The room wasn’t cold, but she was shivering from nerves. A motel room. Her on a bed. Him nearby. This couldn’t turn out well.
He’d been silent for a good twenty minutes now. She knew that because the digital alarm clock on the nightstand, which said 3:40 when they arrived, now read 4:00.At times she could hear him murmuring quietly, the words sharp one moment, pleading another, as if he were arguing with himself but unable to keep the dialogue contained in his head.
Shit. The waiting is the worst.
But she knew that was a lie. When he raped her? That would be the worst. No point in trying to deny it.
As if reading her mind, he finally spoke. “Take off your clothes.”
She welled up. At some point you cry because that’s all there’s left to do. “No,” she said softly, as if she had an option.
“Don’t make me say it again, bitch.”
She shook her head.
In one fluid motion he stood, took two steps towards her and slapped her, hard, across the face with the back of his hand. Spittle flew from her mouth as she recoiled in shock.
Jesus. No. This isn’t happening. Please tell me this isn’t happening.
He was on her in a second. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he threw her on her back, then sat on her stomach and forced her arms over her head. “Don’t… you… ever… tell me ‘no,’ bitch. You understand?”
She grimaced in defiance. Her clothes were still on. He’d have to let go of her arms or try to hold them both with one hand in order to take them off of her, and then she was going to attack him with all she had. “I’m not going to let you do this.”
He chuckled. “Do what? Oh, that? Yes you will, for the sake of your little ones. Best thing that ever happened was your kids getting away from me. Had I killed them already, I’d have nothing to bargain you down with, would I?”
“You won’t go back there. You can’t now. They’re safe.”
“You’re right. I can’t… now. But all I gotta do is go into hiding, wait a while, maybe six months, maybe a year, until everyone relaxes. They always do, ya know? I mean, do you have any idea how many girls I’ve killed already? Some weeks apart. Some years and years apart.”
Her heart sank as her breathing became labored. His weight on her was too much, but his words were even worse. He meant it. He was talking in a slightly different tone now, with the voice of a man at a job interview, establishing his qualifications.
“No. They’re safe. You’ll never get to them.”
No chuckle this time; instead he laughed. Hard. “Please. Who’s going to stop me? The police? They haven’t been able to stop me all this time.”
“Somebody will.”
“Who? That detective friend of yours? The wetback?”
Tamara blinked. How did he know about Napoleon Villa?
“Or maybe your husband, Tamara? Maybe him?”
A chill came and nestled itself in that soft space between her neck and chest, like a winter bird hunkering down in a storm. Kyle? He knew about Kyle too? How?
He rolled off of her stomach and reclined next to her like a lover, his head propped up on his elbow, relaxed and gazing at her face. With his other hand he began to gently stroke her cheek. “Pooooor honey-pie. You just don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, do ya?”
Confusion swam over her. “What’re you talking about?”
Then he uttered two words that knocked her clear into outer space. “They’re alive.”
She tried to speak, but couldn’t.
“They’re back, honey-bee. Back home. Safe and sound. Driveling pieces of shit that they are.”
Kyle was back? And the detective too? “How?” she forced herself to ask.
“Oh. You know, that hubby of yours is quite special. Oh yes. First he wins, then kinda loses, then ends up in a place where no one wins, but fucking ends up winning anyways. It’s really incredible, ya know.”
“Oh my God. Kyle!” she cried, relief flooding her veins.
The hand caressing her cheek suddenly gripped her throat, so tight she was certain that this was it, that he was going to kill her by crushing her windpipe. “Don’t you ever, ever, mention that pig’s name in front of me again.” Then, just as quickly, he released her.
She coughed in a series of phlegm-filled hacks, her throat trying to realign itself as the air moving in and out of her lungs wreaked havoc going both ways.
“So. Here we are,” he continued. “First, he upsets my master. Then he upsets my master’s master. Not good, that last part. Some masters you don’t want to upset. Here. Let me show you why.”
