Shadow of Vengeance

by Kristine Mason

  He turned to Junior, who shrugged and said, “I haven’t either.”

  Apparently he was dating himself. Although now that he thought about it, his last two pledges had acted as if they’d never heard the joke, either. Nevertheless, he would educate both the pledge and Junior on the juvenile antics of his own youth. After all, this was part of Hell Week and to complete the week properly, everything had to be exactly as it had been done to him. Only one time had he deviated, and he’d been left unsatisfied. Tormented by the demons of his past and forced to take another pledge too soon. If the former sheriff hadn’t been incompetent, he could have been caught. His destiny and plans for vengeance left unfulfilled.

  “Hmm,” he hummed and faced the pledge. “Well, it’s an old joke and I have one I’d like to share. So, let’s try this again. What’s grosser than gross?”

  The pledge’s chin trembled. “I don’t understand this and don’t know what you want me to say,” he whined and hung against his chains, his torso bowing forward making him look like a bird in flight.

  “When you join a fraternity, you must trust your brothers. Without trust, there is nothing. Do you trust me?”

  After a moment, the pledge nodded.

  “Good. Now, again. What’s grosser than gross?”

  “I don’t know,” the puke answered.

  “Open your mouth,” he said, raised the hot dog to the boy’s mouth and inserted it. “Now take a bite.”

  As soon as the pledge bit into the hot dog, he said the joke’s punch line, “Biting into a hot dog and finding a bone.”

  At that moment, the boy gagged. From the back of the cellar, Junior coughed, then laughed. He didn’t understand how she thought that was funny. The joke implied that a finger was in the bun, which was disgusting. Although the contents were, in fact, an actual hot dog, the point of the joke, the point of this part of their entertainment, was to instill trust. At eighteen, when he’d been a freshman and going through his own horrifying Hell Week, he’d learned that these juvenile antics had been put in place to inspire faith in his fellow fraternity brothers. At the beginning, their mission had been accomplished. Unfortunately, the puke’s very own father had taken that trust and faith to a level of no return. Imparting him with doubt and suspicion.

  Then horror. Utter, degrading horror.

  His skin prickled. He shook off that last thought and refocused on his ultimate revenge. Though the pledge had twisted his face in disgust, and he occasionally gagged, he chewed the hot dog, then swallowed.

  “Very good,” he told his pathetic puke. “What did that taste like?”

  “J…jerky.”

  “Excellent.” He fed the boy another bite. “You’ve passed this test. But I’m curious. What did you think I was feeding you?”

  The pledge swallowed, then answered, “A finger.”

  He laughed and fed him more of the disgusting hot dog. “Now, where would I get a finger?” When the pledge didn’t answer, even after he’d finished chewing and swallowing, he shouted in his face, “Answer me!”

  Gasping, the boy jerked against his chains. He licked his chapped lips, then sucked air through his nose. “They…the guys from the fraternity told us there was a Hell Week sacrifice.”

  He turned to Junior, who took a step closer, her gaze intent on the pledge. When he faced the pledge again, he grinned. “Hell Week sacrifice? Believe it or not, I haven’t heard that one yet. But I like it.” After brushing his hands along his pants, he reached into the container and pulled out a small, Styrofoam cup, then removed the plastic lid. “In a way, I suppose my pledges are a sort of sacrifice. Without you, and the others just like you, these last twenty years might have been…”

  Junior moved to his side and stared at him like a hawk might stare at a mouse. Intent. Ready.

  While he’d eventually told each one of his pledges about the pain and humiliation he’d suffered when he was eighteen, now wasn’t the time. He’d tell his puke when they were alone. Place the blame for every one of his Hell Weeks on the pledge’s father’s shoulders. He looked forward to that moment. What would his pledge think of Daddy once he had learned the truth? Would he curse the man for ultimately putting him in his current position? Would he still defend him? Or would the pledge’s hatred and disgust run deep?

  His smile fell, the final day of Hell Week at the forefront of his mind. The desecration of trust, the defilement of the body and soul…

  Yes. The pledge would come to hate his father as much as he did.

