Blood Stained (19 page)

Adam did what Dad would do: give the boys time to think about their actions and the consequences. He scrambled up the wooden ladder then pulled it up behind him. The fire below was almost out, but he'd keep an eye on the kids, make sure they didn't burn themselves. They had the red glow from the kerosene heater, plenty of food and water, and if they were good, he'd leave one of the lanterns he'd set on the upper edge of the pit going.

Now both Marty and Darrin choked out shouts as they ran to where the ladder had been. As their noise escalated, Adam regretted not using the chloroform soaked rag in his pocket, but he'd been too scared it might be too much for them. They were so much tinier than the fish Dad used it on.

The noise echoed, bouncing back and forth from the cavern walls until it was like a Ping-Pong ricocheting through Adam's brain. He fled. Raced out into the fresh air, stood in the cold, stared up at the snow-filled sky, and wondered what he'd done wrong.

Chapter 19

It didn't take long. Bob seemed to understand this had nothing to do with him. Or even sex. 

It was all about Jenna regaining control. Feeling powerful. In charge of at least one small piece of her life. 

As they fumbled their clothes back into place, Jenna enjoying the way Bob looked down every time she made eye contact then looked up again with a flush, O'Hara entered the interview room and sat down across from Roy.

Bob snapped the intercom on and waited for Jenna to take her seat first. Seemed he didn't mind letting ladies go first in most things, she thought with a smile, re-buttoning her shirt. Sex without a condom—she'd never done that. Not even in the back seat of Ricky Jimenez's dad's car during her first time as a kid. But damn, the risk was exhilarating. And it felt so natural. As natural as holding a pistol, taking aim, pulling the trigger.

She should reassure Bob. She'd been tested. Was on the pill. But he didn't ask. Either he trusted her or he was embarrassed. He sat down beside her, his leg pressed against her thigh. Then his hand was there. Resting, as if it belonged there, yet not possessive. All she had to do was shift her weight and it would be gone.

Her choice. She liked that. Liked that he didn't ask all the awkward questions that usually spoiled the mood. Liked the feeling of being wild and doing what she wanted. She let his hand stay where it was. 

Was about to do some exploring with her own hand below the table when Roy burst out crying. Not just tears and sobs but hair-pulling, shirt-renting cries of grief.

"What did O’Hara say?"

"Told him they found Rachel's body in the fire," Bob whispered back. "Poor girl."

O'Hara leaned forward. He faced away from them, but he seemed to be trying to comfort Roy by patting his wrist. 

Roy sniffed hard, head hung low. "Sally? Did you find her?"

"Not yet. They're still searching the debris," O'Hara said. 

Roy gave another cry of anguish.

"Who's Sally?" Jenna asked.

"Rachel's little girl. Just turned four."

"She was in the trailer?" The memory of that blast, the heat, the fireball, seared her vision. No way anyone survived inside that trailer. If she hadn't been killed beforehand when the automatic weapons the bikers used ripped the thin walls to shreds. "Christ, who would raise a kid in a place like that?"

Bob looked away. 

"It wasn't your fault," Jenna said. "You tried to help her, help them."

"It wasn't my fault," Roy shouted at O'Hara. "I was trying to save her! You can't hang this on me. It's not my fucking fault! If those bitch cops hadn't of shown up, none of this would have happened!"

Suddenly everything became crystal sharp for Jenna. Sitting in the dark, watching a man fall to pieces. 

Roy was right. This wasn't his fault. 

If Lucy hadn't let Adam go, they would have never stopped to see Rachel. They would have headed back to the city and Jenna would never have killed another human being. Rachel and her little girl would still be alive, and this awful taste of cat piss that kept filling Jenna's mouth, making it hard to swallow or breathe, would never have come, and she would never have pulled the trigger and…

She scraped her chair back and stood so fast the table rocked. "I have to go."

"I thought you wanted to hear—" Bob opened the outside door for her. "Jenna, are you all right?"

There was a restroom across the hall. Jenna plunged through the door and fell to the floor in front of the toilet, dry heaving. No, she wasn't all right. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be all right again.

