Then a solution rang crystal clear.
Chapter Seventy-Two
If he were going to unleash a barrage through the thin wall, Josie had to be completely free of potential harm. Isaac gauged the direction of his aim. The dark shape was on full alert, and Isaac suspected the least little noise might send him running.
I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch. In a seamless motion, he rotated at the hips and aligned the shotgun barrel, high enough to dispatch the man’s vitals. The trigger clicked, the firing pin struck, and a deep concussion filled the tiny room with thunder. It blew a silver dollar-sized hole through the brittle timber.
A frantic holler immediately followed. Isaac manifested outside the hut like a crack of lightning. The semi-auto shotgun had already loaded the next shell into the chamber and was ready to fire again.
R.E.D. was curled on the ground, his rifle negligently dropped two feet away. The lead discharge had passed through the dry-rotted logs, entered his tissue by way of shattering the right shoulder blade, and exited the front of his torso, just below the clavicle. The resulting aperture was the circumference of a baseball. In addition to an exorbitant amount of blood and tattered flesh, the wound was littered with fabric from his shirt and woodchips from the shack.
Isaac reached down and tossed away the rifle. R.E.D. was on his back, drawn into himself and moaning in pain. His discomfort was too great to consider fighting.
Isaac stood tall over the only person he had ever truly wanted to kill. Hate swelled in his heart, and a sense of pleasure from the man’s agony warmed his blood. He had dominated his opponent and felt powerful. He aligned the shotgun with the murderer’s face and pressed the barrel against his lips. One shell was left in the chamber. R.E.D. stopped his display of misery and froze. Isaac pushed the tip of the barrel harder until he opened his mouth and let the warm metal slide past his teeth. Both of their orbs burned hot, one with dismay, one with malevolence.
Isaac’s features fell expressionless, and Caroline filled his mind. If not for this man, she would be alive and well, a happy, vibrant child with lots to offer the world in the long years to come. He wanted to kill the bastard badly, and had he not found the leather journal, he would have gladly done so without hesitation. Now he wrestled with the notion.
In retrospect, Caroline was only a small piece of the puzzle. Numerous families across the country had lost their children to the hands of this butcher, and none had found closure or even a body to bury. Isaac flinched. To be the parent of a missing child—not knowing if she were lost or dead—had to be one of the worst feelings imaginable. When Caroline died, Isaac, Sarah, Josie, Tom, and Helen had all suffered for it. But at least they knew her fate and had a vessel to place beneath the earth.
Isaac realized he played but a single role in one scene of a much larger drama. Maybe he was the hero to finally track down the villain, but others deserved justice as much or more than he did, to stand in front of R.E.D. and watch as his punishment was carried out. Isaac stared at the agonized creature below him and waited for the scales of consequence to tip in favor of life or death.
“What’s your name?”
The man’s shoulder drained clabbered gore onto the dusty soil. He didn’t reply.
Isaac extracted the barrel from his mouth. “I have your book, and I know your initials, R-E-D. Now,” he repeated flatly, “tell me your name, or I’ll kill you and find out anyway.”
His eyes darted around, but there was nobody there, no one to help him or intervene. He was alone in the hands of an enraged captor, like his own victims had experienced.
Isaac pressed the gun to his forehead this time, finger never leaving the trigger. He shoved his foot down on the wounded shoulder. The knobby, rubber soles dug in, and the killer shouted in anguish.
Isaac’s voice was eerily calm and resolute for the circumstances. “Last chance. Tell me your name, or I end your pathetic life.”
Sadness lingered in the man’s baby blues. He was defeated and scared. “My name …” He wheezed and coughed. “Ricky.”
“Your full name.” Isaac pressed his boot down again.
“Richard!” He shouted in a torturous wail. “Shit! Stop! My name is Richard.” He moved his gaze away, seeking anything to look at besides Isaac’s black, torrid stare.
“R-E-D?” Isaac jabbed the muzzle against his forehead with enough force to break the skin.
