Jaspierre's Descent (Jaspierre Trilogy Book 2)

by Mixi J Applebottom

Jasp reached out and touched a red sexy dress and spiders fell from it. She recoiled and then pushed again, shoving the dress hard to the side. Behind the dress was a panel of levers, latches, and a metal ring. Nothing was labeled. She flipped the first latch and a soft beeping noise started up. She turned and followed the sound. She found a small, dirty box on a shelf. She opened it and her eyes grew wide as she saw a beeping ankle monitor. The box had several of them. She leapt away and ran back to the latch to flip it off. She flipped it and took a deep dusty breath, which resulted in hacking and coughing. Just like Mother to have a bomb in a box activated by a switch. The beeping, though; there was probably a reason.

  Pulling the ankle monitor out of the box, she examined the chain it was connected to. The whole thing was wired. When the switch was activated, the beeping started up again, slowly, then went faster with the countdown. Jaspierre clicked the chain into the loop on the wall and silence suddenly followed. She unclicked the chain from the ring on the wall and the beeping started back up. Very interesting. She clicked the switch again and silence fell.

  She flipped the next switch, and another box beeped. She turned it off. The next switch was larger. She clicked it and a harness swung out from the closet. A sex swing. Jasp rolled her eyes and switched it back. Only two switches left. One she clicked and nothing happened. The ankle monitor was missing? She clicked it back in case she couldn't hear it.

  Then she clicked the last one. Nothing happened.

  Damn.

  She clicked it off and looked around the closet. There was a shelf with a few more boxes on it. She opened the first one and saw it held furry handcuffs. She closed it and slid it back on the shelf. A small pink box she opened contained tiny little white baby shoes and a hand-carved rattle shaped like a kitten. It startled her; she couldn't imagine Mother saving her baby things. She ran her fingertips over the kitten face. It was smooth except for a little mark on the ear. She stared carefully and saw two tiny little dashes. Were these her baby bite marks? It seemed so crazy. Mother kept this. Did Mother love her? She stared at this box, completely confused. This box would have to come to her room; she had something of her very own to pass to her baby. The next box had pictures.

  She flipped through them. Mother was in most of them. She was obsessed with herself. Mother and her when she was small. Mother when she first had Jasp sit at a board meeting; Jaspierre was only five. Mother with man after man on her lap and underneath her. Mother naked. Jaspierre quickly flipped through the nude ones, wondering if it would ever end. A small ring fell out on the floor.

  Jaspierre picked it up. It was so small. She had never seen her mother wear anything like this. It was such a tiny white stone.

  Why wasn't it in the jewelry box? Jasp stood up and walked to the big box in the closet. She was careful to look but not touch. She never knew which were laced with poisons. It could be a lie Mother used to say, but who knew? The rings were massive. The earrings encrusted with huge diamonds and jewels. The necklaces were elaborate, detailed, and expensive. They were all the same pretentious style. Jasp looked at the tiny stone on the plain little ring. This could not be Mother's. Mother would never have bought this. She never would have worn it. She never would have appreciated it.

  Jaspierre slipped the little ring on her finger and found it fit the middle one. Where had it come from? She flipped through the pictures again and, this time, she didn't skip the nudes. Many of them were men and Mother. Nothing special. But then she saw Mother between two men. One of the men was chained to a wall. She stared at the man's face. She remembered that face. The angry, twisted face as he wrapped his hands around her tiny seven-year-old throat.

  Jasper. She swallowed back bile in her throat. She had spent so much time trying to forget him. Her other father, the bad one. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them, he was still there. His angry face stared at Mother. She was bent over and sucking him. The other man had a chain wrapped around his waist trailing down to an ankle. His back was in the picture as he took her from behind. This one was probably Pierre. She wondered if he was as miserable as Jasper.

  Staring at the back of a naked man was not helpful, although something was out of place. She stared again at Jasper, and it came to her. He had all his own skin.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Edward stood at the lake. There was a body, half eaten by wildlife. It was a bald, middle-aged male.

