Revenge is Sweet (A Samantha Church Mystery, Book 2)

by Betta Ferrendelli

  Fuzz Face reached down, grabbed Wilson by the arm, and easily pulled him to his feet. He put the hood over Wilson’s head and led him the twelve paces to the bathroom. Wilson followed like an obedient schoolboy, hoping that the little white-haired man would come tonight. “I’m hungry,” Wilson said when they returned to the room.

  “Shut up,” Fuzz Face said as he removed the hood, but not before backhanding Wilson across the face, the cold slap bouncing off the walls. Wilson groaned, catching the blood from his nose that had started to fall again in his hands.

  Before Fuzz Face left the room, he tossed a couple of packages of cheese and crackers at Wilson’s feet, followed by another packaged burrito, an apple and two bottles of water. He turned and left. When Wilson heard the key turn in the lock, he yelled out, “What about some salsa?!” Then he reached for the food and ate exactly as he felt, like a condemned man.

  Seconds turned to minutes turned to hours. Wilson tried to keep his thoughts focused on planning his escape and willing that the next man to open that door would be his ticket to freedom. Wilson perked up the moment he heard someone put the key in the lock and turn. The door opened and light fell inside the room. Wilson already had his hand up to shield his eyes. This time Wilson, with food, a little rest and plenty of determination, was ready. To his relief, it was the little white-haired man. He breathed a deep sigh as he kept the look on his face neutral.

  He had been preparing himself all day for flight and the chance that Fuzz Face or the twins would return. The small room smelled like a gymnasium. Soon after Fuzz Face left, Wilson ate, got to his feet and started to exercise. His muscles screamed in pain when he started to move, but the more he exercised the better he began to feel. He stretched, did jumping jacks, ran in place and shadow boxed, anything he could to keep his muscles warm, loose and limber. Large sweat stains grew on the armpits of his white dress shirt. His gray hair matted in sweat against the sides of his head. Getting the adrenalin moving and his blood pumping rigorously again felt good. The release of endorphins made him feel ready, poised for flight.

  The little man ordered Wilson to remove his shoes. He loosely tied Wilson’s hands in front of him. Wilson stood just as the white-haired man pulled the hood over his head, before he could tie it closed. Wilson decided he would make his break when he was coming out of the bathroom. He would be next to the door and it was the only time outside this small room that he faced his captors.

  “Let’s go,” the little white-haired man said as he finished fixing the hood.

  Wilson counted his twelve paces. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest again just as it did when he exercised earlier. He took his time in the bathroom, preparing himself. He rolled his neck from side to side. Loosened the rope around his hands a little more. His mouth had gone dry and the palpitations in his chest rolled on like thunder. He knew what he had to do when he came out of the bathroom. He took one more deep breath. “I’m done,” he said.

  Moments later the door opened. Wilson pulled his hands free and ripped off the hood. He lunged at the white-haired man, grabbing him firmly around the neck. He was close enough to see the little man’s brown eyes pop, then widen in surprise. Wilson had strength he didn’t realize. He kept squeezing. He was surprised how easily his hands fit around the circumference of his smaller captor’s neck.

  Wilson wanted to keep his chokehold, but he knew he had to move fast. He pulled the little man closer to him and, at the same time, brought his knee up to the man’s groin with as much force as he could muster. The little man wailed in pain and collapsed fully into Wilson’s midsection. Wilson stepped back and let him fall to the ground, watching him as he landed hard and clutched himself, writhing in pain, yelling obscenities.

  Wilson was breathing hard and sweating. He looked in the direction of the small room, the door partially ajar. He quickly turned to his left, wrapped his hand around the knob on the closed door before him and squeezed. It turned instantly.

  One step closer to freedom.

  Wilson looked up and was surprised to see a set of stairs. It confirmed, however, what Wilson suspected that the room he was being held in was probably a basement of some sort. The door must lead outside. He could feel a draft coming from the top of the stairs. He could hear the white-haired man moan in pain above his own labored breathing.

