by J. L. Drake
He hugged her back, sighing. “I know you wouldn’t make them suffer.”
She pulled back slightly and looked up at Roger.
“I bet you would make enough money to retire,” she said with a smile. “I know you’ve been wanting to, ever since Peter quit.”
“You can read me so easily.” He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Did you really have a flat tire? Or were you with Lloyd?” he teased.
She pulled away from him as a grin spread across her face.
“You were with him!” Roger exclaimed, and laughed. “I knew it. I think Jennings did too.”
Sonya laughed. “I don’t feel bad about lying to him, especially when he didn’t tell me Lloyd was coming.” She bit her lip and rested her hip against the side of his truck. “Will you at least think about working with us on the family thing? You never know, it might not even happen, but the money would be great.”
Roger’s face fell serious again. “I’ll think about it,” he said, and nodded. “I don’t have to like it, though.”
“No, you don’t,” she said. “Just keep the money in mind…and the people who will benefit.”
He stood there for a moment just looking at her, blinking.
She frowned. “There’s more to this, isn’t there?”
He glanced down at the ground, up into the sky, and then back at Sonya.
“It’s just that…”
“Hey!” Jack yelled, charging out of the building. “I’ve got the address to the house.” He waved his hand in the air while coming toward them, showing off Bill’s driver’s license. “I’m gonna swing by there on my way home to see if I can find the place so we can check it out tomorrow.” He stopped beside them and looked down at the laminated card.
Roger snapped his mouth shut, clenched his jaw, and took a step back from Sonya while Jack was distracted.
She gazed at him questioningly.
He shook his head and looked at her with wild eyes.
She nodded and stood up straight again with a confused expression on her face.
“I’m going home,” Sonya said slowly. “I’m tired and have work tomorrow.”
“Okay, bye,” Jack said, still excited about his new task, hoping it would bring in the money he wanted.
Call me later, she mouthed to Roger.
He nodded and shrugged, watching her leave. There was a sadness in his eyes that caused her to pause and look back at him a couple of times.
On her way home, she wondered if he would indeed call and what was tearing him apart inside.
Chapter 10
Sonya was walking into her house when she received a text.
Roger: I’ll be by in a couple hours.
Sonya: Great. Stop by when you’re ready. Door will be unlocked.
With a deep sigh, she walked to her fridge and opened the door, almost flinching at the bright light that emanated from its depths. The contents—sitting and waiting for her attention—didn’t look appetizing. She closed the door.
Sonya: Bring pizza with you.
She jumped when her phone rang just as she sent the message. She frowned down at it, waiting for the screen to display the name of the caller. It was Miles.
“Hello,” she said. “I was going to call you in a couple of minutes. Did you know I was thinking of you?”
“Maybe,” he said. “I was definitely thinking about you. Were you really thinking about me?”
She giggled playfully.
“How could I not think of you?” she flirted. “Oh, I have something to tell you…we made a lot of money and now everyone will get twice what we originally planned.”
“Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “I can really use the money.”
“We have plans to harvest his entire family,” she said. “We think his children might have the same blood type, and we’ve decided it’s worth the risk. Will that be an issue for you?”
“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he gushed. “No matter how difficult.”
She rolled her eyes—he disgusted her with his puppy-dog eagerness to please her.
After flirting with him for a few more minutes, she lied and told him she had to go.
Glancing at the clock on her microwave, she sighed, knowing Roger wouldn’t show up for a while. With a huge yawn, she headed down the hall to her bedroom. She smiled at the rumpled condition of her bed, thinking about how it had gotten that way.
She sat down on the twisted, jumbled covers, took off her shoes—letting them fall to the floor—and laid down. In mere minutes, she fell asleep.
The room was dark and the light cast by the street lamp through the tree outside her bedroom window made eerie, dancing shadows on the pink comforter of her bed. Yelling from downstairs had woken her again. She wanted to go somewhere, to hide from the anger, fear, and confusion she heard in their voices—the voices of her parents—but there was nowhere to go.
Her bedroom door, which was left slightly ajar after she’d been tucked in for the night, began to move and her heart jumped into her throat. She held her breath in fear of what could be causing it.
The hinges creaked and the floorboards groaned as the door continued to move inward.
She shook with fear, gripped the edge of her blanket with sweaty hands, and hoped she’d be able to scream if she needed to. Squeezing her eyes shut, she mentally begged her parents to stop fighting and come upstairs to check on her.
Soft, slow footfalls advanced toward her bed, but she was too scared to open her eyes.
She whimpered.
“You awake?” a breathy voice asked.
Her eyes flew open to see her little brother, Tim, standing beside her bed.
His little body swayed slightly, and he shivered as his blood shot eyes darted around the room, looking at everything and nothing.
“What are you doing out of bed?” she asked, throwing back her covers and standing up to support his weak body. “You aren’t supposed to get out of bed.”
“I know,” he breathed. “I don’t feel good, and Mommy didn’t hear me when I called for her.”
