Tom stayed silent.
Torble leaned back as far as his shackles allowed him. Tom couldn’t understand how the man wasn’t sweating. Tom himself felt like he’d dressed quickly after a particularly hot shower.
“My lawyer pressed for the insanity defense. Said we might persuade the jury that Butler House drove me crazy, based on its notorious reputation. That the devil was perched on my shoulder, whispering things in my ear. Tell me, is it insane to give your wife boiling water enemas? That was one way I punished her if she didn’t help with the whores. Also, I have to tell you, as far as gaining spousal compliance goes, nothing beats a sturdy pair of pliers.”
Breathe in, breathe out. Remain calm.
“Did Butler House drive you crazy, Gus?”
“Do you know how certain places have an energy to them, Detective? A vibe? Take this shithole, for instance. I bet, when you were driving up to the prison, you could feel the despair. The hopelessness. The desperation. I bet, if you closed your eyes and tried to tune into your senses, you could tell you were in a prison, even if you didn’t know. Care to try it?”
Tom wasn’t going to close his eyes in front of this loon. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“You want my opinions, but you don’t offer yours. That’s not very sociable.”
Tom breathed out. “Yeah, this feels like a prison.”
“Well, Butler House also has an energy. And I’m betting you haven’t been there, because you’d immediately know what energy I’m talking about.”
“What kind of energy, Gus?”
“That house feels evil. It exudes it, like a bog steams on cool nights. Terrible things have happened there, going back almost two hundred years. And terrible things will continue to happen there, as long as it stands.”
“Did you ever see anything supernatural while you were living there?”
“Do you mean ghosts, Detective?”
“I mean anything at all.”
“Have you ever seen anything supernatural?”
Tom has seen plenty of strange things, some practically impossible to comprehend. But the closest he’d gotten to anything supernatural was the writing on his bathroom mirror.
“Maybe,” Tom said.
“I had this one hooker, name was Amy. Sixteen years old, sweetest little smile on her. I started on her legs, using a branding iron, working my way up. I came back down to the chamber the next day, her chest is all branded. Someone wrote the word BITCH on it. But here’s the stinger. It wasn’t me. I didn’t brand that word on her. It wasn’t my wife, either, because she was in the punishment box. And I don’t think sweet little Amy did that to herself. That’s just one of many unexplainable things that happened at Butler House.”
“Is Butler House haunted, Gus?”
Augustus Torble smiled, and it was an ugly, twisted thing. “If ghosts and demons really do exist, Butler House is where you’ll find them.”
Despite the heat, Tom shivered.
“Do you know anything about experiments being done at Butler House?” he asked. “Tests?”
“What sort of tests?”
Tom didn’t answer, instead waiting for Gus to fill in the silence. The seconds ticked past.
“In prison, you hear things,” Gus finally said. “Things about the government, trying to cure soldiers of their fear. Let me tell you something, Detective. I know fear. I’ve seen it, up close. When you come at someone with a scalpel, and look them right in the eyes as you slip it into their thigh, you can witness fear in its purest, freshest form. And if they could come up with a cure for that, it would be quite a trick indeed.” Gus winked. “But it would also ruin a lot of fun.”
“So you’ve heard about a program like that?”
Torble shrugged. “I’ve heard lots of things.”
“Have you heard about any connection between government experiments and the Butler House.”
“I’ll answer that, but first I want you to answer something for me, Detective. What do you know about fear?”
Without being able to prevent it, Tom thought back to when he had first met Joan. What they’d gone through together in Springfield. The maniacs that tried to kill him. The horrors in the basement.
“Yes,” Torble said, studying him. “You know fear. But unfortunately for you, I cannot confirm nor deny any connection between government experiments and Butler House. But I can show you something that might surprise you. Interested?”
Tom offered a slight nod.