  Wilson took the stairs two at a time, surprised at his stamina. He was running so hard and fast up the stairs that, as he reached the top, he stumbled out the door, lost his balance and fell hard to the floor. He saw the front door. He jumped to his feet and ran toward it. He flew out the door so fast that he stumbled and fell again. He smiled sincerely for the first time since his capture. Nothing tasted as sweet as the thin night air that hit him square in the face as he landed with a thud. The fall momentarily knocked the wind out of him.

  Moved by fear, adrenalin and the taste of freedom Wilson struggled but quickly got to his feet, his clothes full of dirt. He looked left and then right. The quiet residential street looked deserted in every direction. He started to run. Nothing around him looked familiar, but he just kept running, feeling the wet earth instantly soaking his socks. He looked up. The sky was gray and a light rain hit his face. The fresh air and cold rain surged through his body, giving him a jolt of energy as he ran. He picked up speed.

  He was running now on what looked like a two-lane county road. It was empty and he didn’t hold out hope that there would be much traffic. He didn’t know how long he’d have to run before he found help. But he wouldn’t stop. He prayed each time his feet hit the ground he was heading in the right direction.

  His lungs began to burn as he took in large gulps of air. He slowed down to prevent hyperventilating. He tried desperately to ignore the pain he felt on the bottom of his feet every time he stepped on a rock. Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Keep running!

  Suddenly the dark road became light. Wilson looked over his shoulder. A shiny black sedan was barreling toward him, the beams from the headlights illuminating the tall trees that lined the road. He could hear the engine roaring as the car got closer. It was getting hard to breathe. Wilson looked ahead for a place to hide, taking his attention off the ground in front of him. Just as he stepped down with his right foot, an all encompassing pain, shot through his foot. It traveled the length of his leg until it reached his mouth forcing Wilson to shout out in agony.

  His run slowed to a hobble. He looked down at his foot. It was too dark to see anything, but Wilson could feel something warm fill his sock. The black sedan was closing in. Wilson tried to keep running, but the pain was too great. He could feel something hard pressing deeper in his foot every time he stepped down. He stepped on his foot a final time, and overcome by pain, fell hard to the ground. The black sedan reached him in a matter of seconds. The rain was falling harder against his face. Wilson looked up in time to see Fuzz Face standing over him with the nightstick. It was the last sight he saw as darkness overcame him.

  Wilson woke hours later staring into a dimly lit bare bulb protruding from the ceiling. He was groggy, but knew he was in a different room. His head, shoulder and right foot throbbed. The pain was indistinguishable and he didn’t know which hurt more. His clothes and socks were wet from running in the rain and he was shivering. It took several attempts to get to a sitting position. He felt nauseous from the pain and trauma he had put his body through. Can’t take much more of this.

  He looked down at his clothes. His white shirt was covered in mud and he noticed a large tear in one of his pant legs just above the knee. Wilson ran a hand through his hair and pulled out little particles of earth, pebbles, weeds and small sticks. As he did, he looked up, his attention captured by something else in the room. He was startled when he realized he wasn’t alone. He had been so absorbed by his pain that he failed to notice another presence in the room.

  There she was; sitting Indian style on the floor, her slight frame taking up only the smallest section of the room. She was sitting on a thin mattress the s
ame as his. Her hands were folded neatly and resting in her lap. Her eyes were wide and blue and she wasn’t smiling. A strand of her brown hair had pulled away from her ponytail and was dangling in front of her right eye. She was sitting casually, almost appearing poised and not the least bit concerned that she may have been kidnapped.

  Though Wilson had never once met the little girl, he knew her from stories her mother had told him and the many pictures he had seen. It could only be one person who had been watching him as he struggled to a sitting position.

  Twenty-four

  Wilson had not spoken in hours and his raspy attempt at words sounded unintelligible even to him. He cleared his throat and tried again, smiling at the little girl as he spoke. “You must be April,” he repeated.

