The Unlucky (9 page)

But Belinda knew different. There was no easy street. There was only life and what you made of it. Instead of hoping a fortuitous win would come your way, or lightning would strike, why not set out and take from life what you want? Only then could you be truly happy.

She sang louder, the cigarette clutched between her yellowed fingers forgotten, the ashes about to meet her flesh. A quick flick of her wrist and the butt was out the window, flying under the wheels of an eighteen-wheeler going by.

The highway bent on a long arc as it passed a farm. Up ahead on the right, a lone female stood, a bag at her feet, thumb up and out.

Belinda hit her blinker, intent on adding the hitchhiker to her party. The passenger seat was occupied by a bag containing three bottles of wine. They jostled against each other as she lifted the bag over the front seat and set it in the baby seat in the back. She wouldn’t need the baby seat today. She lowered the volume and pulled onto the shoulder.

The hitchhiker was already grabbing her bag as Belinda eased closer. The wind from a rig going by shook the car.

She waved through the windshield as the hitchhiker walked toward her vehicle. Drawing close, the woman slowed, glancing through the windows to see if Belinda was alone. Closer still, Belinda saw the girl’s eyes rimmed in red, a purple bruise on the edge of her mouth.

What happened to her?

The girl walked past the car door and bent to look in the back. The baby seat must’ve signed the deal because the hitchhiker opened the passenger door and dropped in the seat, her bag on her lap. Before closing the door and fully committing to the ride, she met Belinda’s eyes.

“I’m safe, darlin’,” Belinda said. “Shut the door and I’ll take ya where ya need to go.”

The door closed, but the girl kept her hand on the knob as if she would bolt at any moment.

Belinda pulled off the gravel shoulder and eased back into traffic, getting the car up to the posted limit.

“Where ya headed?” she asked.

“North.”

The girl’s voice sounded fragile, broken. Someone had done a number on this girl. She was running, that much was for sure. How much money did she have? How long could she run before whoever was looking for her caught up?

“You okay, darlin’?” Belinda said as she snuck a glance sideways.

Her foot eased off the pedal to reduce her speed. She wanted more time to talk to the girl, loosen her up, hear her story.

She grabbed her cigarette pack, popped one in her mouth and fished the lighter out of her center console.

“You mind?” Belinda asked.

The girl shook her head back and forth in a quick, short burst.

“You want one, be my guest.”

That quick short burst again.

Belinda rolled her window up and eased the volume of Moxy off a little more.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Isabel.” It came out in a throaty voice, like she had just come from a heavy metal concert where she had screamed along with the music for far too long.

“Isabel. I like that.” Belinda pulled on the smoke, inhaled, waited a moment, then blew it out. She flicked the ashes off in the ashtray. “Nice name.”

After another moment of silence, Belinda said, “You like music?”

The girl nodded. She was calming, relaxing. Like she was reading Belinda’s vibe and beginning to let go. That was a good thing. That was what Belinda wanted.

“You ever heard of a band called Moxy Früvous?”

“No,” Isabel said.

That was an improvement. Better than those violent head shakes.

“Here. Listen.”

Belinda turned them back up. The band was going through their song called, “My baby Loves A Bunch Of Authors
.”
She hummed along.

“They’re good, eh?” Belinda asked.

The girl attempted to smile, a subtle nod this time. She leaned back in her seat, her eyes heavy, and rested her head against the window.

In a distant part of Belinda’s mind, she knew this girl’s story without having to ask. On the run. Didn’t sleep well last night. Going on energy reserves because she hadn’t eaten well in days. Red-rimmed eyes due to lack of sleep and nourishment. Constantly afraid, fearful of all the people she meets. Which was a good thing, a survival thing.

And the girl was pretty, too. Very pretty.

Someone had tried to control this girl, to own her. She had too much beauty to be unprotected in this dog-eat-dog world. Belinda knew all about that. Been there, done that. She didn’t buy the farm. She owned it.

“Hey, got a question for ya,” Belinda said.

The girl sprung up into a straight-backed sitting position, clasping her bag tight enough to whiten her knuckles.

“I don’t know your story and you don’t have to tell it to me.” Belinda waited while a pickup truck drove by with one of those modified mufflers that were so loud, the end of it big enough to fit a soft ball in with room to spare. “But I can see you’re in need of some good rest and some food. Come by my place. Stay a few days. Get cleaned up. Stay longer if you like, or leave. It’s up to you.” The girl remained quiet. “Oh, don’t worry about the kid that sits in that baby seat. Ex-husband has our daughter for a two-week vacay. I’m all alone. Nothing to worry about at my place unless chickens spook ya.”

They rounded another bend in the road. Belinda’s turn off was coming up on the right within five kilometers.

“You got an answer?” Belinda asked, then inhaled another long draw off her smoke. She rolled the window down and blew the smoke out.

“I … can’t,” the girl said. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no problem. Just trying to help.”

“Thanks, though.”

Belinda snuck another glance. A tear cleared a path through the road dust and dirt that had gathered on the girl’s cheeks.

To avoid causing the hitchhiker any more embarrassment than needed, she stared forward, keeping her eyes on the road.

Another hitchhiker came into view, his back to the cars, his thumb out.

“Let’s pick this guy up.” She was already slowing down. “Let’s see where he’s going. Who knows? He might be very good looking.”

Fear masked the pretty face of the young girl as she leaned into the window, moving her head back and forth.

