Vicious

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“MOIRA, ARE YOU OUT THERE?” he called.

Leo stood at the edge of the darkened woods behind Jordan’s family cabin. He’d switched on the outside lights in back of the house, hoping that might help Moira find her way in the dark. It was officially nighttime, and he was officially scared for her now. Tears came to his eyes as he stared at the blackness past the first cluster of trees. Leo had quickly thrown together a cold ham and cheese sandwich to keep his blood sugar in balance. He had it in his hand, but couldn’t eat or swallow just now. His throat was closing up from crying.

He was so worried about her—and worried about Jordan, who was acting like a crazy man—a dangerous, crazy man. His buddy had asked for just twenty more minutes to get a confession out of his captive. But that had been almost an hour ago. Meeker had tried to confess, but Jordan still wasn’t satisfied. Leo had a feeling Jordan wouldn’t be satisfied until the man was dead.

And all the while, Moira was missing. He should have driven to the store and phoned the police at least two hours ago—while it was still daylight and they still had a chance of finding her in these woods. Why the hell had he left her alone earlier? It was his fault she was lost.

And if anything happened to Susan Blanchette and her little boy, it would be his fault, too. Meeker had sworn up and down his fiancée and her son were in danger. He’d said if any harm came to them, he would blame him.

It was all Leo could do to keep Meeker alive, to keep his friend from killing him.

At the moment, he was pushing his luck by leaving them alone in the basement for just these few minutes. Any time now, he half expected to hear a muted gunshot from within the house, and then he’d know that Jordan had murdered the man.

He called out for Moira again. But there was no response from within the gloomy woods, just leaves rustling in the wind.

Turning toward the house again, Leo wiped the tears from his eyes and managed to take a few bites of his sandwich. He noticed Jordan’s car parked in the driveway. It was only a five- or ten-minute drive to that store and the pay phone, where he could call the police—and finally put an end to this. Then they could start looking for Moira, too.

But he didn’t dare leave Jordan alone with that man for even the short time it would take to drive to the store and back. Plus, Jordan was acting so crazy right now. What was to keep him from shooting at the police when they arrived? A lot of people—including Jordan—could end up dead.

At the kitchen door, Leo took a long last look at the darkened woods. He thought of how three hours ago, he’d been worried Moira would return to the cabin and discover the bizarre, horrible thing Jordan had done. He’d started packing her things to head her off when she returned. He remembered the prescription bottle in the dresser drawer of Moira’s room: TAKE ONE CAPSULE BY MOUTH 30 MINUTES BEFORE BEDTIME AS NEEDED FOR SLEEP. DO NOT EXCEED DOSAGE.

He tossed aside what was left of his sandwich and then hurried into the house, through the kitchen, and up the stairs to the master bedroom. Taking the prescription bottle from the dresser, he shook out five capsules and shoved them in his pocket.

He swung by the bathroom, waited a few moments, and then flushed the toilet—just in case Jordan wanted to know why he’d gone up to the second floor.

Returning to the kitchen, Leo dug out a half-full bottle of citrus-flavored Vitaminwater from the refrigerator. Jordan had been drinking it earlier. Leo reopened it and set it on the counter.

The basement door was open, and he could hear Jordan talking. “Why the toys?” he was asking. “It always struck me as an empty gesture, since the cops took away those mangy, used toys as evidence. You had to know that. You knew us motherless boys would never get a chance to play with them—even if we wanted to. Was it all for show, just something for the newspapers?”

“I give up,” Meeker replied in a weak, raspy voice. “I don’t know what you want me to say….”

“Some of the toys were eventually traced to a Value Village secondhand store in Seattle,” Jordan continued. “But I always had a feeling that a few of those consolation prizes might have been yours when you were a little boy….”

He heard Meeker mutter something but couldn’t make out what he said.

Hovering over the counter, Leo nervously twisted open the sleeping capsules and dumped the powder into Jordan’s Vitaminwater. He shoved the empty capsules in his pants pocket. Putting the cap back on the bottle, he gently shook it until he couldn’t see the sediment anymore. Then he quickly shoved the bottle back in the refrigerator.