  “We really don’t have time to discuss the past. My dinner will be done shortly, and I’m sure you’re anxious to finish yours.” He raised the Styrofoam cup and peered at the single goldfish wriggling in the shallow water. After the childish “grosser than gross” joke, he’d rather move on to what he’d planned next. But, he did promise the boy fish for dinner, and he never went back on a promise.

  He brought the cup to the pledge’s mouth. “Remember. Being part of a fraternal organization is about trust. I need you to drink this in one swallow.”

  The puke parted his lips and did as he was instructed.

  “Excellent.” He chuckled when the pledge choked. But he gave the boy credit for keeping the contents down and not regurgitating all over himself and the floor. His past pledges hadn’t been as strong stomached, and had to learn the hard way that he didn’t tolerate weakness of any kind. Removing the boy’s blindfold, he ruffled his hair. “You did good. Ate an old hot dog and swallowed a goldfish.”

  The pledge didn’t return his smile, but he did relax against his restraints. “Thank you, sir.”

  He clapped his hands, then rubbed them together. “Now that you’ve been fed, time for something new. Junior, I need you to move back to where you were. Take the bat with you. If he’s a bad pledge, crush his knee cap.”

  After she obeyed, he removed the pledge’s restraints, then ushered him toward where he’d hosed the puke’s urine and excrement earlier that morning. “Drop and give me twenty.”

  With only a few seconds of hesitation, the boy obeyed. After little physical activity and sustenance, the pledge’s arms shook as he dipped his body toward the floor. Still, the puke must understand that one of the benefits of Hell Week was to show strength despite any given circumstance.

  Resting the sole of his boot along the boy’s raw, filthy, bony back, he pressed. “Dig deep, Puke. One down, nineteen to go.”

  The pledge pushed along, occasionally dropping his entire body to the ground and landing in his own waste. Finally, he made it to the end. Huffing and puffing, he stood, shoulders bent, head hanging, sweat and filth coating his skin.

  With a small stab of pride, he cupped the only clean part of the boy’s shoulder. “Very good.”

  At that moment, Junior released a sigh.

  He led the pledge back to the wall where his chains dangled. As he restrained the boy, he looked over his shoulder at Junior. “Are we boring you?”

  She opened her mouth, then mashed her lips together without uttering a word.

  Once sure the boy’s chains would hold, he approached Junior. “If you have something to say, say it.”

  She looked to the ground and leaned against the baseball bat. “I just don’t understand what you’re doing,” she said, her tone hushed. “No offense, sir, but I expected more from you. Not these kid’s games.”

  “Kid’s games,” he repeated. “You think how I’m handling the pledge is childish?”

  She met his gaze, then quickly nodded and looked away. “I’m sorry. I just don’t see the point in any of this. Last night you told me today would be worse for him, that the next day even more horrible. If anything, I thought you were too easy on him.”

  Because she’d never gone through the hell he had, she wouldn’t understand. While her questioning aggravated him, he knew he couldn’t fault her for wondering the point of his Hell Week. He also knew that he’d gone easy on the pledge today. Not out of sympathy. No. This morning he realized he needed this pledge’s tr
ust. The others had never trusted him. Without that trust, there would be no betrayal. And the betrayal was what he craved the most. The degradation and treachery bestowed upon him by the demon who had spawned his current pledge had nearly destroyed him. The duplicity of several of his fraternal brethren, as they’d turned a blind eye to what had happened to him at the hands of a monstrous bully, had been just as bad. Trust was a precious thing. Something earned and never taken for granted.

  Something he held for no one save himself.

  He eyed his daughter. In the shadowy light her nose and chin appeared sharper, pointer. He never considered her pretty, but average. Right now, with her mouth twisted in disapproval and her pale, blue eyes glittering with condemnation, she looked positively ugly. “What would you do to him then?” he asked, curious to discover if she’d suddenly grown a backbone.

  She looked to the pledge, then to the metal bat. “You wouldn’t mind if I showed you?”

