by S. E. Lund
Had the worm been this bad, this developed in his sick perversion, when he’d lived with Celia? He'd hit her, he'd hit Graham, but had he spared Celia this hell?
I could only hope so.
I couldn't imagine Celia as a little eleven- or twelve-year-old girl, tied up and abused.
It was impossible.
I checked around, looking for a stash of pornography, magazines, photographs, or films in the room that Spencer and his pedophile associates used as a trophy room, but there was nothing.
Then I found it.
Inside the closet, at the back, behind a box of clothes, was a locked cupboard. That was surely where the goods were kept. I easily broke the lock and checked inside, where I found row upon row of cassettes, old reel-to-reel tapes, and newer CDs. Boxes filled with Polaroids of young girls just pubescent, their eyes blank, their faces pale, some with makeup on, red smears on their lips, bodies in obscene poses that made sense only when assumed by adult women.
I felt my guts roil, my gorge rise, as I sorted through them, looking for Celia among the faces—for the black hair and chocolate-brown eyes. Spencer and his group of perverts were meticulous, documenting each child, the name, age and a little comment on each. One depicted a little girl doing something little girls shouldn't even know about, let alone perform on an adult. The label read, "Penny. 8."
There was nothing in the box showing Celia—thank God. Perhaps these predated Spencer's time with her. They were older, taken in the 80s, the color fading.
I started sorting through the cassettes, reading dates and labels. I sat on the edge of the bed and held the tapes in my hand, considering whether to watch then or not. If I did, I'd be witness to horror I knew I could probably not forget, but I wanted to see him and know he deserved to die. I'd know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that killing him was completely just. I knew that already, but I needed to see what the worm did so I could look him in the eye and exact a confession, forcing Spencer to admit to his crimes.
When I killed Spencer, and I would kill him, I'd make him say the words.
I slipped a tape into the VCR and watched it. On it, the most devastating scenes I could imagine for a little girl—any little girl. As I watched, I thought about Celia and about our encounters when she was a teen. Was Spencer doing this kind of thing to her back then?
It made me ill to even consider it.
I'd seen and done shit that would make most people's skin crawl. I'd been in firefights where I'd blown off the heads of enemy fighters; I'd been in the aftermath of car bombings, seeing body parts strewn around the road, bodies burnt beyond recognition.
I'd never seen anything like this.
The men I killed were all enemies—soldiers or insurgents. They were terrorists. They were adults, they were hardened, they knew what was going to happen, they had been prepared for it.
When I made them bleed, the blood was justified. When I made them cry out in pain, inflicting the pain was legitimate.
The only response to witnessing a video like this was to kill the man. Death was the only justice possible. All that kept me from losing complete control were thoughts of killing him in as slow and deliberate and painful a way as possible.
Witnessing the anonymous child's abuse made me feel a need to purge myself through violence. I could kill the man today, when I returned to Boston. That would give me immediate satisfaction.
However, I wanted to do it right. I wanted to do it legally. On top of that, I wanted to make sure all his perverted associates went down with him.
In public.
I put the tapes back into the cupboard and then left the basement, left the cabin through the window, and went to my car.
Before I reached it, I stopped and bent over, emptying the contents of my stomach on the leaf-strewn forest floor.
I stopped on a side street in downtown Alexandria and called Millar on my burner, using a secure line he'd given me for when I needed to contact him.
"I'm coming back early," I said, a feeling of exhaustion hitting me now that the adrenaline had burned off.
"What's up?"
"I've been snooping around Alexandria, and found something. I think your boys need to check out Grant's old property in Chesapeake Beach. He or his fellow perverts are using it as a fun house. There's material there that could put him and his associates away."
"You broke into his property?"
"I saw a young girl leave and then an older man. I stopped him and got his name and cell. You better have someone go there quick before he alerts Grant and they go and clean the place out."
"What's the address?"
I gave him the address and I heard him flip through a file.
"We haven't got a warrant to do a search."
"You better get one, and quick. I'm ready to go kill the bastard myself," I said, remembering the images I'd seen.
"Don't do that," Millar said, his voice firm. "It won't do anyone any good to have you in jail for murder for real."
"Don't worry," I said. "I got control of myself. I'll leave the rest up to you, but I'm warning you. If nothing happens because of this, I can't promise anything."
"I'll call my contacts in Alexandria and get to the cabin as soon as we can. As for you, lie low until I have things in place. Then we'll take you in."
"I'm coming back to Boston," I said, impatient to return and see things through.
"I can't talk you into staying there for another few days? Things aren’t in place yet to bring you in."
"I'll stay quiet. I don’t like being away when things are going to go down."
"Okay, but lay low."
I ended the call. What I really wanted to do was go and find Spencer and choke the man to death, but I'd leave justice to the justice system. Only if it failed would I take matters into my own hands.
I returned to Boston and went right to the warehouse. I slumped in a chair beside George, who sat in front of a computer, reading the newspaper.
He put down his paper and turned to me, his reading glasses perched at the end of his nose. "How are you? Back so soon? I thought you were staying for a week."
