by Nolon King
A fresh trail of tears streamed down her temple. She blinked them away. Nodded against the rope around her throat.
Frank shuffled around her on his knees. Saw that abuse to her skin continued around to her back. He opened the buckle at the nape of her neck. Loosed the strap over the gag.
The girl tried to spit it out, but she didn’t have enough movement in her neck to toss it aside. Frank muttered an apology before hooking it out with a sticky, bloody finger.
The girl panted like a dog. Watched him as he rose to stand in front of her.
Frank looked at the block and tackle. Followed the rope to where it was tied to a hook embedded in the floor. He clasped his hands in front of him. “I can’t untie you yet,” he whispered.
The girl took a breath, but Frank lunged forward and covered her mouth with his hand before she could protest. He put his lips next to her head. “Please. I can’t. I can’t alert those men in any way, you see? I’m going to kill them. Do you understand?”
She stiffened against him. He had no idea how old she was. How much of this she understood.
“Please,” he repeated. “Do you understand?”
She nodded in his hand. He pulled his palm away from her mouth. She kept her lips closed, and Frank fell a long step away from her. Traced his way down the rope to the floor. Loosened the knot and gave her some slack. She sagged in relief as the pressure around her neck disappeared, and fresh tears rolled down to drop from the end of her nose.
Frank leaned back into her, and she put her face against his shoulder. “What’s your name?” he whispered.
She swallowed. Tried to tell him. Cleared her throat softly. Swallowed again. “Jennifer,” she said. Like the choking whisper of a ghost.
He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t feel his extremities. Pain in his neck throbbed with his pulse, and the edges of his vision became a smoky gray.
He tried to swallow. It felt like there was wool in the back of his mouth.
Jennifer looked up, and her eyes searched his. Narrowing in concern. Then alarm. Her hands were still bound, but she tried to turn. Rotate under the rope still going to the ceiling.
Frank got the lump down with a gasp. Shook his head. “No, no. Don’t. Just wait for me here quietly, okay. Can you do that, baby?”
She bit her lower lip. Nodded her understanding.
Frank took slow breaths. Each one felt like fire. “How old are you, Jennifer?”
“My birthday was yesterday.” Her voice still sounded like sandpaper.
“Happy birthday.”
She smiled. Frank couldn’t understand how she had the capacity. He felt blessed to have seen it. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I turned thirteen. There was ice cream cake.”
Frank’s vision went from foggy gray to bloody crimson. The sizzling sound of static filled his ears. He put his hand on her cheek. Her tears mixed with Hines’ blood.
“You have to be very quiet now, okay? I don’t want these men to know what we’re doing. And I don’t want the police to show up before I’m done. Okay, baby?”
Jennifer nodded again.
Frank dropped his hand. Stepped to where he had placed his chain. Wrapped it back around his fist. Picked up his bloody weight. Noticed Hines staring up at him from the corner of his eye.
Frank dropped into a crouch that popped both of his knees. He balanced himself by setting the plate on the back of Hines’ neck. “If you want to live, be in this exact spot when I get back. You even blink too many times, and I’ll make it hurt. Nod if you understand.”
Hines kept his eyes locked wide open. Nodded so hard, a fresh gout of blood splashed out from his eyebrow.
Frank walked to the door. The mounting sounds from the other room told him that the girl was suffering. Had been suffering while he’d been taking his time.
Stupid, selfish old man.
He looked back over his shoulder. “I love you, Jenny.”
He didn’t wait to see if she heard him. He had work to do.
Chapter Seventeen
There were only four men. Either one had been a no-show, or he was taking a powder, and Frank would have to deal with him when he came up behind him later.
Frank didn’t have time to wonder how he would handle it. His mind received a fresh blow of horror and outrage. He lost his breath two steps in.
One man lying back on a table covered with a pink beach towel. The little girl on top of him. Another man bent over her to sandwich her small body between them. Frank couldn’t see their faces.
