Fitch appeared, soaked to the bone.
“I was looking for you,” Fitch said.
“You found me,” Linderman said.
“Is there anything else I can do? Anything at all?”
“I wish there was.”
Fitch pulled out a pack of cigarettes. They were all wet. He tried to light one up but could not get it going. In disgust he tossed it away.
“They don’t pay us to be heroes,” the officer said.
“Yes, they do,” Linderman said.
Chapter 48
Vick did not want to die.
That should have been obvious, only Vick knew that it wasn’t. Many women abducted by serial killers chose to die before their ordeals were over. They provoked their captors into killing them, not wanting to be raped, beaten up, or subjected to endless torture or humiliation.
Vick was not one of those women.
She wanted to live, even if damaged. There was too much left to see in the world, too many things left to do. She was too young, as corny as that sounded.
Living was winning.
She’d read that in the newspaper. She thought Elizabeth Smart had said it. Smart had endured being tethered to a tree in a Utah forest while a crazy man raped her multiple times a day while his equally crazy wife watched. Now, Smart was a free woman and attending college, while her captors were confined to mental institutions.
Living was winning.
Naked, Vick hung by her wrist’s from a hook in the ceiling inside a small bedroom. Incense was burning and a pulsating rap song was playing on a hidden stereo system that sounded like Kanye West. In the corner, Wayne lay passed out on a water bed. Mr. Clean sat next to Wayne, shaking the teenager’s shoulder.
“Wayne, wake up,” Mr. Clean said.
“Let me sleep,” Wayne mumbled.
“You can sleep later.”
“No, now.”
“Suit yourself, my friend.”
Mr. Clean stood up and flexed his muscles. His olive-colored skin was smooth and pretty to look at. He could have had all the woman he’d wanted, had he been a normal guy. But normal was not part of the program. The sound of his knife tearing her clothes had snapped Vick awake a few minutes before. As her clothes had fallen, Mr. Clean had kissed her nipples while staring into her eyes.
“Suck them harder,” Vick had told him.
Mr. Clean had liked that, and so he had.
Vick was a survivor. She would somehow live to tell about this, even if it meant doing things that had seemed out of the question only a few hours ago.
Living was winning.
“Are you ready to fuck me?” Mr. Clean now asked.
“Oh, yes,” Vick said.
Mr. Clean dropped his gym shorts. He had nothing on underneath. He stroked himself while staring at her. It didn’t take long before he was ready.
She forced herself to smile. She had to forge a bond with him, and get him to like her. It would numb his desire to kill her, and buy her precious time.
He untied her wrists while poking her with his erection. It was something that a kid having sex for the first time might do. Vick lowered her arms and rubbed her palms together to get the life back.
“Go lie down on the bed,” Mr. Clean said.
“What about the boy?” Vick asked.
“I’ll move him.”
Vick leaned into Mr. Clean and kissed him on the mouth. His eyelids fluttered almost imperceptibly. Suddenly, he pushed her away.
“On the bed – now,” he demanded.
Vick lay down on the bed and felt the water swish beneath her. Mr. Clean grabbed Wayne by the legs and gently pulled him off the bed until the teenager was lying on the floor, still passed out. Mr. Clean climbed onto the bed and straddled her.
“Are you ready for me?” he asked.
Vick nodded. Faking it had never been her strong suit, but she was going to try like hell to make him happy. It was the only thing she could think of. He caressed her face with the side of his hand. His fingers touched one of her ear rings.
“I want these,” he said.
Vick swallowed hard. The ear rings had been her mother’s. Rarely did she take them off, their presence a constant reminder of a woman she barely knew. She unscrewed the backs, and gave them to him.
Mr. Clean got off the bed, and removed a glass jar from the night table. The jar was filled with women’s jewelry. His trophy jar, she guessed. He dropped the ear rings into it.
“Hey – what’s going on?”
Wayne had pulled himself off the floor, and stood on wobbly legs. The drugs had done a number on him, and he looked messed up. His eyes danced as he looked down at Vick lying naked on the bed.
“You going to screw her?” the teenager asked.
Mr. Clean grabbed his erection and waved it in front of the boy’s eyes.
“Yes!” he said gleefully.
“I thought she was my girlfriend,” the teenager said.
Mr. Clean frowned, not sure what to make of this statement.
“She is,” Mr. Clean said. “But I get to do her first.”
“I don’t want sloppy seconds,” the teenager said.
“But…”
“You said she was mine. That means I get to do her. Doesn’t it?”
Mr. Clean visibly deflated. His erection went away, and his eyes fell to the floor. Vick wondered how many people had ever spoken to him like that. Probably not many. Yet Wayne had gotten away with it. He had control over his captor.
Wayne took off his clothes and climbed onto the bed. He was already aroused. He had a teenager’s body, with a flat stomach and small, hard biceps. A few strands of hair were growing on his chest, in their center, a small mole shaped like a heart. She did not believe in signs, yet for some reason, the mole gave her hope that she might get out of this alive. As he lowered himself on top of her, she let her lips brush gently against it.
“You going to fight me?” Wayne asked, his voice suddenly harsh.
Vick shook her head.
“I didn’t hear you,” the teenager said.
Vick tensed up. Wayne sounded as threatening as Mr. Clean. She stared into his eyes and saw a dark, simmering expression that had not been there before.
“No,” she whispered.
“Good. Now spread your legs.”
“Please be gentle.”
“Do it,” he said, raising his voice.
Anything was better than being raped by a serial killer, she thought.
She let Wayne enter her, then wrapped her arms around him. She quickly got into his rhythm, her hips moving in sync to his body’s thrusts. It was pleasurable, and she let her lips brush against his soft chin.
The bedroom door clicked shut. Vick lifted her head. Mr. Clean was gone. It was the opportunity she’d been praying for, and she grabbed Wayne’s head with both her hands, and pulled his head down close to hers.
“What are you doing?” the teenager said.
“I talked to Amber,” Vick whispered.
Anger flashed through his eyes. “Shut up!” he said.
“She told me everything.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“I know about Adam…”
“I said, shut up!”
“… and the bayonet.”
Wayne slapped her in the face, snapping her head to one side. Vick’s head fell back on the bed, and she tasted the warm blood in her mouth. She was too late. Mr. Clean had already changed him.
“Don’t open your mouth again,” Wayne said.
Shutting her eyes, Vick prayed that he would finish quickly.
Chapter 49
The lightning was the final straw.
It lit up the gray sky and shook the property with a crash of thunder. The excavation team scrambled to the safety of their vans, while Doc threw Tuffy and Bones into the pack of his pickup, the animals cowering in fear. The search was on hold until further notice.
Linderman stood inside the barn, cursing. He should have quit right then, and caught the next plane to South Florida. If nothing else, he could help the police hunt for Vick, and perhaps pick up a trail which they’d missed.
But something told him to stay here, and give this a final shot. The bodies of Crutch’s mother and three sisters were somewhere in that pasture.