Zoey laughed. “I bought ten copies. You were wonderful! Listen, have you heard from Jess or Marie lately?”
“Not in a few days. Why?”
“Just wondering how they are.” She was wondering about their missing files. “How’s Tamara doing?”
Tamara, back in Baltimore. Recovering from her puncture wounds, palms and ankles torn and shredded, veins ruptured, severe tissue damage. Years’ worth of recovery. “Still in the hospital, Zoey. Probably another month at least. Uh, Zoey …?”
When Claudia didn’t continue, Zoey whispered, “Yes?”
There was another pause. “Kim died this morning.”
“Oh, no …” Zoey muttered, tears splashing her cheeks, falling to the ground when she bowed her head. God, not Kim. They’d been through so much together. “But her wound …” she said, choking on the words, trying to spit them out before it became impossible. “The gunshot wasn’t that bad.”
“I’m so sorry, Zoey. For all of us. Kim lost too much blood, and then the wound got infected. She also had severe internal damage.”
“I’d better go,” Zoey whispered, unable to stop the tears now. Before hanging up, she said to Claudia, “I want to thank you again for the care package. It was an incredible thing for you—”
But she couldn’t finish the sentence. Had thanked Claudia before for the gift, had asked her if she’d get into trouble for sending Zoey something like that. Claudia had told her it was untraceable.
She doubled over she sobbed into her coat, trying to protect herself from curious stares from passersby.
“My pleasure, hon,” Zoey heard her say. “Please take care of yourself. And be careful.”
“You too,” she squeaked, unable to say another word.
* * *
The subway home during the rush hour commute was packed. Just the way Zoey wanted it. She exited the N train station and headed toward her apartment a few blocks away. The streets in her Queens neighborhood were relatively empty compared to Manhattan. The dusting of snow had chased everyone inside except for the smattering of children trying in vain to form snowballs from the loose powder.
Inside her apartment, she turned on the TV. News reports of her ordeal were scarcer now compared to when the news broke but occasionally appeared, particularly when there was something newsworthy.
Such as James’s indictment.
“James Price, the alleged ringleader of last month’s kidnap-torture scandal was arraigned today on charging including kidnapping, rape, and torture. He faces the death penalty if convicted.
“As many as fifteen men and women have been charged in connection with the underground torture chamber, which was discovered in the Adirondack Mountains. Eighteen women were rescued, most suffering from severe abuse. One woman, Kimberly
Solomon, died earlier today from complications sustained during her ordeal.”
James on the screen, sitting in court, his still-battered face looking solemn, his hands bandaged.
Zoey lay on the bed on top of the blankets. Too early to call it a night, just resting her eyes. Impossible sometimes to relax. Images assaulted her desire to forget, to get on with her life. Her hand caressed the pillow, and she smiled when she remembered what was beneath it. Sleep had been fleeting but she was exhausted, and she dozed.
Pressure on her body woke her, and she panicked, believing for one horrible moment that the escape had been part of an elaborate dream, that she was still underground in the torture chamber.
She shook her head and blinked, tried to focus her eyes in a room lit only by the streetlight outside the bedroom window.
Zack was sitting on her stomach.
She threw her hands up to protect herself and push him away.
He punched her in the face.
“Fucking bitch,” he snarled, hitting her again. “Do you know who you fucked with? Do you?” His hands wrapped around her neck.
She tried to pry his fingers away, punched at his arms, kicked her legs up. Reached forward until her fingers found his face and dug them into his eyes.
He yelled, released her, clutched his wound. “You cunt!”
She knocked him off and scrambled away, but he caught her leg.
She looked up, caught the glint of metal just before he plunged it into her side. The pain was excruciating, filled her body with razored claws of heat.
He pulled out the knife. She dragged herself toward the pillow. Felt the knife stab her thigh. Screamed in agony.
“Die, you fucking bitch!” He tried to pull her toward him but she kicked free. He struck again but missed, tearing open the mattress instead.
Finally she reached the pillow, groped beneath it, wrapped her fingers around Claudia’s gift.
He flipped her onto her back, straddled her, and with the knife in both hands he raised his arms overhead. Just as he drove it into her stomach she pulled the trigger, blowing away most of Zack’s stunned expression.
Blood bubbled out of her mouth, gushing from gashes on her body. Sobbing, reached for the phone. So weak … barely able to reach it. Picked up the receiver and listened. No dial tone.
“God …” she groaned, vomiting blood. Fell to her hands and knees on the floor, crawled toward the living room. Cell phone on the coffee table. Thick gore trailed her across the room.
She’d gotten him. Knew she’d probably saved Jess, Claudia, and Marie from the maniac. Knew they would have been next. She smiled, suddenly feeling no pain, feeling instead a comfortable warmth, like being immersed in a soothing bath.
Punched 911 on the cell phone keypad. “Need … help …” she muttered, leaning against the sofa, life’s blood escaping through fingers pressed against her stomach.
Couldn’t talk anymore, even when the dispatcher asked her questions. “Don’t hang up the phone. Help is on the way. Can you hear me?”
Zoey dropped the phone. Closed her eyes, the hint of a smile on her lips.
She was finally free.
Suffer The Flesh Page 13