He’d give her a wake-up call she wouldn’t soon forget.
He marched across the room, heavy boots booming against the wood floor, and thrust his hand into the mop of yellow hair. Teeth clenched tight, he yanked her to her feet. She cried out, a feeble, pathetic cry. Pain. Terror. He didn’t care which.
All at once she sprang to life. Like a feral cat, she dug at his hands with her nails. Finding skin. Ripping. Slashing. He hissed.
Breath heaved from his lungs and he dragged her across the floor. Not caring if he ripped every last hair out of her stupid fucking head. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her chin, and he wrenched her jaw up high until she was staring at Kim’s lifeless form.
“See what you did? See what you did? This is your fault. All your fault, you stupid fucking bitch.”
He curled his fist and let fly. As his knuckles struck flesh, his ring ripped her skin—a bright-red gash across her cheek. She cried out, dropping to her knees, palms pressed to her face. Hot sticky blood flowed down her white skin.
She raised her hands to shield her head. He batted them away and cold-cocked her. One fierce blow to her head sent her reeling to the floor. She landed in a heap.
He kicked the cooler with all his might. It flew into the air and exploded against the wall with an earsplitting crack. Chunks of plastic rained down on the floor below. He swung back toward the girl, but she was out. A dark bruise bloomed against her pale forehead, and he wanted to hit her again. He wanted to keep hitting her until the anger ebbed from his veins, but what good would that do?
She looked like her whore of a mother and he wanted to make her suffer. She’d pay for fucking up his plans.
But not yet.
Grabbing the insulin pen off the floor, he spun the dial and plunged the needle into her leg. He pressed down on the dispenser and heard it click. Shot complete, he pulled it out, replaced the lid and dropped it to the floor. That should last her for a while.
He reached out and yanked the chain around her neck. The MedicAlert dog tags broke off in his hand. He stuffed them in his pocket.
Turning back toward the bed, he stared at Kim hanging from the rafters.
He ground his teeth together and thought about the duffel bag in the back of the cargo hold.
Then he got to work.
Chapter 33
Marissa arrived home to a dark house. A blistering headache pounded behind her eyes. She hadn’t eaten since early that morning, and she knew her body needed food. But eating was the last thing Marissa wanted to do. With her stomach tied in knots, she didn’t think she could keep anything down.
Too tired to bother turning on the lights, she shuffled into the bedroom and stripped off her clothes. Marissa let them fall to the floor and slid sideways onto the bed. She prayed sleep would come, ending this hellish day.
Her head throbbed to the slow beat of her pulse. Her eyes opened in the dark, and she stared sightlessly at the ceiling. In the silence of the empty house, the day’s events replayed in her mind like a trailer for a Lifetime movie. Brooke’s face on the missing-person poster. The call from the school. Kelly’s bruised face. And Logan.
The bed felt like a metal slab, and she rolled over onto her side, drawing her knees toward her chest. Rain pounded down on the roof, and Marissa shivered, shrouding herself in the comforter.
She tried to empty her mind, but dark thoughts flew through her brain like a flock of ravens, spiraling and twisting—dragging her to deeper and more dismal places than she’d ever been. Every mistake. Every bad moment she’d ever experienced replayed in her mind like the highlight reel of a wasted life.
Like getting pregnant at sixteen and dropping out of high school. Like everyone looking at her as if she were some kind of slut. Like her mother kicking her out of the house, saying that God would never forgive her sins. Like her back killing her after a nine-hour shift at 7-Eleven—her swollen belly sticking out for everyone to see. Like Jason screwing some waitress down at the sports bar and leaving her when Kelly was just a baby.
Rick crying after he’d hit her the first time and her forgiving him because she was stupid—because the one thing she wanted more than anything was a family. Marrying Logan, believing she’d found a happy ending at last and that she and her daughters would be safe.
All lies.