Torble grunted, then began to shake all over. His face turned deep red, the veins in his neck bulging out. Tom was wondering if the guy was having a stroke, or a heart attack. He was about to call for the guard when, quite suddenly, Torble’s hand slapped onto the metal table between them with a BAM! His bleeding wrist still had the cuff on it, but the chain that had wound around his waist was broken.
“I SEE YOUR FEAR!” Torble thundered as the guards rushed in and pounced on him. “YOUR FEAR WILL BE THE DEATH OF YOU, TOM!”
Torble was tackled, pinned to the table while screaming incoherently, and Tom stood up and moved back, too surprised to speak. Another guard escorted him out into the hall, leading him to the exit.
Tom wasn’t sure what he’d actually come here to learn, and wasn’t sure he’d learned anything. Maybe Torble knew something. Maybe he was just a nut who got his jollies trying to scare cops.
If that was the case, it worked. Tom was thoroughly mortified. Not because of his crazy admissions to atrocious deeds. Tom had met plenty of terrible specimens of humanity. Not because he broke his shackles. That was surprising, but not unprecedented. It was well known that people on drugs, or just insane in general, could snap handcuffs.
No, what bothered him most was what Torble had said. Potter had stated Torble hadn’t known Tom was coming.
Yet, somehow, without being told, Torble had called Tom by his first name.
Outside of Charleston, South Carolina
Sara
“Do something, Frank,” Sara said. “It’s suffering.”
They were staring at the side of the road. On the asphalt, in the middle of a small spattering of blood, a cardinal was twitching its broken wing.
“It’s dead, Sara. That’s just a reflex. It hit our windshield going over seventy miles an hour.”
“Are you sure.”
“Yes yes yes. But if this makes you feel better…”
Sara looked away as Frank stomped hard on the cardinal with a sickening crack.
She immediately dug her hand into her purse, locking her fingers around one of the miniature bottles of Southern Comfort. Her buzz was wearing off, and the situation wasn’t improving. They’d tried calling for another cab, but none would take them to the Butler House. Frank was in favor of going back to the airport and renting a car, but their bags were in the cab’s trunk, which wouldn’t open. After hitting the bird, the car swerved off the road and the tail end smacked into a tree. They had to wait for the tow truck driver to arrive with tools to open the back.
Just one sip. To make the fear go away.
She released the bottle. Sara knew she used alcohol to cope. But she refused to believe she was dependent on it. Also, she was starting to like the odd, soft-spoken Dr. Belgium, and wanted to stay relatively clear-headed because she enjoyed his company.
It had been a long time since she enjoyed anyone’s company. After what happened on Plincer’s Island, Sara was certain she’d never trust a man again. But there was something about Frank that was, well… frank. He seemed kind, sincere, and even kind of cute. She didn’t even mind the odd way he spoke, repeating words.
But most important of all, he made Sara feel safe. If she’d been alone in the cab when they hit the cardinal, she would have been hysterical and drinking SoCo like water. But Frank’s presence soothed her. Maybe because he lived through a hellish experience, like she had. Or maybe it was just chemistry.
Sara took her hand out of her purse, and tried to seem nonchalant about it when she placed it in Frank’
s. He glanced at her, his eyes widening. But his fingers clasped softly around hers, and all thoughts of drinking slipped from Sara’s mind.
“Thanks for doing that,” she said.
“I could, um, step on it a few more times, if you want.”
“That’s okay. This is really forward of me, Frank, but are you seeing anyone?”
“No. I haven’t… I… it’s been a very long time, Sara.”
“For me, too.”
As Sara stared at him, it occurred to her she’d forgotten how to flirt. She wondered how she looked, no make-up, hair probably a fright. She also wondered how Frank would react to the fact she had a child. Sara hadn’t tried to date anyone recently, but she guessed most men wouldn’t be interested in a pre-made family.
“I have a son,” she blurted out. “Jack. Would you like to see a picture?”
She watched his eyes, searching for any hint of rejection.
“Of course,” he said.
