Episodes of Violence Page 13

  Reaching into the back seat where the small cooler rested on the floor and held a few sodas, he heard the rumble of an engine. Since the road was a quarter mile away, and the fact that the sound was getting louder, he knew they were getting visitors.

  He froze for a moment before jumped into the back of the car, yanked down the seatback and crawled into the scalding trunk. The air was like an invisible wool blanket wrapping itself around him, squeezing. Breathing was difficult as sweat poured off him, stinging his eyes.

  Ignoring the unpleasantness, he returned the seatback to its upright position just enough so it looked normal but didn't lock back into place. If that happened, he'd have no way to return to the backseat without first exiting through the trunk. Grabbing the shotgun, he found the gun slit and opened it which allowed him a clear view of the house and front yard.

  The approaching vehicle grew louder. The Camry shook, and then he saw the large black pickup truck pull into view. The tires were three times the size of normal tires and the windows were as pitch black as the paint job. Two men were in the back, holding onto the light bar. One was tall with long hair and an equally long beard; the other had a bald dome and lacked any facial hair. Tattoos covered both men’s arms.

  The pickup parked alongside the house a few feet from the porch. The men jumped down as the passenger door opened. Long-beard had a handgun tucked into the waistband of his pants at the small of his back. Baldie had a knife strapped to his boot. A slender woman exited from the passenger side. She wore high heels, leather pants and a pink bikini top that was bursting with boob. Atop her head was a pink-dyed beehive hairdo. A line-backer of a man got out of the driver side. He wore all black, sunglasses and a cowboy hat. The woman stretched, letting out a loud, obnoxious yawn. Cowboy Hat came around to the front of the pickup.

  “Whose piece of shit is that?” he asked, pointing at the Camry.

  “Never seen it here before, boss,” Long-beard said.

  “No one else was supposed to be here,” Cowboy said. “Check it out.”

  Long-beard moseyed toward the Camry and disappeared from Bobby’s sight for a minute before reappearing around the other side. “No one’s in it.”

  Cowboy surveyed the area. “Keep an eye out.”

  Long-beard returned to the pickup and stood next to Baldie as Cowboy and Bikini Top walked up the porch stairs and to the front door. Cowboy wrapped his knuckles on the door. “Dirk, you in there?”

  Bobby closed his eyes for a moment.

  This was bad. Really bad. Of all days for people to show up… The visitors weren’t the run of the mill dime bag buyers either. They appeared to be purchasers of large quantities. Bobby had been around enough low-life druggies to know the difference.

  Bobby could probably take out two of them, maybe even three, depending on how prepared they were when under fire, and how fast he could cock his weapon and fire it. Most likely he’d wind up taking a bullet or two.

  There was also the chance that when Dirk didn’t show they would leave. But that didn’t matter. They couldn’t be allowed to leave; not after having seen Daemon’s Camry and possibly remembering its license plate number.

  Having no choice, Bobby reached into his pocket and withdrew his cell phone and battery. He popped the power source in and turned on the device. It seemed to take unusually long for the thing to boot up, but when it did he sent a text message to Daemon’s phone.

  While waiting for a reply, he cooked in the trunk. Sweat lined his flesh and every breath was nauseating. Impatience boiled within his bones, the need for fresh air like heroin to a junkie who hadn’t fixed in days. He needed to be strong-minded and keep his cool.

  Staring at his phone, the object now a shadowy shape in his hand, sweat stung his eye. He wiped it away, cleaned off his forehead with his shirt and cursed under his breath for the phone to vibrate. If events turned sour when they were separated, the plan called for cell phones to be turned on so they could communicate via text messages. For all Bobby knew, Daemon and Sage were fucking in the attic and unaware of what was going on. There was no way he could remain in the trunk for hours if the visitors decided to wait around.

  Cowboy was pounding at the door now and calling for Dirk to answer.

  “Drove all the way out here you fuckwad,” he said. “You best be in there.”

  “Guy’s probably at the cook house,” Bikini Top said.

  “Wouldn’t that be just great,” Cowboy said.

  “Want us to go get him, boss?” Baldie asked.

