After putting the rabbit on the fire, he took care of his horse he went back inside, and sat in the one crooked chair at the table.
He had no whip, but oddly enough the old whip they had used on him was still hanging on the wall. He took it out and looked at it. Dried blood was still visible on the strap. His blood, he reminded himself. He cracked it against the floor. It made a loud cracking sound. He dangled it in front of his Uncle's face. "Remember this…"
His uncle squirmed as though he thought he might break loose from his position any moment, but the rope held.
Victor tried to smile. He finally struck his uncle. J.I. hollered the first time, yelled the second and screamed the third, then just whimpered as the strap made its slithering cracks against his now torn shirt and back. Finally he was out from the pain. Victor was glad for his Uncle was not brave and had cried like a baby for him to stop.
Satisfied he had begun the torture; Victor turned the meat and waited for it to cook.
He took out the pocketknife that his Uncle had used on him.
But his Uncle didn't seem awake, so he waited.
An hour later his Uncle came to, moaning.
Victor came up to him, studied his face.
He began to cut on his Uncle's face, lacerating him. Blood trickled over his nose and into his mouth... The blood ran all over. Victor felt a strange satisfaction.
He went back over to his meat and cut off a hunk. He ate in silence, his Uncle groaned a couple of times, but he paid him no mind.
Blood began to pool on the floor from the cuts on the face and Victor nodded. He watched when his Uncle came to, and cursed him, and moaned from the pain. His bloody face and bulging eyes made Victor nod, it was working. His Uncle was in pain and misery now.
"You'll rot in hell…" His Uncle spat at him.
Victor shrugged again.
"You don't even know where hell is, do ya…ya ignorant fool…"
Now Victor stood up and studied him closely. He went outside and came back in with a huge knife in his hand.
"Hell is here…" Victor let out a slight chuckle and whacked his Uncle's finger off. The sound of his bone snapping gave Victor a rush. It always had. He had become very good at it and the familiar sound satisfied him. "That's to remind you, no woman will have you…ain't that what you said…?"
His Uncle yelled at the top of his lungs as the finger hit the floor. However, this time Victor didn't pick it up and keep it. As far as he was concerned, his Uncle's body parts were the dirt of the world, and he wanted no part of them. The finger lay on the floor, blood pooling over it. The sound of the blood dripping echoed now, at first almost pouring, then down to a dribbling sound. The fresh blood smelled familiar too.
Victor nodded. He was satisfied for the moment.
He brought in his gear to make himself a bed and watched the dripping of blood on the floor. He watched the different patterns of blood forming on the floor, as though fascinated with it.
"You jest gonna leave me hangin' like this…all night…I'll bleed to death." J.I. hollered as Victor made himself comfortable on the other side of the room.
Victor didn't reply.
But his Uncle continued to holler and cry and moan, so Victor got up and came to stand in front of him. He frowned and then bent to take his Uncle's socks off.
"I'll take care of the rest of ya in the mornin'." Victor smirked again, his face hurting from the attempt of smiling.
"You cain't do this…you're meaner than yor daddy and me both…"
"Reckon so…"
"Yor crazy…."
"Reckon so…."
Then the sock went in his mouth and there was silence, except for the dripping.
Victor found that sound reassuring.
He slept for a few hours then he lit the fire again, made coffee from his saddlebags, and ate the rest of the rabbit.
He glanced at his Uncle. He had his eyes closed and Victor raised an eyelid to check to see if he was alive. Immediately J.I. eyes opened with pure terror. However, his brows drew together and for a minute Victor felt an old fear of the man again. Until he realized he had the controls this time.
He cut his face some more, making long and short cuts all along his cheek and across his nose. Blood oozed out.
It was almost an hour before Victor came back inside the house with something for his Uncle.
"Hungry…?"
"No…I ain't…you miserable louse…" the old man cried. "I won't eat it…" he hollered.