  April nodded and looked down at her hands folded neatly in her lap. Now that he had managed to get himself into a seated position, she was just an arm’s length away. His big frame made the little girl’s body seem even slighter. Wilson could detect a fine scent of lotion, a sweet soft smell, reminding him of lavender. He took a deep breath, enjoying the scent and sure that what April was smelling was not as pleasant.

  Wilson looked at his wrist where his watch had been, knowing of course that it was no longer there, a force of habit he couldn’t seem to break. “Do you know how long we’ve been here?” he asked, even though he could see that she too was not wearing a watch.

  April shrugged, clearly unaware of the time that had passed since her arrival.

  “I know how you feel,” he said and nodded knowingly. He thought a moment then asked, “Was I asleep when they first brought you in here with me?”

  April nodded. “I tried to wake you up, but you didn’t move at all, even when I shook you by the shoulders. I shook you hard, too. When my daddy used to take naps on the couch, that’s how I used to wake him up. Sometimes I’d have to shake him lots of times just like I did to you to get him to wake up.”

  Again Wilson nodded knowing that April’s daddy was one reason they were in this hellhole.

  April took a moment to study Wilson. “You look like Santa Claus,” she offered.

  Wilson offered a small smile and ran a hand along his beard, which was as white as, well, Santa Claus. “I’m afraid I’m not as jolly or as clean as he is right now, April,” Wilson said and he looked down at his clothes, soiled and damp from his failed escape attempt.

  He tried not to focus on the dampness, the cold he could feel beginning to seep into his bones and settle. He did his best to brush whatever dirt and debris he could from his clothes even though they were truly filthy. He raised his hands over his head and grunted from the pain and stiffness in his joints. He ran both hands several times through his thick hair. He did not want his bedraggled appearance to frighten the child anymore than he thought she already might be.

  He tried to keep his mind off the pain in his foot, which throbbed terribly. He looked up at the bare bulb protruding from the ceiling. It didn’t offer much light, but at some point he was going to have to remove his sock and he would have to do it soon. He wondered what Sam was thinking. She had to know by now that her daughter was missing. He thought of her resolve and felt ashamed of himself that he did not have more faith in her. “I’m sorry I didn’t wake up, April,” he said. “And I hope I didn’t scare you.”

  “Nope,” April said. “You didn’t.”

  Wilson smiled at the girl’s sense of sureness. “April,” he said. “Your mother probably never mentioned my name or who I am, but I’m Wilson Cole. I’m the publisher at the newspaper where your mother works. So there’s no need to be afraid of me. Okay?” Wilson spoke calmly, as though the two of them were at a park eating lunch and watching ducks swim in a nearby lake.

  “Okay,” April said and nodded.

  Wilson smiled and looked from April to around the small windowless room. The only way out would be through the door that stood directly before him. “Somehow I’m going to figure out how to get us out of here,” he said.

  He wanted to get up and try ramming it with his shoulder, but the results would be yet another area of aches and pain on his body that he didn’t need. His broken nose, sore shoulder and foot were enough to endure for the moment. He looked at April. She still projected an image of calm. What sense of uncertainty that she may have hovered just below her surface and seemed to vanish at his words of assurance. Now he just needed to believe it. “Were you at your grandmother’s when they came for you?” he asked.

  April shook her head. “I was on the school bus going to school.”

  Wilson’s eyebrows drifted upward. “They took you off the school bus?”

  April nodded. “How come your hair is almost white?”

  Wilson absentmindedly brushed his hand through his hair. He thought a moment and then chuckled. “Well,” he said, “I guess because I’m a lot older than you. That’s why it took me so long to sit up, my bones are old and get kinda achy.”

  “How much older?” April asked and scooted a little closer to Wilson.

  “Hum,” Wilson said, putting an index finger to his lips and looked toward the ceiling pretending to be deep in thought. “Let’s see you’re at least nine right?”

  “I was nine in January,” April informed Wilson with authority.

  He went back to his thoughtful pose. “Well, if you’re nine, then that makes me almost fifty years older than you.”

  April’s eyes widened. “Wow!” she said. “That’s old.”