  “Sure, go take a few hours and traipse across his two-hundred acres of thick woods, oh, unless you know where the fuck it is?”

  “No, I don’t. I just thought—”

  “I know what you thought. It’s how you operate… Not thinking things through.”

  “Idiot,” Long-beard said and swatted the guy upside his head.

  “We’ll wait right here until he gets back,” Cowboy said and took a seat on one of the porch chairs.

  Bobby’s phone lit up as it vibrated, letting him know he had a message.

  Daemon: Plan?

  Bobby: They aren’t leaving and we can’t let them. They may have seen your license plate. Find guns?”

  Daemon: Got one.

  Bobby: Good, cuz they are armed, but I think we can take them.

  Daemon: Let’s do this.

  Bobby: Wait for my signal. Then come out shooting.

  Bobby clicked off the phone and took the battery out, placing the items in his pocket. Taking a deep breath, he quietly said, “Here we go,” and then banged on the trunk. “Help!” He pumped a round into the shotgun’s chamber. “Help. Get me out of here.” He stared through the gun slit and saw all eyes were on the Camry.

  “What the hell?” Bikini asked.

  Long-beard and Baldie whipped out their guns.

  Bobby banged again. “Hey. Is someone out there? I’m in the trunk.”

  Cowboy shook his head in disbelief as he came down the porch stairs. “Get that fucking moron out of there.”

  Baldie and Long-beard looked at each other and laughed. As they headed toward the car, they tucked their guns back into their pants.

  “Where’s the keys?” Long-beard asked.

  “In here with me,” Bobby replied and took aim through the slit, keeping the barrel just inside the trunk. He braced himself as much as possible for the ringing his ears were going to feel, knowing it wouldn’t matter. He pulled the trigger with his sweat-slicked finger. The gun roared and jumped in his hands. Baldie’s crotch vanished in a spray of fabric, flesh and blood that decorated the grass behind him.

  Bobby pulled the trunk latch and sprang up.

  Long-beard was reaching for the gun tucked into his pants.

  Bobby pumped the shotgun, sending a spent shell onto the lawn and a loaded one into the chamber. He leveled the weapon and saw Long-beard raising his arm, gun in hand. Bobby fired first, and blew a gaping hole into the man’s stomach. The guy was thrown back a few feet where he crashed to the ground, the handgun skidding away.

  Bikini Top was screaming and ran behind the pickup. Cowboy was nowhere to be seen.

  The front door of the house burst open. Daemon stepped out. With shotgun in hand, he took aim at the pickup where the woman had gone. He had a clear view of that side of the vehicle.

  Baldie was screaming as he rolled around and patted the blood-soaked area of where his dick and balls had been. Long-beard was groaning, but laying still.

  Bobby hopped down and over to Baldie. The man was shitting himself, the brown sludge pouring out of the cavernous hole like a slowly squeezed bottle of brown and red colored salad dressing. The grass was smeared with the mess.

  Daemon was telling whoever he was pointing his gun at to toss their gun away. A moment later, a handgun flew onto the porch from behind the pickup. “Now move it,” Daemon said and Cowboy and Bikini Top came out and stood in front of the vehicle’s grill, hands up.

  Sage came out from behind the pickup, a cros
sbow in her hands. Bobby guessed she’d found it inside the house and then snuck out one of the back windows so she could sneak up behind the enemy.

  With the scene secure, Bobby racked his weapon, pointed it at No-crotch’s head and disintegrated it with a pull of the trigger.

  “You’re fucking dead,” Bikini Top said. “You hear me? Dead.”

  Bobby could barely hear her with the way his ears were ringing, but hear her he did, and walked up to Long-beard where he jammed the end of the gun barrel into the man’s mouth, breaking most of his teeth. He held it there and looked at the woman before pulling the trigger and blowing Long-beard’s brains six inches into the ground.

  To Bobby’s surprise, the woman growled and took off running toward him. Her eyes screamed death and her fingers were curled into claws. He pulled the shotgun out of the man’s head, the end of the barrel caked in charred grizzle, and readied another round into play. A chunk of burnt Long-beard came free and plopped to the ground. He couldn’t believe the woman had signed her death warrant so swiftly. She had to know he would kill her.

