now that we’re grown, shouldn’t we have the right to carve out our own path, and make our own mistakes?”
“No one said you weren’t free to do it,” Collin’s father said. “But if you choose to do this, you’re on your own.” Collin frowned. It sounded like a threat. Seconds later, it came completely into focus as Jack Kelly walked over to the front door of the house that Collin had spent the first twenty-two years of his life in, and every Sunday and holiday in thereafter, and opened it. “Your choice,” he said. Collin heard his mother gasp, but she didn’t speak up. She didn’t defend him, and neither did his brothers. Collin kept his eyes on his father’s face and with his head held high and his shoulders back, he walked out the front door. He was two steps down the sidewalk toward the new Harley he’d just bought that morning when he heard the sound of the door…and his family…being slammed behind him.
“I don’t think this guy is cheating on his wife, Ava. I think she’s just being paranoid.”
Ava sighed at Noah. She did that a lot and Noah thought it was a good thing he knew that she adored him, or it might hurt his feelings. With an almost patronizing tone she said, “Twice a week he goes bowling at five in the evening and doesn’t come home until three a.m. When he does get there he smells like perfume. When have you ever noticed anyone in the bowling alley smelling like perfume?”
“I don’t bowl.”
“Trust me, they smell like dirty bowling shoes and sweat. Don’t curl your lip at me.”
“I’m not curling my lip at you. I hate these domestic cases. They’re boring.”
She rolled her eyes. “They can’t all be serial killer cases, you know. We have to pay the bills.”
“I don’t want a serial killer. A burglary maybe, a simple assault…”
“I need you to go see if this guy is at the bowling alley tonight. I have to pick Aiden up at four-thirty.”
“Remember that time we swept everything off the desk and had sex right here? Do we have time to do that again before I have to go bowling?”
“Noah, focus.”
Noah looked at the swell of her breasts coming out of her tight little sweater and said, “I am.”
“Noah!”
“Noah…” Kendra’s voice over the intercom interrupted them. “Hayden is on line one.”
Noah suppressed a smile even as his gorgeous wife glared at him. “Hayden!” Noah put him on speakerphone. “How the hell are you?”
“Sick. We’ve got another Valentine.” The smile fell off Noah’s face. He looke
d at Ava and she nodded.
“Give me the address.” It was on the east side of Phoenix. The Valentine Killer’s old stomping grounds. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Noah pushed the speaker off and looked at Ava. “I’m sorry, baby, I have to go.”
She nodded. “I know. I’ll see if Sean or Collin can pick up Aiden.”
Noah winced. “What about Daniel or Keira?”
Shaking her head at Noah she said, “Keira has the fitting for her wedding dress this afternoon.” Keira was Sean’s fiancée. They’d only been dating a few months, but had recently announced their engagement. She seemed like a really nice girl to Noah, and Ava’s family loved her mostly because she came from a good Catholic family. “Daniel’s on shift today. What’s wrong with Collin or Sean picking him up?”
“Nothing if Sean can do it,” Noah said. “The last time Collin picked him up he hit on his teacher. It’s a Catholic school, you know.” Collin had no boundaries when it came to women sometimes.
She laughed. “I’m well aware. I spent about eight years there myself. Aiden’s at baseball practice today and Father McMillen is the coach. I don’t think he’s Collin’s type. Go on, I’ll handle it.”
“I love you.”
“I know. You’re lucky to have me too.”
“I know.”
Collin saw Noah getting into his car in front of his office when he turned the corner. The PI didn’t even look up at the sound of Collin’s bike. Collin thought about stopping and talking to his sister alone…but he really wanted Noah there as a buffer. He kept driving, following Noah as he took off quickly down the street. Collin followed him for about fifteen miles, almost losing him twice. He wasn’t surprised when Noah turned onto a rundown neighborhood. The nature of his business took him all over Phoenix. When Noah pulled up in front of a ramshackle two-story house that looked like it should have been condemned five years before at least, he jumped out of the driver’s side, and that’s when he spotted Collin. He looked angry, but stood by the car and waited for Collin to pull up behind him and stop the bike.