Ricky shut his eyes and trembled. “Richard … Edgar … Doors. I live in Colorado.” He whimpered like a scolded dog. “I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me.”
The salutation on each of the three letters was crisp in Isaac’s mind. Do you like red? He actually wanted approval and validation from the girls he raped, a wretched desire for acceptance by a child. Isaac almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
The distant thump of helicopter blades cut the air. The sound came in and out with the varying strength of the wind. It was getting closer, maybe a mile or two away. He remembered engaging the personal locator beacon in his pants pocket. The signal must have been received.
“It’s not safe for you to live,” Isaac said flatly.
“Please, no! I’ll do anything you want,” he begged. Panic boiled rampantly in his voice.
Isaac removed the tip of the barrel from Ricky’s head and pressed the stock to his own shoulder. He sighted down the length of the gun and studied the face of Caroline’s murderer.
“Please,” Ricky whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not forgiven,” Isaac countered. Then he pulled the trigger.
Chapter Seventy-Three
The twelve-gauge semi-auto ejected a final shell casing onto the grass, and this time, the breech remained open. The gun was empty. A plume of dust rose from behind Ricky’s head and drifted away. His body shook from heaving sobs, and a dark, growing stain saturated the front of his pants.
Isaac considered if he might regret the decision to let him live. For months, he’d craved vengeance, but he no longer felt like he had the right. He wanted other families to find closure and have the chance to move on with their lives.
Threads of torment unraveled. Isaac roared like an enraged lion. Through pain and numerous near-death experiences, he had prevailed, and Josie was safe. All cords of composure popped, and he lost it.
He turned the empty shotgun around in his hands and gripped the barrel like a baseball bat. It ascended to a pinnacle, and he swung down with all his strength. The walnut stock collided with Ricky’s temple, knocking him out cold. Under such force, the gun dismantled itself, parts scattering in all directions. Isaac dropped the blued cylinder of the barrel. Exasperation and tears of an overwhelmed nature blurred his vision. He held his hands in front of his face—examining the palms with fingers spread wide—and wondered what they were capable of. A jerky surge of air left his lungs, and he ran both hands over his face and hair. The feeling was indescribable, like nothing he’d experienced before.
He pivoted in an agitated circle, fingers clawing into his scalp. His foot, like it had a will of its own, lurched and smashed into Ricky’s ribcage. It felt so good that he did it again.
“I hate you!” he wailed in a disembodied voice. His feet flew, possessed with frenzied rage. With each strike, he yelled, “You killed her, motherfucker. You killed her. You killed her. You killed her.”
Strings of spittle flew from Isaac’s lips. Droplets of sorrow poured down his grimy cheeks. Blood dripped from an array of wounds.
“Why … Why … Why?” he bellowed. Tears of a broken man soaked his face. Isaac lifted the sole of his hiking boot and stomped into Ricky’s groin, again and again and again. Still in a fit of violence, he straddled his chest and sent an iron fist into his jaw. “Piece of shit!”
Isaac clawed at the loose earth and filled his grip with dirt, forcefully cramming it into Ricky’s open mouth and nostrils. “Eat it, you bastard,” he demanded through gritted teeth.
It went on until he had nothing left. His legs buckled from exhaustion.
Right there, he let it all go and wept mournfully and heavily. For how long, he couldn’t say. Then he heard it. A voice called, soft and sweet, one he’d never forget. It carried on the wind and pulled him from despair.
“Josie needs you.”
Caroline? Isaac sat up and wiped his face, making brown smudges across his cheeks. He searched the sky for her, but only the big and blue stared back.
Whether an interjection from his conscience, or a true message from his beloved, he was grateful. There was still work to be done. He struggled to his feet, limped inside, and knelt over Josie. She tried to speak, but the gag prevented it. He lifted her small head and undid the grassy rope knot.
“Daddy!” she exclaimed.
Isaac hugged her tightly against his chest. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
The bright red helicopter made a big circle above them, its Search and Rescue emblem painted in white along the side. Out in the open, Isaac waved his arms in the air to signal their presence. He’d left Josie sitting against the hut. One of the walls provided a few feet of shade.