"Shore ya will…" Then Victor shoved the rat, fur and all in his uncle's mouth and blood ran down his Uncle's cheek where he accidentally bit down on the rat.
Victor tried to laugh, but the muffled sound came out a slight chuckle instead.
"I'll be leavin' in a bit, but afore I do…you gotta know, I’m about to cut you up at bit more…jest like ya did me. Then ya can bleed to death…J.I. Frank…yor gonna die…."
"You wouldn't…" his Uncle spit the rat across the room. "You ain't gonna castrate me…"
Victor nodded. "Jest like ya did me…Only ya won't have no high pitched voice, cause I’m gonna leave ya for dead right there, where ya are."
"Ya cain't do this…" fear stunk from the man. Victor smelled the foul odor and knew his Uncle had messed his pants.
Urine poured to the floor now. "Victor nodded. How many times had that happened to him as a child? How many times had they let it?
Victor nodded with satisfaction.
Packing up his gear, Victor glanced around the land once more. Satisfaction welled in him. The deed was nearly done. The burden lifted. The hell was over. He'd killed them both.
When he went back inside his Uncle was weak and barely able to look at him. The blood ran all over his face and body some of it dried, some of it wet.
Victor meticulously stood on the table; cut off one pant leg loosened one leg and castrated his Uncle as though he were working on a bull not a human. In one long swift movement, Victor had done the deed, and body parts again fell to the floor. The odor in the room was overwhelming just as it had been for him years ago. Tears ran down Victor's face now as he recalled the pain and the agony of those years.
The scream was so loud there wasn't a bird left in the old cottonwoods. So shrill Victor's ears hurt. His Uncle's face took on a glassy eyed look, as the blood gushed from his body. Only the eerie sound of his body swinging from the rope made any noise. Victor swung him. His voice had gone silent, his eyes unseeing. It was finished. He wasn't dead, but as good as.
"It's over…I reckon…" Victor shrugged, but heaviness set in as he rode now, that he hadn't expected. He'd become what his father and Uncle had been. He was the devils bait now and he knew it.
Death should come to him soon. For the killing had become tiresome and the reason for it forgotten.
Chapter Thirteen
Several times John T. tried to get close enough to talk to Pepper but Pepper managed to get away before he could start a conversation. He didn't need a brick to fall on him to tell him she wasn't interested.
The burial grounds were just ahead, and John T. pointed them out as he headed in a round about direction. His mother had taught him to respect other people and their ways and the Indians were no different. Everyone followed his lead. The Indians were also watching them closely. Even though the majority of the Indians were now on reservations, a small group still managed to hang on, and it seemed to John T. that they were keeping guard of the burial grounds. John T. respected that.
"Don't any of you get down off your horse right now. Just follow me and don't look back. Don't look at the buried. "
"They ain't buried…" Rascal half chuckled.
"As far as the Indians are concerned they are." John T. reminded quickly.
"Why do they put them up so high?"
"I guess to send them to the Great Spirit," Wesley chimed in, his face grim. "What tribe is this?"
"Kiowa Apaches."
"Are they friendly?"
Wesley nodded
.
"Not if you mess with their dead, they ain't."
"Then we won't mess with them. How many you figure is following us?"
"Not many, most of them are on the reservation. This is just a scoutin' party, been on keeping an eye out for the dead. Probably not more then 4-6 out there."
Again Wesley nodded his understanding.
"Ya know Cochise died in '74, no one ever found out where, said there was a white friend named Jeffords that was a witness to his burial. That ain't a common thing. For a white man to watch. However, they were friends. He led his people well, and they fought captivity. Sometimes the Kiowa bury their dead, other times they build these scaffolds, so that the Great Spirit can take them away."
Pepper glanced at John T. "How do you know so much about them?"
"I've had a few dealings with the Kiowa before." John T. looked at her now and saw no derision in her face. "When my Ma died, they came right up to the yard. All the time she was alive, they never did, but when they realized she was dead, they came. While I was digging a grave, a brave took away the homemade shovel I had and buried my mother proper. When they finished they left. But I won't be forgetting that for the rest of my life. They knew she'd been killed. That I had been left."
