Lena glanced over her shoulder. The man was small but well built. He sat casually with his legs spread apart, his left arm draped over the back of the seat, the gun in his hand pointing at Charlotte's neck.
He said, 'What are you looking at?'
'Who are you?' Lena asked. Did the mask mean he was going to let them go? She had already seen his flunky's face, though maybe that didn't matter because his cover had been blown two days ago outside of Hank's house.
She looked around for something – anything – that could be used as a weapon. Other than the keys, there was nothing but a Styrofoam cup in one of the holders. She let her hand slide down the wheel and pressed her knuckles against the side of the cup. The contents were cold, probably water.
'Keep going,' the man said. 'Take another right up here.'
Lena ignored him, going straight. He clicked his tongue as if she were a rebellious child, but didn't say anything else.
Rule number one when faced with an abduction was to not let the perpetrator change your location. If he jumped you in a parking lot, then you fought tooth and nail to stay in that parking lot. You didn't get in a car with him and you didn't let him drag you somewhere else. Once he had control of you and the situation, he could do whatever he wanted. There was no going back.
Lena slowed the car, keeping her eye on the Celica behind them, wondering what she was getting herself – and Charlotte – into.
The man said, 'You really like pushing your luck, don't you?'
Lena stopped the car. She turned around to face him. 'What do you want from us? Why is Charlotte here?'
The back door beside Charlotte opened. The man with the red swastika stood there.
The man with the gun ordered, 'Give her a little incentive so she knows we're not playing around.'
The thug reached around to the back of his pants. Lena braced herself for him to pull a gun and shoot them both, but what he did instead was pull out a rolled-up plastic bag.
'What are you doing?' Lena asked, but she knew well enough when the man unrolled the bag and took out a filled syringe.
Charlotte knew what was coming before Lena did. She panicked, tucking her arms behind her back, struggling to protect herself as the thug tapped the side of the syringe, squirted some liquid out of the needle. She started to flail desperately when he grabbed her arm, then suddenly it seemed to Lena that something inside of the other woman just snapped. She simply gave up, holding out her arm, waiting for the needle to go in.
'No ...' Lena said, but it was too late. The plunger was pressed. Charlotte closed her eyes, a soft sound like a sigh coming from her throat.
The man in the mask nestled the gun against Charlotte's cheek. 'She likes that, don't you think?'
Lena felt tears stream down her face. How many kids did Charlotte have? She had seen one of them in the library the other day, a young girl, probably not even thirteen.
'Please,' Lena said. 'Just let her go.'
'Why don't you drive some more?' the man suggested. He nodded to his lackey and the door was slammed shut.
Lena put the car in gear and pressed her foot to the gas. She drove aimlessly, following the circle she'd made before, the Celica close behind.
Charlotte gave a deep moan. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped against the door.
Lena demanded, 'What did you give her?'
'Something to take the edge off.'
'I don't understand,' Lena said. She was crying in earnest now. 'Why is this happening? What did Charlotte ever do to you?'
'Want me to tell you a little story, Lee?'
He used her familiar name, the one reserved for close friends and family. Lena turned the rearview mirror away from Charlotte and onto her abductor.
She could see his white teeth through the hole in the mask. 'You figuring it out, baby doll?'
She concentrated on his voice, desperately trying to place it. There was hardly any accent, and the tone was deep, almost as deep as Jeffrey's. Lena ran through her childhood, trying to think of the men she had known. Hank did not have friends. When he was using, he ended up screwing them or pushing them away. When he stopped using, he'd lacked the skills to make connections. There were people he knew from AA meetings and Deacon Simms, but that was it. He spent his nights at home or at the bar.
The man told her, 'You know, when I saw you at Hank's place the other day, I thought, "Now there's a good lookin' woman."'
Had he been in the Escalade outside of Hank's house? The SUV's windows were tinted. Lena had been so focused on the man with the swastika that she hadn't bothered to look for a passenger.
'You look a lot like your mama when she was your age. Did you know that?'
