Kill for Me (2 page)

As mean as Mansfield was, the doctor was worse. He was cruel, because he enjoyed seeing them in pain. The look in his eyes when he was doing his worst . . . Monica shivered. The doctor wasn’t sane, of that she was certain.

But the woman . . . she was evil. To her, this horror, this so-called
life
. . . it was “just business.” To the woman, every girl in the place was a depreciable, renewable
asset
. Renewable because there were always more teenaged girls stupid enough to be lured away from the safety of their families. Lured here. To hell.

Monica could hear the grunts as they moved the boxes onto . . . what? She heard squeaking and immediately recognized the sound. It was the gurney with the rusty wheels. It was where the doctor “fixed them up,” got them ready to go “back in the game” after a “client” had beaten the ever-living shit out of them. Of course sometimes the doctor did the beating, then all he had to do was lift them from the floor to the gurney, making his job that much easier. She
hated
him. But she feared him more.

“Take the girls in ten, nine, six, five, four and . . . one,” the woman said.

Monica’s eyes flew open. She was in cell number one. She squinted, willing her eyes to get used to the darkness.
Something’s wrong
. Her heart started to beat faster. Someone was coming to help them.
Hurry. Please hurry
.

“Cuff their hands behind them and take them out one at a time,” the woman snapped. “Keep your gun on them at all times and do not let them get away.”

“What do we do with the others?” It was a deep voice. The doctor’s guard.

“Kill them,” the woman said flatly, without hesitation.

I’m in cell one
.
She’s going to put me on a boat and take me away.
Away from the help that was coming.
I’ll fight. By God, I’ll get away or die trying.

“I’ll take care of them.” It was the doctor, whose eyes were so eager. So cruel.

“Fine,” the woman said. “Just don’t leave their bodies here. Dump them in the river. Use the sandbags behind the generator. Mansfield, don’t just stand there. Get those boxes and girls on the damn boat before we have cops crawling up our asses. Then bring the gurney back for the good doctor. He’ll need it to get the bodies to the river.”

“Yes, sir,” Deputy Mansfield sneered.

“Don’t get smart,” the woman said, her voice fading as she moved away. “
Move
.”

Silence hung in the air, then the doctor said quietly, “Take care of the other two.”

“You mean Bailey and the reverend?” the guard asked in a normal voice.

“Sshh,” the doctor hissed. “Yes. Do it quietly.
She
doesn’t know they’re here.”

The other two
. Monica had heard them, through the wall. The doctor’s office was next to her cell, so she heard a lot. The doctor had beaten the woman he’d called Bailey for days, demanding a key.
A key to what?
He’d beaten the man, too, demanding a confession. What did he want the reverend to confess?

In a few seconds Monica forgot about Bailey and the reverend. Shrieks and sobs filled the air, louder even than the blood pounding in her ears. The screams scraped at the inside of her mind as one girl was dragged away, then another, then another.
Stay calm.
She had to stay focused.
They’re coming for me.

Yes, but they have to unlock the chain before they cuff you. For a few seconds, your hands will be free. You’ll run, scratch, claw their goddamn eyes out if you have to.

But even as she tried to bolster her courage, she knew it was useless. Before the last beating she might have had a chance. And once she got out, then what? They were miles from anywhere. She’d be dead before she got to the hallway.

A sob rose in her throat.
I’m sixteen and I’m going to die. I’m sorry, Mom. I should have listened to you.

Crack.
She flinched at the gunshot. More screams, terrified, hysterical screams. But Monica was too tired to scream. She was almost too tired to be afraid. Almost.

Another shot. And another. And another. Four shots so far. She could hear his voice, the doctor. He was taunting the girl in the next cell.

“Say your prayers, Angel,” he said, laughter in his voice. Monica hated him. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to see him suffer and bleed and die.

Crack
. Angel was dead. And four others.

The door flew open and Deputy Mansfield stood in the opening, his face hard and hateful. He was on her in two strides, unlocking the chain that held her to the wall, none too gently. Monica squinted at the light as Mansfield yanked the shackle from her wrist.

She was free.
So fucking what?
She was trapped, just the same.