She nodded and started walking him back toward his room, which was down the hall, between their parents’ room and the bathroom. They paused at the head of the stairs.
“Cover your ears,” she whispered, and tried to smile.
Almost slipping from her grasp and falling over, he lifted his arms and placed the palms of his hands over his ears.
“Mom!” she screamed. “Dad, Tim needs you!”
Instantly the yelling downstairs stopped.
She smiled at Tim and tugged on one of his wrists. He removed his hands, letting his arms fall to his sides again.
Together they continued to his room.
The pounding of their parents’ feet on the stairs seemed extremely loud as it echoed through the quiet upstairs of their home. They came through the door of Tim’s room just as she was sitting her brother down on his bed.
Her dad reached them first and pulled her away—his hands were large and strong on her small arms.
“Go back to bed, sweetheart,” he said gently, but urgently. “We’ll take care of Tim.”
She looked up into his face; the shadows cast by the low watt bulb in Tim’s bedside lamp made him look like a scary monster. She shivered, and the fear that had vanished a few minutes ago returned with full force. She knew something was wrong, something was off. In her young, innocent heart, she knew something bad was going to happen.
“Come on, honey,” her mom said from the doorway. “I’ll tuck you in.” She smiled, but looked worried as she glanced at Dad and Tim.
She made it halfway to her mom when Tim started to choke and cough.
Mom cried out and shoved her aside, rushing toward the bed where Tim was vomiting.
She stood watching as her parents focused on Tim, trying their best to calm him down, and to keep him from making too much of a mess on himself.
Dad glanced around and spotted her standing there.
“Go to bed,” he said. “We’ll take care of him. Everything is going to be okay.”
She nodded, took one last look at her little brother—who was heaving and struggling to breathe—and headed for the door.
“Oh, God,” Mom cried behind her as she stepped out into the hall. “He’s not breathing! He’s not breathing!”
She turned and looked back into Tim’s room; his face was turning blue and he was shaking while her parents tried frantically to save him…
“Sonya!” a male voice yelled.
She bolted upright in bed and her panicked eyes darted around in the darkness, trying to figure out where she was.
Blinking rapidly, she tried to dispel the vision of her dying brother. She forced herself to wake up.
“Sonya, where are you?” the voice called again, closer.
A dark figure stood in the doorway to her bedroom and she whimpered.
“Tim?” she whispered in a scared voice.
“Sonya!” the man exclaimed and ran into the room, to her side. “Are you okay?” he asked, cupping her face in his hands. “Fuck, you’re cold.” He withdrew one hand and reached over to turn on the lamp sitting on the nightstand.
She cried out and blinked, trying to pull back from his touch.
“It’s me, Roger,” he said. “It’s okay, it was just a dream. Look at me, damn it.”
Her wandering, unfocused eyes finally settled on his face and she instantly relaxed. “Roger?” she asked shakily.
He nodded. “Are you okay? What were you dreaming about?”
She shook her head, choked back tears, and closed her eyes.
He withdrew his hands, grabbed a blanket off the bed, and wrapped it, and his arms, around her before climbing onto the bed to sit beside her. He rocked her and let her cry. When she finally quieted, he again encouraged her to share her dream with him.
“Please tell me what upset you?” he whispered against her hair. “You’ll feel better if you let it out.”
“I’ve only ever told Lloyd…” she said and stopped, unsure.
“You can tell me,” he said. “You can trust me.”
Some of the tension left her body.
“I know,” she sighed.
“Then tell me,” he encouraged gently.
Slowly, she told him about her little brother, who’d died when she was eight years old. He’d only been six when his life had ended. She explained how he’d been born with heart defects and, as he’d aged, his other organs failed to work as well. She went on to tell Roger her dream about the night Tim had died.
“Oh, God,” Roger breathed. “That’s terrible. Why didn’t they have him in a hospital?”
“He was in a hospital,” she said, sniffling and wiping tears from her face, “but they’d sent him home earlier in the week, saying he’d get better.” She paused, pulled back, and looked up at Roger. “He was on the transplant list for two years, needing three different things—I can’t remember what they were. My parents had finally gotten a call from the hospital that morning, saying they had some organs that matched him. But because my family didn’t have decent health insurance, and didn’t have the money to pay for the surgery, we were turned away. They went to the next patient on the list. Tim didn’t get what he needed and…he died.”
Roger sighed and hugged her close again. “I’m so sorry.” He thought for a moment, unsure if he should ask what he really wanted to know. He gave in.
“That’s why you do this, isn’t it? Because of your brother and his unmet need, you harvest people’s parts?”
She nodded against his chest. “I want every person on that list to get what they need,” she whispered.
“But don’t you feel bad killing innocent people?” he asked. “I mean, you were hurt because you lost someone in your family…don’t you think other people miss the people we kill?”
She froze, pulled away from him, and stood. She turned back to face him, looking him directly in the eyes.
“If I harvest one person, many live,” she snapped with tears still running down her cheeks. “I’m not killing people. I’m saving lives.”
He took a deep breath and held her gaze.