“For me, you left a little sailor doll,” Jordan was saying. “Remember? It was very appropriate. How did you know I was going to be in a boat when you took my mother away?”

Leo crept down the stairs, and every step creaked. Both Jordan and Meeker glanced at him for a moment. Jordan was standing directly in front of his prone captive.

Jordan sighed and gazed down at the man. “Answer me.”

Meeker closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to the tabletop. “I had a whole collection of old toys in the trunk of my car,” he murmured. “Some of them were mine, and some were from secondhand stores, like you say. Leaving the toy was my trademark. When I saw you in the boat, I remembered I had the sailor doll, so I snuck back to the car and grabbed it from the box of stuff.”

Leo froze at the bottom of the steps. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Meeker was admitting it now. He was even giving details.

“Were you following my mother and me around the day before you abducted her?” Jordan pressed.

“Yeah, I did that sometimes. If I could, I’d watch them for a few days before I made any kind of move.”

Jordan started breathing heavily. “How did you decide on my mother? Why her?”

“I don’t know. I guess because she was pretty.”

“How long were you watching her?”

The man sighed. “I don’t know, about a week.”

Suddenly, Jordan slapped him across the skull with the back of his hand. “Fucking liar!”

Meeker grimaced in pain.

“Jesus, Jordan, what are you doing?” Leo started toward him.

“He’s lying!” Jordan yelled. Some spit flew out of his mouth. “He’s just been saying what he thinks I want to hear! But he’s lying.” He swiveled around and glared at Meeker, who started to weep again. “You couldn’t have been following my mother around for only a week. It had to be a lot longer than that—or maybe she was just an impulse kill.”

Leo shook his head. “Jordan, you’re not making any sense—”

“The day my dad dropped me off at the house on Birch—the day before my mother was killed—I hadn’t seen her for three weeks. Don’t you understand? He wouldn’t have been following her around for a week just because she was pretty. He only went after women with sons. In my mother’s case, he couldn’t have known she had a son until the day before he killed her. Like I say, I hadn’t seen my mother in three weeks.”

He turned and swatted him on the back of the head again. “You think you’re being so clever. You’re purposely making mistakes like that so you can point out later that you were making it all up.”

“Oh, God, please, stop it!” the man cried.

“She was an impulse kill, wasn’t she?” Jordan hissed, raising his hand again.

Leo grabbed his arm. “No! Jordan, that’s enough….”

Jordan pulled away from him, then retreated to the stairs and sank down on one of the lower steps. He put his face in his hands. “There were a few boats out on the bay the day I arrived, even with the choppy water,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “I always figured Mama’s Boy must have been on one of them. With a set of binoculars, he could have seen my mom and me in the backyard. Maybe he saw me trying out the kayak. I think he started following us around that first afternoon.”

Standing over his friend, Leo said nothing. But he remembered Meeker mentioning that he was going to take his fiancée and her son sailing today. So Meeker was an experienced sailor. He remembered something else Meeker had said: For all I know, maybe this is some “good cop, bad cop” routine you two dreamed up.

He reached under the banister, between the posts, and patted Jordan’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take a break?” he whispered. “Go upstairs, get something cool to drink. Let me ask him some questions for a while.”

Rubbing his eyes, Jordan nodded. “I’ll go up in a minute,” he murmured.

Leo glanced over at Meeker, half naked and shivering, stretched across the worktable. Leo moved over toward the washer and dryer, where he grabbed a plaid blanket from a laundry basket. He shook out the dust and brought it over to Meeker and laid it over his shoulders. Over the blanket, Leo rubbed Meeker’s taut, tense back and arms. The man shuddered and moaned gratefully. Leo returned to the laundry sink and refilled the measuring cup with cold water. He brought the cup to Meeker and then set it to his lips. Meeker quickly drank the water down. Leo rubbed his shoulders again.

