by Sandra Scott
“I-I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Stefano.”
He shook his head.
“No don’t be. Mama and I made our peace with it a long time ago. I knew she loved me the best way she could. I am satisfied with that.”
“But,” Jayson said sadly, only to stop.
“Listen, I know you feel as if things were left unresolved because of her death, but her dying was unavoidable and in the past—there is nothing you or I can do about it. But this is here and now.” Stefano hesitated, attempting to express the right words. “About Andra. There is something you must understand: I cannot take from you what is not mine to possess. Andra loves you. She informed me as much—not only with her words but also with her actions.” Stefano waited for a response that didn’t, or couldn’t, come. “We are going there to save Andra for you, not me. This you must continue to tell yourself, little brother.”
Childlike, Jayson wiped his face with the back of his hand and once again stared out his window.
“The future exists for you and Andra. It waits for you, not me.” Stefano decided to glance over at Jayson and was relieved to witness his younger brother’s softened expression. “I want your happiness to go on beyond me.”
Although it might have seemed manipulative, Stefano forced upon Jayson a gentle reminder of his impending death and the fact that although the present belonged to Stefano and Jayson, only one could lay claim to the future. “My love for you is eternal, Jayson.”
To Stefano’s relief, the atmosphere inside the vehicle liquefied into a pool of peace.
“Can’t you drive any faster?” Jayson asked, his face not quite concealing a small, forgiving smile.
As a goodwill gesture, Stefano nodded. He pressed his foot on the gas pedal and floored it.
56
Cautiously, Racine and Sly moved along the side of the villa toward its back, not bothering to bend whenever they encountered boarded windows. Racine, who was taller than Sly by a few inches, felt a sharp tug on her shirt from behind, signaling her to duck when they came upon the last window, whose pane was unobstructed.
Racine berated her carelessness as she dropped beneath the sill but not before briefly spying through the dusty window a section of a dimly lit kitchen. Tightening her crouch, she sped up until she reached the corner of the house. Stopping short, she waited for Sly to reach her side.
Side by side, they each took a breath and peeked around the structure.
Racine exhaled sharply. As she’d somehow known it would be, the slanted cellar door was closed off tightly, the outer panel secured with a thick, rust-covered padlock.
Looking at Sly, she scowled. “Yep,” she whispered. “This is a haunted-house Freddy Krueger nightmare waiting to happen! There’s no way we can break that lock with our bare hands.”
Grinning, Sly brought her right hand from behind her back, producing a long iron rod from an old-model tire jack. At Racine’s surprised expression, Sly winked. “I found this underneath the van.” She lifted it higher. “Pretty good for Cat Woman, huh?”
Impressed at the girl’s ingenuity, Racine remembered where they were and the imminent danger they faced. She forced back a giggle. “Now we’re doing Batman?” At Sly’s carefree shrug, Racine critically scanned the area around them. All was quiet among the unkempt ankle-high weeds surrounding the villa. “Okay, let’s move.”
“Be sure to watch out for snakes,” Sly warned.
Staying low despite the higher windows along the rear, on muted shoes, they cautiously waded through the remaining yards of grass until they reached the tilted cellar door. Once there, Racine took a moment to study the door, fingering the heavy padlock. She gestured at the steel ring the padlock was threaded through.
“We can’t bang it open—it’ll cause too much noise.” She pointed at the space between the lock’s hook and the ring on the door. “The lock’s old and rusty. If we slip the tire rod inside the loop and apply pressure, maybe between us two, we can break this puppy open.”
Nodding, Sly did what she was told, making sure the tip came out on the other side of the ring. Shifting it at an angle, Racine gripped the jack handle with both hands.
“Yes,” Sly grunted within her accented whisper, her hands positioned right below Racine’s. “The applied pressure should release the—”
“Well, well, well, what do we have here? A couple of fillies tryin’ to break into my stables? This must be my lucky day.”
Simultaneously, Racine and Sly straightened in surprise, allowing the rod to slip from their grasps. Noisily, it hit the cellar door, bounced off the splintered wood, and disappeared into the overgrown grass.
Sly whimpered.
Racine protectively stepped in front of Sly. Standing taller, she labored to contain the fear bubbling beneath her outward bravado, staring eye to eye with the man who called himself Hog.
He stood as a giant, his solid form formidable, while his eyes and grinning mug sported more than a touch of bemused insanity. Both arms were raised and positioned; he pointed their way something she’d only seen in old western movie reruns.
Staring into the double barrel of the biggest rifle she’d ever seen in real life, Racine exhaled, only to find herself tremble with fear.
57
Al awoke to experience a tiny headache upon her emergence from unconsciousness. Staring up at a high, vaulted ceiling, she had no idea where she was or why she napped while it was still daylight outside.
“Did you have a good sleep, my dear?”
At George’s voice, she popped into a sitting position on the long couch and took in his familiar, kind face. However, a vague mental alarm went off at the tense way his body sat at the other end. Uncertainly, she smiled. Upon closer inspection, she noted worry lines about his eyes, and a flash of remembrance soon gave way to an avalanche of disturbing memories.