  “I guess it is,” Wilson said and scratched his beard. “That’s why I got lots of gray hair and this Santa Claus beard.” The room was quiet for a moment before Wilson asked, “What about the other children on the school bus, April? Weren’t there some of your classmates riding on the bus with you when those men came?”

  April shook her head. “No, I’m the first stop. Grandma Church waited until I got on the bus like she always does and then she waved at me ’til the bus went ’round the corner. After we went ’round the corner, the bus driver stopped the bus and these two guys got out of a car that stopped right by the bus.”

  “What did they do after the bus driver stopped the bus?”

  “They got on the bus after bus driver opened the door and talked to them for a few minutes. They were looking at me the whole time they were talking.”

  “What did these two men look like?”

  April shrugged.

  “Were they big guys and were there two of them?” Wilson asked, trying to coax her into remembering.

  April thought a moment then nodded.

  Wilson continued, “Did they dress like your daddy? I mean did they wear suits and ties?”

  Again April nodded. “They were dark.”

  “The suits were dark?” Wilson confirmed.

  “Yep,” April said, sure of herself.

  “Did you see their faces?”

  April nodded. “They looked the same.”

  Wilson frowned, then nodded. “You mean they looked like twins?” he asked, knowing now why he had not seen the twins in several days.

  April nodded and Wilson watched as she looked down at her hands. He noticed that she twisted and pulled at them as she spoke.

  “Then what happened?” Wilson asked, encouraging April to continue.

  “Then the bus driver looked at me in that big mirror that’s over his wheel and then he looked at the two men. Then the two men handed him some money and he took it and put it in a bag by his feet,” April’s voice drifted off as though she were replaying the moments on the bus again over in her mind.

  “I think it was a lot,” she said finally.

  “How could you tell it was a lot of money?” Wilson asked.

  “It was a big, thick bunch,” April said matter of factly and holding her hands out as if to show the size of the wad of cash. “Like the kind you see the bad guys get on TV.”

  Wilson nodded and rubbed a hand over his coarse beard. He clenched his jaw so tight the muscles on the side of his face protruded. His eyes narr
owed to slits. What Wilson was thinking he’d like to do to these people right now, he could not say aloud. Instead he said, “What did they say to get you to come with them?”

  April looked at him a moment as she thought. “They told me they were going to take me home. They said my mom said it was okay for me to go with them.”

  “To your grandmother’s house?” Wilson asked and April was sitting close enough now that he was able to reach over and gently brush the strand of hair from her eyes.

  “No,” April said and shook her head, impatiently as if Wilson didn’t understand. “Home, here.” April stressed the word here and pointed to the floor with her index finger.

  Wilson nodded understanding now. “They said they were taking you home here to Colorado? Home to where your mother is?”

  Again April shook her head with impatience. “Not mom,” she said. “Howard and Nona.”

  “To the ranch then? The twins told you they were going to take you to your grandmother’s ranch?” Wilson confirmed.

  April nodded. Her face lightened and she sat up a little taller, clearly happy with the thought of going home to the ranch to see Howard and Nona.

  “Won’t you be excited to see your mother again?” Wilson asked.

  April’s face darkened and she straightened her shoulders and crossed her arms tightly over her chest, and announced firmly, “I don’t care if I ever see my mom again.”

  Twenty-five

  Anne waited in the cool semi-darkness of the bathroom with Sam until she could collect herself and return to the newsroom.

  “Look at me,” Sam said into the mirror, primping her hair with her hands. “I’m a total wreck. But I guess I’ll fit right in here, since this is what everyone expects of me.”

  “Oh, Sam, you’re so hard on yourself,” Anne said and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. Anne watched as Sam leaned into the mirror and used the tip of a tissue to clean a smudge of makeup away from beneath her left eye. She looked at Anne in the mirror while remembering the tense conversation she had with Esther in her bedroom mirror just the day before. She did her best to smile. “Thanks, Anne,” she said. “For being a friend. I haven’t been the best person to be around lately.”