“Why don’t you give him a goddamn manicure while you’re at it?” Jordan mumbled.

Leo shot his friend a look; then he went back to rubbing their prisoner’s aching shoulders and arms. With a sigh, Meeker seemed to melt against the table.

Leo didn’t know very much about the Mama’s Boy murders. He certainly didn’t have Jordan’s expertise. But Moira read like a fiend, and true crime was one her favorite subjects. She’d once told him that studies revealed serial killers and mass murderers were often the victims of violence and abuse in their own childhoods. A serial killer with the nickname Mama’s Boy certainly had a good shot of being among those childhood victims.

Jordan, the bad cop, had tried to get their Mama’s Boy suspect to talk about his crimes. But that hadn’t worked out. Leo figured it was now his turn to be the good cop and get Meeker to talk about the crimes committed against him when he was a kid—if there were any.

The notion that he was rubbing the shoulders of a possible serial killer—even with an old blanket between them—sickened Leo, and he stepped back. He wiped his hands on his shirt and then nervously stuck them in his pants pockets. “Okay, I—I’d like to ask you some questions now—ah, Allen,” he said, trying not to stammer. “Then we’ll wrap this up, I promise. But I—I really need to warn you, we can check all this out with your fiancée to find out if you’re telling the truth.”

“Go ahead,” Meeker murmured.

“Were you an only child?”

The man squinted at him. “What?”

“Were you an only child?” Leo repeated.

Meeker was scowling. “What the hell?”

“It isn’t a tough question,” Leo said. “Do you need time to think up an answer?”

“I—I—have a younger stepbrother. We were never very close.” Meeker closed his eyes. “If I hesitated, that’s why. I don’t really count him as a sibling.”

“So—you have a stepbrother. That means either your parents divorced or one of them died. What happened?” Meeker hesitated. “Why are you asking all this shit?”

“Why can’t you just answer?”

“I just don’t understand what this has to do with anything—”

“Answer the goddamn question!” Jordan bellowed, getting to his feet.

Leo furtively shook his head at him.

With a sigh, Jordan sank back down on the step. But his hand still gripped the banister, and he watched them intently.

“Was it a death or a divorce, Allen?” Leo asked him quietly.

Meeker turned his face away. “A death, my mother died. Okay?”

“How old were you when she died?”

“Eleven,” he muttered.

“How did she die?”

He hesitated again. “It was a car accident.”

Leo said nothing for a moment. He glanced at Jordan and then at Meeker. Finally, he sighed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you. It’s too vague. ‘Car accident’ is how Jordan said his mother died. And I know now, he wasn’t telling the truth. So—how did your mother really die, Allen?”

He didn’t respond.

“Keep in mind,” Leo said. “We can double-check with your fiancée. She’s only five minutes away by car.”

Meeker’s shoulders started to shake beneath the blanket. Leo couldn’t quite tell if he was laughing or crying. Then he realized it was a little bit of both. “Susan will tell you that my mother died in a car accident,” he said. “But the truth is that one March afternoon, she locked herself in the family station wagon inside the garage, and she left the motor running. Guess who found her. Me, that’s who. She didn’t leave a note or anything—nothing at all.”

“So you have a pretty good idea what it’s like to lose a mother very suddenly,” Leo said quietly.

“That doesn’t make me a murderer,” Meeker said. “In fact, I sympathize with those kids whose mothers were killed.”

“Is that why you left each one of us a toy?” Jordan asked.

“I never killed anybody!” he cried. “You were right earlier, okay? I was making up everything, because I thought if I confessed, you’d turn me over to the police. Listen to me—for the last time, I’m not a murderer. I’m a nice guy, damn it! Ask anyone!” He glanced at Leo. “You said you were going to wrap this up. Well, when?”

Leo nodded. “Just a few more minutes, okay? We were talking about your mother. You said she didn’t leave a note when she killed herself. You—um, after all these years, you must have come up with some idea about why she committed suicide.”