A third man off to the side. Frank recognized him from his image search. Detective Reed. He held the back of the back of the girl’s head with both hands. Her forehead was pressed all the way to his flabby belly.
Like Jennifer, both hands were bound behind her.
The fourth man held a camera to his eye with one hand while stroking his glistening erection with the other. His name was Jacobs. A cop from Enola.
Frank had only action. Empty of thought and will as if his body moved on its own.
He stepped with his right foot to push off behind him with his left. Rotated like he was going to throw the weight plate for a gold medal.
It sliced through the air. Rising in an arc that brought the metal right into Jacobs’ throat, its edge cutting through flesh. The momentum drove it through cartilage. The crunching snap of his windpipe tearing apart, and blood flung from the blow to splash the wall. Through the doorway to glitter in light from the hall.
Frank felt something pull in his side. A white-hot pain that radiated up into his ribs. Up under his collarbone.
Jacobs fell back with a choking gasp. Dropped his camera to smash on the floor. Raised his hands in the I’m choking gesture that nobody could address.
Crashed into the wall. His eyes were puzzled as he slid down to join the plastic shrapnel of the camera.
Frank’s spin raised his rear foot, and he followed through with a savage knee to the cameraman’s stunned face.
Teeth and nose crumbled. The back of his head punched through the plaster behind it.
Frank braced off the wall. Pushed back onto the room. Turned to find Reed had released the girl’s head to stumble back in confusion.
The girl pulled in a wheezing breath, but she turned her head to vomit in the face of the man underneath her before she could scream.
Fresh guilt, but Frank couldn’t help being relieved that she had remained quiet.
The man backpedaling away looked older than the others. He was a detective, so maybe a supervisor. Or an uncle. Frank didn’t care.
Reed held his hands up in front of him. A sudden supplicant. Frank had enough of his own prayers go unanswered to know how it felt.
He ducked into the man’s guard. Drove his chained fist down to connect at the base of his softening penis. Frank cut Reed’s choked howl short with a shoulder driven into the man’s sternum. A knee driven up into the sagging testicles.
Reed fell to his knees, hands covering his crushed junk, and his mouth gaping in a silent scream. Frank fed him the weight.
Blood splashed up his forearm. Tiny spatters flying out when he drew his hand back for another shot.
Then a downward hook with the chained fist. Reed fell forward into a spreading pool.
Frank was gassed. He lifted his shoulders to draw a deep breath. Thanked GG for making him do the sprints. Cursed himself for all the drinking.
He turned back to find the man that had been the top bun of this sickening sandwich pulling back toward the neat piles of clothing along the wall. Holstered guns right on top. His name was Rosedale.
The bottom bun was Hernandez. Bucking his hips to get the girl clear as he swiped at the stringy puke on his face.
Frank was afraid the girl would tumble off and crack her unprotected skull, but he couldn’t slow to help. He felt the pain in his side brighten to a spike that went across his lower back as he jumped past the table.
Lowered his shoulder and drove into Rosedale while bending to reach fo
r the nearest weapon. Frank’s shoulder met his hip, and they both went into the wall with jarring force.
The tip of Frank’s head hit with a wet smack, and blood spilled from his split scalp. The top bun curled under him with a grunt. Worked to get his hands free. Rolling for position.
Frank wrapped Rosedale in a hug. One arm hooked under his leg. The other around his shoulders. He could feel the man’s breath across his face.
Frank braced the way GG and Mo had shown him the first time he had tried to lift an Atlas stone. He had worked up to a 185-pounder before calling it quits.
Like riding a bike.
He braced with a deep breath. Thrust his hips forward and snatched the man away from the wall. At the top of the lift, Frank turned and raised his knees, putting himself on top as they dropped to the floor.
They landed with Rosedale’s head underneath them. The crashing impact folded him, and Frank heard the snapping of bones.
