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JONAS WAS CATCHING EVERY word clearly. He listened like a nosey neighbor. He couldn’t believe his ears. It was like one of those afternoon soaps. Who was doing who. Who had wronged who. His thoughts went into slow motion. The voices. He knew who the owners were without even a glance around the door. He was being yanked into something he wanted no part of, but he couldn’t turn off the channel.
A gasp. He heard it. It was a gasp from his father.
“That’s right, Coach. Take a good long look. Do you know these young ladies?”
He didn’t answer Linsey. She got down in the mud with him—face to face. “I asked you a question,” she screeched.
Terrence’s head gave a shake of denial, but his eyes double crossed him. Linsey saw it, the recognition.
“Your victims, Coach.” The words slid off her tongue like honey. “Each one has a story to tell. A heart wrenching story of rape, and fear, and threats from a well-known and respected coach.”
Terrence looked the young ladies over. All striking beauties. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Blue eyes steaming like kettles on the stove about to blow. They were sitting side by side in one row of chairs, six of them. One chair was empty. Two men took up the rear. He knew them also. They were the men who had snatched him off the street for this night of a trip to the past.
“Lies. All lies,” he said low and gruff.
Jonas was pinned to the hall. He wanted to run. Turn and sprint like a hundred-meter track star blasting out of the blocks at the gun shot, but he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, his feet would not follow instructions from his brain. He felt like he was standing in a bucket of cement. He was startled by the shriek of a young voice.
“Lies?” One of the Blondie’s had lurched out of her seat and was running toward Terrence. “You did it you rotten piece of shit!” Her arm kicked up, a gun in her hand. She pointed it at Terrence’s head. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You tell the truth or I’ll blow your head off!”
“No, no, no,” Jonas was whispering to himself. “This isn’t happening. It’s a nightmare. Wake up,” he commanded with his eyes squeezed shut. But the nightmare kept running, reel after reel. He had to see. He had to take a peek. He did it. Eased his head around the door and got an eye full.
His father’s back was to the door. He was shackled to a chair, his head looking up at a gun. The girl holding the gun was strikingly pretty, he thought. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. His breath stopped. Oh gawd, they could all be sisters. Rose’s sisters. He was a statue watching and listening.
The girl’s hand was shaking. Her words were quaking out. “Tell what you did to me.” She was wailing gut wrenching sobs. “Tell it or I swear for God, I’ll kill you.”
The girl was facing the door, facing Jonas, but she didn’t see him. She was sighting the coach through the barrel of her eyes.
“No, Logan,” Linsey said softly as if trying to avoid the detonation of a bomb. “If you shoot him in the head, he’ll just die. He won’t suffer. He won’t pay for his sins. He will be set free by a quick death.”
Logan seemed to consider this. Her head cocked left, blue eyes pinned on the ceiling. Then her eyes traveled back down. She was calm. “You’re right, Judge. A quick death is too good for this slime. How about I shoot him here?” She lowered the gun, past his face, past his chest, past his stomach, and paused at her chosen organ. “Suppose I just put a hole in that weapon of his?” She smiled wide.
Terrence’s eyes bulged from their sockets. Logan thought he looked like a bug-eyed alien. “Confess what you did, you turd!”
The Coach said hoarsely, “I, I don’t know you.”
Logan popped the gun up to Terrence’s chest like a rocket and pulled the trigger. Terrence screamed, “Nooo!” as he rocked violently back in his chair. The gun snapped. Terrence and the chair toppled backward, crashing onto the floor. Jonas rushed in like a tidal wave screaming, “Nooo, nooo, nooo.”