He reached out and gently laid his hand on the soft space between her breasts, and his touch brought with it a flood of pictures.
Images of the sins of her life came upon her like a thousand rapists, each taking turns. Each moment of lust, shame, fear, anger, vengeance, slander, every bad thought, spiteful word, disgraceful act and shame again, more and more shame, a triple scoop of it, so that all the things she’d hid in her life, the scars that never mended, the bruises that never healed, began to open and throb in pain, all those secrets that she’d tucked away in her mind so very well, or so she’d thought, now let loose to run around inside her skull, a wild stampede of mistakes and sorrows.
Then, for some reason, she thought of Ben.
“Ahhh,” he moaned in suppressed ecstasy. “Thank you, master,” he said. “It is better than sex.” And he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes before speaking again, now with bated breath. “So, honey bunny, you get it now? You’re little boyfriend there from work? The one you wanted to have in your mouth, the one you thought of having all over that office desk, the one—”
“Stop it!” Tamara cried.
“Oh no, I won’t. Fuck you. This is all your fault. I was happy just doing my thing there in my little no-name town. Just like that sheriff I had to kill. Both of us like opposite sides of the same boring coin. But I was content. All you had to do was screw that horny boy and that would’ve succeeded in turning the tables a bit. The echo of that sin woulda found its way to your hubby’s ears at the crucial moment, when he was fighting his first love—how Shakespearean, no?—and then maybe, just maybe, he woulda slipped up and failed completely in his damnable mission. But no. Nope. Nope. Nope. You had to keep them legs closed, didn’t you, whore? You had to be faithful.”
The last word seemed so disgusting to him that he spat on her after he said it, twice, the wetness erupting on her check and forehead.
Tamara couldn’t have cared less. Her shock was in full bloom. Her mind, expunged of all the evil deeds in her life, both large and small, was like jelly. To counter the thoughts of Ben, she thought of Kyle. “He’s alive. He’s okay,” she whimpered.
“Yes, he is.” He laughed. “And don’t worry, Maid Marian, your Robin Hood is coming for you.”
She froze.
“And we’ll be waiting for him when he does, won’t we, master?”
The room seemed to tilt. Tamara blinked. There was no one with them, so who was he talking—
“Look in the mirrors, honey baby,” he whispered.
When she did she saw him: a man in a black wool coat, black sweater and a black scarf wrapped a few times around his neck, the ends dangling over his chest. He had no face, or rather, his face was completely wrapped in black cotton swaths that seemed to be matted to his features, so that you could barely make out the outline of his nose, mouth and eye sockets. On his head he wore an old top hat.
She shrieked in horror, but the cry was stifled by the crazy man’s hand, which clamped down over it instantly. From her spot on the bed she could see the creature in the mirror over the dresser, but she could also see into the bathroom nearby, and he was there too, in the mirror over the sink. She had a feeling that if there were more mirrors in the room that she would see him in all of them, his horrible image emanating nothing but hate and rage in alternating but equal proportions.
Then she noticed that in one hand he
was holding, of all things, a lantern.
Just like the one Ben had brought to her home, as a gift.
As if reading her mind again, the monster lying next to her spoke into her ear. “You’re getting it now, aren’t ya, honey bunny? Benny-boy. He’s still out there, back home, isn’t he? So, you see? I don’t have to go back to get your babies.” He chuckled, sweet and long. “He’ll do the job just fine.”
She screamed against his palm and closed her eyes as he slid his tongue into her ear.
AFTER THEY’D CHECKED IN, Parker notified Murillo that they were safe and sound. Trudy washed up while the kids watched cartoons, but before long they began to protest that they were hungry.
They’d passed a 7-Eleven that was just a mile down the road before they’d checked in, so they decided to make a run and load up on food and snacks to get through the night and, most importantly to Parker, to get a large coffee with four shots of caffeine booster. Anything he could do to erase the images of Kamdesh and Waheeb. It seemed that, as of late, he was having a hard time controlling his memories. As if the PTSD was making a comeback.