  “Get back here, Mulva,” Cowboy said.

  Sage raised her crossbow.

  Bobby raised his gun and hesitated. A moment later an arrow flew from Sage’s new toy and struck Bikini Top, a.k.a. Mulva, in the back of her head. Sage’s uncle had taken Sage hunting—both bow and firearm—from the young age of nine until she turned fifteen when he got too drunk and sent a bullet into his belly that lodged against his spine, putting him in a wheelchair for life. Her aim with either type of weapon was incredible. The tri-tipped arrowhead protruded through Mulva’s left eye socket, the eyeball popping out and onto the ground. Her angry expression faltered into one of deadpan as her legs gave out and she collapsed face-first.

  To Bobby’s surprise, Cowboy remained calm.

  Sage laughed as she loaded another arrow.

  “Well that went well,” Daemon said.

  Cowboy’s chest rose and fell as he took an obviously deep breath, then said, “What do you all want?”

  “Not too upset over your friends?” Daemon asked.

  “Hired and replaceable help.”

  “The woman, too?” Sage asked.

  “Plenty more where she came from. Now get on with it and tell me what you want. I’m a business man.”

  “Guns,” Daemon said. “We want guns.”

  “You could’ve just asked,” Cowboy said shaking his head. “I’ve got guns. Lots of guns. But we’ve gotten off to such a bad start that I might have to charge you extra.”

  Sage pointed her crossbow at the man.

  “Kill me and you get nothing.”

  “Oh, we ain’t going to kill you,” Sage said and fired an arrow into the man’s thigh.

  “Argh,” he groaned and fell to one knee. “Bitch.”

  “But we can make it more or less painful for you to tell us,” Sage finished.

  Cowboy stood, wincing. “I ain’t telling you shit.” He pushed the arrow in farther, then grabbed the head and pulled it out of his leg. Blood leaked from the wound, darkening the pant leg.

  “Wow, you’re like a superhero or something,” Sage said.

  “You made your point,” Cowboy said. “But how do I know you won’t kill me after I take you to the weapons?”

  Sage rolled her eyes. “You don’t. Duh.”

  Bobby picked up the gun Long-beard had dropped. It was a Smith and Wesson 1911 style .45. It felt heavy. He popped out the magazine, saw that it was indeed loaded and then shoved the mag back into place. Pulling back the slide, sunlight glinted off the brass casing of a bullet in waiting.

  Surveying the situation, he made an executive decision, walked up behind Cowboy as Sage was threatening to pin the man’s penis to his asshole if he didn’t take them to the guns, and shot the man in the back of his head. Brain and skull decorated the porch steps and Daemon’s shoes.

  “What the hell, Bobby?” Daemon asked.

  Sage laughed.

  “You wanted guns,” Bobby said motioning to his own .45. “Got one here, you got one there and we got two shotguns. I’d say we’re good. We can’t hang around here any longer. We got to go.”

  “Not cool, man,” Daemon said, slipping the gun formerly held by Cowboy into his pants. “We could’ve used more weapons and then had some fun with him. Hunted him or something.”

  “We got what we came for and then some. Got to kill more than we planned. Scratch an itch early. Now it’s time to go.”

  Daemon nodded. “You’re right. That’s why I keep you around—to keep me in check.”

  The bodies in the yard were left where they fell. Two cans of kerosene were found in the shed in the backyard. The bodies were doused and burned, along with the house. It was Bobby’s idea to make the scene resemble Brewmeyer’s. Let the cops come up with a reason, drugs or something. Only the arrows Sage fired were collected, cleaned off and would be reused.

  Once the house was lit up, they left, knowing the smoke would eventually lead to someone calling the fire department.

  Chapter Twenty

  Despite the few weeks that had passed, Amber still was not right. A good night’s sleep was impossible. If she wasn’t tossing and turning, she was waking sweat-lined and startled from one kind of nightmare or another. Her bed had become like a pit of despair. Her rape and all that accompanied it came to life when she laid her head down. She’d been doing a good job of hiding her emotional ups and downs. Putting on a front—her happy face—had become a regular occurrence, and while she was getting good at it she was also getting tired of it. Crying helped, but it was temporary. There was no one to talk to. She was embarrassed and didn’t want her friends looking at her differently, as a victim or someone damaged.

