More Than Life Itself (6 page)

Where the hell was he going to find someone like that?

When the answer came to him, he was surprised at its simplicity.

He needed a transportation centre. A place where people were coming and going, where it wasn't unusual to see two strangers meet for the first time and leave together, where an older man picking up a younger woman wouldn't be too conspicuous, particularly now that the holiday break was starting.

It was perfect.

Except for the fact that the nearest airport was more than a two hour drive south. Four hours wasted just driving there and back again? Wasn't going to work.

But the bus station might, he thought.

The nearest Greyhound station was about thirty minutes away, in Avondale. He checked the internet for the daily schedule and discovered that several different buses arrived between 8.30 pm and 10.00 pm. With that much traffic, he should be able to come and go unseen, just another anonymous face in a crowd of holiday travellers.

A glance at his watch let him know it was now close to 4.00 pm, which meant he could grab a few hours' sleep and then head over to the station about a half hour before the first of the buses was due to arrive. That would give him enough time to scope out the situation and come up with some kind of makeshift plan. He should also be able to run a couple of other errands on the way, if he was quick about them.

He finished his lunch, put his dish in the dishwasher, and headed off to bed.

***

He awoke to the crash of thunder and the blare of his alarm clock. The skies were dark with thunderclouds that had swung in from the east, and lightning could be seen on the horizon. By the time he had finished dressing, it had begun to rain.

He wasn't concerned about the weather. The buses would still be running, the passengers would still be arriving, and the poor weather would help hide his actions. In fact, it seemed a fitting atmosphere in which to continue his work.

He made three stops before heading for the bus station. He bought a copy of
Gray's Anatomy
at the local Barnes and Noble. He went by a surgical supply company and picked up a case of surgeon's tools, paying cash and claiming they were a gift for a nephew graduating from medical school. His final stop was to pick up five more fifty pound bags of quicklime from a different Home Depot than the one where he'd picked up the first batch. Multiple purchases at the same store would be suspicious, but he knew that by spreading them around he'd be likely to avoid discovery.

After leaving Home Depot, he got back on the highway and headed for the Greyhound depot. The rain was still coming down hard, making it difficult to see. Cars passing in the other direction threw great sheets of water up and over the barrier between the north- and south-bound lanes. Suddenly more afraid of an auto accident than he'd ever been in his life, Sam got out of the high speed lane and moved over to the right, where there was less congestion and less chance of a fatal slip by himself or one of the other drivers. An accident, even a minor one, could end the whole escapade well before its time.

That simply wouldn't do.

Just before the curve near exit 151, the headlights of his car swept across a solitary figure walking backward down the side of the road, his arm stuck out into traffic with a thumb upraised. Sam had a flashing glimpse of a slim male dressed in dark clothing, a backpack slung over one shoulder and a baseball cap pulled down low over the eyes.

A hitchhiker!

The possibilities practically shouted at him.

Sam took the next exit, looped back onto the freeway in the other direction, and spent several frantic moments travelling back a mile in the direction he had come, to reverse directions once more.

"Come on, come on, be there," he muttered under his breath, barely aware he was doing so. He could just imagine someone else taking pity on the youth and pulling over. By the time he reached the spot where he'd last seen him, the youth would be gone, in his place nothing but wet blacktop and the laughter of the empty road, proof that fate was, indeed, against him and his family.

"Be there, be there." He kept repeating the phrase as he got closer to exit 151; a mantra, a verbal spell to keep others away from his prize.

He passed the sign indicating that the exit was a quarter of a mile ahead, and his headlights caught the beginning of the curve.

The hitchhiker was nowhere in sight.

"No, no, no … Don't do this to me. Don't you dare do this to me …"

Sam came out of the curve moving a bit too fast, his anxiety getting the better of him. His car slid a little to the left, illuminating more of the shoulder than normal, and there was the boy, sitting on the guard rail dejectedly getting soaked in the down-pouring rain.