  Unease and a touch of apprehension settled in the pit of his empty stomach. He realized he’d been mistaken. The glitter in her eyes had nothing to do with condemnation, but perverse pleasure. She wanted to take his Hell Week in a different direction. Up the ante, make the pledge suffer. He saw it in her eyes, felt it in his gut. While he did too, now wasn’t the time. He needed the boy’s complete and utter trust first, otherwise the end result wouldn’t be as rewarding.

  Junior needed to learn this. Unfortunately, the pathetic puke hanging from the basement wall would serve as Junior’s learning curve. Although he wasn’t sure what she planned to do to the boy, he doubted whatever she had planned was anything near what he intended to do by week’s end.

  With regret, he nodded. “No, Junior. I don’t mind. Go ahead and show me.”

  The corner of her mouth tilted in a half grin. She popped the bat in the air, caught it in her hand, then quickly moved to the toolbox against the far wall. After rummaging for a moment, she turned and held up the hammer as if it were a trophy.

  With a huge smile on her face and her eyes dancing with excitement, she practically skipped toward the pledge. She gave the boy’s nose a playful pinch, dropped to one knee and slammed the hammer against his toes.

  Howling in obvious pain, the pledge arched his back and pulled against his restraints.

  She hit him again.

  Then again.

  As she raised the hammer a fourth time, he rushed to her side. “Junior, stop!”

  Hammer still raised and panting hard, Junior shoved off the ground and stepped away from the crying pledge. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” she said and propped her hands on her hips.

  As the boy screamed and moaned, he looked to the pledge’s foot, to the toes Junior had just crushed. Hiding his rage for what she’d done to his pledge, he took the hammer from her. “Satisfied?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m exhilarated.” She pointed to the boy’s swollen, purpling toes and began laughing. “This is what I’ve been waiting for you to do.”

  Junior’s cackling, the pledge’s cries and pleas all mingled with the fury he’d been trying to keep at bay, and pierced his ears as if someone were drilling an ice pick into the orifices. The grating shrieks and wailings crawled into his brain. Junior’s eerie laughter shook his countenance. Her sheer disrespect of Hell Week made him want to lash out at both of them. Stop the maddening noise from festering in his head.

  Hammer in hand, a large part of him wanted to smash Junior in the face. Crack her pointy chin and teach her a valuable lesson. He raised his free hand, instead, and smacked the pledge in the face. “Stop. Man up, Puke.” He gave Junior the hammer and instructed her to put it away, then to go upstairs. Once he and the pledge were alone, he took the hose and ran it over the boy’s body. When he finished, he took a towel and dried the pledge’s hollow, tear-filled cheeks.

  “I didn’t know Junior planned to smash your toes.” He gripped the boy’s shoulders. “That’s not how I normally conduct Hell Week. Do you understand?”

  Wincing, the pledge swallowed and nodded his head.

  “Once Hell Week is over, we will be brothers. United. Bonded by trust.” He stepped back and tossed the towel over his shoulder. “Do you still trust me?”

  Choking on a sob, he stuttered, “Y…yes, sir. B…but, Junior—”

  He waved a hand, then set up the space heater. “Don’t worry about Junior. That won’t happen again. Now get your rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  After darkening the basement, he climbed the ladder and met Junior in the kitchen. “Looks like dinner is done,” she said as she pulled the pheasant from the oven. “Mmm, smells delicious.”

  The pheasant’s aroma filled the room. Too disgusted by Junior’s actions, his mouth didn’t water, but turned sandpaper dry. “Set the bird on the stove and join me.” He moved into the foyer, then grabbed her coat from the closet.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, staring at the coat. “Are you angry with me?”

  Fighting the urge to beat her face to a blood pulp, he cleared his throat and helped her into her coat. “What did you accomplish by smashing the pledge’s toes?”

  Her questioning gaze met his. “I…I wanted to spice things up, that’s all. Give the pledge something to fear. Something to think about while he’s hanging from the wall tonight.”

  He fisted his hands, but didn’t raise them. If he struck her, he doubted he could stop. Her stupidity could cost him what he needed from his pledge. Trust.