Exhaustion and sorrow pressed down on her heart, black and choking. She couldn’t make it through another day. Another day of waiting for the phone to ring. For Crawford to find Brooke. For Kelly to come home. For Elizabeth to fire her. Another day of waiting to lose everything she’d fought so hard to keep.
You reap what you sow, her mother had said, quoting Bible verses while Marissa stood pregnant with her suitcase in hand, tears streaming down her face.
Maybe her mother had been right. Maybe she deserved all the shitty things that had happened to her. Her whole life was falling apart around her, again, and it was all her fault. Again.
Her mistakes.
Her bad choices.
Alone in the house with no one to hear, she let loose a torrent of tears into her pillow until there was nothing left but the rain outside, the darkness all around, and the pounding inside her head.
Three in the morning and sleep eluded her, withholding reprieve from her pain. Marissa rose from the bed and staggered down the hall, thinking that maybe if she could stop the headache, sleep would come.
A bottle of Excedrin Migraine sat on the middle shelf of the medicine cabinet, and she reached for it. Her hand stalled in midair. Beside the bottle of Excedrin sat a little orange vial of pills.
Sleeping pills. The ones her doctor had prescribed for her after the split with Logan. She plucked the bottle from the shelf and shook it. Then she twisted off the lid and dumped the contents into her hand. Tiny white pills filled her palm. She stared at the perfect white disks, transfixed, and counted each one.
Fourteen.
In the silence of the house, she heard her mother’s voice whispering about how she’d failed. How she would never get her daughters back. How God would punish her for her sins. How she deserved this for being wicked. Sinful. How every bad thing that had ever happened was her fault. Her fault.
She looked down at the pills in her hand and swallowed.
Were fourteen pills enough?
Marissa closed her eyes.
Letting go would be so easy.
No more pain. Or worry. No more heartbreak or sorrow. No more fear. Or shame. Nothing. Just release.
No one would miss her. The world would be a better place without her.
Marissa opened her eyes and gripped the tap with a shaking hand. Water hissed into the stained porcelain sink. She grabbed a nearby glass, filled it with water, and stared at the pills—so shiny and white and perfect in her palm.
Peering into the bathroom mirror, Marissa saw her mother’s hard face staring back. Her lips twisted into a pained smile.
She raised the glass, fingers curling around the pills in her hand.
Chapter 34
No sign of dawn in the sky. Close to 4:00 a.m. and the rain continued to pound down, soaking the Seattle streets. He’d rather be sleeping right now, but thanks to that brainless bitch Kim, he had more work to do.
North of the city, he circled the winding suburbs of Shoreline. He knew all about Charles Sully and the incident at the bar. No doubt Brooke Parker’s stupid little roommate had already blabbed to the police, making his job easier.
So he’d spent time learning what he could about the prick. Tracking his online boot-prints wasn’t hard. Between Facebook and Twitter, he knew Sully was obsessed with muscle cars and porn. No shock there. A little more digging had revealed the name of the construction firm Sully worked for, as well as the locations of his last few job sites. A criminal background check courtesy of another online service confirmed Sully had a record and had served time for domestic violence.
If Sully wasn’t the police’s main suspect in Brooke’s disappearance, he would be soon. Windshiel
d wipers frantically swiped the hard rain from the windshield while he circled the block where Sully lived—looking for any signs of life in the dead of night. He didn’t know if Sully was being watched, so he’d set a diversion to draw any unnecessary attention away from Sully’s building.
Gasoline fumes clung to his black leather gloves. He had set a fire two blocks away.
Fire reminded him of who he was and where he had come from. Two boys. One can of gasoline and a blazing garage fire. How he’d loved watching the orange flames arc into the dark night. Two boys, only one of whom had paid for their crime, while the other got off scot-free.
But here’s the thing. Karma’s a bitch.
Karma caught up with everyone sooner or later. So while one boy paid for burning down the garage by spending two years in juvenile detention, the other didn’t pay for a long time. In the end, though, everyone paid. The second boy had paid with his life. Karma was coming, and tonight was Charles Sully’s night.
