She screamed; a muffled, constricted sound that was so intimately familiar to her.
Martin knocked on the top of the trunk.
“So here’s what’s going to happen, Sara. I’m going to leave you in there. I don’t know for how long. Maybe a few days. Just like with Paulie, I’m going to make you wait for so long that you’ll be happy when I finally open it up to kill you. That’s what you used to tell me, those nights when you couldn’t get to sleep. You told me you wanted him to open the trunk and kill you, just so you didn’t have to wait anymore. How fucked up is that?”
Sara looked all around, seeking a crack in the chest, a seam, something that might allow a sliver of light in. But there was only darkness.
“I’m going to make you wait even longer, Sara.”
No. Please not that.
“Then when I finally take you out, I’m going to finish what Paulie started. I’m going to do to you what he did to Louise. I’ve even got all the same props. The hammer and nails. The battery acid. I found the same model power sander, though it’s been discontinued for many years. Apparently it was recalled by the company. Due to—and you’ll love this—being unsafe. But it sure worked well on Louise’s knees, didn’t it? You heard it. You know how much it hurt her.”
Sara felt like the world was spinning too fast. She found it hard to breathe.
“I’ve also got something really special. Something you’ll really love. Remember the knife he used? The hunting knife, with the jagged back? I’ve got one of those, too. Can you picture it, Sara? You used to get woozy when you saw a steak knife whenever we went out to eat. Can you imagine Paulie’s big ole hunting knife?”
Sara could imagine it. It was the only thing in her head, blocking out everything else.
“Well, no need to answer me right now. You’ve got plenty of time to think about it. And then, later, much later, you can tell me how it feels when I try it on you.”
“Please,” Sara whispered.
“Did you say something, hon?”
“Please. Martin. Don’t leave me in here.”
“Would you prefer I let you out, get started on you right now?”
Sara couldn’t believe here response, but the word left her mouth. “Yes.”
She waited for Martin to answer. The seconds ticked away.
“Martin?”
There was only silence. Silence, and smothering darkness.
“Martin!”
And just like with Paulie Gunther Spence, Sara heard a faint chuckle.
Georgia opened her eyes. They were dry, raw, like someone had rubbed sand into her tear ducts. She closed them again, touching her eyelids, and that made her realize the paralysis had worn off.
She was in a warm bed, beneath a thick blanket. With a yawn she sat up, the blanket falling away, exposing her bare breasts. Georgia saw she was naked. It didn’t bother her at all, and she wondered why. Much as she tried to delude herself, Georgia knew she had body image problems. She didn’t want anyone to see her without clothes on. Even with Lester, while having sex, Georgia had nagging doubts about her looks, her performance.
But her appearance no longer mattered to her. In fact, for the first time ever, she felt proud of her body. She slipped out from under the covers and padded over to the window. Dawn had come, flooding the outdoors with light. Georgia walked past, coming to a dresser with a mirror on top. She stopped, stared at her saggy belly, her large hips.
But instead of shame, Georgia felt strangely proud. More than proud. She felt strong, powerful. Like she could conquer the world. She let the fantasy take hold, Georgia sitting on a throne perched up on top of a mountain, and beneath her on all sides, crosses. Crosses with people nailed to them, screaming and begging for mercy. Crucifixions as far as she could see. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions.
Then the fantasy switched. The crucified morphed into the impaled. Georgia remembers reading about Vlad the Impaler, how he would place people on tall wooden stakes. Gravity, and struggling, would cause his victims to slide down the pole, piercing organs and tissue until it eventually came out of their mouths.
The image made her tingle all over.
She rubbed her eyes again, considered the procedure Doctor Plincer had performed on her. Not a pleasant memory, but the pain was gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of self. Sleeping with Lester had shown Georgia how strong she could be. But even that paled next to how she now felt. That old Georgia was a weakling. This new Georgia was unstoppable.
With this newfound feeling of absolute power came an overwhelming urge to hurt somebody. Anybody. Hurt them horribly.
Georgia walked to the metal door. Locked. She scowled, irritated that she was stuck there, unable to indulge in her newfound desire. Then she noticed the package next to the door.
It was the size of a shoe box, wrapped like a birthday present in bright red paper with a big white bow on top. Next to it was a smaller box, wrapped in the same paper. A card taped to the top of the larger present read:
TO GEORGIA GIRL
FROM LESTER
Georgia plucked off the bow and tore into the large package first, revealing a steel cage. Inside, complete with matted gray fur and tiny black eyes, was the biggest rat she’d ever seen.
Rather than flinch, which is something the old Georgia would have done, the new Georgia eyed the creature with something akin to hunger. It was so weak. So vulnerable.
She opened the slim package next. Inside were a roll of duct tape and a pair of long, sharp scissors. There was another note at the bottom of the box.
HAVE FUN
Georgia smiled.
How did Lester know this was just what I needed? What a thoughtful man.
A rat this large wouldn’t die right away. If Georgia restrained herself, it would be good for a few hours of entertainment.
“Hello, little friend,” Georgia told the rat, reaching for the latch with greedy fingers. “Would you like to play?”
Cindy opened her eyes. She hadn’t been asleep. Just sitting with her back against the bars, resting, conserving her energy. Exhausted as she was, Cindy didn’t know if she would ever be able to sleep again. Or if she’d have the chance to.
There was light coming in through the window, enough to illuminate the cells. She glanced over at Tyrone, who was staring at her. They were still holding hands.
“How you doin’?” he asked.
“This motel sucks. No room service. No cable TV. And the bathroom is seriously lacking.”
“You need to pee, I can turn away.”
She shifted her bad shoulder and gave his hand a squeeze, regretting it when she saw him grimace.
“I’m okay. You wanna hear something funny?”
“Hells yeah. Could use somethin’ funny right ‘bout now.”
“I haven’t thought about meth in hours. This is the first time, for as long as I can remember, that I haven’t had any urge to get high.”
“Cool. Sounds like you beat it.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. You’re strong. I always knew that about you.”
Cindy felt herself blush, but it was a good feeling, not an embarrassing one.
“How’s your hand?”
“Hurts. It started to scab over, but now every time I move it, starts to bleed again.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Won’t stop me from beatin’ the fuck out of whoever opens my cell door.”
Cindy smiled, gave his hand a much gentler squeeze.
“We gonna get outta here, Cindy. I promise.”
“Good morning.”
Cindy and Tyrone looked toward the staircase at the far end of the room, following the sound of that familiar, effeminate voice.
Tom noticed too, and began to make a high pitched, keening sound.