Martin had told Captain Prendick the truth about his prices being too high, and Martin taking over Plincer’s supply needs. But the real reason he killed Prendick was because he needed the boat for the plan to work.
A noted psychologist, a ship’s captain, and six teenagers couldn’t just disappear while Martin walked away scot-free. So Martin was going to use Prendick’s GPS navigation system to find the deepest part of the lake—Huron went down 750 feet in some parts. Then he was going to set the boat on fire and sink it, putting in a last minute call to the Coast Guard just as he jumped overboard.
“There was some kind of horrible explosion,” he would tell the authorities. “I must have been thrown clear. Damn lucky thing I had my life jacket on. Oh, my poor now-dead wife. Those poor, underprivileged, blown-up children. What a terrible and tragic freak accident.”
He’d work on the story, and his delivery. A few burn marks on his life preserver would lend credence, as would his outstanding reputation in the field of social work.
The best part? Sara was insured for half a million dollars. Enough to buy a nice, new boat. Joe had been right about that one thing; boating life was the way to go. The things were like floating whorehouses.
Martin got to the top of the stairs and wondered if he should drop in on brother Joe, maybe give him a dog bone for old time’s sake. But the growing tension in his groin told him to wait until later. He wanted to get in some husband and wife bonding first.
He walked to his room, smiling when he saw the trunk in the corner. Martin could picture Sara in there, tied up and terrified. He thought of all those countless, wasted nights, holding her in bed because she was frightened, pretending to care.
Payback was a bitch.
Martin snuck over, raising his palm to give the chest a good whack and scare the crap out of her, when he heard Lester yell something down the hall.
Odd. Lester never yelled. Not in the six years Martin had known him. Something must be happening.
He left Sara to her personal hell and went into the corridor.
Another yell from Lester. It seemed to be coming from Subject 33’s room.
Martin headed that way.
Whatever hold Paulie Gunther Spence had on Sara over the years, whatever spell he’d woven to keep her in near-constant state of fear, was now gone.
Instead, it was replaced by rage.
Paulie gripped her wrist, his eyes huge with panic, trying to drag her out into the open.
No way in hell that was going to happen.
Sara still held the utility knife, and she used it without hesitation, slashing at his knuckles, his hands, his arms. Digging deep and twisting the triangular blade.
Paulie released her, his soundless lips flapping as Lester tugged him away from the bed. Paulie’s arms scoured the floor, trying to grab onto something, finding only bits of Laneesha.
Sara watched, awestruck, as Lester placed a huge foot on Paulie’s flabby backside, leaned down, and plunged the knife into his back. Paulie flopped around for a bit, like a fish on a pier, his mouth wide in a silent scream.
Then, all at once, he stopped moving, a sail that ran out of wind.
She stared, knowing Lester wasn’t going to stop there. While part of her said she should turn away, another part wanted to watch as Lester cut her boogeyman into a million little pieces. Indeed, Lester tugged out the knife and raised it again. But his plans were interrupted when the door opened.
“Lester? Aw, shit, Lester! What did you do?”
Sara felt herself grow very cold. Martin had walked into the room.
Lester squinted at the knife like he didn’t know how it got there. Then he looked at Martin.
“Subject 33 killed the Joe pet. So Lester killed Subject 33.”
“Dammit, Lester, you can always get a new pet. Plincer’s going to be pissed at you.”
Martin knelt down, felt Paulie’s neck. Though Sara thought nothing could shock her any more, Martin’s callous disregard for his brother’s death made him even more horrible.
“He’s still alive. Help me get him to the lab.”
They each grabbed a leg, and dragged Paulie across the bloody floor, out the door.
Sara waited. She needed to figure out what to do next. She still had four kids left. The three in the cells, and Georgia, wherever she was being held. But those cells were solid. She would need tools to get in. A saw, or a pry bar.
Or a drill.
There was a drill in Martin’s room, on his tool bench.
Sara slowly slid out from underneath the bed, avoiding the blood on the floor and refusing to look in Laneesha’s direction. She was halfway to the door when she realized what a cop-out that was. Taking a deep break, she forced herself to face the cabinet.
“I’m sorry,” Sara whispered, feeling the words stick in her throat. “I know you believed we go someplace, after we die. If you’re right, and you can hear me, I’m making you a promise. If…no…when I get out of here, I’ll make sure your daughter finds a good home, and knows how brave her mother was. I’m so sorry.”
Sara closed her eyes but could still picture the ruined, bloody thing before her.
“I also promise, even if I die trying, to get every one of those fuckers who did this.”
Sara snuck out into the antechamber, and then peeked around the corner before committing to the hallway. Once she deemed it clear she moved quickly, on the balls of her feet, pausing by Martin’s doorway. She heard voices, from the spiral staircase ahead of her.
“…sick of dragging this heavy bastard. The wheelchair is in my room. I’ll go get it.”
Martin.
Sara hurried into his room, frantically looking for a hiding place. It was too well lit in here to hide under the bed. But there wasn’t anyplace else. Except…
Can I do this?
She gaped at the trunk, her legs feeling weak. The alternative was facing Martin with the utility knife—which had too small a blade to do any serious damage. Plus Martin attended the same judo class as she did. Sara had more experience, but he was stronger and outweighed her by sixty pounds. She silently cursed herself for making him take classes with her.
His footsteps reverberated through the stone corridor, getting closer.
I can do this.
Utility knife clenched in a death-grip, Sara cautiously lifted the trunk lid.
It’s so dark in there.
She climbed in anyway, forcing herself to squat down, the pain in her leg making her wince.
But she couldn’t get herself to close the lid.
Martin’s footsteps drew closer, practically outside the room.
Dammit, Sara. Look what Laneesha went through. You can do this.
Sara eased the lid down, watching her light get smaller until it was a thick line… a thinner line… just a speck…
And then the darkness.
It assaulted her like a freezing wind, making her want to scream while also taking her breath away. A minute ago, a second ago, she’d been empowered, a woman on a mission. But the dark reduced her to jelly. She wasn’t even sure if she could keep hold of the utility knife.
Sara strained to hear outside the trunk. Was Martin in the room yet? What was he doing? Would he notice the lock on the trunk was broken? What if he opened the lid? Would she even be able to defend herself?
Then there was a huge banging noise and the trunk shook and Sara screamed and dropped the knife, the darkness swallowing it, and her.
Martin slapped the top of the trunk and was rewarded with a cry of absolute terror from the woman he exchanged vows with.
“You okay in there, honey? I don’t want you thinking I’ve forgotten about you.”