Sara reached into her purse with her free hand, took out her wallet. The only picture in it was of Jack, in his high chair, smiling and eating strained peaches.
“He’s adorable. And his father?”
Sara shook her head.
“I don’t mean to pry, but that painting on the wall behind him,” Frank said. “Is that Van Gogh’s Portrait of a Woman in Blue?”
“It’s a fake. Long story. I thought it was real. But the real one is in a museum in Amsterdam.”
“I’d like to hear that story someday.”
“I’d like to tell it someday. Maybe when we’re done with the weekend. Where do you live, Frank?”
“Pittsburgh. You?”
“Michigan. Near the coast.”
“Which coast?” Frank asked, holding up his left hand with his fingers together and his thumb slightly out.
Sara smiled. Because Michigan looked like a mitten, that was how residents showed where they lived. She touched the base of his index finger.
“So who is taking care of Jack while Mom is off visiting haunted houses?”
“After… what happened to me, I was having some trouble coping. Jack was taken by social services. I haven’t seen him in six months.”
“I’m sorry.” Frank gave her hand a squeeze. “I can’t even imagine what that must be like.”
“That’s why I’m here. If I get the money, I can hire a lawyer, get my son back.”
“Are you well enough to care for him?”
The question pinned Sara there as surely as if she’d been staked to the ground. Was she well enough? Her recent behavior didn’t indicate she was. If anything, she’d gotten worse since they took Jack away.
So how do I respond? Bravado? Lie so I don’t look like a bad person?
Or the truth?
Frank seemed patient. Understanding. Sara didn’t know if anything would become of this chance meeting, but she didn’t want to start their relationship with lies. Even if it made her look weak.
“I don’t think I am well enough, Frank. But right now, my hope is gone, because it isn’t possible to get him back. If I had some hope again, I think I could pull myself together.”
Frank nodded, slowly. “I don’t know you at all. But—and this is odd—I I I feel I do. You remind me of a woman I know named Sunshine Jones.”
Sara raised an eyebrow. “Former girlfriend?”
“No. I worked with her, every day, and never had a chance to tell her how much I thought of her. Bright. Tough. Pretty. She had this indefatigable spirit. I think you do, too.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it.”
“What happened to Ms. Jones?”
“She married someone else. It was best. He’s a good man. But I always wonder what might have happened if I just just just… tried.”
“Sometimes trying is the hardest thing in the world.”
“I know a little something about hope, Sara. But I don’t think you’ve given up yet. I think you’ve just been kicked really hard.”
Sara really wished that was true. “Why do you think that, Frank?”
“Because I’ve been kicked pretty hard, too.”
She moved a little closer to him, trying to read his eyes. Frank Belgium had the kindest eyes Sara had ever seen.
Then a car pulled up next to them, and a guy yelled through the window.
“Everyone okay?”
“Yeah,” the cabbie said. He was leaning up against the crumpled trunk of the car, smoking a cheap stogie.
“Does anyone need any help?”
“No no no,” Frank said, smiling at Sara. “We’re doing fine.”
The man began to pull away when Sara yelled, “Wait!”
The car stopped, then backed up.
“Do you have a crowbar?” Sara asked.
“It’s a rental. There’s probably one.”
“Our luggage is stuck in the trunk. Can you give us a hand?”
He continued backing up until he was behind them, then pulled over to the side of the road. When he exited the vehicle, Sara saw he was tall, over six feet, moderate build with longish light brown hair streaked with gray. He opened his trunk, poked around for a bit, and found a crowbar.
The taxi driver spat on the street. “Hey buddy, you touch my cab with that, I’ll call the police.”
“I am the police,” the man said, producing a badge.
The cabbie shrugged.
“Thanks so much,” Frank said. “Several cars have passed, but you’re the first one to stop.”
“What happened?”
“Bird flew into the windshield.”
The cop eyed the dented trunk. “Must have been one helluva bird.”