When the pilot set the bird down, he idled the engine and remained in his seat. Three other men exited the cabin door and tentatively approached.
Isaac went to step forward and greet them. Instead, he froze and raised his hands. One of the crew was a uniformed police officer with his sidearm drawn. It was pointed at the ground but ready to use if the need arose. Isaac kept his arms up as to not give any reason for confusion.
“Isaac Snow?” the officer asked from a distance.
“I’m Isaac Snow. Am I ever glad to see you guys.”
“Mr. Snow, I’m Deputy Sheriff De Leon. Where’s the medical evacuation airplane you stole?” The officer kept constant eye contact.
Shit. He’s going to arrest me.
“Down the mountain.” He used a thumb to motion in the direction he had come from. “I crash landed and ran up here.”
The policeman nodded at the other two men who wore paramedic jumpsuits and carried medical toolboxes.
They came prepared for the worst.
“I was at the airport investigating vandalized property—some of which, if I’m not mistaken, is yours—when a missing person report pulled me off.” He raised an eyebrow. “Then we get another call from the airport that says you have stolen an emergency transportation vehicle to find your daughter.” He shook his head back and forth in a show of incredulousness. “Do you mind if I see some identification?”
Isaac lowered his hands and slowly extracted his wallet from a rear pocket. The olive cargo pants rode low on his waist, and he tugged them up. When he flipped open a clear flap with his driver’s license, the officer studied it.
Finally, Deputy De Leon returned the handgun to his hip holster. “Thank you, Mr. Snow. With all that’s going on, I need to make sure you are you.”
“I understand.” He gestured behind him. “Can one of you look after my little girl?” he asked the two paramedics. “Her wrists and ankles look pretty bad.”
Josie watched them from her seat in the shade.
“You’ve got her?” De Leon asked, stunned. “You really found her?” He tilted his head to glance past Isaac and saw Josie.
One of the paramedics enthusiastically hustled to her.
“Yes,” Isaac confirmed. He wasn’t in the mood to go into the story. Josie’s plight was over. Now he had Sarah to worry about. “Do you know anything about my wife?”
“I’m sorry?” he asked with evident confusion. “Your wife?”
“She’s at a hospital in Albuquerque. Has any word come through? I’m friends with the chief of police in Ruidoso, Charlie Biddle. He’s supposed to be checking on it for me.”
“Apparently I don’t know near enough.” He shifted on his feet. His eyes roamed the landscape. “So where’s the kidnapper?”
Isaac pointed to a motionless lump hog-tied on the ground. Officer De Leon had been so preoccupied that he hadn’t noticed the brutally wounded man. He wasted no time redrawing his pistol. Without a word, he trotted off toward Ricky.
The second paramedic pointed to the worst of Isaac’s injuries. “Is that a bullet wound?”
“Just a graze.” He shrugged.
The mobile medic moved in and leaned over. “That’s a considerable amount of damage for a graze.”
Isaac didn’t respond.
“What’d you do to your head?” he asked about the self-applied gauze wrap.
“Cut it when I crashed the plane.”
He sidestepped and opened the way for Isaac to walk. “C’mon. Let’s sit in the chopper, and I’ll clean those up. I need to get a closer look.”
Inside the helicopter, the circulating air was cool on his exposed torso. He sat patiently, drifting into a zone as the man worked. The other paramedic was still tending to Josie. Isaac watched him ask her questions and wrap soft bandages around the damage. Once finished, the EMT carried her over, gently lifting her inside. She sat down in the seat next to her father.
“How is she?” Isaac asked.
“Well, she has the nastiest rope burns I’ve ever seen. Her hands and feet are fine, but they’ll probably be sore for a few days.” He gestured toward her ankles. “She says the Achilles tendons on both legs hurt. I’m sure they’ll want to get X-rays in town, but it’s most likely just severe bruising.” He reached up with a latex-gloved hand and smoothed the glob of salve he’d applied to her raw mouth and cheeks. “In no time at all, her smile will be as good as new.”
