He wasn't sure what his injuries were but he'd heard the nurses and doctors speaking in hushed tones at the end of his bed.
"Almost all his ribs are broken," the doctor had said as he made notes in his file. "A skull fracture, though thankfully it's not severe, and a series of contusions along with a broken cheekbone that I'm certain isn't from the crash. The bruises," he'd explained to the nurse,"Vary in color and size meaning some are healing while newer ones have appeared. He's been repeatedly beaten."
He'd heard the nurse gasp but it wasn't news to him. He could remember it all. Even though he was dazed, in shock and unable to articulate his pain, he remembered it all. Down in the chapel, he was so desperate to tell the detective everything. She had an honest face and he trusted her right away but when he opened his mouth he couldn't get the words out, not even when they were dancing on the tip of his tongue, eager to tumble from his mouth. He felt ashamed of the way he had fallen to the ground crying. That wasn't the man he thought himself to be. He was tough, a fighter, came from a long line of hardened men who didn't take shit from anyone. Why then was he cowering at sheer memories?
The detective, the beautiful lady with the calm yet efficient manner, he needed to speak to her again. She'd understand, if only he could talk. Looking down past the bottom of his bed, he could see through the window out into the ward. There was a phone at the desk, all he needed to do was stand up and walk a few feet there but in the moment it seemed impossible. There were too many people bustling around, it was too overwhelming. Yet he could do it if he wanted to. Despite his horrific injuries, he could barely feel the pain. The doctor had made sure of that by plying him with a steady stream of morphine.
Just ten feet, Anthony, you can do it, he thought to himself. He wiggled a finger, stretched out a leg and tried to move onto his side. He felt as though his body was made of lead, heavy and useless. Fuck sake, Anthony, this is nothing. All you have to do is get up and reach the phone. You made it all the way to the chapel, didn't you? You're an idiot! You're an idiot for getting yourself into this trouble, for letting yourself become such a victim and you're an idiot now because you're afraid of some people out there... You should be afraid of what will happen if you don’t save the others back at the house! Do it… Do it!
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. They felt numb and he sensed nothing as his toes tapped the floor. He pressed a foot into the ground and tried to stand but fell back on the bed after a couple seconds. His balance was off, his head swirling from the painkillers. Jesus, get it together. He tried again. This time, he could feel a slight coldness from the linoleum as his feet hit the floor. He tried to stand again and this time managed to stay upright. Yes!
He was on the cusp of taking a step when he noticed his clothes once again. The smell from the leather jacket was putrid. It made his nostrils twitch as the stench of sweat and blood drifted up from it. Until he arrived in hospital, he'd been wearing it for weeks and it had started to feel as much a part of him as his own skin. He leaned down and fingered it to feel the suppleness of the material. When he pulled his hand away there was a speck of dry blood on his fingertips. A flake of broken glass fell from it and hit the floor like a solid tear. This needs to be taken as evidence, he thought. But they won't do it unless I tell them what happened.
As he took a tentative step, it dawned on him how serious his silence had been. They'd never find out, never believe his story if he never told them everything. He could take them out there, to the big house in the woods and show them what was really going on.
There it was again, the smell of antiseptic. He had grown to love it because it was clean and killed every germ it touched. He thought about where he'd escaped from and how dirty it was. For days on end, he was coated in grime and dirt. The smell still lingered on him and as he looked down at his hands, he could see a thick line of blackness beneath his fingernails. More evidence, he thought. He'd seen enough crime shows to know what the cops needed.
With baited breath, he looked through the window. It was quieter out there now with the nurses being called away to an emergency. The phone beckoned to him from the desk, the thought of gripping it in his hand propelling him forward. He counted to three in his head then strode fast, pushing open the door and walking out into the ward.
"Sir?" a nurse called from behind him "Sir? Are you ok?"
He didn't answer. The phone was in arm's reach now. He pushed out his hand and grabbed it.
"What's the number for PPD?" he shouted, surprised to hear his own voice.
The nurse hurried to his side.
"Sir?" she tried to take the phone from his hand but he clenched it tighter with sweat forming beneath his palm.
"The detectives from earlier, I need to call them, right now!" he bellowed.
It made the nurse jump and she recoiled, pointing to a sheet of paper on the wall beside the desk.
"All the emergency numbers are on there."
He could barely make out the figures on the page. They all looked like blurred swirls but one of the numbers stood out. The words Portland Police Department were in bold. His focus became laser sharp and he punched in the numbers. His call was answered on the second ring.
"My name is Anthony Umber," he spoke before he could be interrupted. "I've been missing for three months and I escaped a serial killer."
Chapter Eight
The inside of the trailer was squalid at best but Latrece and her daughter appeared content.
"Susan, why don't you play outside again?"
