The comforting safety of their arms cocooned her in warmth even as each pulled her to and fro, checking her for injuries. The silver thermal blanket the officer had given her was torn from her within seconds as neither seemed satisfied until they'd reviewed every last inch of her. She tried assuring them she was fine short of the bumps, scrapes, and bruises. But, apparently, they had to verify for themselves, as they ignored her verbal assurances and continued scanning her from top to bottom.
She finally realized the one thing they feared asking and seemed to be checking for.
Had she been sexually assaulted? No. Gordon took perverse pleasure in torturing and killing. But something told her he hadn't raped or sodomized any of his victims. His hatred ran too deep for any kind of physical connection such as a sexual encounter.
"Miss, the inspector needs to question you now."
"He can fucking wait. Can't you morons tell she's been through enough?" Marklon hissed at the shrinking officer.
Erron bent, picked her up, and headed toward their vehicle before she stopped him.
"No, I need to talk to the inspector."
She wanted to explain the connections she'd made even if they didn't make a lick of sense.
"No, you can talk to him later, sweetie. Hell, he can come to the house and talk to you." Erron stroked her hair.
"No. Now. Before anyone else gets murdered."
The rancid images of the bloody soupy mixture in the Rubbermaid containers flooded back. Her stomach rolled. This needed to end and end now. Who else would get calls their loved ones were tortured, murdered, and possibly eaten before Gordon The Chef's reign of terror ended?
The more she reflected on the anguish he caused, the angrier she got.
"Put me down, Erron. This shit ends now."
Against their wishes, she wrangled free. She pulled on the shirt Marklon offered her. The thing fell long enough to cover all her more crucial bits, she acknowledged in relief, as she headed into the precinct.
The inspector sat with an older gentleman, and, before she even asked about him, Marklon spoke.
"Pops?"
"Eh, Marklon, my boy." The elder man limped over and embraced his grandson.
Regardless of what she'd been through, she toyed and tugged with the hem of Marklon's shirt. Not the best way to meet your boyfriend's family.
Stunned, Marklon took a moment before introducing them.
His grandfather shot them a curious stare, but stayed mum on any questions he might have had...as did the wise inspector.
The inspector requested they all take a seat.
Marklon's world was about to be rocked, and not in a good way.
After she'd gone over the location of the cave and mausoleum, she recounted the photos she'd seen. Oddly, Marklon's grandfather was the one who spoke, not the inspector who'd excused himself to issue a warrant on Gordon Michaels, as well as relay the location of the cave.
"May my grandson and I have a moment in private please?"
She didn't want to leave Marklon's side, but understood that whatever was coming was most likely quite private, details about proverbial family skeletons.
Marklon shot Erron a quick nod, she supposed of confirmation they should leave. She could tell Erron sensed something heavy coming, but, like herself, he must have understood Marklon's need for privacy and didn't push the issue.
"Take her home. Let her shower, change, and rest. She needs it. I'm sure my grandfather can give me a lift home."
Again, Marklon's grandfather gave her and Erron an inquisitive expression. Shana figured he was trying to assess what their relation to his grandson was. There had been enough massive disclosures for one day. She sure as shit didn't plan on explaining their unique relationship to Marklon's grandfather tonight.
Just as they turned to leave, Marklon called out.
"And Erron. Don't let her out of your sight. Not for anything. We just got our girl back....I don't intend on ever losing her again."
Well, it seemed Marklon had no issue opening the can of worms she thought best hid. Least for the time being.
* * * * *
"Are you okay?" Erron asked as the heat from the shower enveloped her.
She'd been cold for so long. The welcome temperature change had her drowsy.
"As much as I can be I suppose."
Strong hands massaged her shoulders and scalp, more in comfort than anything else, as her favorite loofa sponge, soaped up, ran the length of her body. If not so exhausted, she'd be a bit frisky at the intimacy.
Her eyes flickered open when the magical bathing stopped, and a soft towel wrapped about her.
Glistening naked from the shower, Erron carried her to bed. Only after depositing her in to the soft fluffy down of her comforter did he dress. As tired as she was, she admired his fine physique with appreciative eyes. Long, lean, and tanned with the perfect amount of golden-hued hairs running the chiseled gauntlet of his body. He turned and presented her with his backside, a wet shining ass a quarter would bounce off. Normally, she would have protested that he was covering it up and hiding it from view. She decided to say something about it, but, before she could, she fell into the deep pull of slumber.
A vicious anger rolled through her. Glimpses of trees, bushes, and cookie-cutter houses with neatly cut backyards came into view. A full moon lit the vision as scents of woods and fragrant water lilies assailed her.
Things around her seemed familiar, yet not. Was she having an out of body experience? She'd never had one before. Glancing down to her feet, she made out large, brown leather boots on feet not belonging to her. They were taking her somewhere, though, and fast. Images blurred and moved until she stood behind her own house, looking through the large picture window.
A loud noise had her covering her ears and looking down to find a chainsaw whirring in her astral hands. It was as if she were trapped in someone else's body, watching through someone else's eyes.