  The lake, though, stood out to him more than the body. Not long ago, Chance had been at this spot. He had shown up after a car crashed into the lake. The current running theory was that he took the woman, likely raped her. Broke her arm, snipped off her toes, and then left her to be burned alive in his cabin. A woman they couldn't yet identify, other than they knew she wasn't young.

  There was another man at Chance's house who was tied up and shot in the head. Could the man have been from the car that crashed into the lake? A review of the 911 tape, which only included the voice of a female driver, never mentioned a passenger. Many of his toes had been removed and allowed to heal. How long had he been a hostage? The man could not be identified either. He had no dental records; in fact, no fillings. There were no leads.

  When the crime scene was first arrived upon, it was assumed Chance himself had been tied up and shot. Quite frankly, the detective at the time was pleased Chance was no longer breathing. Edward didn't even think he tried to find out what happened on that case. There was no task force. In fact, after a cursory review, it was written in the notes it was a sexual encounter gone wrong, combined with a house fire. Sweep it under the rug and move on. This pissed off Edward so much. He didn't like a serial-killing cop any more than the next guy, but it was their duty to catch the man and send him to prison, not protect the image of the police.

  After the dental records came through months later, it was obvious this man was not Chance.

  Chance, that bastard; he was long gone by the time they figured it out. That was how this investigation was launched. Edward took over. Edward would find out what had happened. He was a good man and a determined man. There were two known victims, but there were enough corpses that an educated guess was that Chance had slaughtered many more. Those boxes upon boxes of complaints surely indicated Chance had few inhibitions. He had to find more than evidence at this point.

  The lake was quiet, with the soft sloshing of water at the shore. This John Doe had been killed in this spot. At first glance, it seemed the wounds were caused by a sword. Who attacks anyone with a sword anymore? The body of the man in front of him had been stabbed repeatedly, then picked at by wildlife. He had no wallet. A third John Doe. Chance was a hell of a lot smarter than anyone gave him credit. The tide had washed away any obvious signs of tracks – tires or feet.

  Edward went back to his desk. He had to wait for the autopsy report before he would know anything more about the man at the beach. He called the phone number he had for Jack, and it rang twice before it gave him the message that the line had been disconnected due to lack of payment.

  That little old lady hadn't called to tell him Jack was home yet either. He tapped his fingertips on his desk and wondered if he should drive back to the mobile home park and see if there was anyone who would let him into that white building. Jack's house. Jack would be crumpled up in the shower where he had been shot. Surely Jack was dead at this point. Maybe he'd be sitting in a recliner. Would Chance shoot him or stab him? Seemed he liked to use either weapon.

  As he contemplated what had happened to Jack, Jessi, one of the other cops, called him over to her desk. "You are not gonna believe this. You know your man Jack? I think he just skipped town."

  Edward nodded. If Chance was after me, I'd run like hell too. "Do we know where he went?"

  "He's taken a kid, and he's on the run. He was coaching a little league baseball team. One of the mothers just came in to report that he was molesting her son. Now we've got a handful of upset mothers coming in, and he's got one of the boys and we can't find him. He'
s not home, he's not answering the phones; he's gone."

  Shit. "Send me a picture of the kid. What's his name?"

  "His name is Peter Mirabella. He's eight, curly, long blonde hair and blue-eyed," Jessi said.

  "Alright, I'll see if I can connect the dots on this one." He went back to his desk and sat down. If Jack was a child molester, why did he dump Chance off at social services? Did he get too old? Did Jack really run off with this kid, or did Chance finally make his peace? What a shitstorm.

  Chapter

  Four

  Jaspierre carefully plated food for her cats. She poured herself a large glass of water and made a small sandwich. Her fingers lingered on the cold coke can still in the expensive, oversized fridge, but then stopped herself. No more coke. She was pregnant. Besides, water was important for a growing baby. At least, as far as she knew, water was important.

  She probably needed folic acid or... something. She sighed. There was so much to learn.

  She fiddled with the small gold ring holding the white stone while she sat at the counter munching her sandwich. There was one other place to look, of course. But that was much worse than her mother's room. Much, much worse. She knew she had to.

