“That’s right. I won’t kill you.”
“Yes,” Winston said. “I did it.”
“Do you know where Ben is?”
“Ben?”
“You’re partner. Tell me where Ben is.”
“I…I don’t know…”
Luther sighed. He pinched the man’s cheeks together and jammed the ball-gag into his mouth and snapped it back into place around his skull.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Luther said, “but I didn’t lie. I have no intention of killing you. I’ll let the crows take care of that. But first, we have to let them know there’s something yummy inside of you.”
The man was still trying to speak through the ball when Luther stabbed him with the artificial leech. Blood appeared beneath the plastic and the man screamed through his gag, the sound racing out across the cornfield.
“All you had to say was the truth,” Luther said, and he stuck him again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Andagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagain…losing control, wild stabbing thrusts, until sweat poured down his face.
Orson grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back.
Luther was crying.
He wiped his eyes, breathless, screamed, “That son of a bitch took everything from me.”
“I know,” Orson said. “I know.” The man was screaming and choking under the gag, blood leaking through the puncture holes in the plastic onto the pavement. “But let’s give our new friend a turn.”
By this time, Kork was fully aroused, and he didn’t even bother hiding it.
The tiny sting of embarrassment overwhelmed by his urge, his need.
“Would you like some private time with Winston, Charles? We could cut away the plastic if you want to have a go at it. Turnabout is fair play, they say.”
“Don’t need you to take off the plastic.” Charles removed a folding knife and placed it above Winston’s flabby stomach, looking for a spot where he could cut deep. “I can make my own hole.”
“This must be like the best day ever to be a crow in Indiana,” Orson said.
There were at least four hundred birds perched on top of Winston, who had finally stopped struggling after an hour of being dined upon.
Several cars had driven by in the interim, and a few had even slowed down.
But no one stopped.
The sun was already halfway between its apex and the horizon, and the first hint of the hard freeze that was coming nipped at the tips of Orson’s ears. He and Charles were sitting on the shoulder, leaning against the Lexus, watching the show.
Luther sat out in the cornfield, just a few feet away from the hungry birds, absolutely still save for his black mane of hair that the wind was blowing back behind his shoulders.
He looked like some terrible scarecrow.
“So your buddy finally got his long-awaited revenge,” Kork said. “How did you find old Winston after all this time? You said Luther’s family was attacked, what? Almost twenty years ago?”
Orson grinned mischievously. “Want to hear a secret?”
“Sure.”
“That man out in the field? He’s the fourth Winston we’ve found in the last two months. Whenever Luther sees a man with green eyes, he sees Winston again.”
Kork laughed. “So that poor fucker wasn’t Winston?”
“Nope. Just some poor fucker. Winston’s partner, Ben, was short and stocky. We’ve killed a few short and stocky guys, too. It’s all a healing process, and I’m doing what I can to help.”
“You mind giving me a ride to the nearest gas station? Still gotta get my car fixed.”
“Of course. We wouldn’t leave a fellow traveler stranded. Birds of a feather, and all that.”
“It’s been good meeting you, Orson. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again sometime.”
“It’s a small world, Charles. Anything can happen.”
The One That Got Away
Hinsdale, Illinois, 2001
-1-
“You’re fucking kidding me.” Alex Kork crossed her arms, unable to believe the words that had just breached her brother’s lips.
Charles Kork’s mouth formed a thin, colorless line, making him look like Father.
“Tell me you’re joking,” Alex demanded.
“You’re being an asshole,” Charles said. “I need your support on this.”
“I’m being an asshole? Are you serious? You’re fucking getting married, for chrissakes.”
Alex turned away. The anger raging inside her was quickly being overtaken by another, more frightening emotion. Fear.
“It doesn’t change anything between us.” Charles put a hand on her shoulder, which she quickly shrugged off.
“Do you love her?” Alex asked, surprised by the tremor in her voice. She couldn’t comprehend even asking him that question.
“Of course not. It’s a disguise. So I don’t draw attention. I don’t want to go to jail again, and with all the crazy shit we’ve been doing—”
Alex spun around, jabbing a finger into her brother’s chest. “Don’t fucking drag me into this. You’re not doing this to protect me.”
“Then let’s do it at your place next time. You take the risk.”
Alex felt mad enough to spit in his face. “Laws? You’re getting married because you’re afraid of breaking some goddamn laws? What we have, Charles, is a lot bigger than any law. We have something special…”
“I know,” Charles said, looking grim. “And I don’t want that to end. But I also don’t want to get caught.”
“So instead, we’re going to do it in your house, with your wife home?”
“She’s an airhead. She won’t ever suspect a thing.”
Alex searched her brother’s dark, pitiless eyes. She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that things could go on just like they had been.
But deep down she knew the world wasn’t suited for people like them. They were brother and sister, and the things they did together not only broke the law, but also caused knee-jerk revulsion in the majority of the population.
That shouldn’t matter though. Alex knew, fucking knew, she and Charles were above the rest of the world. Better than they were. Stronger. Superior in every way.
And now he wanted to hide that superiority in a cloak of normalcy.
“What’s next?” she asked, bitterly. “You going to knock the bitch up?”
“Can we discuss this later? Let’s just go downstairs and—”
“You think I’m just going to forget this and go downstairs with you? Are you crazy?”
“Why not? Things don’t have to change, Alex. Maybe we won’t be able to do this as much, but we won’t ever have to stop.”
Alex shook her head. “You’re an asshole.”
“Come on.” He reached out, stroking her arm. “We’ve got the rest of the night. Let’s have some fun, forget all of this.”
Alex pulled away, refusing to cry. “I’m leaving. You can go downstairs by yourself. Have fun with your whore.”
Then she got the hell out of there.
-2—
A steel crossbeam, flaking brown paint.
Stained PVC pipes.
White and green wires hanging on nails.
What she sees.
Moni blinks, yawns, tries to turn onto her side.
Can’t.
The memory comes, jolting.
Rainy, after midnight, huddling under an overpass. Trying to keep warm in hot pants and a halter top. Rent money overdue. Not a single john in sight.
When the first car stopped, Moni would have tricked for free just to get inside and warm up.
Didn’t have to, though. The guy flashed a big roll of twenties. Talked smooth, educated. Smiled a lot.
But there was something wrong with his eyes. Something dead.
Freak eyes.