Meeker pressed his forehead against the table again. He said nothing.

“Why do you think she killed herself, Allen?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered

“You must have been pretty angry at her for deserting you at such a young age,” Leo said quietly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, don’t kids sometimes resent a parent who dies on them?” Leo pointed out. “My father was killed in Iraq when his jeep ended up in a ditch two years ago. And when I think about it, I still kind of get pissed off at him for dying on me. I know it sounds crazy. But I sometimes think he should have tried to get out of going overseas or he should have been more careful behind the wheel. This grief counselor the army fixed us up with—she said it was perfectly normal to have that kind of anger and resentment. She said that with some therapy, I’ll get over it. But I think maybe I feel that way because I really miss him.” He gazed at Meeker. “Weren’t you ever angry at your mother for killing herself?”

The man slowly shook his head. “Nice try. I know where you’re going with this. Because I’m mad at my dead mother, I go out and kill all these mothers, right? Where’d you get this shit, Psychology 101?”

“You’re not answering his question!” Jordan piped up from the stairs.

Leo didn’t want to admit it, but Meeker pretty much had his number. He did hope to make a connection between Mama’s Boy and this man who felt some resentment for a mother who had abandoned him. He also wanted to find out if Meeker had been abused as a child—by either parent.

“Weren’t you angry at your mother?” Leo pressed. “Didn’t you miss her enough to be angry, Allen?”

Meeker said nothing.

“Maybe you were happy to see her die,” Leo dared to say. “Was that it? Did she beat you or something?”

“My mother was a sweet, gentle woman,” Meeker said steadily. “She never laid a hand on me.”

“But did she ever raise a hand to defend you?” Leo asked, hoping he might hit on something. It was worth a shot. “I’m—I’m talking about when your dad came after you. Didn’t she ever try to stop him?”

“Of course she tried to stop him!” Meeker blurted out. “He was much worse on her than he ever was on me. He beat the shit out of that frail, little woman. The son of a bitch once threw her across the kitchen, and she hit her head against the edge of the refrigerator. She got thirteen stitches that time. She always took the blows meant for me. She was like his goddamn punching bag. He—” Meeker seemed to choke on his words. He suddenly clammed up and glared at Leo.

“But then she killed herself and left you all alone with him. You didn’t have your mother to run interference. It must have been a nightmare. And you can’t admit you’re mad at her for that?”

“Screw you!” Meeker yelled. He had tears in his eyes. “Think you’re so goddamn clever. So what’s your point? Just because I had it tough as a kid, I’m supposed to be some kind of serial killer? That’s ridiculous. You have your head up your ass….”

Leo turned to his friend. But Jordan was looking toward the basement window. “Oh, shit,” he murmured, quickly getting to his feet. He rushed toward the worktable.

It took Leo a moment to realize what was happening. Then he heard tires squealing and a car engine purring outside.

Meeker must have heard it as well, because he started to yell out: “HELP! HELP ME! OH, GOD, PLEASE…!”

Jordan nearly plowed into Leo to get to their captive. He yanked the blanket off Meeker’s shoulders and tried to stuff one corner of it into his mouth. Meeker kept turning his head. He frantically tugged at the rope, and the whole table shook. He wouldn’t stop screaming.

Leo hurried to the window. Through the dirt-streaked glass, he could see the cop car in the driveway. “Oh God, it’s the police….”

This made Meeker shout even louder—until Jordan punched him in the face. Their prisoner let out an aborted cry and then slumped against the table.

Leo could only see part of the patrol car, but he heard the door open and shut. He turned to his friend, who hastily stuffed one corner of the blanket into Meeker’s mouth. “Jordan, here’s our chance,” he said. “Let’s hand him over to the cops now. We’ve gone as far as we can with this guy. We have enough on him to make the cops suspicious at the very, very least. And we have to let the police know about Moira….”

But Jordan was shaking his head. He pulled at the rope around Meeker’s wrists to make sure it was tight. “We can’t quit now, Leo,” he said, out of breath. “He’s finally starting to crack and tell the truth. He—”

A knock on the front door upstairs interrupted him.