I rubbed my eyes, not able to put how I was feeling in words.
"It was bad?" George asked, frowning at me.
"Yeah, it was bad," I said finally, leaning my head back, closing my eyes. "Worse than I expected. But thanks for this nifty little piece of technology."
I handed him back the radio jammer and he slipped it into a drawer in his desk.
"Glad it was of use. Tell me what happened."
"Celia's stepfather," I said and shook my head. "I found evidence at his old cabin. He's going down."
"Is good, no?"
"Yeah, but I don’t know what, if anything, he did to her."
"Talk to her. See what she says."
"This isn’t something you just ask a person," I said and rubbed my forehead. "‘Hey, did your stepfather sexually abuse you when you were eleven?’"
George nodded. "Is delicate personal matter. You have thought through this whole business with her being your little bit of pussy? "
"I've thought a lot about it," I said. "Now, given what I've seen, I'm rethinking it. If there is any possibility that she was abused…"
George shrugged. "Is your decision."
"You think I should let her go?"
"I think nothing. You are good man, Hunter. You do wrong things for right reasons."
I gripped the armrests of my chair and exhaled. "I should have let her be. Paid the debt and let her alone. Now, I've got her in trouble. She's in Victor's sights."
"You have to protect her if nothing else."
"I will," I said, resting a hand on George's shoulder. "The Pottery Barn rule applies here. Graham got her in trouble. I got her in even more by becoming personally involved with her. I have to look after her.”
"You will," George said, nodding.
I would. Even if she didn't want anything to do with me, I would protect her.
Chapter 6
CELIA
My week without Hunter was strangely lonely, despite the fact that Spencer and my mom returned from their European cruise and we visited the hospital together. My mom wanted me to spend more time with her now that she was back, but I begged off, claiming that I was too busy with law school and wouldn’t be able to see her very much, given that I wanted to spend time each day with Graham.
"Come and have dinner with us," my mom pleaded one afternoon when we'd all been at the hospital visiting Graham. "It's been so long since we spent time as a family…"
I shook my head, feeling Spencer's gaze on me. "Can't do it. I have so much material to read before tomorrow. Some other time."
"You're okay?" Spencer asked me, frowning. "You have everything you need?"
I forced a smile. "I'm doing really well, thanks," I said, hoping like hell that he didn't check in at my dorm to find that I'd moved out.
Every day, I went to class and was a good little law student. Now that Hunter wasn't visiting and there were apparently no prospects for him doing so, I was able to keep up with my reading and asked pertinent questions in seminar.
Every evening, after I visited with Graham, I ate my meals alone while George sat in his little cubbyhole of an office, eating his. He didn't seem to want any company and although I was lonely, I didn't want to invite him, not really knowing what to say.
Finally, about eight days after I’d first arrived, Hunter returned to the safe house without any notice. Late one morning, after I'd returned from early class, he entered the floor and spoke quietly to George, who glanced over at me and then nodded. They talked for a moment and then George gathered up his backpack and left the apartment. Then, Hunter came right over to me, his eyes intense. The look on his face sent a shiver down my spine.
"We have to talk." He pulled me over to the seating area.
"We do." I resisted, standing my ground. "You've been spying on me."
He turned to face me, his expression guarded, as if he expected me to say something about it and was prepared.
"Only for your own good," Hunter said. "Only because you're in Victor Romanov's sights due to Graham and the fact that I paid off his debt. You don't know these people, Celia. I do."
"So you don't deny you were spying on me? A camera in my bedroom? Hunter, that's low even for you."
"Even for me," he said and shook his head, his hands on his hips. He looked up at me. "I did it to protect you"
"How does that protect me?"
"In case someone broke in, or forced you into the apartment. It wasn't me watching. It was George. He just monitored the video feed to make sure you were okay. It's moot now, anyway," Hunter said, his voice impatient. "I thought you understood that you're in danger. I'm trying to protect you. The cameras were a way to protect you."
I said nothing, because I knew he was right. It still irked me.
"Listen, I know you're upset, but there are more important things to discuss," he said and took my arm softly, pulling me into the seating area. "Have a seat."
I sat dutifully and waited while he paced in front of the sofa.
Finally, he sat on the coffee table in front of me, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes on me, his expression serious.
"What is it?" I asked finally, wondering why he seemed so agitated.
"Did Spencer ever abuse you? Sexually, I mean?"
I frowned, totally shocked by his question.
Had Spencer sexually abused me? I took in a deep breath and wondered why Hunter was asking me that question, of all the questions he could ask.
"Why do you want to know?" I replied, my mind going back to my past with Spencer and all the nastiness.
"You didn't answer. Did he ever sexually abuse you? I know it's a hard thing to talk about, but I need to know."
