Black River

EIGHTY-SIX

Kim didn’t sleep. Didn’t want to wake to his rough hands on her body. She knew the real nightmare would begin when he came back into the room. She had lay in the filthy bed waiting for dawn. She’d tried to break the wrist and ankle bands, only causing the metal to dig further into her skin, tearing and causing bleeding. She stared at the corrugated tin ceiling, watched an inch-long cockroach staring down at her, the insect slowly walking to the wall, vanishing in a dirty curtain.

She pulled at the chains, unable to move, unable to scratch or swat as bed bugs crawled out from beneath the dark recesses in the sheets and prickly blanket, sucking blood from the open sores the leeches left behind.

The sun had been up for at least an hour before the door to the bedroom opened, Silas Jackson walking in with a cup of coffee in one hand. Red roses filled a Mason jar in the other hand. He was shirtless, dressed only in jeans. No shoes. No socks. A tattoo covered his chest. It depicted a human skull, a Confederate flag wrapped around the skull as a bandana. Below the skull was a Confederate rose next to a hangman’s noose and letters spelling, Southern Justice.”

He set the cup down on a small table and turned to Kim. “I picked these for you, the Confederate rose goes way back in my family.” He placed the roses and Mason jar on the table next to the lock keys and his .45 caliber pistol. “Bet you getting’ hungry. I’ll feed you after we’re done here. You can go pee, but not ‘till an hour after we’re through.” He stepped closer to the bed. “I didn’t mean to hit you in your eye. But you were one stubborn mare. And now it’s time for the stallion.” He slowly pulled the sheet down to Kim’s waist. He didn’t take his eyes off her eyes as he stroked her breasts and nipples with one hand, fingernails long and impacted with black dirt.

She turned her head from side to side, shutting her eyes, trying to stop the horror of what was happening. He removed his hand. She opened her eyes, nausea building in her stomach, the beat of her heart throbbing in her swollen eye, the taste of blood returning to her mouth.

Jackson unbuckled his belt, dropping his pants to the floor. He had no underwear. He kicked his jeans to the other side of the bedroom, his erection growing as he watched her thrash in the chains. He reached under the sheet, his hand moving down to her pubic area, soiled fingers entering her.

“No! Nooooooo!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. The pit bull began barking outside, a slight breeze puffing the curtains.

O’Brien entered an unlocked window on the other side of the house, moving quickly through the clapboard home, Glock extended in his hands. He walked around open bags of garbage in the small kitchen. Green flies crawling over half eaten pork chops on a paper plate. He checked a spare bedroom. Empty. And then he headed directly toward the area where he heard Kim’s screams.

The bedroom door was partially open. O’Brien saw Silas Jackson climb onto the bed, a wicked smile across his face, Kim chained and lying nude under him. In less than two seconds, O’Brien evaluated the room, the Confederate roses, the keys, the Smith & Wesson on the table.

And he saw the look in Kim’s eyes as she turned her head toward him.

The absolute fear, the horror, the scars that were searing through the core of her being. O’Brien stepped in, aiming the Glock at the grinning skull in the center of Jackson’s chest. Jackson’s last words were muffled in the gunfire. He shouted, “The fuckin’ boyfriend’s back! You drew first blood, mother fucker.”

The bullet hit dead center in the tattooed skull. The second cut right through the Confederate rose over Jackson’s heart. The rounds blew him against one bedpost, his mouth forming an O, his lips shaking, his body falling backwards off the bed.

O’Brien grabbed the keys and quickly began removing the locks and chains from Kim. When the last lock came off her ankle, O’Brien wrapped her in the sheet and lifted her gently from the bed. She sobbed, her head against his chest. “It’s over,” he said. “I’ll take you to a hospital. When you’re well, we’ll go home. Jackson will never stalk or hurt you again, Kim.” She nodded, tears flowing down her cheeks.

There was the slight sound of the hinges screeching as the bedroom door opened even wider. James Fairmont stood at the threshold, Beretta aimed at O’Brien’s face. He said, “And so we meet again, Sean O’Brien. You probably thought I was dead, especially in your state of mind. I made it appear that way to sever ties with you. This would prompt you to report to M16 that I had drowned in a Florida river. The only reason I came out here was to remove what my former partner, Cory Nelson, called his ‘insurance policy.’ And that was Silas Jackson.”

O’Brien could sense what was coming next. Kim trembled in his arms. He said, “Okay, I did you a favor. So just go. Turn around and walk out the damned door. Vanish to someplace where breached operatives go. I’m sure Sheldon paid you well for the diamond and document. So it’s over. You can disappear.”

Fairmont stepped next to the open door. “If I had known you killed Jackson for me that may have been possible. But now you leave me no choice. You know I’m alive and the girl has seen my face. That’s a liability I can’t risk. So long Mr. O’Brien…you’ve been a formidable adversary.” He raised the Beretta, finger curling around the trigger.

The arrow blew through the rusted screen on the window. It hit Fairmont in the throat, the tip entering the wooden door and skewering Fairmont to the door. He thrashed, dropping the Beretta, his hands trying desperately to pull the arrow from the door. Only the feathered end could be seen directly below his Adam’s apple, blood spurting down his pants and across his shoes on each heartbeat. He kicked, a gurgling sound and pink foam coming from his gaping mouth. He cut his eyes to O’Brien, unbelieving, tried to say something, and then his head bowed to his chest.

O’Brien ran by the dying body of James Fairmont, carrying Kim in his arms. He ran outside, Joe Billie standing less than thirty feet from the window, the crossbow in his hands. He looked at Kim and said, “Is she okay?”

“We need to get her to a hospital…but give me thirty seconds.” O’Brien handed Kim to Joe Billie and went back inside. Fairmont was trying to remove the arrow from his neck. O’Brien raised his Glock and said, “This one’s for Ike.”

Joe Billie drove the Jeep. O’Brien folded the sheet and placed it under the front seat. He wrapped Kim in his Army blanket and held her in the back seat, her head in his lap. She looked up at him, managed to barely open her swollen eye, tried to smile. “I did my best to fight him. He…he…”

“Kim, rest. Just rest.”

“I never lost faith that you’d come.”

“I wish I could have gotten there sooner. When Dave told me your car was in the marina lot, those Confederate rose petals near it…I knew. I tried to get—”

She lifted one hand to his face, dried blood on her fingertips. She touched his chin, softly pressed two fingers to his lips. “Shhhh…it’s okay. You got there. I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“You need to be checked out.”

“I wasn’t raped. I could use a dentist more than a doctor. I just want to go home. Okay, Sean? Take me home, please.”

O’Brien bent down and kissed her forehead, his eyes watering. “I’ll take you home.”

Kim felt a warm tear splash against her cheek. “I love you, Sean. I love you.”