Jordan grabbed Leo’s arm and pulled him close. “Please, Leo,” he whispered, his mouth against his ear. “Don’t screw this up for me. I’m counting on you. Please…just wait down here….”

He turned and pulled the gun out from the back of his jeans. He checked it, then tucked it back under his shirttail and hurried up the cellar stairs.

The rapping on the front door only got louder and more intense.

At the bottom of the basement stairs, Leo listened to Jordan’s footsteps above. Why had he checked the gun like that? In his crazy plan to keep this man his prisoner at any cost, did Jordan actually consider shooting a policeman an option?

Leo glanced over at Meeker—his eyes closed, lifelessly sprawled over the worktable. One corner of the old blanket was stuffed in his mouth. If he hadn’t seen him breathing, Leo would have sworn the man was dead.

He heard the front door opening, and then Jordan’s voice—with strained cheerfulness. “Well, hey, hi again. I hope I’m not in trouble or anything….”

Then there was some muttering from the cop, but Leo couldn’t make out what he was saying. He crept up the stairs and quietly opened the basement door to hear them better.

“Well, it’s just like the lady told you,” Jordan was saying. “We were in the store at the same time—around noon. He didn’t say squat to me. I saw him get into his car and drive toward town. End of story. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

“Where did you go after you left the store?” the cop asked.

“Here, I came here—but, um, my friends were gone, so I decided to go exploring. Then I ran into you….”

“At the old Chemerica plant,” the cop said. “You just went there to explore?”

“Yeah—I mean, yes sir.”

“Sure you weren’t up to something else?”

“Nope,” Jordan said. “I was just hanging out, killing time.”

“A lot of kids go there to get high….”

“Well, not me. I don’t do drugs.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess you got your fill of drugs back when they put you in that institution—or care facility or whatever they called it. Sure must have taken all the fun out of pharmaceuticals for you….”

Standing on the cellar stairs, Leo wondered what the hell the cop was talking about.

“It was the Patrick-Hannah Clinic,” he heard Jordan grumble. “They called it a clinic. And yes, they had me on different medications for a while.”

“If you don’t mind me asking—I mean, as long as we’re on the subject—did they ever give you shock therapy?”

“No. They didn’t do that there. P.H. Clinic was a very advanced, swanky place, only the most affluent nut jobs were welcome.”

“Hah, at least you got a sense of humor about it, that’s good,” the cop said with a chuckle.

Leo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Jordan spent time in some kind of mental health clinic? He glanced over the banister—down at the half-naked, half-dead Allen Meeker, strapped to that worktable. No sane person would have done this—and here he was practically going along with Jordan on the whole thing. Meanwhile, his friend was upstairs with a concealed gun, talking to a policeman.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Jordan said. “Sorry I can’t be more help tracking down this Alex Meeker person.”

“Allen,” the cop corrected him. “Allen Meeker. Where did your friends disappear to?”

Leo hesitated for a moment, then hurried up the last two steps to the kitchen. “Jordan?” he called, moving toward the front of the house.

Turning, Jordan stepped aside to gape at him. Leo saw a good-looking, beefy blond-haired cop standing in the front doorway. He tried to smile at the policeman, and all the while, figured he must have a dazed, dopey look on his face.

“Hello,” he said, a bit out of breath.

Directly below them, a very conscious Allen Meeker heard the cop talking to Jordan’s buddy. He recognized the cop’s voice. He was the same patrolman who had stopped Jordan hours ago, while Allen had been bound and gagged in that dark, tiny, cramped trunk.

He listened to them upstairs. For a moment, Allen thought Jordan’s friend would put an end to all this and tell the cop that they’d taken someone prisoner in the basement. But no, Leo was pretending he didn’t know who or where “this Alex Meeker person” was.