"Why do you need to know? What do you mean, sexual abuse?" I asked, stalling for time. "He abused me by any definition of the word. He beat me, he slapped me. As punishment, he made me stand naked in cold showers and used to scrub my skin with a really rough sponge. Sometimes, he scrubbed so hard that my skin bruised." I thought back to those times when he punished me for some transgression. "He found me and a couple of neighborhood kids getting undressed together, you now, playing doctor. He told me I was a sinner and he had to cleanse me of my sins. But he never actually touched me in a sexual way, if that's what you mean."
Hunter took in a deep breath. "The fact that he even had you naked in the shower is sexual abuse," Hunter said. "Even if he didn't touch you."
"He touched me," I said. "He held onto me and when I fought, he grabbed me until I stopped fighting and stood still so he could scrub me down."
I sighed, the memory of those times making me choke up.
"I'm sorry I had to ask you that. It's bad enough that he beat you and abused you emotionally."
I shrugged, lifting one shoulder. "I had never thought of those punishments as sexual in nature. They always seemed to be about humiliating me, and making me hurt. Punishing me for doing anything that might be sexual in nature."
"They were sexual," Hunter said. "Even if he didn't touch you in any place that’s usually defined as sexual."
"Why are we talking about this?" I asked, frustrated and embarrassed. "Unless you tell me why, I'm not saying anything else."
"Let's just say I heard some things. I was told some things. I'm doing a bit of sleuthing to find out more. That's really all I can say without getting in trouble."
I thought back to Spencer and his punishments. "He hated me right from the start," I said, my voice breaking. "He never hid it."
"Did you talk to your mom about him? Did she know the things he did?"
I frowned. "My mom was too drugged out to see. She was always in the bedroom sleeping, or on the couch snoozing. She was happy to have Spencer there to discipline us because she couldn't do anything. When I complained, she just told us to be obedient if we wanted Spencer to treat us nicely."
"Did he ever do anything else you can think of that might be sexual? Did he ever expose himself to you? Did he ever show you pornography?"
I frowned. "No," I said. "Nothing like that. He was so uptight about sex, I thought he was a real prude about it. When my friends came over for sleepovers, he was pretty standoffish. I don't think I ever saw him naked. He barely even wore a bathing suit when we were on vacation—not that we went very often anyway, because of my mother."
He nodded. "She's been pretty sick all this time," he said softly.
"She sleeps most of the time unless she's watching television or reading. There's nothing the doctors can do for her pain. She has a pain pump and is pretty much an invalid."
Hunter sighed and leaned back, running his hand through his hair.
"Why are you asking all this?"
He shrugged and glanced away. "I wondered if he was abusive sexually as well as physically and emotionally abusive. Creeps like him often are." He stared at his knuckles, which were now healing up from the beating he administered to Stepan. "Guys like Spencer take advantage of their power over children. It's an easy step into taking advantage sexually so I was concerned." He glanced up like he was trying to see if I believed him.
"You know something," I said, getting this sense from him that he was fishing because he had something on Spencer. "Tell me."
Hunter shook his head. "I can't, but he's a piece of work."
"I already know that," I said ruefully. "Graham and I know that all too well, but you must know something if you're asking me questions about him."
"If I do, I can't say what. I'm really sorry about all of it," Hunter said, his voice soft, his eyes soft as well. "You and Graham… you both suffered so much all those years. It must have been hell."
I lifted a shoulder. It was hell, but it was normal for us when Spencer took over.
"I rebelled, and Graham tried to be the good older brother and protect me, but it only got him in more trouble. Spencer doesn't like his authority to be questioned."
"That he is." I sighed. "So, why is it that the first thing you ask when you come back after being away for a week is a question about Spencer?"
"I just know things," Hunter said. "I'll tell you when I can. It's about his past, before he met your mother. When he lived in Alexandria. That’s really all I can say."
"All right," I said and leaned back, watching him. He seemed preoccupied.
Then, he stood up and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. "Well, that's really all I wanted to ask you other than how Graham's doing."
I took in a breath and exhaled. "Pretty well, all things considered. He's going to be in rehab for a few weeks. Then physiotherapy for a while. He's really thankful that you paid off his debts, and wants you to know he'll try to pay you back when he's back on his feet."
Hunter nodded. "Tell him not to worry about it. If and when he can pay me back, that's fine. Tell him to get better. That’s all I care about."
I looked at him closely, trying to see if he really meant it or was just going through the motions. "That's nice of you, Hunter. I know he's really relieved that he didn’t have to go to Spencer. Not that Spencer could have paid off the debt, but you know what I mean."
Hunter nodded. He glanced around and sighed. "I better go. George will be with you tonight. If you need anything, he can help you."
"Thanks," I said, but of course, I didn’t really feel all that happy having to be a prisoner of the safe house.
Hunter turned and left the apartment, closing the door behind him. I felt strange after he left, knowing there was something going on that Hunter couldn’t tell me.
It was about Spencer's past in Alexandria. That was all I knew.
Later that afternoon, I asked George if he could take me to see my mother. I was concerned about her, and wanted to see her and make sure she was all right. I didn't relish the thought of seeing Spencer, especially after the strange discussion Hunter and I’d had earlier, but I had this vague sense of doom hovering over me.