  This baby needs a grandmother and a grandfather. She walked to her room and came back down in boots, leggings, and a light sweater. She walked outside and stared at her marble staircase and the bushes trimmed to look like cats.

  The sweet evening air curled up her nose in a cold draft. The barn was the only place left to look. She turned and walked to the back of the house. The footpath made of bricks was overgrown. In places, the bricks were completely covered in plants. Jaspierre would have to call the gardener and complain. The path bent to the left and after a handful of tired stairs, she made it to the barn.

  She opened the door. The barn smelled of fresh bright hay. It was tidy in here, the concrete floors recently swept by the gardener. An assortment of cages were lined up in rows. Large cages, small cages and a few small stalls. Most of the cages were empty. She walked to the room in the back and there were rabbits, ferrets, mice and a handful of other critters. They looked well fed and generally happy. One mouse was in quarantine, so it must have had a cold. The gardener was not neglecting the animals, at least. These pets were here for the servals, for her experiments. She hadn't put the cats in the maze since Lucas's last week down in his cell. Find the rabbit; that was always the game. It seemed pointless now. Years of playing with her servals, testing their skills, and feeding them live animals all seemed pointless. Jaspierre stared at them a while, watching the scurrying bodies tumble and crawl and play.

  She steeled herself to go to the locked room in the far back of the barn. Not even once had she been in here since Mother disappeared. She took her time unlocking the door. Closing her eyes a moment, she took a deep breath, and then swung the door open. The lights turned on like magic.

  The operating table was lit up brightly despite the dust. Bags of fluid still hung from poles around the table. Upon walking closer, she saw the dead body shriveled and wasted away. It was mostly a skeleton. A shriveled, dried body of dog perhaps. The limbs were not its own, though, so a rabbit or a cat too. Jaspierre had a pang of regret. If she had come in here all those years ago, she could have let it go. Like her dad, Pierre. Run free, little furry friend. But she hadn't let it go, she hadn't checked for it. Did it starve and wither like an un-watered plant?

  She shook it off and tried to stay focused. She opened every drawer and cupboard. Mostly, it was medical supplies. An assortment of clamps and needles and razors and knives. There had to be notes or a desk somewhere. The thought of sorting through Mother's notes felt nauseating. What would she say? Probably horrible things, but hopefully, something useful. She didn't find anything other than medical supplies. She turned, ready to leave, full of despair, when she noticed the mirror. She looked closer at it and realized it was a one-way mirror; it was an observation glass. There were no doors on that wall, though. Where was the observation room?

  She stepped out of the operating theater and looked around. The wall containing the door to the operating theater was a smooth wooden wall. Nothing stood out as a door. She walked to the corner next to the operating theater. It had to be close. This was the side the mirror was on. She knocked on the wall and nothing sounded particularly interesting. As she rapped at the wall, she noticed movement. She thumped harder and a little camouflaged latch swung out from the wall slightly and then fell back into place.

  Bingo.

  She pulled the latch. The door opened smoothly and she stepped into Mother's office. The lights came to life, humming and flickering on. The desk was littered with all sorts of pieces of paper. There were several file cabinets lined on the wall in the most orderly of ways. But Jaspierre couldn't look. She couldn't find a way to tear her eyes away from Mother's chair. Her chair had someone in it.

  Mother sat in a long red dress, her sparkling gold heels peeking out from underneath it. Her long hair was hanging down. Her gloved arms were leaned forwards, and she stared at the desk.

  Jaspierre garbled back a noise. Bile rose in her throat. Jasp stepped back and tripped, crashing to the ground. She cowered, waiting for Mother to turn and hit her. Mother didn't move.

  Jasp stood. She stared at Mother. She tried to speak, but found she had no voice. She stepped closer and touched Mother's shoulder. Her skull fell off her body and rolled off the desk and hit the floor. Jasp stood back, trembling. Relief and sadness both at the same time. At least now she knew where Mother was. She stared at Severina's decrepit body and tears welled up. Tears for herself, for her baby, for her childhood, and for Mother.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Chance realized the problem was that staying in one place was dangerous. Corpses rot. And this hooker wasn't getting any fresher. Also, her phone rang a lot. Only a matter of time until someone dropped in to check on her.