The fall sent the weight from his hand, rolling away to spin on the floor like a giant coin. Frank struggled to stand. Wiped blood from his face in time to see the last man coming at him with wide open arms. Dripping penis bouncing with every step.
Right before Hernandez made contact, Frank wondered if the people downstairs were all looking up at the noise with puzzled curiosity.
Hernandez wrapped him up on impact. Lifted him as he drove toward the door. The back of Frank’s head hit the top of the frame with a blinding crack.
Were they heading for the window?
He was answered by his back slamming into the wall between windows. Dust puffing out from the edges of the padded blanket.
Frank found himself on the floor. Sitting with his back against the wall, his feet splayed out in front of him. Hernandez stood over him with his hand pulled back for a serious punch. His lips were peeled back from his teeth. Little bits of vomit clung to his skin, trailing down his chest.
Frank focused on the flesh dangling in front of his face. Delicate and tender. Newly flaccid in the recent excitement.
Before the blow could land, Frank shot his hands up to grab the guy’s slick garbage in a double grip. A frenzied pulling and tearing grip that brought an end to the man’s heavyweight title aspirations.
His blows became fawning slaps. A panicked attack that had no chance of dislodging Frank. Hernandez fell to his knees. Battered on the top of Frank’s head to get more blood flowing.
Frank whipped his head to the side to clear the flow from his eyes. Twisted and dug his fingers in.
The man’s voice choked off into a whistling groan as Frank worked his feet under him. Drove Hernandez back. Held on as the man’s writhing survival threatened to shake him loose.
Frank got his knees up, in spite of the torn muscle in his side waging a war of protest. Planted his foot on Hernandez’ belly button. Jerked on his genitals like he was yanking a stubborn weed.
When he finally let go, Hernandez gasped through the spill of his own vomit, and his weeping followed Frank as he stumbled back into the room. The girl was on the floor under the table. Watching him on her side. Her gaze following him without blinking.
Reed, the chubby man who had tried to eat the weight, was still on the floor. Snorting through blood bubbles. Frank didn’t think about it. He just dropped all of his weight into the knee he was already digging into the man’s neck. A handful of seconds, and Reed barely struggled.
Just the weeping from the hallway. The sound of nails scraping on the floor.
Hernandez was trying to drag himself into the room, his gaze locked on the scatter of clothes where the guns had been. A trail of blood smearing behind him from his torn scrotum.
Frank stood with a wince. Limped past the man in the hallway. Turned with a sigh to lower himself on the man’s back. Snaked an arm under Hernandez’ throat. Locked in the chokehold and leaned back to squeeze as the agony in his abdomen ramped up to a blinding torment.
Hernandez finally stilled beneath him, and Frank rolled away to catch his breath. Massaged his side until he could force himself into a sitting position. Then onto his knees.
He made it back on his feet and into the room. The girl was sitting up, leaning against a table leg to watch him.
He bent with a groan to gather the first bit of cloth he could find. A cream-colored button down. He used the shirt to wipe as much blood from his face and head as he possibly could. Held pressure on the top of his head as he moved to the table for a towel.
He pulled the shirt away. Put a clean spot against his head. It came away with just a small spot and he threw it aside.
Frank looked at the little girl staring at him. Breathing through her open mouth.
“I killed them,” he said.
Her eyes widened, and she nodded.
“I wish I could have been sooner. Or better … I’m sorry.”
The girl only stared.
He opened the towel to hold out in front of him. “I know I look a fright. Let me clean you up, baby.”
At first, he didn’t think she would come out from under the table, but then she threw herself forward with a cry of despair. He caught her. Wrapped her in the towel. Rocked her until she finally calmed down.
Frank wiped her face with a clean corner of rough fabric. “Do you know Jennifer? The little girl in the next room?”
She shook her head.
Frank worked at the rope until he could finally free her hands. She hissed in pain as she brought them around, then threw them around his neck.
Like the Atlas stones, Frank braced again. Stood with her clinging to him. Limped into the other room where he found Jennifer standing in the same spot. She shivered as he approached. Stared at the little girl in his arms.