The little girl hadn't been able to keep her eyes off the detectives since they arrived and she was stood in front of Cassie, her big brown eyes staring up at her.
"Susan!" her mother prodded her in the arm. "What did I say?"
The little girl turned to her mother as if she'd just been awoken from a trance, then walked outside in silence before the sound of the ball bouncing resumed.
"So... You finally believe me," Latrece flopped in an armchair and picked up a drink. "What's made you change your mind?"
Cassie felt a searing guilt inside her. This woman had obviously suffered for years and to add more pain to the mix, everyone had thought she was lying.
"I want to hear everything," Cassie leaned forward in her seat. "Please, we need you to tell us everything you can remember."
"Look, lady, I appreciate you coming out here but that part of my life is over now. I'd all but forgotten about it and now you're here bringing it all back up. That was a long time ago, I've done my suffering. I'm not sure I wanna talk about it."
"Would you wanna talk about it if it led to the guy's arrest?"
Latrece thought for a moment and lit a cigarette, her crimson lipstick smudging along the butt.
"Maybe," she breathed. "I ain't testifying in court, though."
"Well... The prospect of a trial is a long way off. All we want to do now is locate this house that we've heard about."
"I'm not sure where it is," Latrece crossed both her arms and her legs.
"Could you tell us what happened to you?"
Again, Latrece hesitated.
"I genuinely want to hear about it. I bet you've been keeping this all in for so long it's been hurting more than you think I'd believe."
The older woman began to weep, her face crumpling as she held her head in her hand. She nodded.
"Ok, I'll tell you everything, but I don't want you judging me. I was messed up back then, made a lot of bad choices."
"I don't judge anyone," Cassie reached out and held the woman's hand.
It was papery to the touch with protruding bones. Cassie felt as though she was clutching at a weak bird, one that needed to be nursed back to health.
"Ok... So where do I begin?" Latrece waved a hand as though she was trying to clutch at the beginning of her story. "I was working the streets back then, had a filthy meth habit but that's nothing extraordinary. There were a lot of women like me back then, still are. Unfortunate losers who chose the wrong path in
life but I wanted to change you know? I really did. I had this grand idea that I was gonna work every day for a month, save up all my money and run away and start a new life somewhere I'd never been before. I'd get myself an apartment, get clean and maybe find myself a husband. That was the plan anyway."
"But then...It all went wrong."
"Sure did! It was the second to last night I was supposed to be working. All I could think of was my new life ahead of me and how much money I'd managed to save. I was real excited, all giddy thinking it wasn't long until I'd never have to open my legs for a John ever again. I'd picked up a few guys that night already. It was all kinda normal you know... the usual. It was normally the same circuit of guys moving around the same area night after night so I knew what and who to expect, but then something really weird happened," she paused, dragged on her cigarette and stared out the window.
She'd stopped sobbing but there were still tears in her eyes. It was obvious she was wondering if she should recount her story all over again after having been ridiculed the first time round.
"Please," Cassie placed a hand on her knee. "I need to hear it."
"A limo..." she said, "A limousine pulls up. I'm shocked right, I mean you don't see them that often, if ever. I was thinking I'd caught myself a whale, hit the big time. I imagined getting thousands off him and then calling it quits. I'll never forget his face as the back window rolled down. He was a gorgeous fella and I'd recognized him too. I'd seen him in all those glossy magazines they have in the doctor's office."
"Wait," Matt interrupted her. "You're telling me you knew the guy?"
"I still see his face all over the place. That's why no one believes me,” she sighed. “It was John Batista."
The detectives looked at each other with panic on their faces.
"You're joking right?" Matt asked.
Cassie glared at him, as did Latrece.
"See? That's why I can't tell anyone."
"Are you sure it was John Batista?" Cassie squeezed her hand again.
"I've never been surer of anything in my entire life. It wasn't anyone else, it was him. It was him!"
"Shit," Cassie shook her head. "This is gonna be difficult."
"You're telling me. Convincing everyone that John Batista, one of the richest men in the world is a psycho is almost impossible," Latrece cried.
"But it explains how he flew under the radar for so long," Matt said. "He'd have the resources to not be seen and to get away with anything he wanted while paying the right people to look the other way."
"Thank you!" she flung up her arms.
"So... Let's get back to it," Cassie poised her pen to her notebook. "So he picked you up off the street. Then what?"
"So he wound the window down and looked right into my eyes and smiled. I thought my heart stopped. It's not often we get people wanting to pick us up who are actually attractive, never mind guys who are actually nice to us. I thought I hit the jackpot! He smiled this glorious smile and said, 'Hey, you look like you're having a rough night. It's freezing out here. Wanna come in and get a drink?' I tell you right now I thought my heart had melted."
