JACK KILBORN ~ TRAPPED (78 page)

Sara shrank back, but it wouldn’t help. This was a cheap bed, light and flimsy. Paulie would be able to upend it with one hand, exposing her to Lester.

But Lester acted fast, sticking out a foot, tripping Paulie so he fell near the edge of the bed. The fat man flopped onto his belly, momentum making him slide across the gore toward Sara.

The meathook clanged to the floor and bounced away, and Sara locked eyes with the fallen killer, less than two feet between them. Paulie’s pea green eyes were no longer the sadistic, powerful eyes that haunted Sara’s dreams. These eyes belong to a desperate, frightened man. A human being, not a monster.

Then Paulie stretched his hands under the bed and grabbed Sara’s wrist.

Martin was feeling pretty good. The drugs had taken the edge off his injuries, the children were all accounted for, and he was about to spend some quality time with the missus. Plus, he was now the owner of a pretty sweet boat. Which, unfortunately, he was going to have to sink.

Martin had told Captain Prendick the truth about his prices being too high, and Martin taking over Plincer’s supply needs. But the real reason he killed Prendick was because he needed the boat for the plan to work.

A noted psychologist, a ship’s captain, and six teenagers couldn’t just disappear while Martin walked away scot-free. So Martin was going to use Prendick’s GPS navigation system to find the deepest part of the lake—Huron went down 750 feet in some parts. Then he was going to set the boat on fire and sink it, putting in a last minute call to the Coast Guard just as he jumped overboard.

“
There was some kind of horrible explosion,” he would tell the authorities. “I must have been thrown clear. Damn lucky thing I had my life jacket on. Oh, my poor now-dead wife. Those poor, underprivileged, blown-up children. What a terrible and tragic freak accident.”

He’d work on the story, and his delivery. A few burn marks on his life preserver would lend credence, as would his outstanding reputation in the field of social work.

The best part? Sara was insured for half a million dollars. Enough to buy a nice, new boat. Joe had been right about that one thing; boating life was the way to go. The things were like floating whorehouses.

Martin got to the top of the stairs and wondered if he should drop in on brother Joe, maybe give him a dog bone for old time’s sake. But the growing tension in his groin told him to wait until later. He wanted to get in some husband and wife bonding first.

He walked to his room, smiling when he saw the trunk in the corner. Martin could picture Sara in there, tied up and terrified. He thought of all those countless, wasted nights, holding her in bed because she was frightened, pretending to care.

Payback was a bitch.

Martin snuck over, raising his palm to give the chest a good whack and scare the crap out of her, when he heard Lester yell something down the hall.

Odd. Lester never yelled. Not in the six years Martin had known him. Something must be happening.

He left Sara to her personal hell and went into the corridor.

Another yell from Lester. It seemed to be coming from Subject 33’s room.

Martin headed that way.

Whatever hold Paulie Gunther Spence had on Sara over the years, whatever spell he’d woven to keep her in near-constant state of fear, was now gone.

Instead, it was replaced by rage.

Paulie gripped her wrist, his eyes huge with panic, trying to drag her out into the open.

No way in hell that was going to happen.

Sara still held the utility knife, and she used it without hesitation, slashing at his knuckles, his hands, his arms. Digging deep and twisting the triangular blade.

Paulie released her, his soundless lips flapping as Lester tugged him away from the bed. Paulie’s arms scoured the floor, trying to grab onto something, finding only bits of Laneesha.

Sara watched, awestruck, as Lester placed a huge foot on Paulie’s flabby backside, leaned down, and plunged the knife into his back. Paulie flopped around for a bit, like a fish on a pier, his mouth wide in a silent scream.

Then, all at once, he stopped moving, a sail that ran out of wind.

She stared, knowing Lester wasn’t going to stop there. While part of her said she should turn away, another part wanted to watch as Lester cut her boogeyman into a million little pieces. Indeed, Lester tugged out the knife and raised it again. But his plans were interrupted when the door opened.

“
Lester? Aw, shit, Lester! What did you do?”

Sara felt herself grow very cold. Martin had walked into the room.

Lester squinted at the knife like he didn’t know how it got there. Then he looked at Martin.

“
Subject 33 killed the Joe pet. So Lester killed Subject 33.”

“
Dammit, Lester, you can always get a new pet. Plincer’s going to be pissed at you.”

Martin knelt down, felt Paulie’s neck. Though Sara thought nothing could shock her any more, Martin’s callous disregard for his brother’s death made him even more horrible.

“
He’s still alive. Help me get him to the lab.”

They each grabbed a leg, and dragged Paulie across the bloody floor, out the door.

Sara waited. She needed to figure out what to do next. She still had four kids left. The three in the cells, and Georgia, wherever she was being held. But those cells were solid. She would need tools to get in. A saw, or a pry bar.

Or a drill.

There was a drill in Martin’s room, on his tool bench.

Sara slowly slid out from underneath the bed, avoiding the blood on the floor and refusing to look in Laneesha’s direction. She was halfway to the door when she realized what a cop-out that was. Taking a deep break, she forced herself to face the cabinet.

“
I’m sorry,” Sara whispered, feeling the words stick in her throat. “I know you believed we go someplace, after we die. If you’re right, and you can hear me, I’m making you a promise. If…no…
when
I get out of here, I’ll make sure your daughter finds a good home, and knows how brave her mother was. I’m so sorry.”

Sara closed her eyes but could still picture the ruined, bloody thing before her.

“
I also promise, even if I die trying, to get every one of those fuckers who did this.”

