Ruthless

by John Rector

  “I don’t understand.”

  “My mother wasn’t a waitress. I lied to you because I was embarrassed, and I didn’t want you to know the truth.” She reached out and tapped the page in my hand. “This is the truth.”

  I looked down at the death certificate, silent.

  Patricia told me that Abby’s mother wasn’t a waitress, and I already knew that the police had searched for her regarding the lab fire, but I didn’t know that they’d found her or that she’d died in prison.

  I decided to act surprised and keep the rest of what I knew a secret. After the way Abby reacted when we left Daniel’s house, I figured that would be best.

  “How did she die?”

  “See for yourself.”

  I read down the page. “Ovarian cancer?”

  Abby nodded.

  “How old were you?”

  “Fifteen.” She reached for the bottle, refilled my drink. “So there you have it. My mother wasn’t a cocktail waitress who had a fling with a rich guy. She was something else altogether.”

  I refolded the death certificate.

  “Why was she in prison?”

  “DUI.”

  I looked up at her, but I didn’t say anything.

  “The thing is, I know she wasn’t perfect, but I don’t care. She was a good mother and I loved her.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “It wasn’t always easy,” Abby said, waving her glass in the air. She splashed a little onto her hand, and she licked it off. “We were basically homeless a lot of the time, moving from one shitty room to another, but at least we were together. She tried so hard.”

  I slipped the death certificate back into the envelope and handed it to her. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

  Abby took the envelope, silent.

  “It doesn’t matter that she wasn’t perfect. Look how far you’ve come.” I pointed to the painting. “You found your father, and he was obviously happy to have you in his life.”

  Abby frowned. “Do you think money means anything?”

  “It means you won’t starve.”

  “It’s a distraction,” she said. “The painting, the money, it’s all there to keep you from seeing what’s truly important and what really matters.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Abby stared at me, her eyes wet and unfocused. “Survival.”

  “You won’t starve if you’ve got money.”

  “I’m not talking about food,” she said. “I’m talking about not letting those people out there win, not letting them get to you.”

  “Haven’t you already done that?”

  Abby set her glass on the coffee table, then inched closer to me. She took my hand in both of hers and leaned in close, her voice soft and slurred.

  “I’m talking about taking control, getting that drive from Patricia so they can never touch any of us again.” She held up one finger. “That is what is important.”

  I could smell the alcohol on her breath, and I turned away, squeezing her hands in mine.

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” I said. “After tomorrow it’ll all be over. You’re safe.”

  Abby frowned, then reached for her glass. “I’m not that drunk, you know.”

  “I know,” I said. “But you should drink some water, too.”

  “Do you want a glass of water? I’ll get you one.”

  She tried to stand, but it didn’t work.

  I smiled. “I’ll get it. You stay here.”

  Abby leaned back on the cushions.

  I walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. I found the glasses and filled one with tap water. As I stood at the sink, I glanced out the kitchen window and saw a dark car slow down and pass in front of the house.

  I turned off the water and stared out at the street.

  The car kept going.

  When I went back to the living room, Abby was still on the couch, but her eyes were closed. I set the glass on the coffee table, then put my hand on her shoulder and shook her gently.

  “Come on, drink some water.”

  She mumbled and turned away.

  I stood there for a minute. Then I slid my arms under her and picked her up. She was light, and I carried her down the hallway to the bedroom. When I lowered her onto the bed, she made a soft sound and rolled over.

  It wasn’t exactly the way I thought the night would go.

  I walked back to the living room, grabbed the glass of water off the coffee table, and brought it to the bedroom. I set it on her nightstand and was just about to leave when she spoke.

  “Nick?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry about all of this,” she said. “You’re a sweetheart. You deserve better.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair from her face. “It’ll be over tomorrow. We’ll get the flash drive and give it to Victor, and that’ll be it.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “We might even find out what’s on it.”

  “I already know what’s on it.”

  “You do?”

  She nodded, her eyes still closed.

  “Okay, tell me.”

  Abby took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “Redemption.”

  I sat there, watching her drift into sleep, and thought about what she’d said. I hoped she was right. I hoped the data on that drive was our way out and that once we had it, all of this would be over for both of us.

  When I was sure she was asleep, I got up, took a blanket from the foot of her bed, and covered her.

  Abby didn’t make a sound.

  I went back to the living room and stood at the window and stared out at the street while I finished my drink.

  The neighborhood was silent and still.

  I took my keys from my pocket, set my empty glass on the coffee table next to Abby’s, and then walked out into the darkness, locking her door behind me.

  25

  The dream is different this time.

  I’m in my bed, and again the figure is there, silhouetted in the doorway, watching me. Except this time I know who it is, and when she comes toward me, I’m not afraid.

  “Kara?”

  She slides over the foot of the bed, snaking her way up until her face is inches from mine.