“You are killing people—we all are,” he said. “Now we’re talking about killing children. Children like Tim.”
She stumbled back like he’d slapped her.
“No,” she snarled, and slammed one of her fists into the palm of her other hand. “I’m saving children like Tim, by ending the selfish lives of those who are wasting theirs. Besides, the men I pick up aren’t innocent. Most of them have wives and children at home and are looking for a quick fuck. Don’t act like I have no morals because they’re cheating, fucking bastards.”
Roger stood and walked toward her. He didn’t understand how her mind worked, but somewhere in there she thought she was doing the right thing to save others. He sighed.
“Look,” he said, gripping and rubbing her shoulders, “I know it’s all a jumbled mess, but I kinda understand why you’re doing this. I have my own past and it haunts me too.”
She nodded and wiped furiously at her runny nose. “I know,” she said with a little laugh. “That’s why you’re here.”
He grinned crookedly. “Let’s go eat the pizza you ordered me to bring before it gets cold―if it isn’t already. I’ll even tell you my story while we eat, if you want,” he said.
“Okay,” she said, sniffling.
“You go wash your face and blow your nose,” he said, and laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll have the pizza set out on your finest paper plates when you get to the kitchen.”
“Okay,” she said, and left the room, heading to the bathroom.
He sighed as he watched her leave. Nothing about her was what it had seemed. Her story had thrown him a curve ball and he knew his wouldn’t even compare. He supposed if she could harvest children after what she’d been through, he could too.
He shook his head, left the bedroom, and headed toward the kitchen.
***
When Sonya arrived in the kitchen she saw that Roger was true to his word. He had pizza waiting on paper plates, and to her surprise, he also had a glass of wine sitting beside each plate.
“Wine, huh?” she teased. “How did you know I would need that?”
Roger laughed. “When doesn’t a hardworking woman need wine? Besides, I could use some alcohol to help me relax too, if I plan on sleeping at all tonight.”
Sonya raised an eyebrow in question as she slid into a seat and picked up her glass to take a sip.
Roger sat down at the other place he’d set and sighed. “I guess it’s my turn to spill my guts, huh?”
Sonya couldn’t help but snicker at the “guts” comment. Roger made a game of thinking up as much innuendo about what they did as he could. He slipped them into everyday conversations as often as he could to try to keep a light tone in their lives. Their work was dark, but he still tried to make them all smile whenever possible.
“I guess I’ll just cut to the chase,” Roger said, picking up a piece of pizza and taking a large bite. He chewed for a moment before he continued. “I’m a father.”
Sonya paused with her piece halfway to her mouth.
“What?” she asked, letting the slice fall back to her plate. “Why am I only now hearing about this?”
Roger shrugged and swallowed the food he’d chewed. “I don’t talk about it. I was young. I got tangled up with a young woman who wasn’t as in to me as I was to her.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Sonya said, lifting and taking a bite of the pizza she’d dropped a moment before. “You’re quite a catch.”
Roger laughed and handed her a napkin. “You’ll need this if you’re going to talk with food in your mouth.” He paused to wink at her. “Well, she apparently wanted a man with money. So, once she found out she was pregnant, she dumped me, slept with some rich boy, and claimed it was his—they ended up getting married.”
“Didn’t you try to get the b
aby or anything?” Sonya asked, holding the napkin he’d given her in front of her mouth while she spoke. “I can’t see you just walking away from your child.”
“I did try,” Roger said, frowning. “But the guy she’d latched her hooks into believed her when she said he was the only one she’d ever been with, and his dad was the rich man in town who ran everything…” He stopped and shrugged. “So when I persisted, they had me arrested for some made up charges. I was pretty much told that if I didn’t leave town and let things go, I wouldn’t see the outside of a prison for twenty to thirty years.”
“Damn,” Sonya said. “That’s messed up. Have you ever gone back to see your child?”
“I made it halfway there once,” Roger said quietly, “but I turned back. Now, if I went back, I would kill them all and take my kid—I know I would. And I can’t see the kid even remotely liking me after I’ve killed the only family they’d ever known.”
“Let me know if you ever change your mind,” Sonya said and opened the box to get more pizza. “We can part those bitches out no problem. Or set them on fire if you want.”
Roger smiled for the first time since they’d started the conversation. “I’ll let you know, but I doubt it will ever happen.”
“So, why don’t you want to harvest the children then?” Sonya asked. “It’s not like any of the children we’ll be taking will be yours.”
“No, they won’t be mine,” Roger said, “but every time I see a kid, I wonder about mine…if the kid was a boy or girl, what the kid looked like, what the kid’s name is…” He shrugged, picked up his glass, and downed the rest of the liquid.
“I guess that makes sense,” Sonya said, nodding. “I could see how that would mess with you. But you do realize you won’t be handling the children a bunch, right?”
“I know,” Roger said, refilling both their wine glasses. “I’ll have to watch the house and watch them move around, and I’ll have to handle them when we’re moving them. It may not seem like a lot, but add it all together and I know it will get to me.”