  He had hidden here for a few months, and that was as good as it was gonna get, he figured. His whole body hurt when he arrived, the skin practically still smoldering. But now, he was healthy enough to travel. The thing was, deciding where to go next was an issue. He wasn't quite ready to date Jaspierre again. He needed a better plan. She was tougher than he thought, plus he was in no hurry. He wanted to be at his peak.

  His skin hurt, though. He knew a little about burns. Second-degree burns (the crispy parts) had all mostly healed, only the much worse third-degree burns still needed attention. His healed skin was stiff, white, and leathery, and also sore and extremely itchy. The open third-degree wounds had hardly healed; his cheek, the top of his right thigh, and his left bicep were still bloody and raw. These burns were deep; as far as he could tell, they needed skin grafts. Not that he was going to get them. Carefully, he wrapped them with gauze, trying to keep them as clean as he could. Who knew how long it would take for them to heal?

  He needed a hideout. A proper hideout.

  He took the hooker's keys and drove her blue Ford truck out into the mountains. He stopped by each cabin. If someone was home, he left; if someone wasn't, he looked for a key under a mat. It wasn't long until he found the perfect place. A dusty old cabin, which hadn't been used in years. The key was under the mat.

  He went inside and examined the place. Dust covered everything. The elk head above the fireplace would have been sneezing if it wasn't already dead. There were three rooms: a bathroom, the bedroom, and an open living room/kitchen. This was definitely perfect. Someone's old hunting lodge. The newest magazine in the rack was already five years old. A small bookshelf full of hunting novels was completely covered in dust. In the only closet, there was a huge stockpile of wine and whiskey and canned goods. Whoever used to use it probably had gotten old or busy. At the end of the bed sat a large trunk with a padlock.

  Chance broke the latch apart and opened it. Bingo. There were two shotguns, a rifle, and a crossbow. A huge pile of bullets and about thirty arrows. This was definitely a great hideout. The only downside was i
t seemed like it wouldn't be quiet enough if Jasp was here making a racket. He looked around and, under a bearskin rug, he found a small wooden trap door. Inside was a cellar; it wasn't very big and it held some extra firewood. If he dug it out a bit, it'd be plenty big enough for even the most enthusiastic woman.

  Chance settled in and started working up a plan. This would be a good place to bring Jasp if he fixed it up a little. They'd raise kids, start a family. He'd definitely top Lucas's shitty proposal: tied up together on the couch, he proposes, she says yes, his brains splatter. Although brains splattering could be an excellent addition to a proposal, as long as the bride and groom survived it. In fact, his ideal proposal would be while he was gunning down civilians, driving a tank, and she sucked his cock.

  He looked around for an ax and chopped up wood. He'd need straps, nails, and a shovel. Maybe even a pickaxe. She'd learn to love it here without much convincing.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Pierre slowly carved a little kitten rattle. He'd been working on this one for about a week. His hands weren't much good anymore. He was missing the ring finger on his left hand. The tips of both pinkies had been amputated, and the tip of his right ring finger was missing. They were a constant reminder. Every aching attempt to carve the wood, and his hands would cry.

  His hands, or what was left of them.

  He was lucky, he supposed, lucky that Severina had gotten good at swapping fingers. Lucky that he was young enough for them to take. He'd be swallowing a handful of medications for most of his life, but his doctors said he was lucky that she had given them to him. Or he'd have lost much more. Much of his skin grafts took too. He had gone to a few surgeons, but they were reluctant to peel off Jasper's skin and graft on some of Pierre's. So he had two furry patches on his chest that he shaved every day. It bothered him so much that he never dated.

  Severina had ruined that for him. He was such a young, beautiful, trusting boy, and she destroyed him. She was his only love, his only opportunities for sex, and his ongoing nightmare. He'd wake up with horny nightmares that he was back in that cell. Back with Jasper.