Allen could hardly breathe with part of the foul-tasting, moldy blanket crammed in his mouth. His head ached horribly. That last punch Jordan had dealt should have knocked him out, but it hadn’t. He’d merely faked unconsciousness, hoping Jordan would stop hitting him—and maybe, eventually they’d think it was safe to leave him down here alone. To his surprise, his ploy had worked.

What he needed to do now was make a lot of noise. But he couldn’t scream past the makeshift gag in his mouth. He tried to throw his weight from one side to another—to get the worktable to move. The legs scraped and yawned against the dirty cement floor, but the noise wasn’t very loud.

He’d lost all feeling in his arms. But the blood was still flowing in his legs. A small section of material from his pants remained on his right leg—down near the ankle, which was duct-taped to the worktable leg. Sweat and hours of wiggling that foot had loosened the tape, but Allen had made sure Jordan and his friend didn’t realize that.

Upstairs, he heard Leo tell the cop that he was worried about their friend. “Her name is Moira Dancey,” he said. “We went for a walk in the woods this morning. And close to one o’clock we had this stupid argument, and she said she wanted to be alone. So I left her there…and…and she’s still not back yet.”

“Well, if you’re so worried about her, what are you doing here?” the cop asked. “Why aren’t you in the woods looking for her?”

“I don’t know. I just kept hoping she’d come back before dark….”

At least an hour ago, Allen had first spotted a flat-blade shovel leaning against a support beam. It was about two feet behind him on the right. If he could knock over that shovel, it would make a loud clatter. The cop was bound to hear it.

“Well, Ms. Blanchette was concerned about this Moira girl, too,” the officer was saying. “Sounds like Allen Meeker and your girlfriend disappeared around the same time. I’m wondering if there’s a connection.”

“Why is Allen Meeker’s fiancée worried about Moira?” Jordan’s pal was asking. “She’s never even met Moira….”

Allen wiggled his foot, then pushed and turned his ankle against the loose duct tape. He heard the policeman answer, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. His voice sounded a bit farther away. Allen wondered if the cop was starting back toward his patrol car. He tugged and tugged at the tape around his ankle—until his shoe fell off his foot.

“Well, I can tell you practically for sure that Moira has never met Allen Meeker either,” Jordan’s friend was saying. “I don’t think there’s a connection. But I’m really worried about her. Moira’s not familiar with the area, and she’s all alone in those woods….”

“Wasn’t exactly smart of you to ditch her there, was it?” the cop replied.

Allen heard him clearly that time. He still had a chance of being heard himself. With one last yank, he managed to squeeze his sweaty, swollen foot past the loose duct tape. His leg was cramped up, but he managed to wave it around behind him. He tried to tip over the shovel with his foot, but his toe kept missing the handle by an inch or two. He pulled down at the rope around his bound wrists and then stretched his leg out farther—until he thought his arms would pop out of their sockets. Every muscle in his body ached. Perspiration dripped down from his forehead and the back of his neck.

He kept swinging his leg back. His toe brushed against the shovel handle, but it just grazed it. Still the shovel moved slightly, and the flat blade made a dull scraping sound. Allen tried to kick it again—and again. At last, he connected. The shovel toppled over and landed on a rolled-up drop cloth on the other side of the support beam.

It barely made a sound.

Exasperated, Allen wanted to scream, but he couldn’t.

“Well, if you and your girlfriend had a fight in the woods,” the cop said, scratching the back of his neck, “there’s a good chance she’s just avoiding you. Maybe she hitched a ride to town….”

“No, she wouldn’t have done that,” Leo interrupted, shaking his head. He heard a scraping noise in the basement, and he could tell Jordan had picked up on it, too. Standing on the front stoop, the policeman must have been just out of earshot. If the noise got just a little bit louder, the cop would certainly hear it.

“I’ll tell you what,” the blond deputy said with a sigh. “Maybe you guys can do a little of the legwork for me. Get yourselves some flashlights and go look in the woods for your girlfriend—like you should have done a couple of hours ago….”

Suddenly a loud thump reverberated from down in the basement.

