THERE WERE TWO things that Alvin Finch, aka BoneMan, wanted; nay, three that he would cut off his own hands to possess. His daughter, because Bethany was the seed of his life and all that was beautiful in him.
To crush the father’s heart who, having been rejected, would be forced to live out a terrible life with the knowledge of his utter failure.
To break both of their bones if he couldn’t have Bethany’s love.
Naturally, he would allow her to express that love in new ways—for example, maybe she could take to breaking bones with him on a regular basis as they sought other daughters.
Alvin remained calm as he always did when he broke bones, but this time, controlling his pleasure was more difficult than he remembered it being. The idea that had grown in him was now before him, illuminated by the lamp’s flame.
He’d hoisted the man up on the cross upside down, then strapped his ankles spread-eagle to the frame by running rope through a hole he’d drilled in each block of wood for this purpose. He’d also tied the man’s hands to the bottom portion of the cross frame and strapped his mouth with tape.
Then he’d asked Bethany, his promise of God, to wake him, and after looking at him with long eyes, she’d done so by slapping his face.
The father now hung awake, face red and eyes bulging, silent because of the tape, but inside surely screaming. Screaming with enough force to expel his lungs and his intestines.
This was what Alvin Finch had learned: you can break their bones, but it is far better to break their heart.
Suffice it to say that he had broken the father’s heart.
Satisfied, he picked up the sledgehammer leaning against the wall and walked over to the daughter, who stared at the cross without expression. He held out the hammer to her.
She took it with her right hand and supported its weight with her left, though it was badly swollen. The sledgehammer was longer than her arm and the black iron head was the thickness of her calf. Seeing her frail frame gripping such a large hammer was an interesting sight.
He nodded his encouragement and indicated the short stool he’d placed by the man’s head. “I’ll hold his foot steady.”
She just looked at him, lost. Was she thinking about backing out?
A shot of adrenaline washed through his blood and he felt his neck grow suddenly hot. If she backed out now, he would not be responsible for the pain he would inflict on her skeleton. No judge could blame him for what he would do to the father. Every bone, not just those that could be broken in the extremities, but all of them would have to be cracked or crushed. If she betrayed him now…
The daughter walked away from him and mounted the stool, hammer in hands.
His anger fell away like dead leaves in the fall. In fact, he regretted his doubt. How could he doubt such a lovely daughter who had agreed with him at each turn, though he’d had to break three of her fingers to convince her that he was right?
He hurried up to the cross, grabbed the bared right foot, and pulled it away from the cross so that she would have ample room to land the blow.
“Right on the heel. You’ll have to swing the hammer hard and land it square or it’ll slip off. Don’t hit me.”
She held the hammer over her shoulder and stared at the heel. “The heel,” she said.
“Just the heel.”
“And you let him live?”
“We agreed on that.”
“I can’t kill anyone. I’m not like that.”
“Not yet, no. Just the heel, I promise, my child.”
The last two words came out awkwardly, but with time they would flow from his tongue like honey. And with time she would beg to break all of the bones of anyone they took.
He’d thought about the possibility that she could direct the hammer’s blow to his head, of course, and standing here beside her the concern reasserted itself. She was a clever little pig. She might just try it. It’s what he would do and she was very much like him.
“Hold on.”
He bent and picked up a five-foot length of rope left over from strapping Evan up. He quickly looped it around the man’s toes and stepped back, pulling the foot flat so that the father couldn’t ruin Bethany’s blow by twisting.
He was now slightly behind her, making a blow to his head impossible.
She looked at him dully.
“There,” he said. “Remember, swing as hard as you can.”
She faced the father again. He was trying to talk through the tape, but she ignored him and brought the sledgehammer back.
There were tears in her eyes, but her jaw was fixed. Her arms were trembling, but the hammer was heavy and her left hand wasn’t entirely functional. And besides that, striking that first blow was always the hardest. It had taken him three months from the time he’d decided to kill his mother to work up the courage to break her bones.
He’d wept with each blow.
“It’s okay, my child. You’ll get used to it. I’m right here behind you.”
She held the hammer cocked above his foot for a long time, trembling so badly that Alvin doubted she could swing straight. She would miss and lose her resolve.
But she had to swing! She had to break his heel! Alvin wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted anything so badly as he wanted her to smash Ryan’s heel now, while he watched.
He glanced down. The father had quieted and closed his eyes. He would accept this fate because he knew that he’d lost her already. Now he was at their mercy.
Later, a day from now, a month from now, he didn’t know when, Alvin would walk into the father’s house and kill him. But today he wanted only to break his heart.
And he wanted Bethany’s full adoration.
“Swing it,” he said.
A soft, terrible wail came from the girl’s mouth and Alvin began to panic.
“Swing! Swing, you dirty little pig. Swing!”
Bethany swung the sledgehammer.
BETHANY FELT AS little as she thought she could possibly feel without it being nothing and as much as she’d remembered feeling, all at once. It sounded impossible, but it was as though her mind had been split in two when she swung.
Part of her cried out in horror at the action she was taking.
Part of her screamed with rage.
But part of her wanted to do only what made Alvin happy. What would endear her to him, even though she was loosely aware that she shouldn’t feel that way. She was siding with him even though she knew deep down where thoughts are hidden that he was a monster.
She would rather be a monster and with him than be dead and nowhere.
So when Alvin screamed swing, she felt both horrified and compelled to swing the hammer with all of her might.
It landed hard on the flesh of his heel and bounced off.
Crunch.
Something had broken.
She was panting from the exertion. Ryan was still, except for scattered staccato jerking movements, like a freshly slaughtered pig.
Something had broken, all right.
Bethany’s strength left her legs and she stepped back to steady herself, only too late remembering that she was on a stool. BoneMan caught her and set her straight before she fell.
He leaped up to the form on the cross and quickly examined the heel. “You did it.” His voice was thick with pleasure. “I think you did it.”
Bethany stared at her father, sickened. He’d stopped shaking and she thought that he might have passed out. His face looked at peace now. He was stretched on the wood frame and his shirt had slipped down to reveal his belly with his ribs sticking out. He was breathing quietly.
He’d come to save her. He’d come to hold her. She was sending him away and she didn’t understand why or what she should do.
She was looking at his face when his eyes suddenly opened and he looked directly at her. She blinked, and when she looked at him again, his eyes were closed again.
But in that one moment she’d seen her father. Not the man who’d abandoned her for the navy. Not the man who did not love Celine. But a man who would die to be her father. To hold her and make her life right again.
But she’d chosen. The only way to survive in BoneMan’s world was to become like BoneMan, the man who would kill to be her father.
She walked over to her piss pot and threw up in it. Her gut was empty so only bitter yellow bile came out.
Then she walked to the bed, lay on her side facing the wall, and closed her eyes. She was in hell, she thought.
And Alvin Finch really was Satan.