"They buried her, senor?" Antonio shook his head, "They must have had a great respect for her and you…."
"Never thought on it much, but we lived there alone so long, didn't bother anyone, just surviving. I guess they must have taken pity on me…for it sure was an act of kindness I won't forget." John T. declared. "Maybe because we never raised a gun to them. The brave was a grandson of the great chief Lone Wolf. He came back off and on. Later I found out he spoke perfect English. He told me of the crazy man they let pass."
"So you lived in this land, more theirs than yours and they never harmed you," Antonio smiled.
John T. nodded. "But I ain't sayin' the Comanche were good to me. They raided us a time or two. Took our last mule, stole my ma's best quilt, right off the line after she washed it. And proceeded to scare us a few times."
"Why didn't they just kill you?" Rascal asked quietly.
"I think it had something to do with the Kiowa's. They pass through every now and then and watch us, but never bother us. Ma said never shoot less we was shot at, so that's what I learned to do."
"After your Mama died, did someone come along and help you John T." Pepper asked glancing at him.
"Had an Uncle came through, said he thought my Pa was dead. He stayed a while, then left."
"Left you alone out here…" Pepper gasped. "Why didn't he take you with him?"
"He was a drinkin' man and we had no whiskey. It was miles to the next town…he finally just packed up one day and took off before I got up. Never seen him again, either…"
"Them Kiowa's were better than you thought, then." Wesley shook his head with a smile. "'Cause ordinarily the Comanche would take you as a prisoner. They must have been watchin' after you for a long time, John T. I've heard of such, but never knew anyone personally that had been protected by them."
John T. thought about that and realized Wesley was right. He thought about all those lonesome nights he'd spent there at home, with no one to keep him company, and smiled to himself.
The burial grounds were big and all the while they rode around it, the wind blew at a particular low whistle. Almost as if the dead were calling them. A cold white dust settled over them as they pressed onward.
"How far away from Frank you think we are now?" John T. asked Wesley.
"Ain't sure. Ain't seen no signs of him in the dust, if you remember his leavin's. Do you have any idea where he might have come from Pepper?" Wesley asked John T. "Could you tell us where you lived back then?"
"It was so long ago, and I was little. It was a settlement, and those buffalo wallers we have been passin' is familiar. I remember askin' my Pa what they were. He told me it was where the buffalo wallered and played." Pepper tried to remember more but it had been so long. "There was a settlement, not a town; Pa was the only law up this way at the time, so he had a wide range to take care of. As far as I can remember it was just south of Mobetiee."
"Then we're getting closer…"
There's a settlement 'bout twenty miles up that he might've come from. Or thereabouts. We could ask about…" John T. suggested.
"Soon as we get far enough away from the burial grounds we'll camp for the night. I got a feelin' he's either caught up with his Uncle or is very close." Wesley said as he kept up the pace.
"Why do you say that?" John T. asked.
"I don't know, just a feelin' I have…." Wesley said.
John T wondered why Wesley didn't want to press onward too quickly, but he didn't ask. He knew Wesley had reasons and he knew they would be good ones. He reckoned the burial grounds were enough to shy anyone away from killing this day.
There was no water for miles and they camped without extra.
Supper was cold beans and beef jerky as Wesley wanted no fires tonight. "We're too close. We don't want him knowing we are here. We'll be up to him in a day or two. All of you have to understand our agreement. All of you have to be prepared for whatever we meet from here on out. We get the chance; Victor Frank is a dead man. Antonio, I know you don't hold with the killin' but this has got to be done, so if you want no part of it, I'd appreciate you staying out of our way until it is over. Understood?"
Antonio furrowed his brow, "Understood…"
"Good."