“I’m Frank,” he offered his hand, which the cop shook. “This is Sara.”
“Tom. Nice to meet you both.”
Tom pressed the flat end of the crowbar between the trunk lid and the fender, and gave it a fierce twist. It instantly popped open.
“Thanks, Tom.” Sara reached into the grab her bag, grateful it was dry. She had two more bottles of Southern Comfort in it, and a leak would have been both embarrassing, and worrying. If she was going to be involved with a fear experiment, she wanted to have liquor nearby.
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Frank said. “But would you mind taking us back to the airport to rent a car? I’ll pay you for your time.”
“I’m kind of running late,” Tom said. “Can’t you call a cab?”
“We’re going to a place cabs are afraid to go,” Sara chimed in. “It’s called Butler House.”
“In Solidarity?”
“You know it?” Frank asked.
“No. But that’s where I’m headed. Some kind of fear study.”
“So are we,” Frank said. “Would you mind if we tagged along?”
“Not at all.”
“Sara?” Frank turned to her.
She really liked that he asked her opinion. “Can I see your badge again?”
Tom offered his star.
“Chicago,” she said.
“The Windy City. I’m a detective.”
Frank appraised him. “Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Thomas Jefferson?”
“I may have heard that once or twice. You guys coming along?”
Sara handed his badge back. “Thanks, Tom. I think we will.”
Tom held out his hand to take Sara’s bag, and he placed it and Frank’s in his trunk along with the crowbar.
“Would you like the front front front seat, Sara?” Frank asked.
He was doing the nice thing by offering, but still looked slightly disappointed. Sara thought it was adorable.
“Thank you, Frank. But would it be okay if I sat in the back with you?”
Frank nodded several times in rapid succession. “Of course.”
Sara looked at Tom’s rental car. It was a compact. Which meant it would be cramped in the back.
She was looking forward to it.
Deb
“You gotta be fucking me with a wet noodle.”
The woman in the rental car line ahead of Deb and Mal had pink and green hair, a mouth that would make a trucker blush, and an apparent problem with her credit card.
“I ran the card twice, Ms. Draper. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to get out of line.”
“I’ve got a five hundred dollar limit on that goddamn card, pencil dick. And a zero fucking balance. The car is only fifty bucks a day, and I’m returning it tomorrow.”
“The deposit is five hundred dollars, Ms. Draper. Unfortunately, that maxes out your credit card and leaves you nothing to pay for the rental.”
Deb felt bad for the woman. She’d been in a situation like that before.
“I’ve only got thirty bucks on me. I’m running cash poor today. Can’t you help a fucking lady out?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Draper.”
“I’ll blow you.”
The clerk did a double-take. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll take you in the guy’s shitter and suck your Slim Jim if you get me this car.”
“Uh… as romantic as that sounds, I’m married.”
“Which probably means you need head more than most.”
Mal, who had been sullen and inconsolable on the airplane, actually snickered at that and gave Deb a nudge.
She whispered to Mal, smiling. “What? I give you head all the time.”
“Once a week is not all the time, Deb,” he whispered back.
“If it were up to you, it would be every two hours.”
The rental car clerk raised his voice. “If you don’t leave the line right now, Ms. Draper, I’m calling airport security.”
Ms. Draper was seemingly unperturbed. “If you’re shy because you have a micropenis, don’t be. I’ve seen all types. It actually makes it easier for me to deep throat. And if you got a problem getting it up, I can stick my finger up your ass, work that prostate.”
The rental car guy reached for the phone on the counter.
“You know what, assbag?” Ms. Draper said. “Tomorrow I’m going to be a million dollars richer. And I’m going to buy your goddamn little car rental business here, and make you clean toilets with your tongue for six bucks an hour.”
She threw up her hands in a dismissive matter and spun around, facing Mal and Deb.
J.A. Konrath / Jack Kilborn Trilogy - Three Scary Thriller Novels (Origin, The List, Haunted House) Page 60