The deputy blinked. “What the hell was that?”

Leo watched Jordan reach back toward his shirttail. “It’s just the furnace finally starting up,” he said. “It was freezing in here last night.”

Brushing past both of them, Leo stepped outside. “That’s where we were,” he said, pointing toward the forest in back of the house. “There’s a stream about a half mile into those woods, and we walked at least another mile beyond that.”

The cop stepped away from the door and gazed at the dark woodlands. “Well, like I say, why don’t you guys get off your asses and go look for her?” he said impatiently. “That’s step one. But do me a favor and stick together, so you don’t get lost. I don’t need any more missing persons on my plate tonight.”

Leo noticed Jordan stepping out to the front stoop. He closed the door behind him.

The deputy swaggered back toward his patrol car. “I’ll check in with you in an hour or so,” he grunted. “If you haven’t found your girlfriend by then, I’ll start to get a search party organized. Meanwhile, I got to track down this Allen Meeker character before his fiancée has a conniption. The broad’s going out of her mind with worry.” He opened the door to his patrol car, but paused and glanced at Jordan, his eyes narrowed. “You sure you can’t tell me anything else about this Meeker guy, anything at all?”

Jordan shrugged and shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Okay, well, see you dudes in about an hour.” He ducked inside his car, started up the engine, turned around in the driveway, and drove off.

“Whew,” Jordan said, putting his hand on Leo’s shoulder. “That was close. I thought for sure we were screwed. You totally saved the day, getting him away from the house….”

Leo recoiled from him. He shook his head. “Jesus, Jordan I can’t believe it. You were going to shoot him.”

His friend frowned at him. “No, I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” Leo argued. “I saw you start to reach for your gun.”

“It was just a reflex. I wasn’t going to shoot anybody.” Jordan turned and hurried back into the house.

Leo trailed after him. “If that cop tried to go down to the basement, you would have stopped him. You were ready to pull that gun on him. Don’t deny it.”

He followed Jordan inside the cabin. He heard another loud crack from down in the basement.

“Listen to that!” Jordan barked, stomping toward the kitchen. “If you’d have stayed down there with him like I asked you—”

“What were you talking about with that cop about spending time in an institution?” Leo interrupted. He kept on Jordan’s heels. “What’s this Patrick-Hannah Clinic? Were you ever going to tell me about that?”

Jordan ignored the question and tromped down the cellar steps. “The cop’s gone, asshole!” he yelled at Meeker. “You can cut that shit out now!”

Their captive had managed to free one of his legs. And he was using his foot as leverage to raise the front of the worktable and then drop it on the basement floor. Jordan almost tripped over the fallen shovel as he bolted toward the worktable. “Damn it!” he growled. He grabbed the shovel and swung it at Meeker, whacking the flat blade against the backs of his thighs.

Past the blanket-gag in his mouth, Meeker let out a muted howl of pain.

“Jordan, stop it!” Leo yelled. It looked like his friend was about to hit Meeker with the shovel again. Leo lunged toward him and wrestled the shovel from Jordan’s grasp. Jordan tried to push him away. Before Leo knew what was happening, he threw the shovel aside and hit his friend in the face.

“Jesus!” Jordan cried, shrinking back. A hand over his mouth, he bumped into Meeker.

Leo backed away, too. He unclenched his fist. “This ends now,” he whispered.

Jordan stared at him for a moment. He took his hand away from his mouth, and Leo could see his lower lip was bleeding.

Silent, Jordan turned toward a storage rack against the wall and took a roll of duct tape off the shelf. He tore off a long strip. The ripping sound seemed to echo in the cellar. He squatted down in back of Meeker and grabbed his ankle. Meeker didn’t resist as Jordan taped his ankle to the table leg. Jordan pulled another long strip from the tape roll and wrapped several loops around his captive’s ankle and the table leg.

Leo gazed at the bright red mark on the back of Meeker’s thighs. Slumped over the table, the man sobbed. Only a muffled whimpering could be heard past the makeshift gag in his mouth.