Cassie was scribbling so fast her hand cramped. She looked up as she waited for Latrece to finish the story.
“That’s when it all went wrong,” Latrece said with her voice quivering. “I should never have got in that car!”
“It’s ok,” Cassie tried to soothe her. “You weren’t to know. It wasn’t your fault.”
Latrece nodded as she wiped the tears from her face.
“I know, I know. There’s no way I could have predicted what was to happen. So….” she gulped down her tears. “I got inside the limo. He handed me a drink, scotch and soda I think. It tasted bitter as soon as I drank it and I knew right away, something was off. The next thing I remember is waking up with the worst headache I’d ever had. I threw up on the floor and as I tried to stand up to see where I was, I realized I’d been chained to the wall. That was it. I was stuck there surrounded by my own mess. I thought it couldn’t get any worse until I looked across the room and saw what I thought were animal bones. I remember thinking they were too big to be an animal’s because there were these long ones I didn’t recognize from a chicken or whatever. Then I saw it… The skull. It was human, and it was just staring at me.”
Cassie stopped writing. She could hear Matt fidgeting in his seat beside her. His toe tapped against the floor and his nails crunched in his mouth. Jesus, Matt, you’re so annoying, she thought.She took a deep breath.
“Any other people down there?”
“You mean bodies?”
“Erm… Yes.”
“There were three all in various states of rotting away to dust,” Latrece held her hand across her mouth. “But there were also two people who were alive. Or at least they were when I escaped. A boy and a girl, teenagers, just kids.”
Cassie was having a hard time trying to process all of this. With no idea of how to put a case together accusing one of the richest and most popular guys in the world of being a serial killer, all she could do was nod and keep writing her notes.
“How did you escape?”
“With animal cunning,” Latrece leaned forward. “After two days of being tortured… Beaten and raped I knew I had to get away. Anyway, I wasn’t exactly a stranger to violence. I’d been living on the streets remember? I’d had to run away from guys before, although they hadn’t been so…”
“Violent?” Cassie offered.
“Calm and confident, I was gonna say. Nothing bothered him. He tied us up and brutalized us with as much ease as making a sandwich. He was methodical and he gave us these injections, these weird liquids that were bright green and-“
“Ok!” Matt stood up and slammed his notebook shut. “I think we have what we need, for now… Obviously, we’ll need to speak to you again soon, though. Would you be able to come down to the station?”
“You don’t believe me do you?” Latrece stood up, only reaching Matt’s shoulders. “I can see it on your face. You think I’m making it up.”
“I don’t,” Matt tried to reassure her although he was a terrible liar.
“I believe you,” Cassie rubbed at her arm. “I do… And I’ll make sure to see this through to trial.”
Latrece wept silently.
“Thank you,” she mouthed. “Thank you so much.”
Chapter Nine
John Batista was standing naked at the window looking out over the city skyline. He knew that someone, somewhere would be able to see him but he was thrilled at the idea. He liked people to look at him, to admire his perfect god-like physique, with his rippling muscles and chiseled features. He sipped on his neat vodka and winced at the strength. Behind him, he could hear the shower running. He couldn't remember the name of the girl in there but he didn't need to. It wasn't like he'd be seeing her again.
He ran a hand through his hair and looked at his reflection in the glass. With the sun setting in the horizon it gave his body a glowing sheen and he flexed his abs. He thought he looked perfect, delectable even. He felt aroused just at the thought of what he was about to do and grew hard. Looking down at his erect cock, he felt pride swell in his chest. It was probably going to be the biggest dick that girl ever had to take.
The shower was switched off and the room was plunged into silence. Somewhere far away down the hall, he could hear housekeeping knock on someone's door only to be turned away.
"Hi...." the girl edged her way out the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body.
"Take that off," he ordered.
She dropped it to the floor as she looked at his body in awe. In all her time working as an escort she'd never had a client that was so gorgeous... or so rich.
"So, you just wanna get down to business?" she stepped toward him and placed a hand on his abdomen.
"No," he pushed her away. "I wanna have my fun with you first."
She smiled and grew wet between her legs with the insides of her thighs growing damp.<
br />
“Your cash is on the table,” he nodded behind him. You can count it if you want.”
“No, it’s ok,” she shimmied over to the bed. “I trust you.”
He laughed.
“Trust me? I’d be careful with what you say if I were you?”
He was toying with her but she didn’t seem to notice. Lying back on the bed she cupped her silicone filled breasts and raised a nipple to her mouth. She licked it as she tried to look as sensual as possible. John thought she looked cheap and nasty, that’s why he’d made her shower first but there was something about bimbos that he loved; their looks mostly, but he liked their personalities too. They were so eager to please, so desperate to find a man to take care of them.
The Billionaire's Trap Page 4