“Come on,” Mansfield grunted, dragging her to her feet.

“I can’t,” she whispered, her knees giving out.

“Shut up.” Mansfield jerked her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a doll. At this point, that wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Wait.” The woman was in the hallway, right outside Monica’s door. She stood in the shadow, as she always did. Monica had never seen her face, but still she dreamed of the day she could claw the woman’s eyes out.

“The boat’s full,” the woman said.

“How can it be?” the doctor asked, from out in the hall. “It holds six. You took five.”

“The boxes took up a lot of the space,” the woman answered, her tone short. “Vartanian will be here any minute with the state cops. We need to be downstream before he gets here. Kill her and get the bodies out of here.”

So it’ll be now. No need to run or fight
. Monica wondered if she’d hear the gun fire or if she’d be dead instantly.
I won’t beg. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“This one’s not that bad off,” the doctor said. “She can still work for months, maybe a year. Toss some of the boxes overboard or burn them. But make room for her. Once I break her, she’ll make the best asset we’ve ever had. Come on, Rocky.”

Rocky.
The woman’s name was Rocky. Monica committed it to memory. Rocky moved closer to the doctor, so that she emerged from the shadows and Monica had her first look at the woman’s face. Monica squinted, trying to block out the spinning room as she memorized every feature. If there was a life after death, Monica would come back and haunt her until the woman was a drooling lump of insanity.

“The boxes stay on the boat,” Rocky said impatiently.

The doctor’s mouth twisted in contempt. “Says you?”

“Says Bobby. So unless you want to tell Bobby why you left incriminating records behind that would ruin us all, you’ll shut your mouth and kill this bitch so we can get out of here. Mansfield, come with me. Granville, just do it and hurry. And for God’s sake, make sure they’re all dead. I don’t want them screaming as we chuck them in the river. If any cops are close, they’ll come running.”

Mansfield released Monica and her leg buckled. She dropped to her knees holding on to the dirty cot for support as Mansfield and Rocky left the room, leaving her staring at the end of the doctor’s gun.

“Just do it,” Monica hissed. “You heard the lady. Hurry up and do it.”

The doctor’s mouth turned up in that cobra smile that turned her gut to water. “You think it’s going to be fast. You think it’s going to be painless.”

Crack
. Monica screamed as the pain in her head was drowned out by the burning in her side. He’d shot her, but she wasn’t dead.
Why am I not dead?

He smiled at her as she twisted, trying to make the pain stop. “You’ve been a thorn in my side since the day you got here. If I had time, I’d slice you to ribbons. But I don’t. So say good-bye, Monica.” He lifted the gun, then jerked his head to one side, his face darkening in rage at the same moment another shot rang in her ears. Monica screamed again as fire burned across the side of her head. Squeezing her eyes shut, she waited for the next shot. But it never came. Blinking back tears, she opened her eyes.

He was gone and she was alone. And not dead.

He missed.
Goddamn him to hell,
he missed
. He was gone.
He’ll be back
.

But she saw no one.
Vartanian will be here any minute with the state cops
. The woman had said this. Monica didn’t know anybody named Vartanian, but whoever he was, he was her only chance at survival.
Get to the door
. Monica pushed to her knees and crawled. A foot. Another foot.
Get to the hall and you can get away.

She heard footsteps. A woman, beaten and bloody, her clothes torn, was staggering toward her.
The other two
, the doctor had said. This was Bailey. She’d gotten away.
There was still hope
. Monica lifted her hand. “Help me. Please.”

Bailey hesitated, then yanked her to her feet. “Move.”

“Are you Bailey?” Monica managed to whisper.

“Yes. Now, move or die.” Together they staggered down the hall. Finally they came to a door and stumbled into daylight, so bright it hurt.

Bailey came to an abrupt stop and Monica’s heart dropped to her stomach. In front of them stood a man with a gun pointed straight at them. He wore the same uniform as Mansfield. The badge on his shirt said “Sheriff Frank Loomis.” This wasn’t Vartanian with the state police. This was Mansfield’s boss and he wouldn’t let them get away.