Parker felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, but he had a problem.
He’d noticed the guy in the John Deere cap the minute they got out of the car and began making their way into the store. He was what Parker’s mother used to call “husky,” but he wore that look at an easy six foot three. He stood near a large tree near a short wall that separated the 7-Eleven from the car dealer next door. His face was covered in a full beard and his blond hair hung to his shoulders. But it was his eyes, that seemed red at first but were now squinted nearly shut and staring, that caught Parker’s attention first. Parker looked away, took a few more strides towards the entrance and then looked back: he was still staring at them.
After the promise of candy brought at least a small squeal of happiness out of the kids, Parker had agreed to this stop, but now something about the John Deere man made Parker regret that decision. The kids were to Parker’s right, flanked by Trudy, which at least meant Parker was squarely between them and this guy, but that was assuming that he was alone.
Scanning the area, Parker noticed that he wasn’t. A skinny man was near the entrance, wearing a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt and a black beanie that was far too hot for a day like today. He had one foot up on the wall, just kicking back, and was smoking a cigarette.
And glaring at Parker as well.
Parker could feel his phone vibrating madly again. Whoever it was, they’d have to wait. He wasn’t done sizing these two up yet.
The little boy was ambling a few feet away from them, excited to get his candy. Instinctively Parker reached out, grabbed his shoulder and gently guided him closer to Trudy.
Parker felt the weight of his 9 mm tucked there safely in its holster against the small of his back. He also had a small .22 strapped against his sock on the inside of his left ankle.
Who the hell are these guys? And what the hell is going on?
The two questions banged like gongs in his head the entire walk to the door, over and over again. His muscles tensed. This whole situation was fluid, in a bad way, as if things could go upside down at any moment, from any direction, for no reason.
But, for now, John Deere stayed put and so did the kid with the beanie. Only once did they divert their gazes, quickly towards one another and then back to center again, like lizards, and that was all the confirmation Parker needed that they were together. A pair. Two pals. Like two guys at the bar who had decided they didn’t like the way that Parker looked or something.
Once inside, Parker exhaled a bit. It was busy, with five customers lined up at the counter with their Slurpees, Slim Jims or Red Bulls. Parker noticed that one guy even had a Ne-Mo’s Banana Bread cake in his hand, Parker’s favorite.
“Can I get a Big Gulp?” Janie asked excitedly.
“Sure, honey,” Trudy answered, smiling weakly at her.
“I want M&M’s!” Seth yelled. Trudy’s smile grew a little bigger and Seth ran off down the candy aisle.
There were two Pakistanis behind the counter in 7-Eleven smocks. Parker knew this because he knew the accent and because there was never going to be another day of his life that he ran into anyone looking or sounding even slightly Middle Eastern that he wasn’t going to immediately, at least for a second, be on guard against. They were young guys. Their dad probably owned the store. He relaxed a bit.
“What should we get?” Trudy asked him, lightly touching his forearm.
Parker shrugged. “The usual artery cloggers, right? Let’s get them pizza slices now, Hot Pockets or something for later. Hopefully the room has a microwave.”
Trudy was watching Seth turn his permission for one candy into a lottery session that included Sour Patch Kids, a 3 Musketeers bar and three different colored Twizzlers. “I just don’t want them loading up on candy,” she said.
“Shit,” Parker replied, “after what they’ve been through? I’d let them have whatever they want.”
Trudy nodded. “Only because you won’t be the one stuck up with them until two in the morning on their sugar highs.”
“Oh, yes I will,” Parker said matter-of-factly.
Trudy raised her eyebrows. “You’re planning on staying in one room?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Look. I’ll sleep on the floor or in the bathtub. Whatever. But something’s going on and I’m not going to leave the three of you alone.”
“You’d be just next door or across the hall.”
Parker looked at Trudy firmly. “Which, I have a feeling, could still be too far away, okay?”