“It’s okay,” Belinda cooed. “There’s two of us and only one of him.” She was on the shoulder now, slowing to a stop behind the man in tight blue jeans. He hadn’t turned around yet. “If you’re not taking me up on my offer of a free place to stay, at least let me pick up another hitchhiker in my car. After all, it is my car. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

The man slowed his step and stopped. He turned around as he yanked earphones out of his ears. His smile parted an unshaven face and displayed yellowed teeth. He brought something to his mouth, held it there, then blew smoke out before dropping it and grinding the toe of a boot on it.

Belinda stole a look at the girl’s face, her eyes, her mouth, to see how she was responding to the male in their windshield.

It didn’t look like she would bolt from the car. Maybe the girl was willing to let things slide and staying in the car meant she got farther away from whatever she was running from.

The man smiled and strode to the back door. He got in the backseat, closed the door, and relaxed back in the seat as if it was his car.

“Afternoon, ladies,” he said. “Where’re you headed?”

“Better question,” Belinda said, “is where’re you headed? You were the one thumbing for a ride.”

She leaned her head down in a conspiratorial motion, winked and smiled at the young girl sitting across from her.

“I’m headed into Orillia,” he said. “Going to see the folks.”

“We can take you to any exit you want, but we’re heading north. Sorry, it looks like this ride will be a short one for you.”

Belinda pulled out onto the highway and got to the speed of traffic quickly.

On the exit before Orillia, she slowed and turned onto a concession road. The girl beside her instantly grew agitated. From the corner of her eye, Belinda watched as the girl fidgeted and clutched her bag close to her chest. She counted down the seconds until the girl spoke. With each passing second, as the highway grew dim in her rearview mirror, Belinda felt surprise mixed with joy. She was happy with their find today. The girl would make a good participant in their games. And she was astounded there had been no protest yet.

Joel eased across the back seat. Belinda studied his form in the mirror, watching her man prepare for the protests that always came when stealing a life.

A lot of people went fishing up in these parts, and Belinda and Joel weren’t strangers to fishing themselves. They just went after bigger fish, ones that provided more than the meat surrounding their ribs.

The girl turned to address Belinda. “Where? Where are we going now?”

“Home, little girl. I’m taking you to your new home.”

Joel slipped the garrote around the hitchhiker’s neck from behind her and pulled her back into the seat. He leaned forward until his lips were beside the girl’s ears as she clawed at her throat.

Over her grunts and protests, Joel said, “Fight, little bitch, fight.” He looked at Belinda. “I love the ones with a little fight in them. Makes me
real
hard. You like that, too, Belinda?”

“Oh yeah, baby. This bitch looks like she’ll go a few rounds.”

The hitchhiker’s face had turned red, eyes bulging. Belinda slowed and waited for their large iron gate to ease open. Then she turned onto their property as the girl’s fight dwindled, her lips a hue of purple now.

Joel eased off the garrote to allow some air flow as the gates behind the car closed.

“Get her out of the car,” Joel ordered. “I need a snack before dinner and this girl will do just fine. But Belinda, don’t clean her up. I like ’em dirty. Just strip her and place her in the cellar with the others. Chain her up beside doll face.”

Once he was out of the car, he tore the passenger door open and grabbed the hitchhiker’s hair, yanking her out and onto the gravel driveway. Then he hollered in the quiet summer morning as the female hitchhiker curled into a ball, sobbing, her strength to fight back diminished by the garrote’s brutality.

“Damn,” Joel yelled. “I love ‘em young and I love when they cry. Look out, Paul Bernardo. I’m gonna make a name for myself in this province. How about them apples, eh?”

Chapter 11

Someone screamed. Dreams of fistfights and guns did nothing to wake her. Even someone shouting was lost in the fantasy of the dream. Then out of the ether, Vivian’s face shot forward. She opened her mouth until it reached impossible proportions. The shout that emanated from Vivian’s open gape snapped Sarah awake so fast she slipped out of the Adirondack chair and landed on her ass. She winced and rolled to the side as Detective Simmons’ gun poked the base of her spine.

When she rolled to the side, she saw a green car in the driveway. A cool sweat covered her body like it was attempting to force the toxins from last night’s whiskey out of her pores. She shuddered in the shade of the pine trees and turned until she could see the car without being seen too easily herself.

It was the green car that had passed her on the way to the house. The lone female driver got out and slammed her door. She had been in the driveway for at least a full minute before Sarah woke because the iron gate was already closed. The buzzing of the electrified fence radiated through the still summer morning.

Who yelled then?

The woman walked around to the other side of the car and bent out of sight. She reappeared with something in her hand, but Sarah couldn’t see what.

Walking forward, pulling something, the driver’s full body came into view. Horrified at what the woman pulled behind her, Sarah almost yanked the weapon and fired a shot off but knew from this distance she would probably miss or hit the girl being dragged.

The pleas, the begging were hard to hear. The woman on the gravel tried to gain her feet, but the driver was relentless in her grip and determination to drag her victim into the house.

A door slammed somewhere inside the house.

Someone else was here.

Was the male who left through the gate with the cell phone and earplugs back?

“Baby?” a man shouted from somewhere near the back of the house. “Where’s the chair?”

The chair?

Sarah looked behind her.

Could he be referring to this chair?

If so, how could he know it was missing so fast?

She rolled away from the chair and stood up behind a tree.

The man stepped out onto the back deck and looked around.

He grunted something and ran back into the house. The voices that came from the inside the house were garbled, disjointed. Sarah couldn’t make anything out.