Down Among the Dead Men

86

Beth shook her head back and forth, trying to clear her mind.

Was this really happening?

Was it a nightmare?

Did Rafael really mean what she thought he meant?

“Tell me this is just a ritual,” she said. “It’s all make-believe, just going through the motions, like drinking wine and eating crackers in church.”

He gestured to his face. “Does this look like make-believe to you?”

All at once Beth felt as if her mind had just been separated from her body, threatening to float away. Then an all-consuming anger enveloped her, bringing her back to earth. She moved her wrists behind her, straining the rope that bound them, and finally pulled one of her hands free.

“You will see, Beth. You will see just how beautiful it is. A moment we will share together in God’s embrace, celebrating the cleansing of Jennifer’s soul. It’s a moment you will never for-”

Without warning, Beth sprang forward, bringing her hands out in front of her, snapping the rope taut between them. Before Rafael could react, she slipped it over his head and around his neck and pulled, pushing her knee into the back of his seat for leverage.

Rafael’s head snapped against the headrest. He made a gurgling sound and let go of the wheel, grabbing at his neck with both hands, trying desperately to pry the rope loose.

But Beth pulled harder, rage consuming her, and felt the springs of the seat digging into her kneecap. But she didn’t care; all she wanted was to silence this fucking monster, to take from him what he had taken from so many others.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw the blisters on his face turn crimson, his eyes bulging hideously.

And she looked away, not wanting to see the effects of her handiwork for fear she’d have pity on him and loosen her hold. Instead she concentrated on the face of little Andy.

And of Jen.

Suddenly the car started to swerve, and Rafael’s right hand left his neck. But instead of grabbing for the wheel, he reached to the passenger seat, fingers scrabbling, trying to get hold of the gun that lay there.

And all Beth could think was, Why won’t you die already? Just fucking die.

She couldn’t keep this up much longer.

Then, as the car started to veer off the road, Rafael got hold of the gun. But rather than grip the trigger, he used it as a bludgeon, bringing his arm back and slamming the weapon against her head.

Pain radiated through Beth’s skull and she was suddenly back in that Playa Azul alleyway, that Hispanic thug using his fist as a club, knocking her to the alley floor.

The gun came up again, hitting her a second time, and Beth fell back, letting go of the rope.

Coughing and spitting and gasping for air, Rafael quickly grabbed hold of the wheel and hit the brakes, trying to get control of the car But it was too late. The tires hit gravel and the car spun, barreling backward over the side of the road and into a ditch, coming to an abrupt stop against an outcropping of rocks, windows shattering, metal bending and twisting around them.

The impact knocked them both around the interior of the Jaguar, Beth hitting her head against something solid-another devastating blow and one too many…

And a moment later she was gone.