'I didn't even know my mother lived to be my age.'
'Oh, yeah, Angie lived a lot longer than she should have.'
Hank had said that the man outside was the one who'd killed Angela Adams. Had he meant this man, the one who now held a gun to Charlotte Warren's head?
Lena asked, 'Did you kill my mother?' She turned around. 'Hank said that you killed her.'
He laughed. 'Hank says a lot of things. Not like he's gonna make it much longer doped up like he is. Tell me, honey, do you like to bet? Maybe you want to make a little wager on how long it takes for him to die?' His laughter was a dry-sounding noise devoid of any humor. 'Frankly, I'd be surprised if he was still breathing after that shit Clint gave him today.'
Clint, Lena thought. Now she knew the thug's name.
'Let me tell you about your mama,' the man in the mask said. 'Do you wanna know about your mama?'
'Yes.'
'Well ...' He pretended to think back. 'Like I said, you're just like her. Same pretty hair, beautiful eyes. Her mouth was some kind of wonderful. I won't go into details seeing as you're her baby girl, but let's just say she could suck the leather off a baseball and swallow it whole.' He cackled. 'Angie wasn't always like that, of course. Tight as a damn drum in high school. Real religious, just like her mother. Would've taken a crowbar just to get her open. Up here.'
'What?'
'Turn up here,' he said, pointing to the grass beside the school.
'There's no road.'
'I keep forgetting you're a cop,' he said. 'Come on, now, just turn onto the grass. Nobody's gonna arrest you.'
Lena held on to the wheel as the tires dipped into the shoulder off the road. Some of the water in the cup beside her splashed onto her leg as she steered the car to even terrain.
'Keep going.' He indicated that she should drive through the open gates to the football field.
Lena drove as slowly as she could without stalling the car. In the mirror, she could see the Celica pull into one of the spaces in the senior parking lot. Was this the plan, then? To kill Lena and Charlotte outside the school? She didn't understand why he was still talking if all he wanted to do was kill them.
'Little bit more,' the man said. 'Through the gates and onto the football field.' He leaned forward, his hand brushing Lena's arm. 'Give me that cup, will you? All this talking is making me thirsty.'
She put her foot on the brake and did as he asked, careful not to let her hand touch his. As the cup passed between them, she got a whiff of the contents. It definitely wasn't water, but she could not place the odor. The cup felt heavier than it should've been.
'Thank you.' He sat back in the seat, holding the cup at chest level. 'You look like you've got a question for me.'
She cut to the heart of the matter. 'How did you know my mother?'
'She was just like Charlotte here,' he answered. 'Give them a little taste and they'll do whatever you ask.'
'Taste of what?' Lena asked. 'Drugs?' She looked back at Charlotte. The woman was slumped and silent, her lips slightly curled up as if she was hearing a different conversation. Had she lied about just being an alcoholic? Was she an addict, too?
'Stop on the fifty yard line,' the man told her.
Lena put the car in park but left the engine running. Ahead of her, she
could see Clint making his way onto the field. He strained from what looked like a heavy bucket he carried in his hand, his body listing to the side. Instead of coming to the car, he put the bucket down on the sidelines then stood there, as if waiting to be called over.
In the rearview mirror, Lena watched the masked man tuck his gun into the waistband of his jeans. He held the cup in his right hand and kept his left wrapped around the back of Charlotte's neck.
Lena could run now. She could bolt from the car. Clint was fat and out of shape. Lena could run through the woods on the side of the stadium and get lost in the darkness. She could pound on someone's door until they opened up and demand to use the phone.
'You gonna leave?' the man asked, as if he could read her mind. 'Or do you want to stay put and hear what I have to say?'
Her hand had been on the door, fingers wrapped around the handle. She let it drop and turned to face him. 'Tell me,' she demanded.
'If I had wanted to kill you,' he began, 'you would already be dead. You know that.'
'Yes.'
'Your friend here, now she's been a pretty good girl all these years, but when it's time, it's time.'