  Most of her time was spent alone or with her brother, Jason. He wasn’t like most kids his age. For him, she especially made sure to act like nothing was wrong when what she really wanted to do was to curl up and die. She took him bowling, to the movies, for walks and bike rides, even though her mind was usually elsewhere. Often, she would zone out on the past, on Rex and the others, then return to the present when her brother asked her if she’d heard what he’d said. She’d smile, nod and fake that she had or simply ask him to repeat it.

  Whether subtle or not, she knew the kid picked up on her true moods and states of mind. He’d always been great at seeing people’s ticks and tells. Seeing through her façade was no different. He knew something was wrong, but didn’t pester her. Said he would always be there for her. “Sometimes just having someone to talk with helps, even someone like me who might not be the best someone, but at least it would be someone that loves you.” That had made her cry and she’d nearly squeezed him to death.

  She’d come close to telling him the truth, or at least something close to it, the words always on the tip of her tongue. But ultimately, she’d decided against it. The kid was having a hard enough time in school and she didn’t want to burden a twelve-year-old with serious adult issues.

  Jason did well with his studies. He had skipped two grades, but in doing so he was always around older kids. Even when he had been among peers his own age he had trouble fitting in. Picked on had become synonymous with Jason.

  So all in all, she would not involve him.

  Sleep. She wanted a good night of it. Sleeping pills and other drugs were out of the question. Besides being somewhat nervous about taking such things, she wasn’t going to rely on them and then wind up dependant on them. Smoke a little pot? Yes, she had, and it helped her fall asleep, but it did nothing to quell her nightmares of Rex or the security guard or the sorority sisters raping her. In her dreams, they all had. She didn’t understand why she had dreams of each person violating her. Why not just Rex? Why so many different individuals? In each dream, she was always held down by people she despised—sorority sisters, campus security, multiple copies of Rex as if he were the product of cloning—and violated with fists, corn on the cob, knives, pledge paddles and once with Rex’s penis, the
large thing hissing at her before it entered her.

  Sleep mostly came in half-hour increments and afternoon naps. Irritability followed her like a shadow. Lately, it had gotten to the point where her patience was virtually non-existent. She barked at her parents, co-workers and even customers.

  One morning she’d snapped at Jason when he spilled his orange juice at the kitchen table and soaked her pants.

  “What the hell, you little shit,” she’d scolded. Her anger wouldn’t stop and she felt like it was filling her. No way to shut it off. She wanted to hurt someone, hurt him. “You stupid little shithead. With all those smarts and you can’t even pick up a glass without spilling it, you clumsy moron.”

  Jason stared at her, mouth agape.

  “What?! What the hell are you looking at? Get something to clean this mess up with.”

  She stormed out of the kitchen and up to her room. While there, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and barely recognized herself. Bags in duplicate took up space below her eyes. Her flesh was not just pale, but splotchy pale. Pimples decorated her forehead and chin.

  Then as if she’d been whacked upside her head with a caning stick, her anger dissipated as quickly as it had arrived. Rex was still violating her. Still had a hold on her and was tearing her apart little by little. If she didn’t get her emotions under control, she’d be changed for the worse forever. Would become a different, miserable person.

  Knowing the old Amber was dead, she also knew that a more normal and happy Amber could become a reality again. People returned back from terrible events. To do so meant the violator hadn’t completely won. The rape was a won battle, but the war wasn't lost because she would come back from the damage he had caused. It would take hard work, even therapy, but she was sure she could do it.

  She returned to the kitchen and discovered the spilled orange juice had been cleaned up. Jason’s pancakes and eggs remained uneaten and he was nowhere to be found. After calling his name, she checked the living room, den, his bedroom and finally his laboratory—as he liked to call it—in the basement, the place where he ran experiments and built things like his drone. He was sitting on one of the workbench stools with his head down and arms wrapped around his legs that were tucked to his chest. She heard him sniffling.