Her tentative smile dropped. “Yes, I did, thank you.” Putting on a brave face, Al scanned the spacious area, noting it was empty except for them. “Where’s everyone? Did we get word from the kidnappers concerning Andra’s return?”
He shook his head. “I wish it was so,” George said. He hesitated and glanced away. “We are still waiting.”
She zeroed in on his reluctance to say more, her alarm heightening exponentially when he refused to look at her.
Swinging her feet to the floor, Al slid across the couch, stopping a body’s width from George. “What is it? What are you not telling me?” At his miserable silence, she searched the vacant room again, trying to gather clues from its emptiness. When her inspection revealed nothing, her beseeching eyes returned to George. “Please?”
His profile sad, he sighed painfully and proceeded to slide across the settee, erasing the small distance between them until their bodies touched. Fatigued, he placed an arm about her shoulders. “The boys believe Harlan Grainger has Andra.”
Flabbergasted, Al stared at George, her throat initially clogged with surprise. Coughing once, she attempted to clear the illusory obstruction. “You mean that loud man who calls himself Hog?” At his silent nod, Al’s voice rose. “The man you guys are considering doing business with, who also offered to give us the money to pay Andra’s ransom?”
Silently, George nodded at all her questions.
Al’s stomach rolled with a queasiness she hadn’t experienced since she was pregnant with Racine. “Why? I don’t understand.”
“Neither do we completely.” Once again, George hesitated, forcing Al to lean away from him and study his face as she waited for the next bomb to drop. He sighed. “But I believe it has to do with revenge on my family.”
“Revenge? What—”
He cut her off and proceeded to tell her about Hog’s wife, Beauty, and her death.
Al sat still, her body numb, paralyzed, the volume in her hearing lessening as if George’s voice traveled a million miles away to recount th
e story of his family company’s misfortune from long ago.
Time seemed to slow to a standstill once he finished his woeful tale. At her broken sob, time eventually resumed, allowing for an eternity of seconds to pass before he tucked her slumped body beneath his arm again.
He squeezed her shoulder blades as if to brace her for another impact. “There is more.”
“More?” Al whispered. In a daze, she scanned the room again, a sense of clarity plowing its way through her mental fog. Suddenly alert, she pulled away. “Racine? Where’s my baby?”
“She and Sly must have overheard us discussing Hog.”
Al waited with bated, frightened breath.
“They went out alone to search for his villa and rescue Andra.”
The wail that broke forth from her mouth burned her esophagus. Tears just as hot singed her cheeks, and she turned their wetness toward George, whose shirt immediately absorbed them.
“I am so sorry, Al,” he murmured against her hair. “This is entirely my fault.”
Tearfully, Al searched George’s anguished eyes to see clearly the weight of the entire situation lodged there. “What if they both get killed? My only children, my baby girls—what if they die?”
Sadness draped George’s face, its melancholy weight forcing a nod from him. “I too worry my sons will not come home, yet even if they do return safely, my Stefano will be taken from me anyway. He’s dying—but has yet to tell me.”
Al lifted her hand and placed its palm tenderly upon his cheek. Unchecked tears ran over her fingers and along her arm as he told her of his oldest son’s impending death.
They held each other tightly, commiserating with one another over the uncertain plight concerning their grown children.
58
Kneeling beside Paulo’s cot, Andra pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. It was feverish and slightly clammy.
Concern furling her brow, she lifted his eyelid and peered into his eye. Exhaling, she allowed the lid to fall into place once she realized his body had succumbed to sleep instead of a forced coma.
She stayed on her knees and watched him sleep. She had to admit her relief was only partially due to Paulo’s stabilized condition—the greatest portion of it was due to the sexual reprieve she’d gotten from her disgusting kidnapper. She had no idea what had caused Hog’s sudden turnabout and his command she return to the cellar, but he’d warned her that if she tried to escape while he was gone, her patient would end his life buried somewhere out there on the isolated acreage beyond the villa.
Her joints stiffening, she grunted as she rose to her feet, dusting off the knees of her dirty white jeans in the process.
Andra wasn’t going anywhere.
She refused to kid herself. She instinctively knew Hog was going to kill Paulo anyway; he only prolonged the deed in order to keep her under control. Still, she had to play along with his madness to buy some time until she could figure out a way to overpower the huge Texan and somehow remove Paulo’s unconscious body from the cellar.
For the millionth time, Andra’s eyes circled the area until they landed on the large container in the corner.
Maybe I could throw the snake at him when he comes back. Even as she thought it, she shivered at having to handle the thing, poisonous or not. Come on, Andra. You’ve handled grosser, bloodier things in the operating room.
Slowly, she crossed the cellar floor. With every step, she stopped to listen. The container remained silent; not once had she heard so much as a slithering sound from it. Gathering more courage, she pressed forward again, not fully understanding her curiosity about it but knowing she had to see if a snake lay curled inside.
Her intuition told her the only snake at the villa was Hog.
Upon reaching the waist-high rounded ceramic pottery vessel, she paused to examine it. From the outside, it looked deceptively safe, even pretty almost. She took a breath and kicked its side, jumping back immediately. She strained to listen for a hiss, a thump, or the slimy rubbing of snakeskin as the reptile coiled in agitation, but she heard nothing.