"We've all rode together, and under a united cause. Killin' this man will be no pleasure. However, he's got to be put down. So when we come upon him, we don't think, we don't hesitate, we just shoot him dead. We got a good idea what he looks like. He's a good size man now, middle aged, scarred up face, and a voiced no one would forget. The law will ask questions, they might even take us in, but we also have to be on our toes about that too. Victor Frank killed John T.'s mother, Rascal's wife, and many other women. If we can find proof that he's done it before we get him, it will be easier explainin' our situation to the law."
Antonio looked from one to the other. "What kind of proof would you need?"
"A body…maybe…"
Antonio nodded.
"If anyone wants to back out of this now is the time to do it. I'd understand it. Rascal, you got three kids and I want to see you get back to them. I'd understand if you wanted to go on home now. It's a fact, we are gonna find him, and it's also a fact that some of us or one of us might get killed doing it. So don't hesitate if you feel you would hesitate." Wesley looked straight at Rascal when he said it.
Rascal's face reddened. He knew Wesley was aiming that at him and it angered him. He'd come all this way, and he aimed to see it through even with his own misgivings about it.
"I'm seein' it through Wes; now don't talk on it anymore." Rascal barked as he got his bed gear ready.
"Pepper, what about you…you don't have to go along with this. You could stay with Antonio 'til it's over." Wesley asked.
"I came this far, I want to see it finished too." She said her voice, steady but thoughtful.
Wesley nodded. "All right. Tomorrow and the next day are gonna be tough. I just wanted you all to know and understand it."
After everyone ate, it was quiet in camp. Too quiet. Pepper couldn't sleep she was walking about the camp and trying to settle her own nerves.
"You don't have to be there, Pepper. We'll get it done," John T. spoke just behind her.
Pepper reeled on the heels of her boots, "No…I want to be there and help if I can…"
"You realize we might have to shoot him down like a dog, don't ya?" John T. asked trying to shake her composure.
She nodded.
"Then I got somethin' to say…and its best you listen…" John T. watched her move about restlessly. "I've come to care about you…Pepper…" he began.
She stared now into his face, her bottom lip trembling.
"Aw…hell…I love ya Pepper…" he said and gathered her into his arms.
"The minute I saw you, something inside me crumbled. But I fought it. 'Cause what we are about to do…well…it's just not the time nor the place…."
She came against him, her softness mixing with his hardness. Her arms going around his waist, his going around her, and then their lips met and everything was forgotten except for that.
The kisses were soft at first, exploring, questioning. With each kiss a passion began to build between them and they pulled apart breathless, and speechless.
Their eyes met, and they smiled, she reached up on tiptoe to kiss his chin, and he claimed her lips instantly. His tongue darted to trace her lips, making her moan with pleasure. "You do the most disturbing things to me, John T.," her voice purred.
He pulled away before passion swept them away, "I want to marry you if we get out of this..." he gasp between kisses.
Reliving the warmth of his kisses, she leaned into him. "I've never felt like this before. Wanting you…so much…it's shameful."
"No it isn't, its love." He murmured between kisses.
"Hold me through the night, John T. I won't let you have me, but hold me…" she whispered.
He groaned. "I've got to keep my head on straight, you know that."
She nodded.
"I guess you'll wear that white dress after all…" he smiled as his lips came down hard and demanding on hers this time. It awakened her to the wants and needs of a woman and she wanted to be with him as badly as he did, but it wasn't possible.
Before they went back to camp, he pulled her chin around to stare into her eyes, "Promise me one thing…"
"What…" she smiled.
"When it comes time to get out of the way…you will..." he swallowed hard.
She started to kiss him again, but he dotted her lips with his finger, "Promise me…"
"Okay…I'll get out of the way…when you say…" she sighed.
"Good, now I can rest easy…"
"Give me your strength John T.," she murmured as she let him pull her against him tight. For long moments they caressed each other. Then he walked her back into the camp and she stayed beside him when he lay down, and he held her. Not touching, just holding all through the night.
Better Off Without Her (Book One of the Western Serial Killer series) Page 17