  “How did you get in here? Why are you—?”

  Kara presses her lips against mine. I feel her tongue slip between my lips as she pulls the sheets away and climbs on top of me.

  “What are you . . . ?”

  Kara doesn’t answer, and I don’t ask again.

  I put my hands on her hips and push her down, pressing into her. Kara inhales, sharp, and we stay, neither of us moving. I can feel her breath on my skin, but when I reach out to push her hair away from her face, she sits up and moves against me, her hands flat against my chest.

  I close my eyes and arch into her. I run my hands up to her shoulders and work my way down slowly. When I touch her breasts, I stop.

  Something is wrong, and I open my eyes.

  Kara’s left breast is shriveled and rotted black.

  I make a noise deep in my throat and pull away. When I do, the skin of her breast slides off like a wet sheath in my hand.

  I cry out and try to sit up, but Kara pushes me down, her face hidden behind a veil of hair. I reach for her shoulders and try to move her, but she squeezes her legs tight and grinds against me, pushing me deeper into the mattress.

  I feel myself sinking as she moves faster, her breath pulsing in and out in short guttural moans. I try to force her off of me, but it’s too late. I can feel myself slipping into a beautiful, calm darkness, and the farther down I go, the less I want to fight.

  Drowning.

  I look up and watch her from under the surface. Except this time it’s
not Kara.

  It’s Abby.

  The left side of her chest is open, oozing wet and black, dripping down her stomach, covering us both.

  I want to wake up.

  I close my eyes and try to will myself awake, but then I feel her hands tighten on my throat, and I can’t breathe.

  I open my eyes.

  Abby is leaning over me, smiling, showing rows of tiny sharp teeth. She stares down at me, her head tilted to the side, birdlike. Then she leans in and I feel her teeth close on my cheek, digging into my flesh.

  The pain is everywhere, and I scream.

  Abby’s hand tightens on my throat, cutting off the air. I can feel the blood running down the side of my face, soaking into the sheets, and the desperate lapping of her tongue, wet and cold against my skin.

  My vision fades and the darkness creeps in.

  I don’t fight it.

  When Abby pulls back, her mouth is ringed red.

  She runs her tongue over her teeth and then presses her hands against my chest. I feel her entire body shudder as she squeezes her legs tight around me.

  Then she turns her face to the sky and roars.

  I was jolted awake.

  I felt several hands on me, pulling me up and out of bed, dragging me across the floor. I tried to fight, tried to pull away, but I was outnumbered, and I couldn’t get my legs under me.

  They carried me into the living room. Victor was standing next to the kitchen table. He took one of the chairs and slid it across the floor to the middle of the room, then took a plastic zip tie from his pocket.

  “No,” I said. “Wait.”

  I fought, but they pushed me down onto the chair. For a second I managed to break their grip, and I hit one of them across the face with an elbow. The sound he made gave me hope, but it didn’t last.

  Someone hit me in the center of the chest, and everything inside of me twisted and cramped. I dropped to one knee, struggling to breathe.

  They didn’t give me a chance.

  The men lifted me into the chair and bent my arms behind my back. Victor handed one of them the zip tie, and he wrapped it around my wrists, securing it tight.

  I knew I should be scared, but I wasn’t.

  I was furious.

  The cramping in my chest started to fade, and my breath came back a little more. I wanted to fight, but I couldn’t move. I screamed at them to let me go, but then Victor nodded, and one of the men behind me grabbed my hair and jerked my head back hard. He pushed a leather strap into my mouth, securing it around my head.

  Then he leaned in and whispered, “You’re going to want to bite down.”

  The words settled cold inside me, and I looked up at Victor, who stepped closer and crouched in front of me.

  “Hello, Nick.”

  I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing and tried to stay calm.

  It worked for a moment, but it didn’t last.

  “I’d hoped after our last talk that you understood what was expected of you.” Victor bit the insides of his cheeks. “I thought I’d made myself clear when I said midnight, but I realize now that I was too subtle.”

  I tried to speak, tried to explain everything to him, but my words were broken and muffled by the strap.

  Victor waited until I stopped talking, then asked, “Do you have the drive?”

  I didn’t want to say no, not without explaining, so I didn’t say anything.

  “Nick?” Victor’s voice was calm but cold. “It’s an easy question. Do you have the drive? Yes or no?”

  I turned to face him, but I still didn’t answer.

  Victor nodded to one of the men behind me.

  Someone reached down and grabbed my hands. I felt him straighten the middle finger on my left hand and press the back of my knuckle against the leg of the chair.

  I knew what was coming.

  I tried to tell them to stop, but they didn’t, and Victor watched, silent.

  I bit down on the leather strap as the man behind me held my hand against the leg of the chair and pushed the top of my finger back hard, snapping the bone at the knuckle.