Bob followed her inside. Held her hair, mopped her face with a wet paper towel, then helped her to her feet when it was clear nothing was coming up. It was all too deep inside her. Living there, festering, ready to ambush.

How could she have imagined she was in control? Jenna splashed water on her face and gave a weak laugh. Bob pressed his palm against the small of her back, supporting her.

Funny thing was, she didn't feel embarrassed that he witnessed her weakness. As if it didn't matter. Or he didn't matter. 

All she felt was relief that it wasn't Lucy, the super hero, all-star FBI agent who probably never felt out of control in her entire life. Damn her to hell. Who'd she think she was, letting Jenna's fugitive escape?

"Can I get you anything?" Bob asked.

Jenna shook her head. Bob didn't have what she needed. 

She needed to find the person really responsible for all this mess. Adam Caine.

<><><>

The deputy led Lucy and Zeller next door to a conference room. A blonde in her mid thirties paced behind the table, her LL Bean parka unzipped to reveal maroon hospital scrubs.

"Colleen Brady," the deputy made introductions. 

Zeller strode forward, hand stretched out, and took the woman's palm. "Sheriff Zeller, ma'am. So sorry to meet you under these circumstances. Why don't you sit and tell us what happened?"

The woman nodded, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and dropped into a chair. "My mother, she watches Marty when I'm at work and I was on eight to four, but she's had a real nasty cold and took some cough medicine and fell asleep, and as I was leaving work she called and when she woke, Marty wasn't there, so you were on the way and I just, I just…" She ran out of steam, tears choking any further words.

"So you haven't been home yet yourself?" Zeller asked.

She shook her head.

"Let's start there." He nodded to the deputy who excused herself to dispatch a unit over to the house. "You and Marty live with your mom?"

"We moved in with her when Martin was deployed."

"Your husband, he's overseas?"

Another shake of her head. "Killed. In action. Four months ago."

"Sorry for your loss." He pulled the phone between them and put it on speaker. "What's your mother's name?"

"Cathy. Cathy Silvetti." She dialed the phone, her finger trembled. "Mom? Did you find him? I'm with the sheriff."

"Colleen." The older woman's voice was pitched with panic. "I can't find him anywhere. I looked all over."

"Mrs. Silvetti," the sheriff put in, "we're sending a car out there, so you just sit tight. What time were you expecting Marty home from school?"

As he began to work the particulars, Lucy slid her notebook from her pocket and made notes of questions that would be helpful and slid the page to Zeller. 

"And what was Marty wearing today?"

"I'm not—I can't—" Panic flooded the grandmother's voice.

"Green fleece top over a Spiderman tee," the mom supplied. "Blue jeans, gray—no, black—sneakers. Navy blue jacket and a red and blue backpack with a glow in the dark Spiderman decal."

"Are any of those in the house, Mrs. Silvetti?"

There was the sound of the grandmother walking. "No. They're all gone."

Zeller read from Lucy's notes. "And do we know for certain he went to school this morning?"

Colleen jerked at that. "You mean, maybe he—oh no, this is all my fault." New tears shook her. Lucy scooted her chair closer and handed her a box of tissues.

"What happened?"

"I got called in to work an extra shift last night, didn't get home until after midnight." Colleen gasped for air as if trying to stop her words and failing. "I woke Marty. He came running out, so excited and happy—thought I was his father home at last. When Marty saw I wasn't his father, he threw a tantrum, screaming, crying for his daddy, demanding him. He wouldn't even let me hug him or anything. And I, I just miss Martin so much, I lost it."

She paused, looked up in regret. "I yelled at him. Told him his dad was never coming home. Then I sent him back to bed."

"Was there any physical contact?" Lucy asked gently.

"No—no, nothing like that. When he was flailing about, so upset, I gave him a bear hug, held him until I knew he wouldn't hurt himself. He kept hitting me, screaming for his dad, and when I said he wasn't coming home, he just stopped. Looked at me like I was a monster. And ran back to bed."

"How was he this morning?"

"Seemed fine. Like it had all been a bad dream. He was prone to night terrors and sleep walking when he was a toddler, I kinda hoped he really had slept through it."

"But now?"

"Now I can't help wondering if he ran away. Maybe to look for his dad? Because of me."