Fate, it seemed, was being kind after all.

At his speed, it took Sam another couple of hundred yards to pull over safely without sliding off the road. He flashed his lights once, twice, letting the youth know that he was waiting, and watched through the rear-view mirror as the teen approached.

When the youth was ten or fifteen yards back, Sam turned on the interior light and reached over to unlock the door. The act would let the hitchhiker know he was alone in the car and give him a chance to make his own decision about the safety of the situation before him. Sam did his best to appear non-threatening.

The road around him was dark, and no other cars were in sight in either direction when the youth grabbed the door handle and slipped into the seat next to Sam. The backpack, in reality a soggy, canvas duffel bag, found a place at his feet.

The youth was in his mid-twenties and spoke with an accent, Kentucky or Tennessee, one of the southern states, Sam guessed. His first impression had been correct; the boy couldn't have been more than 150 pounds, narrow-waisted and thin-framed. He had a dancer's body, but without the muscle. The clothes he wore were common, no expensive brands for this kid, just a pair of Levi's and a worn sweatshirt that had seen better days.

He took off his Red Sox cap and ran a hand through his wet, curly hair.

"Thanks man. I appreciate it. Been a long night," he said, looking at Sam for the first time.

Sam glanced away, ostensibly checking the traffic in the mirror, but really just hiding his face in the shadows. He was afraid his gleeful expression would give him away. "No problem. Buckle up, though." Sam waited until the youth had complied, then pulled back out into traffic. "Where you headed?"

"San Diego."

"Damn, that's a long way."

"Tell me about it. But it sure as shit beats Oklahoma City."

Sam nodded, doing what he could to put the boy at ease. He could feel his own heart pounding as his mind worked out all the angles in his head, knowing he had only one chance to get it right. If it went sour and the boy got away …

"I'm headed for Bellingham. I can take you that far at least, okay?"

The youth nodded. "Yeah, yeah, that would be great."

"What's your name?"

"Tony. Tony Romanto." He stuck out a hand and Sam shook it, noting at the same time the tentative way the other did so. It was a good sign.

Sam went on without offering his own name. "You got people waiting for you in San Diego?"

"Nah. Just headed for the coast. See the ocean and all that, ya know?"

Bingo.
"Sure. Did it myself when I was your age."

Sam turned and smiled, as if in on the secret, letting the teenager get a clear look at his face for the first time. What the youth saw there must have been reassuring, for he smiled back, relaxed. When he did, Sam smashed him in the face without warning with a fist like bedrock, rocking the youth's head back against the glass of the door behind him with an audible crack.

Once was all it took. The kid slumped forward against the seatbelt, unconscious before he could utter another sound.

"Sorry, Tony. Looks like you ain't gonna make San Diego after all."

He got off at the nearest ramp and drove around until he found a small strip-mall. A liquor store, a Walgreens, a few other inconsequential places, the kind of place with minimal traffic at this hour of the night. Pulling around behind the buildings, Sam parked in a shadowed spot and stared out of the windows.

The rain drummed on the roof, keeping time with his pounding heart.

After ten minutes of watching, he was convinced they were alone and unobserved.

He reached up and made certain the interior light was set to off, then got out of the car.

Instantly his jacket and pants were soaked. He could feel the rain running down the sides of his uncovered head, but he ignored it and made his way back to the trunk. Opening it, he leaned inside, shielding himself partially from the rain by doing so, and searched through the bag of supplies he's just bought until he found the duct tape. He stuffed the tape in his pocket, freeing both hands so that he could grab the bags and move them to the back seat of the vehicle, leaving the trunk empty. Once he'd done so, he returned to the trunk and taped over the light, plunging the interior back into darkness.

Sam moved to the passenger door and carefully opened it, catching Tony's body as he did so. Swiftly, he dragged the unconscious youth over to the trunk and dumped him inside. Removing the tape from his pocket, he tore off several long sections and wrapped them around the boy's wrists and ankles, binding him securely. He next placed another piece over the boy's mouth so that it stretched from ear to ear, though he was careful to leave him plenty of room to breathe through his nose.