Glancing at the clock, he shook off the thought. He had to remain sharp. Before long all the little rats would awaken and get ready for another day in the maze. He was already pushing his luck, and Kim had made his job harder. In two short hours he needed to be tucked into bed beside his girlfriend.
He pulled off the quiet street into Sully’s apartment complex.
Sully’s car was easy to find. The dick-wad took more pictures of his precious car than of his girlfriend. Near the back of the lot, the bastard had straddled the line, taking up two spots beneath one of four streetlights.
At least Sully had backed in. He’d caught a break there. He angled into the spot beside the Super Bee, backing in so the two vehicles were trunk-to-trunk.
The air was heavy with the scent of rain, pine trees, and engine oil. Cold fingers of rain ran off the peak of his Seahawks cap, down the collar of his jacket.
He rounded the back of the vehicle and opened the cargo hold. He shifted the duffel bag out of the way and grasped the nylon tool kit he’d brought along.
The blinking red light on the Super Bee’s dash warned him the alarm was set. The alarm didn’t worry him though. You could learn a lot of skills in juvie. Breaking into cars was just one of the many things he’d learned to do while locked up with a bunch of underage felons.
The trunk lid popped open. He glanced back up at the apartment building. Yellow light spilled from more windows. Damned Boeing workers and their early-morning shifts.
He lifted the trunk lid wide, and his heart jolted as he peered inside.
What the fuck?
Hot sweat popped on his forehead, mingling with the cold rain. The unmistakable smell of death wafted up from Sully’s trunk. She looked small—not much bigger than a child. If it weren’t for the girl’s waxy pallor, she might be sleeping.
Charles Sully was a very bad boy indeed, and now his plan was no longer simple. He supposed he could close the trunk and find someplace else to dump his body. But where was the fun in that?
He glanced up at the apartment building. Another light flickered on as fire engines and police flocked to the dumpster fire a few blocks away.
Ticktock. Time to move.
He hefted the duffel bag out of the cargo hold and set it on the pavement behind Sully’s car. Then, reaching into Sully’s trunk, he scooped up the dead girl. She felt light in his arms. He laid her in the back of his vehicle, placing her carefully on the tarp. Then he covered her with the ends, hiding her away from prying eyes.
The tailgate closed with a soft thump. Working fast, he muscled the duffel bag into Sully’s trunk. He pulled Brooke’s MedicAlert dog tags out of his pocket and tossed them in. The lid slammed down hard. The car horn blared.
Fucking hell.
He spied a large, jagged rock at the edge of the lot, back where the asphalt met the grass. He grabbed it and with one vicious throw heaved it at Sully’s car. Glass rained down on the parking lot and crunched beneath his feet as he ran back to his vehicle.
He landed behind the wheel and pulled out onto the street. Half a block away, he glanced in his rearview mirror.
Blue and red lights flashed behind him.
He drove slowly through the neighborhood, stopping at a red light. The police cruiser turned left into Sully’s complex. He grinned. The light turned green and he eased through the intersection.
The interstate loomed ahead. South of Shoreline, city lights glittered in the gloom. He couldn’t go home. Not yet. Thanks to Charles fucking Sully, he had more work to do. And daylight was fast approaching. He had to make it home before his girlfriend awoke.
First he had to dump his cargo. But where?
He thought about all the things he’d learned about Sully—where he lived, where he worked, and where he played.
Then he knew.
Chapter 35
Charles Sully awoke to the sound of sirens blaring. He bolted upright in bed, his heart beating faster than a 486 Hemi.
Beside him Lara rolled on her back.
“What time is it?” she yawned, rubbing her eyes.
“Early. Go back to sleep.”
Sully pulled on a discarded pair of boxer shorts. A sharp stab of fear cut through him as he jogged through the dark apartment, catching his leg on the corner of the coffee table. He swore under his breath but kept going. The patio door overlooking the parking lot loomed dead ahead.