Peeping in the window, she saw Marklon and Erron who appeared quite animated over something. They were speaking heatedly, as though they were arguing or discussing an issue of utmost importance.
She wanted to cry out and warn them. Yet she stood outside the window in a blinding rage so deep rooted it had her gritting her teeth and clenching her knuckles around the vibrating handle. Confusion and despair muddled her thoughts as she fought to understand the situation.
She started shaking violently; firm hands sat upon her shoulders. Soft butterfly kisses trailed her wet face.
Wet? She glanced upwards, but the clear sky, full moon, and shining stars proved no storm lurked about.
"Shana, wake up...come on, honey, you're having a nightmare."
Through extreme grogginess, Shana fought to awaken from the nightmare which seemed so reluctant to relinquish its hold. Two worlds seemed to warp together, blending in macabre fashion until she lost sense of where she was...who she was.
"Leggo." She hissed, jerking away from the grappling hands.
"Whoa, easy baby." Erron held his hands palms up in front of her.
Even Marklon backed up a bit with stress and shock creasing his face.
She shook her head to try to clear the cobwebs, distinguish dream from reality.
"Whoa...I, I need a second. Alone."
Marklon and Erron shot each other a pained expression, but then slowly ambled from the room, casting her uncertain backward glances.
Still shaky from the dream, she padded into the bathroom to splash some cold water over her face. By the time she'd brushed the fuzzies from her teeth, she felt more like herself again. The nightmare still lingered in the recesses of her mind, but curiosity about what had transpired between Marklon and his grandfather took precedence.
She breezed through the living room and rounded the corner into the kitchen where she promptly met a mug of piping hot coffee
and worried faces. She didn't give a shit about the time being the middle of the night. She accepted the heavenly cup with shaking hands and a sigh on her lips.
Gathering her thoughts, she blew on the needed java, watched the steam roll off the back of the cup and took a hesitant sip while deciding whether to explain the nightmare or ask Marklon about what happened at the station.
Before they had a chance to pounce with questions, she jumped with her own.
"What did you find out at the station after we left?"
Marklon quirked a brow at her pointed change in subject but for the moment seemed to go along.
"Let's go in the living room for the rather long and dark story," Marklon answered.
Marklon took one of her hands as Erron grabbed her coffee and took her other.
"Wow. Living room, huh? So some big shit came out I gather?"
"Yes," both men said at the same time.
Shana curled up on the sofa between her two guys, coffee in hand, prepared to listen to more bad news but praying the son of a bitch had been found and captured while she slept.
Her memory surged, and a forgotten tidbit came back....
"Wait a fucking minute."
She jumped up and stalked about the room. There was a monitor somewhere.
"What the hell? What are you talking about?" Erron asked, confused.
"When I was in the mausoleum, right after he triggered the lights, another transmitter came on. This one showed you guys talking. Right here in our own damned living room. He's got the room bugged."
With that bit, both men leapt off the sofa, joining the frantic search. It took only a few minutes to find the camera on the bookshelf, carefully hidden behind a small potted plant.
"Son of a bitch!" Marklon snarled as his face grew serious. "You guys need to know something. It's about my grandfather's visit yesterday." Marklon flipped the off-switch to the camera.
They returned to the sofa as Marklon decided "off" wasn't enough and destroyed the camera beneath heavy, stomping feet. He paused and smashed three more times before being satisfied he'd pulverized it. Through his fitted, black Henley, just visible under his shoulder-length dark hair, muscles bunched from the obvious tension he carried. Even his steps returning to the sofa were stiff, deliberate, and angry.
"What is it? What's happened to cause that look on your face?" Shana asked.
She nervously stood as he approached. Erron did as well. They each took a hand and pulled him down into the sofa with them.
"My grandfather came to warn us the second he caught wind of the killings. My father had a stroke learning about it all."
"Oh, God, baby—" Shana began.
Marklon put up a hand and cut her off.
She realized then he needed to get it all out before they spoke or he might lose it. Marklon was the strong type. He wasn't the sort of guy to lose it in front of anyone, at least not intentionally.
"I told you both my mother left us when I was only a few years old. Apparently, she'd been having an affair, and, when my father caught her, he threatened divorce. Hell, I don't think he'd have done it. I found some old letters once. He loved her. Loved her like mad. Deeply so, but she believed his threat and ran to her lover."
He broke from their hold to stand and pace the floor.
"He loved her though he knew she wasn't right in the head. Grandfather said that she'd always seemed a bit off. Had a real mean streak in her, but after the pregnancy with me, it worsened. Pops refused to acknowledge it. He somehow always kept her calm and made excuses for the times he didn't. She reacted to him and his calming energy."
His pause and faraway look had Erron gently urging him on.
"She had an affair with the mayor," Marklon continued. "Only he wasn't mayor back then. He knocked her up and tossed her to the curb. She'd returned home to her religious zealots of parents, whose idea of lessons in propriety apparently pushed her over the edge. She took her own life shortly after my half-brother was born."
Since Marklon was all about family, she knew he hadn't known previously of this brother or else she and Erron would have heard of him. Shana couldn't help but wonder why his grandfather and father kept him a secret from Marklon.
