For Reece, it seemed anything was possible, and he wondered if this was what Christians meant when they spoke of being reborn. He was behind the false wall, and the girl was taking off her clothes. Too soon for a long bath, he knew, or even a hot, quick shower; but clean clothing had proved too much a temptation.
A richer world …
He followed her to the kitchen, only a few feet away as she uncorked a bottle of wine, and flared her nostrils before taking a sip. She moved room to room, and he trailed along behind the mirrors and the walls. When she slept, she did so fully clothed, with her knees drawn up. He’d planned to watch like this for nights or weeks, but it was the dawn of a new world.
An hour after midnight, he went inside.
He wouldn’t touch her yet, but wanted to smell her hair and her skin, to feel the heat of her neck on his face. He stood by the bed, looking down. She was on her side, her lips slightly parted. Leaning close, he studied the line of her nose, and of the lashes, dark on her skin. He breathed deeply, but her hair smelled unclean, and her breath was slightly sour. He would have frowned, but she woke unexpectedly: a shutter-snap of wide eyes and the shadow-pink of an open mouth. For the first time in his life, Reece froze, utterly panicked.
He was ruining it!
The stare held for half a second, then Reece turned and ran, the girl screaming loud enough to shatter every thought he’d ever had.
I heard the scream, muffled by the house, but definitely in the house. It went on so long that even Chance stirred, which was more than I’d been able to manage in all the long hours we’d been caged.
“Hey, buddy, are you with me?”
He rolled onto his side, coughing up a lung. “Don’t touch me.” He found his hands and knees, his forehead against the floor. “The hell is that sound?”
“We’re not the only ones here.”
“Here? What here?”
Chance sounded out of it. I thought he was. He crawled a foot or two, and got his back against the wall. Cracked lips. A heat-swollen tongue. He tried to focus, but the room was dim. He saw the cage, though, and the tables. “Take it easy,” I told him. “You were locked in a hot trunk for most of a day.”
I saw the memories when he got them back, a parade across his face, nothing pretty. He put his palms over his eyes, and pushed hard. “What is this place?”
“A house. I don’t know. Isolated.”
“I heard a woman.”
“I know.”
“She was screaming.”
“You’re all right, man. Take it easy.”
He blinked at me, bloodshot. “Is there water?”
I shook my head.
“What’s that about?”
He meant my fingertips, torn and bloodied. I pointed at the place where sharp-edged bolts secured steel mesh to the steel frame. “A tool kit might have been better.”
There was blood on metal, dried black.
Chance stared for five good seconds, then closed his eyes for so long I thought he’d checked out or fallen back asleep. When he spoke, they were still closed. “I don’t know what to say to you. How can you even look at me?”
“Just take it easy.”
Chance shook his head. “I called you. He told me to do it, and that’s what I did.”
“How about we worry about this cage and all that scary shit out there. How about that?”
“He can kill me. I don’t care.”
“He had a knife at your neck. I’d have made the call, too.”
“I don’t believe that.”
He said it softly, but was looking at me, at least. I slid across the cage, and leaned against the same wall. “So that’s it? You’re officially a pussy? Got a membership card and everything?”
“Don’t joke.”
His mouth was open, his eyes glazed. If he had reserves left, I couldn’t see them. “Chance, buddy. Listen…”
I got no further than that. The outside door swung open, and our kidnapper stepped inside. He had a revolver in one hand, and a wild look on his face, red-eyed and swollen, like he might fly apart.
“Back the fuck up! Back up!” He pointed with the gun. “You! Come here! Not you. The little one.” I started to rise. He thumbed the hammer. “I said back the fuck up! You! Now!”
He unlocked the cage, and Chance stepped out like he didn’t care, or couldn’t. His eyes were down, both hands at his sides. The little man locked the cage, and up close like that, I saw more of the crazy in his face. Something had changed. He was off the rails. He pushed the barrel into Chance’s chest, backed him away from the cage.
“Hey!” I rattled the door. “Hey, asshole!”
“Shut up. It’s ruined.”
“The hell are you doing?”
“I don’t want them!” He shoved with the gun. “Anger. Regret.” He swung the barrel into Chance’s face. The blow staggered him; he bled. “I don’t deserve to feel those things! I don’t want to carry them!”
He hit Chance again.
I said, “Shit! Shit!”
Chance fell to his knees, blood dripping. He climbed slowly to his feet, still no expression. Heatstroke, I thought. Concussion. The little man hit him again, twice with a fist and again with the gun. Chance fell into a shelf; metal clattered. The barrel swung in—back of the head—and Chance went all the way down, every cord cut. The little man kicked him in the ribs, the face, then went back with his other foot, kicking and grunting as all that regret and anger found a place to go. “Not! My! Fault!”
“Leave him alone!” I yelled. “Damn it! Leave him alone!”
“Shut up or you’re next!”
“Chance!” I beat on the mesh, but nothing changed.
The guy had a lot of anger left.
A lot of regret, too.
Afterward, Reece stared into the mirror, sweat on his face, still breathing hard. There was a glitter in his eyes he’d never seen, a shiftiness that looked dangerous. He was moving too fast. That was the problem.
“Goddamn it, X.”
Had he ruined the girl?
It was the only question that mattered. He’d risked everything for her. He’d looked for so many years, been so patient …
“What patience?”
He punched the wall, the look on his face a sarcastic, angry sneer. He was supposed to give her time to settle, months, if need be. He’d been ready to wait that long, or even longer.
It was X’s fault.
X was in his head.
Reece pulled at his hair, then forced a deep breath.
Two sides.
Every coin.
Lonnie Ward was dead. No real loss; he’d been a convenience. And X would die in hours. Once he was gone, there’d be no one left alive who knew Reece or what he was or where he lived. The thought was like a breath of air. Reece had money. He was still young. Maybe a fresh start was the way to go. Kill the boys. Kill the girl.
A clean slate.
Reece closed his eyes, and tried to see the future. It was cloudy, and cloudy was frustrating. So he went to his secret place, and watched the girl. She’d crawled under the bed, and pulled the blanket with her. Reece couldn’t see much. He chewed his lip until it bled. The taste of it surprised him.
He didn’t like that she was under the bed; he couldn’t see. How long would she stay there, and how would she be when she came out, ruined or resigned or something else?
Maybe she did not have to die.
Or maybe she did …
For me, it was all about Chance. I’d dragged him into the cage as the man who’d beaten him so badly stood by and watched, his chest heaving as sweat ran down his neck. He’d said nothing at all, just locked the cage, and left.
Son of a bitch.
Motherfucker.
I still didn’t know if Chance was all right. He was on his side, arms folded to cushion the ribs, his eyes closed. He didn’t speak, but his face was better than I’d thought. Blood, yeah, but none of the cuts were deep. I used my shirt to clean him up.
“Gibs.” It was a whisper.
“Yeah, man. I’m here.”
“That kind of sucked.” His eyes stayed closed. His lips twitched.
“Dude, are you smiling?”
“I don’t know. My face hurts too much to be sure.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“I couldn’t find a tool kit.”
That made no sense. I thought again, Concussion. Or shock.
Then he opened his hand, and showed me what looked like a pair of scissors, curved at the tips, some kind of surgical clamp.
Chance’s voice was very soft. “It’s called a hemostat.”
He seemed so certain and calm I thought maybe I was the one in shock. “How in the world do you know that?”
Another smile, very faint. “I saw it in a magazine once. Medics in Vietnam…”
“Chance, Jesus…”
“Much better than your fingers.”