Sara snuck out into the antechamber, and then peeked around the corner before committing to the hallway. Once she deemed it clear she moved quickly, on the balls of her feet, pausing by Martin’s doorway. She heard voices, from the spiral staircase ahead of her.

“…
sick of dragging this heavy bastard. The wheelchair is in my room. I’ll go get it.”

Martin.

Sara hurried into his room, frantically looking for a hiding place. It was too well lit in here to hide under the bed. But there wasn’t anyplace else. Except…

Can I do this?

She gaped at the trunk, her legs feeling weak. The alternative was facing Martin with the utility knife—which had too small a blade to do any serious damage. Plus Martin attended the same judo class as she did. Sara had more experience, but he was stronger and outweighed her by sixty pounds. She silently cursed herself for making him take classes with her.

His footsteps reverberated through the stone corridor, getting closer.

I can do this.

Utility knife clenched in a death-grip, Sara cautiously lifted the trunk lid.

It’s so dark in there.

She climbed in anyway, forcing herself to squat down, the pain in her leg making her wince.

But she couldn’t get herself to close the lid.

Martin’s footsteps drew closer, practically outside the room.

Dammit, Sara. Look what Laneesha went through. You can do this.

Sara eased the lid down, watching her light get smaller until it was a thick line… a thinner line… just a speck…

And then the darkness.

It assaulted her like a freezing wind, making her want to scream while also taking her breath away. A minute ago, a second ago, she’d been empowered, a woman on a mission. But the dark reduced her to jelly. She wasn’t even sure if she could keep hold of the utility knife.

Sara strained to hear outside the trunk. Was Martin in the room yet? What was he doing? Would he notice the lock on the trunk was broken? What if he opened the lid? Would she even be able to defend herself?

Then there was a huge banging noise and the trunk shook and Sara screamed and dropped the knife, the darkness swallowing it, and her.

Martin slapped the top of the trunk and was rewarded with a cry of absolute terror from the woman he exchanged vows with.

“
You okay in there, honey? I don’t want you thinking I’ve forgotten about you.”

He went to the wheelchair, parked next to the tool bench. It had shackles on it, and was useful for moving people around. An elevator would have been more useful, but Lester was pretty strong and there weren’t many people he couldn’t lift by himself.

Subject 33, however, had to weigh three hundred and fifty pounds. He’d really let himself go since Plincer locked him in that room, years ago. Martin made a mental note to bring him a Nordic Track or something on his next visit. If the fat bastard pulled through.

He wheeled the chair to the doorway and then abruptly stopped.

Something was wrong. He felt it.

Martin turned around, scanning the room. Work bench. Dresser. Peg board. Bed. Trunk.

There, by the trunk.

Martin walked over, bending at the waist to pick up the object on the floor.

“
Trying to get away? You naughty girl.”

Chereese’s tanned hide was lying in a pile, like a dropped leather jacket. Martin had put all of his skins away, but somehow had overlooked her. He lifted her up, brushing a piece of rock salt out of her hair, and reverently put her back in the dresser.

Then Martin left the room. He had to walk backwards down the stairs, lest the wheelchair get away from him. Lester hadn’t waited, and had pulled Subject 33 by himself halfway across the cell area. Martin rolled up to him, and they hefted the fat man into the chair.

The lab was on the other side of the cells, through a doorway and at the end of the hall, between Plincer’s bedroom and the kitchen. As expected, the doctor was in the lab, fussing with some test tubes.

“
Goodness, what has happened?”

Martin frowned. “He and Lester had a disagreement. So Lester stabbed him in the back.”

Plincer came over, peering close. “So how did he get so fat?”

“
Eating too much and lack of exercise.”

Subject 33 groaned.

“
Oh dear, we don’t want this one waking up on us. Hold him down.”

Lester placed his hands on Subject 33’s shoulders and leaned on him. Martin stared at Doctor Plincer, clucking like a mother hen while he searched his cabinets for some
succinocholine, and wondered how a man so brilliant could be such a space cadet at the same time.

The doctor found the bottle and filled a syringe. By now Subject 33’s eyes were open. He stared up at Lester, projecting hate. Lester projected hate right back. Plincer gave the fat man a shot in the thigh.

“
Okay, let’s try to get him up on the table. Face down.”

The three of them heaved, sweated, grunted, and strained, and eventually managed to beach the whale on the stainless steel operating table.

“
We’ve got a knife wound four inches right of the L2 vertebra.” Plincer placed his ear to Subject 33’s back. “There’s a pneumothorax. How long was the knife?”

Lester held his fingers apart.

“
Possible liver puncture as well. Did you do all of these other cuts as well?” Plincer spread out his hands, indicating the dozens of slices on the fat man’s body.

“
Subject 33 was like that when Lester stabbed him.”

“
Self-inflicted? Fascinating.” Plincer peered over his glasses at Lester. “You weren’t trying to kill him, were you?”

“
Not right away,” Lester said.

“
But for heaven’s sake, why try at all?”

“
Subject 33 killed the Joe pet.”

“
How did he get out of his room?”

Lester shrugged. So did Martin.

“
Did you, perhaps, stop and think that maybe someone let him out?”

Martin dug into his pocket. “Lurch here dropped a key in the cell area,” he said, holding it up.

“
Not Lurch,” Lester said. “Lester did it.”

Plincer rolled his eyes. “The meeting is in less than an hour. Make sure that everyone is where they’re supposed to be. Including Georgia.”

Martin and Lester both turned to leave.

“
Hold it, hold it please. I’m going to need some help re-inflating his lung and sewing him up. Lester, you stay here with me, since you’re the one that did this. Martin, are you sure your wife is contained?”

“
I’m sure.”