  The pain was shocking.

  When I opened my eyes, the room was spinning, and I had to hold my breath to keep from throwing up.

  Victor’s eyes never left mine.

  “This seems bad, doesn’t it?” He studied me. “Unfortunately, I need an answer. The good news is that I’m only going to ask the question nine more times. After that?” He paused. “Well, we’ll just have to see.”

  My head was down, resting on my chest.

  “Are you still with us, Nick?”

  I looked up at him, the room still spinning around me, and started repeating the same word over and over.

  “Tonight.”

  It sounded muffled and weak behind the leather strap, but I didn’t stop until Victor looked past me and nodded.

  I felt a rush of panic and adrenaline rage through me, and I fought hard, twisting in the chair, screaming. It wasn’t until someone loosened the leather strap that I started to calm down.

  Once the strap was off, I started talking. I told them everything. When I finished, Victor stood up and paced the room. I could see his lips moving, but there was no sound.

  All I could do was wait.

  “Mr. Ellis will stay with you until the time comes to meet the woman.” He stopped pacing and faced me. “We will escort you to her, and then you will deliver the new drive directly to me. Is that understood?”

  I nodded.

  “There will be consequences if you fail.”

  “I won’t fail.”

  Victor stared at me for a moment longer, then said, “Cut him loose.”

  I felt a cold blade slide under the zip tie, followed by a quick movement, and then I was free. I held my hand in my lap and looked down at my twisted finger.

  My stomach lurched, and I turned away.

  Victor started for the door, and everyone but Ellis followed. Before he walked out, he stopped and turned back.

  “Don’t make me regret this charity, Nick. My patience is truly at an end.”

  “I’ll get it,” I said.

  And this time I meant it.

  26

  I filled a plastic bag with ice, then took a roll of duct tape from the drawer in the kitchen and went into the bathroom. Ellis stood by the front door, his hands folded in front of him, watching me.

  I ignored him.

  There was an expired bottle of Percocet in the medicine cabinet, and I tapped the last three pills out into my hand. I swallowed them one at a time, hoping they were still good, and then I leaned against the sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

  I’d seen better days.

  I looked down at my twisted finger, then opened the bag of ice and slipped my hand inside. I tore away three strips of duct tape with my teeth while I was waiting for my finger to go numb, and I lined them up along the edge of the sink.

  When I felt ready, I reached for the hand towel on the rack and wrapped it around my broken finger. Then I took a deep breath and pulled, straightening my finger with one quick, hard movement.

  The room flashed, and I eased myself down, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and cradling my broken finger in the towel. My eyes were watering, and my stomach was rolling. I kept my eyes closed and focused on my breathing, trying to not throw up.

  A minute later Ellis came around the corner and stood in the doorway.

  I looked up at him. “Fuck off.”

  He stood there for a moment longer, then turned away.

  Once he was gone I unwrapped my finger. It was straight enough, but the knuckle was off center and turned slightly toward my thumb. I thought about trying again but decided once was enough.

  I pulled the strips of tape from the sink one by one an
d taped my middle finger to my ring finger. Then I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and waited. My head felt light, but that was a good sign. It meant the Percocet was kicking in. I told myself that I should eat, but the thought of food made my throat clench.

  All I wanted to do was sleep.

  I reached out for the sink and used it to steady myself as I stood. Once I had my feet under me, I walked slowly out of the bathroom. Ellis was standing by the window in the living room, but I ignored him and inched along the hallway toward my bedroom.

  The last few feet were the hardest.

  Eventually, I made it, and I eased myself back onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the room to stop spinning. I tried to keep my mind focused on Patricia and our meeting later that night, but I kept going back to all the things that could go wrong, making it hard to relax.

  After a while I felt myself start to fade.

  I didn’t fight it.

  “Get up.”

  I opened my eyes. The room was dark, and I could see the shadow of Ellis standing over me. I lifted my head and looked at the clock on the bedside table. The display flashed 12:00.

  “What time is it?”

  “Time to go,” Ellis said. “Get dressed. You have five minutes.”

  He turned and walked out.

  I gathered my strength, then sat up on the edge of the bed, waiting for my head to clear. I could feel my broken finger pulsing under the tape, and I cursed myself for not saving one of the painkillers.

  In the other room Ellis shouted, “Four minutes.”

  “Yeah, fuck you,” I said, keeping my voice quiet.

  I looked around the room for my clothes, then stood up and got dressed. My throat was rough and dry, and there was a sharp pain screaming at me from behind my eyes. I tried to ignore it.

  When I walked out of the bedroom, I went straight to the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of water, finished it, then poured another. When it was empty, I set the glass in the sink and grabbed my cell phone from the charger on the counter. There were three missed calls, all from Charlie.

  I started to call him back, but Ellis stopped me.

  “No calls.”

  I didn’t argue.