Andra stepped to it again and kicked harder, this time drawing back a throbbing foot. Still, nothing sounded from within; however, this time, her foot’s connection with the heavy container revealed that whatever lay dormant inside was too weighty to be a mere snake, no matter how large the reptile.
After giving the side one last kick, Andra firmly gripped the thick lid. Briefly closing her eyes in quick prayer, she lifted the top halfway at tortoise speed, ready to slam it down in case Hog had told the truth. When nothing jumped out at her, she removed the lid completely.
The heavy lid slipped through her nerveless fingers, falling to the ground. Andra placed a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming.
Stuffed inside the container was a woman. With a doctor’s eye, she knew every joint on her frame had been broken in order to fit her body into the cramped hollow space; her neck cracked so that the back of her head touched her spine.
With blank eyes, she stared up at the ceiling.
Trembling with outrage and fear, Andra prayed the woman had been dead long before the breaking of her bones commenced, because if not, that particular manner of death would’ve been extremely tortuous.
The woman’s vacant blue eyes ignored Andra, yet she had the strangest feeling that down inside the belly of that madman’s villa, the corpse’s broken neck would deliberately rotate until blank orbs stared directly at her.
Sapphire, minus her flight attendant uniform, looked out of place in her twisted, bloody street clothes.
Hog had made good on his word on the plane: he had proceeded to break Sapphire until she was broken for good.
~
Motionless, Andra listened.
Beyond the wooden cellar door that opened outward at an angle toward the back of the house, indistinct, muffled voices filtered in through the tiny spaces between the door’s heavy planks. She strained to hear, yet she couldn’t make out who was speaking or how many persons were on the other side. Heedless of the danger, she rushed forward, her feet stumbling over one another to get to the cement stairs that led to the padlocked door. Reaching them, she quickly bounded upward until she stood on the highest step possible.
Placing her lips near the seam between the two middle planks, she called out, “Hey! Hello? Anyone out there? Can you hear me?” She strained to listen for any response. When she heard none, she became desperate. “Please help me! Help!”
She pressed her ear against the splintered wood. She heard nothing. Frantic, she pounded the splintery surface until her hands stung from pieces of slivered wood embedded in her skin.
Breathing hard, she again took a moment to listen for a response. To her disappointment, only silence met her beyond the door. Pivoting on her heels, she descended the stairs. After staring at the wide container that doubled as a sarcophagus for Sapphire, she sat down on the last step and bowed her head.
After discovering the flight attendant’s corpse, Andra now knew for certain she and Paulo were both dead men walking. It was just a matter of time before they too found themselves in the same gruesome predicament, their limbs broken and their bodies stuffed inside clay containers—never to be heard from again.
Lifting her throbbing palms, she examined them through watery eyes. Using her chipped fingernails, she gently pulled splinters from her flesh. She worked quietly, sniffling once and then again, until she found herself hiccupping in an attempt to suppress her building tears. Finally, unable to hold them back any longer, she lowered her face to her bruised hands and wept.
“No need for crying, Beauty. I’ve brought you more company. Family, I believe.”
Andra’s head jerked around to take in the frightening yet wondrous vision of her baby sister, Racine, standing in the doorway in front of Hog. Right by her side was the annoying Sly.
“Ra
cine!” She bolted from the stairs and immediately raced across the floor. “How? What are you doing here?”
“Andra!” Racine screamed. Their bodies crashed midway to frantically engulf each other in a gigantic hug. “We came to find you, Sis! Andra!”
“I’m right here, baby girl. I’m okay,” she said, hugging her sister so tightly she thought Racine would break inside her arms. Through unshed tears of joy and fear, Andra glanced at a frightened Sly, who belatedly joined them. She reached out and pulled the girl into a one-armed hug. “Hey, Sly, I’m even glad to see you!”
Sly trembled within her embrace, and her voice held an air of shaky nonchalance. “Dr. Andra, still, your tone does not quite convey you are happy to see me.”
“Why should she be?” Racine said, her voice rising. “When you—”
“Racine,” Andra said. “Now’s not the time.”
“Yatros does not understand I am now sorry.”
“Sorry?” Racine said, her voice raising. “If you hadn’t—”
“Be still, all of you!” Hog roared. “Stop that caterwauling!”
Flinching, all three women turned toward their captor, their eyes widening at the shaking rifle Hog pointed their way.
His next words came out low and deliberate. “I wanna know how you two found this place. Is someone else trailing behind you?”
Briefly, Racine’s and Sly’s eyes touched in silent conference; seconds later, they turned back to Hog, shaking their heads.
He cocked the gun and pointed the long barrel at an object directly behind them. “Now, don’t you be lying to me, or someone’s gonna get shot.”
Their eyes followed the sight on the gun, and Sly let out a scream once Hog’s target was revealed. Shoving past Andra, she rushed to the side of her injured brother, who was lying face-down on the cot.
“Paulo!” she cried, falling on her knees next to his head. Paulo moaned in his sleep. Sobbing even louder, Sly jumped on agile feet and twirled. “What did you do to him, you animal?”