'Don't hurt her,' Lena pleaded. 'She's got children. Her husband—'
'Yeah, it's sad. But you make your choices.'
'You call that a choice?' Lena snarled. 'Having some asshole Nazi stick a needle in your arm is a choice?'
He was smiling again. 'You sound so much like her, Lee. That same sharp tongue and quick temper. Now, Sibyl, she was more like ... well, I guess you know who your sister was like. Real quiet, always caught up in her thoughts. Hell if I know where she got her brains, though. You could've knocked me over with a feather when I heard she'd gotten a full scholarship to Georgia Tech.'
He seemed to know everything about their lives, yet Lena had never met him before.
What did he really know, though? Anyone who had followed Hank and Lena in a grocery store would know that he called her Lee. The newspaper had run a front-page story when Sibyl had gotten her scholarship. As for the details about Angela Adams's early life ... those could be made up. The story she was hearing now about her mother could be just as false as the stories Hank had spun to her as a child.
'You working it out?' the man asked.
'Am I supposed to recognize you?'
'Honey, right now, all you need to do is watch and learn.' He held up the cup as if to toast her. 'I'm going to show you what happens to people who don't mind their own business.'
He threw the contents of the cup at Charlotte, and Lena could smell it now.
Lighter fluid.
'What are you—'
He opened his door. There was a click, then a flame ignited from the silver lighter he held in his hand. He tossed the lighter at Charlotte as he left the car, and Lena lunged for it, screaming, 'No—' as she tried to catch it.
She wasn't fast enough. The lighter fell onto Charlotte's lap, the flame ignited the liquid and Lena was blown back into the front seat as the woman caught fire.
Charlotte made an animal sound, her arms flailing as the flames began to consume her.
'No,' Lena gasped, unable to help, unable to do anything but watch Charlotte burn. 'No!' The car filled with smoke and the smell of burning meat. Lena clawed at the door, trying to get it open. Finally, she managed to find the handle and fell out of the car. She hit the ground hard, pain tearing through her shoulder as she scrambled to her feet.
Clint appeared. What she'd thought was a bucket was actually a gas can. He pushed past Lena and threw more fuel onto the SUV.
She pounced on him, flailing her arms wildly, scratching at his face, screaming gibberish as she took out her rage on him. Clint slammed his fist into the side of her head so hard that she reeled back, sick with pain. Hot bile roiled up her throat and Lena bent over, vomiting in the grass.
There was a small explosion as part of the SUV ignited. Lena rolled to her knees, trying to crawl away from the vehicle before the whole thing went up. The smoke and heat were too much. She fell onto her side, wheezing. She could hear a noise that could not be human: high-pitched screeching. Charlotte. She was still alive, still conscious of the flames that were devouring her.
Lena rolled onto her stomach, knowing it was too late for Charlotte, that she should get as far away from the car as possible. She tried to move, but her body gave out on her. Suddenly, she was scooped up by the waist of her pants, dragged toward the bleachers. The car exploded again, so loud that it must have been the gas tank. She was flung into the stands, her head banging against the metal. The thud vibrated in her ears; the gas can tumbled down beside her.
Clint was on top of her, his face inches from hers. 'You still alive?'
Lena coughed, feeling like her lungs had been burned. She could barely breathe with him on top of her. 'Why?' she managed. 'Why are you doing this?'
He sat back on his knees, brushing debris off his arms and legs, looking at it like he had just come home from church and couldn't understand why he'd gotten so dirty.
'Why?' she insisted, her voice thick with grief.
In the light of the fire, she could see his face, the way he looked down at her with something like pity. 'I can't tell you anything, Lena. You'll have to ask Hank.'