Leo turned toward his friend. “Jordan?”

Without looking at him, Jordan straightened up and then returned the roll of duct tape to the shelf. Touching his lip, he glanced at the blood on his fingertips and then brushed past Leo as he headed up the stairs.

Leo moved to the worktable, where he pulled the corner of the old blanket out of Meeker’s mouth. “Thank you,” Meeker gasped. Then he started coughing.

Leo went to the laundry sink and filled the measuring cup with cold water. He brought it to Meeker and put the cup to his lips. Meeker drank greedily. He pulled away and caught his breath. “Thanks,” he said again, with another gasp. “Listen, you need to stop him. He’s crazy. He’s not going to—”

“Shut up,” Leo whispered. He put the cup to Meeker’s lips once more. “Please, don’t say another word. Don’t say another goddamn thing.”

He found Jordan in the bathroom off the kitchen. The door was open. His friend stood in front of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He dabbed at his bloody lip with a wadded-up Kleenex.

Leo leaned against the doorway. Jordan eyed his reflection in the mirror for a moment and then went back to nursing his lip.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” Leo murmured.

“Well, I hit you earlier,” Jordan said with a limp smile. “Guess we’re even.”

“It scared the crap out of me when I saw you check your gun before going upstairs to meet that policeman at the door,” Leo admitted.

“It’s not my gun; it’s Meeker’s.”

“Whatever, you still started to reach for it when the cop asked about the noise. Conscious or un, you started to reach for it, Jordan. You came that close to drawing a gun on a police officer. Do you know how screwed up that is?”

Jordan eyed him in the mirror. “Pretty screwed up, I guess,” he muttered. “Maybe you think I belong back in Patrick-Hannah….”

“What’s it going to take for you to be satisfied?” Leo asked quietly. “What does he have to say for you to end this and turn him over to the police?”

Jordan winced, and Leo thought it was because his lip hurt. But then he saw the tear sliding down his cheek. “I really don’t know, Leo,” he admitted in a shaky voice. “I just want him to confess—and know it’s genuine. I want it to be over, too. I hate this.” He lowered the toilet lid, then sat down and started sobbing. “I’m sorry, Leo,” he cried, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t mean to do this to you. You shouldn’t be involved in this mess. I’m so ashamed.” He tore off some toilet paper and blew his nose. Then he took a deep breath. His face was red, and his eyes were bloodshot. “You asked about that—that clinic. He’s the reason I had a breakdown and had to go to that place. He’s the reason I’m so screwed up. He took my mom away right in front of me. I couldn’t save her, Leo. I couldn’t get to her in time.”

Leo sighed. “You could have told me, you know—about your mom, about the clinic, all of it. I wish you hadn’t kept it a secret. It wouldn’t have made any difference to me, Jordan. I mean, you’re still my best friend. Even after all this shit, you’re still my best friend.”

“Well, it ain’t over yet,” Jordan murmured.

Leo worked up a smile. “C’mon, let’s take this into the kitchen,” he said. “I feel like I’m talking to you while you’re taking a dump in here.”

Jordan let out a weak laugh; then he got to his feet.

Leo led the way into the kitchen. He stopped at the refrigerator. He took out Jordan’s citrus-flavored Vitaminwater and a Coke for himself.

Jordan sat down at the breakfast table. “I’m sorry you got sucked into this, buddy. Some happy birthday, huh?”

Leo just shrugged, and then he reopened the Vitaminwater and set it in front of his friend.

“I got you the jacket,” Jordan said, with a sad little smile. “You know the one from Nordstrom, the one you had your eye on? You look cool in that thing. Anyway, it’s out in the car.”

Leo felt a tightness creeping into his throat. He swallowed hard. “Thanks,” he whispered. He mussed Jordan’s hair. “Thank you….”

Leo’s heart ached as he sat down at the table with Jordan. He raised his Coke can and nodded at the Vitaminwater. “C’mon, Jordan, drink up.”