He also took a moment to remove the kid's wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.

When he was finished, he slammed the trunk, got back in the car, and drove away.

Twenty minutes later he was getting off the interstate a few blocks from his house. Careful to obey the speed limit and making certain to avoid running the yellow light he encountered at the bottom of the hill, Sam drove straight to his house, into the garage and then closed the door behind him.

Tony, if that was really his name, was still unconscious. Grabbing the boy beneath his arms, he dragged him across the garage, through the kitchen and over to the cellar door. He propped it open, hefted the unconscious youth's body over one shoulder, and descended.

Once he reached the bottom, he unceremoniously dumped the boy on the floor, then went back to the car for the rest of his supplies.

When he returned, the boy was just starting to stir. Sam was already worn out; the thought of having to fight with the awakening youth quickened his pace. He double checked the tape that held the boy immobile, peeled off the piece that covered his mouth, and then reached for the gallon jug of Drano he'd brought down from the kitchen on his way.

Forcing the mouth of the jug between the boy's teeth, Sam poured the contents down his throat. When it was empty, he tossed the jug aside, retaped his mouth closed, and sat back to wait, chanting the required litany all the while.

It didn't take long.

One moment the boy was lying there peacefully, the next he'd gone into violent convulsions. His eyes popped open and his body retched in self-preservation, trying to heave up the contents of his stomach, but the gag simply forced it back down again.

Tony flopped about like a fish out of water, a horrible gargling noise issuing from his convulsing body.

It went on like that for another fifteen minutes. Sam used the time to start digging the boy's grave, occasionally glancing over to be certain nothing new was happening. He'd managed to get another sizable chunk of wood flooring torn up and had begun digging into the dirt beneath when he realised that the sounds coming from the teenager had stopped.

One look was all it took to assure him that Tony was dead.

Two down, five to go, a strange little voice whispered in the back of his mind.

It took him several moments to recognise that voice as his own.

The events of the last forty-eight hours were changing him, he realised, in ways he wasn't even aware of. What he did know was that he no longer cared about his fellow man, about concepts such as right or wrong, justice or injustice. All he cared about was saving his daughter. After that, anything else was secondary.

While he could realise intellectually that what had happened to Tony was a tragedy, he couldn't bring himself to care much one way or the other. Tony's death would help save his daughter's life.

That made all the horror worth it.

And with that thought looming in the forefront of his mind, Sam got back to work.

This time, he laid down another piece of plastic sheeting and performed the butchery right there on the cellar floor. He opened up his new copy of
Gray's
and carefully inspected the diagrams inside, giving him a good idea of what he was facing. He used one of the surgical knives from the set he'd picked up to make an incision starting just beneath the sternum and extending down into the top of the pubic region. Then he made two perpendicular cuts on either side, one running along the lower rib and the other just beneath the beltline. When he was finished, he simply peeled the flesh and muscle back like a banana peel on either side, exposing the internal organs.

A quick reference to the book's open page, a few minutes of hunting around to be certain he had the right organ, a snip and a slash and voila - one perfectly healthy human kidney came free in his hands.

He tossed it into the Tupperware container at his side.

Laying the knife down, he stood and removed his shirt and pants. They were covered in blood, and getting rid of them would be easier than trying to clean them. He tossed them onto the corpse and changed into a pair of shirts and a T-shirt. Rolling everything up inside the plastic, he tied it securely at each end. He cleaned the surgical tool in the bucket of warm water he'd brought downstairs for just that purpose and replaced it in its case.

Since it was still early, just after midnight, he made the decision to dispose of the body now, so he wouldn't have to do it later. The process of digging the grave, dumping the body, covering it with quicklime and then filling in the hole went much faster this time around. He completed the job just before 2.00 am.