  Taking a step back before he lost control, he nodded. “Yes, no doubt you instilled fear in him. But don’t you think he was afraid before you crushed his toes?”

  “Well, I’m sure he was—”

  “Don’t you think he hangs from the rock wall waiting and wondering what will happen next?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “The pledge will not be touched by you unless I’ve instructed. Do you understand?”

  The confusion in Junior’s eyes turned to contempt. Instead of defying him, she said, “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I will dine alone this evening and I don’t want you to come for breakfast tomorrow. You need to think about what you’ve done.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I know I hurt him, but I assumed that’s what you’d do anyway.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “Don’t doubt it. What the pledge will suffer will be beyond what you could ever imagine. But I need his trust before that moment arrives. Today, you could have possibly damaged the fragile bond the boy and I share. We have only five more days of Hell Week. I don’t want to waste time repairing the damage you’ve done.” He opened the door. “Go.”

  Junior hesitated at the threshold. “I…I’m confused. Why do you need his trust?”

  With a slow smile, he faced her. “So that I can shatter it.”

  Chapter 12

  Dozens of headlights illuminated the riverbank. Mist rose from the water in an eerie, shadowy haze, enveloping Bill’s large pickup truck. Men wearing fishing waders and hip-high boots stood at the shoreline or in the water, securing the hooks and chains from an enormous tow truck to the back end of Bill’s pickup.

  Despite the hat and gloves, nothing could stop the chill slicing through Owen, or the dread as he and Rachel watched the locals do their best to fish Bill’s truck out of the river. She stood with her gloved hands stuffed in her coat pockets. When the beam of a flashlight briefly chased across her face, he caught the fear in her eyes and he resisted the urge to haul her trembling body next to his.

  According to Bill’s family, the security guard was last seen leaving his post at Wexman University. That was over twenty-four hours ago. Today’s temperature had reached a high of twenty-one, while last night it had dropped to eleven. Tonight was supposed to be just as cold. Even if Bill had survived the crash into the river and managed to make it to shore, without dry, warm clothes or shelter, hypothermia would have been his next obstacle. But if Bill hadn’t survived the crash, then where the hell was his body?

  �
�Here comes Jake,” Rachel said and nudged him with her elbow.

  He glanced to where Rachel had been looking. Jake made his way toward them, capped head down, shoulders slumped and his boots crunching over the trampled, icy snow. They now had two possible missing persons in a matter of a couple of days. Was what happened to Bill a simple coincidence, dumb luck or something more disturbing?

  “How’s it going?” Rachel asked when Jake finally reached them. “Are they about ready to pull the truck from the water?”

  Nodding, Jake looked back to the riverbank just as the tow truck’s engine revved. “Yeah, as we speak.”

  Water rushed over the partially submerged hood of the pickup as the driver inched the tow truck away from the river. Men shouted directions at the driver, who popped his head out of the driver’s side window and looked over his shoulder. The engine suddenly roared. The tow truck lurched, and quicker than Owen had anticipated, Bill’s pickup was dragged from the water.

  Other than the tow trucks guttural purr as it sat idling, and the rush of the river water, the Townies who had crowded along the riverbank remained unnervingly silent.

  “Empty,” a man wearing hip-high boots shouted as he moved a flashlight over the interior of the truck’s cab. “What do you want us to do with it, Jake?”

  Jake glanced at Rachel. “Something’s not right,” she said. “You told us Bill lived in town and the last time anyone saw him was when he left the university. This…” She twisted her body and looked at the river, then the woods. “This isn’t even close to a main road. Why would he be out here?”

  “The only people who come out here at this time of year are illegal hunters and die hard fishermen. Bill wasn’t either.” Jake took a step back. “Are you suggesting foul play?”

  Rachel nodded. “Can you have his truck towed to a garage? It’s too dark out here, even with headlights and flashlights, to look for evidence.”

  “Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”

  “And the man who found the truck?” Rachel asked.

  Jake stopped, then looked toward the tow truck again. “Looks like Evan is finished helping them. I’ll send him over.”