He thought she was going to argue further, but instead she just nodded gently, as if she were relieved by his protests. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor or”—she rolled her eyes—“in the bathtub. We have a room with two beds. Me and the kids take one, you take the other.”
Parked nodded. “Fair enough.”
As she took the display tongs and loaded six pieces of pizza into a to-go bag, Trudy surprised Parker with what she said next. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Did you notice the two guys on the way in?”
“No. Who?”
“The scrawny guy with the black beanie by the door, and the big guy in the baseball cap near the tree at the edge of the driveway.”
Trudy squinted out the window, and then looked confused. “I don’t see them. Where?”
Looking out the store windows to the parking lot, Parker’s heart sank. John Deere had moved from his original position near the driveway and was now standing in the parking lot. Right next to their car. “Shit.”
“What?”
“The big guy is standing by your car now. Do you see him?”
Trudy’s face darkened. “Yeah. Where’s the other one?”
Parker scanned the parking lot again until he noticed the beanie opposite the other side of the entrance now, near a USA Today stand. “You can barely see him, the right edge of the window.”
Trudy looked and nodded as worry lines scattered from her eyes and across her forehead.
Janie made her way back to the counter with a Slurpee cup that was damn near the size of her head. She looked at Parker sweetly. “Raspberry and Cola! Yummy.”
Parker didn’t want to alarm the children so he forced himself to chuckle and say, “It must be.”
Trudy played along. “I got pizza. Why don’t you guys grab some Gatorade and chips for later? I’ll get some Hot Pockets or something.”
As the kids ran off again to gather the goods, Trudy turned to Parker. “What do we do?”
“We could call the police,” Parker replied wryly.
“You are the police.”
“Yeah. I know. That was me being a smartass. Still, backup wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
Trudy sighed, but it was a sigh of fear. It rattled out of her not in a single breath, but in stages.
“They haven’t done anything yet but stare at us.”
“Maybe they think you’re hot, or maybe I remind them of someone that used to beat them up when they were little.”
Trudy nodded again. “Yeah. Well, no offense, but I’m not sure too many guys have ever beat up on the big dude.”
Parker was tired and irritable, so he let it slip in spite of himself. “Fuck him.”
As Trudy walked off to get the Hot Pockets, he walked over to the coffee island, glancing repeatedly outside as he made his coffee. Their two new friends had stayed put, which was a relief, because for some reason Parker suspected that, if given the chance, John Deere would flatten their tires with whatever knife he had on his person, because a guy like that always carried a knife.
Once everyone had what they wanted, they got in line at the cash register.
Parker thought again about calling for backup, but that would be overreacting a bit, and there was a chance he’d end up looking jumpy after just returning to active duty. Plus, if he were honest, he had a burning in his chest right now for a fight. With someone. Anyone. Sometimes putting a beating on an asshole or two was the best kind of stress relief.
He was beginning to imagine how he’d do it, how he’d take out John Deere’s left kneecap first, then deal with the scrawny classic rock fan next, when his phone went off. Again.
Pulling it out of his pocket, he checked the caller ID, not recognizing it. He decided not to answer again, but then something told him he should. “Hello?”
“Parker?”
The voice was unmistakable. Parker was so stunned that he had to lean against the counter.
CHAPTER 16
KYLE WONDERED IF THESE things could just keep doing this: splitting and multiplying. If so, then what? They had now instantly gone from an even match to being outnumbered two to one. This might only get worse if they didn’t find a way to kill them.
Widen your blasts! The Gray Man commanded. He stepped back and brought both his hands forwards in front of his face and quickly swept them down and out to his sides. Two white crescent-shaped lines cut free of his hands and carved through the air towards the two demons nearest him. One missed by a large margin but the second, in mid-air and evidently still under The Gray Man’s control, suddenly spun sideways, catching the demon it was intended for just below both knees, severing its legs completely. It let loose a silent scream and toppled forwards, face first, into the dirt, its claws clutching at the ground in pain.
One Plus One (The Millionth Trilogy Book 3) Page 14