A police cruiser was parked beside his car, lights flashing.
Sully froze. His chest constricted, making it difficult to breathe. He knew what was in that trunk. If they looked inside, he was fucked.
“What’s going on?”
Lara’s voice jolted him into action. He limped through the living room, jostling Lara on his way past.
“Jesus, Carlos. What the hell?”
In the darkened bedroom, he ignored the blood seeping down his leg and pulled on the same jeans and shirt he’d worn to the bar the night before. Stale beer and cigarette smoke clung to the soiled fabric. In his haste he slid his bare feet into his boots and grabbed the car keys off the nightstand. He was almost out of the room when he remembered.
He yanked the nightstand drawer open, grabbed the gun, and stuffed it into the waistband of his jeans.
Lara was yelling at him, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying over the buzz in his head. It didn’t matter. He had to get out of here. Now.
Sully snapped the lock open and jerked the door.
A beefy police officer filled the doorway.
“You Charles Sully?” he asked.
Sully nodded, running a hand through his tousled hair.
“Yes, sir.”
“Come with me.”
“What’s going on?” Lara called from behind, rubbing her massive belly like it hurt.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
“You try carrying a bowling ball around in your uterus for seven months and tell me how good you feel.”
The officer preceded Sully down the hallway. Doors were opening, and the faces of his nosy neighbors peeked out. He could feel their judgmental stares follow him down the hall.
They took the elevator down to the first floor. Sully’s shirt clung to his clammy skin. The cold metal of the gun dug into his hip. His hand snaked around his back, reaching for the gun. Just then the door opened and another cop entered the building. Sully cringed, silently swearing, allowing his hand to swing back to his side. He was too late.
“Officer, what’s going on?” Lara panted behind them.
Sully cringed. Why couldn’t the fat fucking bitch stay in the apartment and mind her own goddamned business? What was she doing out here?
Now. He had to do something now while he still could. Once they saw what was in the trunk, it was all over.
“Ma’am, it appears there’s been a car prowler.”
Sully stopped. Lara ran into his back.
“Carlos!” Lara complained. Sully ignored her.
“Someone broke into the car?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
Like coolant filling a dry radiator shaft, relief flooded through Sully.
“If you’d come with us, sir, we can write up the report and get out of here.”
Charles followed along, able to breathe normally now. Lara was still yapping, but he kept his eyes on the officer ahead.
The officer made small talk with Lara, something about a rash of robberies in the neighborhood. Sully wasn’t paying them much mind. He just wanted to get the cops away from his car as soon as humanly possible, before this whole situation blew up in his face.
“You’re lucky. We were nearby,” the cop said.
“Why’s that?”
“Some asshole set a dumpster on fire a few blocks down.”
“This neighborhood just gets worse and worse. You know they found a dead hooker in the dumpster by the 7-Eleven. Awful place to raise a baby. I keep telling Carlos we should move, but . . .”
Sully clenched his teeth, wishing she’d shut up as he exited the building. But she didn’t. Lara kept on yammering. The cop seemed good-natured about it though. There was another cop shining a flashlight into the backseat of his car. Tension coiled inside Sully, but he forced himself to stay cool and to keep walking.
It took forever to cross the parking lot. Fat pelts of rain pattered on his head. Oblivious to the cold, Sully’s mind whirled. If he could just give a quick statement, the police would fuck off and he’d be fine. Fine.
“Oh, Carlos, your window,” Lara said.
The driver’s side window was shattered.
“Fuck,” he muttered, loud enough that the cop turned.
“Expensive to replace?”
Sully nodded. He glanced toward the trunk. Rain soaked his shirt, hiding the sweat stains.
“If you could take a look, Mr. Sully, to see if there’s anything missing, we’ll write up our report and be on our way.”
“Don’t bother. I can file a report later.”
The cop shrugged. “We’re here. Might as well do it now.” He turned toward his partner. “Any other cars hit?”
In the Dark Page 18