"As if screwing up one child wasn't bad enough, apparently they fucked another up. My brother."
The phone rang and Erron, who was closest, answered.
"Marklon, it's the inspector."
Erron handed the phone over.
"Hello, this is Marklon. What'd they find?"
Pause.
"So, my brother is still at large. What about his grandparents? Were you able to speak with them? Get any insight?"
Pause.
"Murdered! Both?"
Erron stood just at his side listening intently to Marklon's side of the call. Something about how they were standing struck an eerie chord with her. A sense of déjà vu washed over her, and the hairs on her arms rose. The urge to vomit struck out of nowhere. She raced for the toilet after making a gesture for Erron to stay with Marklon.
In the middle of heaving, it occurred to her why the scene looked familiar.
It was from her nightmare!
She forced herself up from hugging the porcelain, wiped her mouth, and started for the bottle of mouthwash when the lights went out. Grabbing the large candlestick that sat on the vanity by the tub, she steeled herself against the fear rooting her feet to the spot where she stood.
Erron muttered something, and Marklon cursed.
"Shana, where are you?" they called frantically.
She started to tell them, but then stopped. If Gordon was outside or, by the sound of what she presumed to be the shattering glass doors, inside, it was best he not know her whereabouts. In the nightmare she'd only seen the guys, not all three of them. That might give her the upper hand.
She shut her eyes tightly to allow them time to adjust to the darkness. Once they had, she quietly made her way toward the living room. The sounds of the guys fumbling around for the breaker box gave comfort before an awful thud followed.
"Erron, what happened?"
Silence.
"Erron?"
Bumps and curses alerted her to Marklon's location as he called out for Erron himself. Another horrible thump issued, followed by the echo of a body hitting the floor. Her heart raced. She knew she had to do something quick to save her guys. Suddenly, she remembered the syringes and meds left from Erron's battle with cancer. It was the only idea she had. Hell, the meds might be bad by now, but she'd run across the old box under her bed spring cleaning. She'd set it aside for proper disposal just a few days ago.
She inched her way toward the bedroom crawling quietly on all fours until she reached the box. She loaded one of the syringes with a heavy dose of morphine. Enough to ensure he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.
"Oh, pretty, where are you, dear whore?"
That's right, asshole, keep talking, she thought. His calling out for her clued her in to his location.
Soft footsteps sounded into the opened guestroom doorway. She had to time this perfectly. Just as she aligned herself for the best strike zone, headlights shot through the opposite window, illuminating her as she crouched for attack.
Gordon whirled in time to see the syringe she held being brought down and knocked it out of her hands. It slid over to the nightstand. She kicked outwards with all her might, trying to trip him up and take him down, but somehow he'd managed to keep his footing. She dove headfirst through the doorway, toward the living room, but he snagged her ankle at the last moment. He yanked her back into the guest room, and she fought to keep from getting pinned. His hands snaked into her hair as he cruelly twisted it around his fist jerking her backwards. It was about then she realized the pounding booming around them wasn't from her heart or head, but the front door!
He cut off her attempt
at a scream by clamping a large hand over her mouth. She twisted and turned frantic to break from his grasp and scream for help.
The thunderous sound of wood splintering was music to her ears. She didn't really care who destroyed her door so long as they got their asses in fast. Had whoever been at the back of the house, they could have entered via the broken sliding glass doors.
"Is anyone here?" a voice rang out. If she wasn't mistaken, the voice belonged to none other than Officer Hurly himself.
Bucking wildly, she tried to shake Gordon off. The cracking sound came first, the exploding pain in her jaw a second later. She hit the floor face first, then lay there immobile. Even in the darkness, everything spun around her, but she knew he'd left the room. She tried to shout a warning, but even opening her jaw hurt a fragment, caused blinding pain.
"Lo—oo—k out," she croaked, not sure if she'd been loud enough.
Violent scuffling, curses, and grunts, coupled with not knowing who had the upper hand in the fight she heard sank her hopes of being rescued. What if Gordon was pummeling the officer? Had Marklon or Erron, whom she assumed had been knocked unconscious, awoken? Was Gordon attacking them? She pulled herself upright, found the syringe, and limped toward the battle sounds. Shana could barely make out what was happening in the dark of the house, but she thought she saw Officer Hurly being struck down and then Gordon menacingly turning and leaning over the still form of Marklon.
Deep within her, something from a dark, recessed corner only visited when the most basic of human survival instincts of kill or be killed kicked in. With a fury of adrenaline, she charged Gordon, jamming the syringe in his carotid artery before slamming the plunger down.
He whipped around, and, through the moonlight, she had the pleasure of catching the shock and outrage on his face. He managed three fumbling steps toward her with outstretched arms. He reached for her, while she two-stepped it backward, smiling and shooting him the bird as he fell over.
She raced to Marklon's side and felt for a pulse. In the darkness, she couldn't do much to help him, so, after kissing his cheek, she made her way blindly to the laundry room. Tripping over the cordless phone en route, she snatched the phone and continued toward the breaker box. She flipped the switch, thereby triggering the power back on. On her way back to the kitchen, she called 911.
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