<><><>

Dad made it seem so easy. So typical of Adam to screw up. Who'd he think he was, thinking he could be as good as Dad?

Fear and worry forced him into a rapid pace. He stomped down the snow until he saw the tracks he left behind. Not good. Leave no trace, Dad always said.

He tore free a hemlock branch and erased all traces of himself and the kids, backing into the secret entrance to the cave. He left the branch against the boulder in the foyer—he'd use it to cover his tracks when he left again. 

He snuck through to the rear cavern and peered over the edge of the pit, keeping to the shadows on the opposite side from the lantern. The fire appeared totally out now. Marty and Darrin sat with their heads together, their voices low murmurs. Conspiring against him. He was family. They were supposed to love him, not defy him.

He remembered all the times he'd questioned Dad. Even though he never voiced his doubts out loud, Dad always knew when he wavered. 

He'd sit Adam down and grill him, not letting him move until Dad was satisfied with his answers. The sessions went on hours, long enough that once or twice when Adam was just a kid, he'd soil himself. Why couldn't Adam be a good son? Hadn't Dad earned his trust? What would Adam do to regain Dad's trust? Would he follow Dad's instructions no matter how painful they were?

Eventually Adam saw the light and repented any doubts. Then Dad would test Adam. Sometimes it was something gross like eating a bug. Other times it was something painful like holding his hand over a candle until Dad said he could move it.

The worst times involved a fish. Pick one out and reel them in without Dad's help. Or deciding what Dad would use on them first: the cattle prod or the knife.

Their fate in Adam's hands, Dad would say. That's how it felt to be a parent. That was the responsibility Dad faced every day with every choice he made. Was Adam really ready to take all that on himself?

No, he whispered. But Dad forced him to make the choice, pass the test, before he'd give Adam what Adam craved: the faintest hint of a nod and smile, Dad's hand surfing through Adam's hair, letting him know all was forgiven.

"I'm not ready," Adam whispered as he crept over to the lantern. He took it, leaving the kids in darkness except for the light of the heater. Darrin's shrill cry spiraled up, but Adam steeled himself to ignore it. Being the grownup was tough, but he had to do the right thing and keep the family safe.

Even if that meant letting the kids learn the hard way to listen to him. Obey him. Like he had obeyed Dad.

If only Dad were here. Adam curled up on his sleeping bag, toasty warm and unable to hear the kids now that he was in the front chamber of the cave. Usually he wasn't afraid of the dark, not here in his sanctuary. But tonight he left the lantern burning.

Just in case the kids needed anything, he lied to himself, hugging his knees to his chest. His heart ached like it hadn't since that first night when Rick the Prick tiptoed into his room. 

A tear stung his eye. He wanted his Dad. Now. He didn't want to be the adult anymore. It was too damn hard. Someone was going to get hurt and he wouldn't be able to stop it.

"Please God," he prayed. "Please let him find me. Soon. Please send my dad."

The prayer still echoed through his mind as he drifted to sleep, more comforting than any lullaby.

Chapter 20

So this was what limited duty meant, Jenna thought as she stomped her feet and hugged her body against the night wind and waited for the school janitor to open up. 

The entire sheriff's department searched for little Marty Brady. Both shifts of deputies canvassed his neighbors, called his classmates, alerted the media. And they sent Jenna to search his school. The vice principal was supposed to meet her here and check the attendance records as well as footage from the security cameras. See if they could pinpoint a time and place when Marty was last seen.

If the kid even made it to school. They had no proof he'd made it out of the house alive. Not that Jenna was cynical or anything. But after seeing the stuff folks put on film and sent through the mail, doing unimaginable things to their own kids, she wasn't taking anything for granted.

Neither was Lucy. When she called Jenna in, she'd been gently interrogating the mother, asking about grandma’s drinking habits and health issues, and getting a feel for the family dynamics. Said she had a good vibe about mom and so was sending Jenna to the school instead of the house.

Yeah. To stand out here in the cold and dark, hungry since she missed lunch and now was about to miss dinner, while Lucy was nice and warm inside the sheriff's station where no doubt some local merchant would spring for pizza to curry good will with the local law enforcement.