Frank stooped to let her stand on the floor, and for a cramping moment, he didn’t think she would let go, but then she finally dropped.
Frank went to Jennifer. Untied her hands. Then the rope around her neck.
“Good girl,” he said.
He turned to the other girl. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
She wiped her nose. “Becka.”
Frank nodded. Turned his head to look for something he suddenly couldn’t remember. He wanted to find their clothes. Wanted to finish up before that possible sixth man showed up. Wanted to …
His knees gave way, and he sat on the floor in a heap.
Jennifer hugged herself as a fresh chill went through her. Becka stepped close and opened her towel. Jennifer stepped in to press against her for warmth, and Becka wrapped them both.
They stood in each other’s arms while Frank lowered his head and cried into his dirty hands.
Chapter Eighteen
Neither of the girls spoke as Frank cleaned up. They just sat side by side wrapped up in the pink beach towel. Watching him.
Jennifer’s shivers had grown more violent and more frequent. Becka flinched every time she made a move.
Frank gave Hines petty punishments whenever he passed. A kick to the ribs. Digging his heel into the man’s thigh. Stepping on him instead of around him.
He had all the men’s belongings in a pile on the black tarp. Except for the guns. He added those to his backpack. He checked for clothes that fit to assemble a decent outfit that wasn’t caked in drying blood and dust. Laced his shoes back up. Combed his hair with trembling fingers.
A bottle of water and a protein bar had helped to revive him. It seemed to help the girls too, but now they just sat with them sitting on the floor in front of them. The water and the bar both unfinished.
He squatted in front of them with a wince. “Okay, girls. I have to go outside for a second.” They both rose in protest, and he lifted a forestalling hand. “I promise, just for a minute. I need to pull my van closer to the door. That’s all.”
Becka’s gaze flickered over to where Hines lay on the floor.
Frank smiled. “I’ll put him in the other room while I’m gone. You won’t have to see him at all.”
He could have had them move to one of
the unoccupied rooms, but they seemed to be hanging on by a thread. He didn’t know what any of this might do to them, and for the tenth time wondered if it would have been better if they hadn’t survived this night.
He held up one finger. “Here. I’ll show you.”
He grabbed the length of rope Hines had used to tie Jennifer to the block and tackle. Ran it under Hines’ knees. Stood to bundle both ends in his grip, then turned and hauled his body into the hallway. Around the corner to roll up against one of his dead friends.
Frank leaned back in. “See? Now … sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
He didn’t wait for their response. Paused long enough to grab his tape, then went to the front room, taking a look over his shoulder before descending, as if expecting that sixth man to jump out of the corner.
He had gathered their cellphones. None of them seemed to be receiving messages or calls. Unless they were on silent mode. There were no sirens. Less noise from outside as the shops closed down.
Frank reached the bottom where it opened into a small lobby. A unisex restroom was right next to the front door. He went in, avoiding his reflection while washing his hands and face. Lathering and rinsing until the water ran clear. There were no towels. Only the wall-mounted blower, so he left while dripping all over the floor.
The side door Kirby used for his smoke breaks came next. Frank went outside to breathe in the cool night air. A breeze chilling the water on his face. He pulled the door shut without latching it. Tore a hank of tape from the roll and stuck it over the lens of a camera installed beside the entry light.
Frank walked without hurry into the street.
Nobody was out behind the shops, and he drove his van onto the patio without incident. Parked with barely a gap between the van and the studio door.
He struggled to climb over his seat, then stepped on plastic stretched out in the van. Wriggled through the side door into the studio. Back up the stairs where he paused for a deep breath before finally going back into the room where he had left the girls.
They had gotten through their wait by getting dressed. He had found their clothes earlier. Offered them in a neatly folded pile. They had refused, burrowing deeper into the towel instead. He hadn’t pushed it, but was happy to see them back in their clothes now.