So this is how it would end. Tears seeped down her face, burning her raw skin as Monica waited for the next crack of gunfire.

To her shock Sheriff Loomis put his finger to his lips. “Follow the trees,” he whispered. “You’ll find the road.” He pointed to Monica. “How many more in there?”

“None,” Bailey whispered harshly. “He killed them all. All except her.”

Loomis swallowed. “Then go. I’ll go get my car and meet you by the road.”

Bailey tightened her hold. “Come on,” she whispered. “Just a little bit longer.”

Monica stared at her feet, willing them to move. One step, then another. Freedom. She’d get to freedom. Then she’d make them all pay. Or die trying.

Dutton, Georgia, Friday, February 2, 3:05 p.m.

Susannah Vartanian stared at the passenger side mirror as the house in which she’d grown up grew smaller as each second passed.
I have to get out of here.
As long as she remained here, at this house,
in this town
, she was no longer the woman she’d become. She was no longer a successful New York City assistant district attorney who commanded respect. As long as she was here, she was a child, alone and afraid, hiding in a closet. A victim. Susannah was damn tired of being a victim.

“Are you all right?” The question came from the man behind the wheel. Special Agent Luke Papadopoulos. Her brother’s partner and best friend. Luke had driven her here an hour before and then the growing dread in the pit of her gut had made her wish he’d slow down. Now that it was over, she wished he’d drive faster.

Get me away from here. Please.
“I’m fine.” She didn’t need to look at Papadopoulos to know he watched her. She’d felt the weight of his gaze from the moment they’d met the week before. She’d been standing next to her brother at their parents’ funeral and Luke had come to pay his respects. He watched her then. He watched her now.

But Susannah’s gaze was fixed on the passenger side mirror. She wanted to look away from the rapidly shrinking house of her youth, but her eyes would not obey. The lone figure standing in the front yard compelled her to keep watching. Even from a distance she could feel the sadness that weighed down his broad shoulders.

Her brother Daniel was a big man, as their father had been. The women in their family were small, but the men were hulking and large. Some larger than others. Susannah swallowed back the panic that had lurked at the base of her throat for the past two weeks.
Simon’s dead, for real this time. He can’t hurt you anymore.
But he could, and he would. That he could torment her from beyond the grave was an irony Simon would find hilarious. Her older brother Simon had been one son of a bitch.

Now he was a dead son of a bitch and Susannah hadn’t shed a single tear. Her parents were dead as well, because Simon had killed them. Now, only the two of them remained.
Just me and Daniel
, she thought bitterly.
Just one big happy family.

Just she and her oldest brother, Special Agent Daniel J. Vartanian, Georgia Bureau of Investigation. One of the good guys. Daniel had built a career trying to make up for the fact that he was Judge Arthur Vartanian’s spawn.
Just like I have
.

She thought of the devastation in his eyes when she’d walked away, leaving him standing in the front yard of the old house. After thirteen years, Daniel finally knew what he’d done, and more importantly, what he had not.

Now Daniel wanted forgiveness, Susannah thought bitterly. He wanted atonement. After more than ten years of total silence, her brother Daniel wanted a relationship.

Her brother Daniel wanted too damn much. He’d have to live with what he had done, and what he had not.
Just like I have.

She knew why he’d left, so long ago. Daniel hated the house almost as much as she did.
Almost.
She’d managed to avoid the house the week before, when they’d buried their parents. After the funeral Susannah walked away, vowing never to return.

But a phone call from Daniel the day before had brought her back.
Here
. To Dutton.
To this house
. To face what she had done, and importantly, what she had not.

An hour ago she’d stood on that front porch for the first time in years. It had taken every ounce of her strength to walk in that door, up those stairs, into her brother Simon’s old bedroom. Susannah did not believe in ghosts, but she did believe in evil.

Evil lived in that house, in that bedroom, long after Simon died.
Both times.

The evil had settled around her as soon as she’d entered Simon’s room, sending panic clawing up her throat along with a scream she kept silenced. She’d drawn on her last reserves, keeping the illusion of serenity and control intact as she’d forced herself into the closet, dreading what she feared lay behind its walls.