THURSDAY EVENING
TWENTY-ONE
Sara sat outside the Elawah County Hospital, the cold concrete of the bench penetrating her jeans. She was sick of hospitals, sick of the slow way everything moved in them. No wonder people were so furious at the healthcare industry. The tox screen, the blood work, the X-rays – everything had taken twice as long as it should have, and then a doctor had to be located, a pharmacist called in, a nurse found. All these slow machinations were designed specifically to cover everyone's ass in case a mistake was made; the wrong lab report delivered, the wrong drug administered, an incorrect diagnosis given. Meanwhile, the patient suffered in limbo. It was absolutely maddening.
The only saving grace was that Hank had not been aware of the wait; he had remained comatose during the short ride to the hospital and when they had triaged him in the ER and moved him to the ICU, not much about his condition had changed. Still, Sara did not hold out any great hope. His body was racked with infection. His heart was weakened from years of drug use and his lungs were showing mid-stage emphysema.
Sara's biggest concern was the burn marks around his wrists and feet. On first glance, they had seemed to match the other cuts and abrasions on Hank's body. Closer inspection proved that they were rope burns. She could tell from the sloping angle of the pattern on his wrists that his hands had been tied away from his body. His ankles had been bound together. What's more, he had been recently beaten. Two ribs were broken and there was a nasty bruise on his lower abdomen where someone had either punched or kicked him.
Surprisingly, the most immediate problem they'd had to deal with was drug withdrawal. For reasons of his own, Hank had stopped the meth cold turkey and his body's response had been to rebel completely. His organs were trying to shut down, to begin the cascade that would eventually lead to his death.
Working at Grady Hospital during her internship, Sara had seen her share of homeless addicts come through the emergency room doors. They were little more than the walking dead, their health so deteriorated that it was shocking that they were capable of standing upright. Pneumonia, hepatitis, scurvy, severe dehydration ... Years had passed since she'd worked with these hopeless souls, and she had been so shocked to see Hank's condition when she'd first seen him lying in his backyard that for a moment, she hadn't been able to act.
The only thing she had been able to do for him tonight was help process him through the system. As long as he remained stable through the night, he would be transferred to a larger hospital first thing in the morning.
A silver car turned into the parking lot. Sara's heart sank when she saw it wasn't her BMW. Jeffrey should be here any minute now, and she was anxious to see him. He had called Sara at the hospital and told her about
searching Lena's hotel room, the phone call she had made to Coastal State Prison. According to the records, Lena had visited Ethan Green the same day the SUV was burned. There had to be a connection, but Jeffrey hadn't wanted to talk about it over the phone. He told her he would wait at the motel for the warden to call him back, then he would pick up Sara at the hospital.
She could tell just by listening to him that no matter what the warden said, Jeffrey had already decided to see Ethan for himself. He thought threats and intimidation would work on the con, but Sara knew better. Men like Ethan Green did not curl up into a ball when they were threatened. They coiled like rattlesnakes and prepared to attack.
Sara had made a pact with herself the night before that no matter what Jeffrey did, she was going to stand by him. After sixteen years, she knew that her husband was never going to see a person trapped in a burning building and sit back, leaving it to someone else to save them. Sara had to accept this facet of his personality and support his choice, because it was this goodness that had drawn her to him in the first place. It was against his nature to walk away.
The glass doors to the emergency room slid open and Fred Bart walked out, patting his pockets. 'Hey there, darlin',' he called, spotting Sara on the bench. He found his cigarettes, gave her a rueful grin and tucked them back in his pocket.
'Lost in your thoughts?' he asked, sitting beside her without waiting for an invitation. 'Looks like rain, don't it?'
Sara looked up at the night sky, realizing that he was right. 'Yes.'
'My sister's here.' He squared his shoulders, showed his straight, tiny teeth. 'I'm an uncle!' He bumped her on the shoulder, an overfamiliar gesture, but Sara didn't protest because he looked so happy.
'Your first?'
'Third!' he told her, exuberant. 'I guess you see little babies a lot what with being a pediatrician. Do you ever get over how teeny they are? I mean, just the teeniest things.'
'No,' Sara admitted, his happiness distracting her.
A Grant County Collection: Indelible, Faithless and Skin Privilege Page 110