Isaac’s paramedic lifted Josie’s legs and shoved a stack of pillows and blankets under her feet. “Keep that under there on the ride back. They need to stay elevated.” He then tapped the pilot’s shoulder in the cockpit.
A man in Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses turned and gave the thumbs-up sign.
“Pete here will take you back to Taos. From the looks of it, you two fared way better than the other guy. We’re going to stay and see to him.” He gave Isaac a knowing grin. “They’re ready and waiting for you at the hospital.” He jumped out of the helicopter, took hold of the door latch, and went to close it.
“Wait.” Isaac leaned out. “There’s a cabin down the hill.” He pointed to the trail that would lead them. “Tell Deputy De Leon he should see it. Also, there’s a leather journal in that building.” He moved his outstretched finger to the hut where Josie was held. “There.”
“Will do,” he agreed. “If I’m not mistaken, the FBI is already on the way.”
Isaac nodded. He understood perfectly well that the whole place was about to be one massive crime scene. Their injuries were almost lucky breaks. It enabled them to leave and delay talking to the investigators. Otherwise, they might have been forced to stay and go through the lengthy process of statements and interrogation. Both needed a modicum, at least, of medical attention. And more importantly, they had to find a ride to Albuquerque.
The paramedic winked at Josie and slid the door shut. He gave it two hard pats with his hand and began walking to where the deputy stood over Ricky.
Pete applied power to the engine. Soon after, the chopper was back in the air. It banked to the north and picked up speed.
All Isaac could think of was Sarah.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Taos Medical Clinic used a vacant lot across the street as their helipad. A sidewalk ran into the middle of the landing area where it connected with a square, cement pad. A giant “H” adorned the center mass. The helicopter hovered and sat down on its mark.
From overhead, Isaac peered out the window. Two law enforcement officers stood in the street. He undid his harness. Next, he unbuckled Josie. Her feet still rested on the heap of pillows. The swelling in her calves was less severe than before, but the bruises around her ankles had darkened. She had to be in a considerable amount of pain. Other than signs of mild discomfort though, she never let on or fussed.
Pete the pilot opened the hatch. He hauled Josie from the seat and gingerly laid her on
a gurney that a group of medical staff had shown up with. Helen was with them. She stayed out of the way, looking on with both hands cupped over her mouth and nose. Isaac gave her a weak yet encouraging smile. She shook her head in disbelief and turned her attention to Josie.
He wondered how his mother must have felt over the course of the morning. After giving her account of the Highway 68 incident, it must have felt like an endless wait.
The team of people carrying Josie started back across the lot to the clinic. Helen followed the huddle closely.
“Mr. Snow?” The gentle voice came from a nurse with a second assemblage of staff and another gurney. “Let’s get you on here and inside.” She reached up, offering Isaac support.
“I’m fine,” he confidently replied. He tugged on a handle, steadied himself, and hopped three feet to the ground. His legs were stiffer than he’d presumed.
Pete stood nearest, mirror lens aviators glinting, fully prepared to catch him if he lost balance. There was no need, but he did notice Isaac’s cheek crinkle as his feet hit the hard concrete surface. “You sure you’re okay? You might as well let them carry you.”
“No, no.” Isaac straightened his posture. Every muscle in his body was suddenly noticeable. “I’m just not as flexible as I used to be.” And it was true. Only a couple hours earlier, he had been much more flexible, but that was before he’d succumbed to electroshock therapy, crash landings, high-altitude mountain sprints, and bullet holes.
Another nurse shook her head at his stubbornness. Blood had soaked through the fresh layers of gauze. “You’re lucky to be alive, Mr. Snow. That’s what you are.”
Isaac started walking, refusing all attempts at assistance. Standing there and arguing was no way to pass the time. Up ahead, Josie had already crossed the street. The two cops he had seen from the chopper stood in the middle of the road, prepared to stop any traffic that might happen along.
First Night of Summer Page 24