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Finally, at nearly three in the morning, I exited my truck, closing the door as quietly as I could and making my way toward the shadowy apartment complex. My anger and rage were still boiling beneath the surface, but I had to keep that pushed aside and think clearly if I wanted to save Dahlia. There was no telling whether he’d already killed her, though.
The look of horror and heartbreak in Owen’s eyes as I sliced open Blaine’s throat had been like cool water on a burn. I’d loved seeing that look on his face, but in hindsight? It may have been the biggest mistake in my life. I’d allowed my anger and hatred for him to take over my thinking, and I’d done something irrevocable. He may have butchered Dahlia the moment they were safely away out of revenge. For all I knew, she was lying, gutted and headless, in a ditch somewhere outside Savannah. As I went up the steps, I shook my head violently, trying to dislodge the awful images.
The door to the complex was unlocked, a good sign. It meant I’d only have to force the lock on one door rather than two. Inside, rows of numbered apartments stretched down a hallway. His apartment was three-twelve. Rather than use the elevator, I took the stairs, inching my way up, holding my gun out, ready to raise it and fire if anything strange leapt out at me.
On the third-floor landing, I stood, waiting to see if there were any signs of life. The silence stretched on, like a mausoleum. After I counted to one hundred, I moved forward. Passing apartments three-oh-one, moving further into the bowels of the building. Three-oh-seven, my boots thudded softly on the carpeted flooring. Three-eleven, outside a car buzzed past, tires humming on the pavement. Finally, I stood before three-twelve.
Before I did anything, I pressed my ear to the door, listening as intently as I could. Silence. After tucking my gun away, I pulled out one of the knives I’d brought and jammed it into the door jamb near the knob. I could do this semi quietly as long as he hadn’t locked the deadbolt as well.
With a few pops and snaps, I chipped away a good chunk of wood, allowing the blade access to the gap between the door and the strike plate. Doing my best to position the blade where I wanted it, I put the tip right where I thought the center of the plunger would be. I gave the hall behind me one last look then slammed my palm onto the butt of the knife. The blade drove in, the tip breaking, but it managed to slide the plunger up, and the door swung inward with a faint click.
Before the door had opened more than a few inches, I ducked aside and pulled my pistol, waiting for whatever might happen. A gunshot or slashing knife? Hell, a booby-trapped crossbow sending an arrow at my heart?
After several seconds of silence, I glanced inside, sweeping my gun around the apartment, looking for movement. Nothing. Slightly more at ease, I inched inside, leaving the lights off, and swept the area. Living room, kitchen and dining area, bedroom, closet, bathroom? It was all empty. With the area secure, I closed the front door again and turned on lights to begin my search, and by search I meant tearing the place apart for a clue as to where Owen might have taken Dahlia.
With the lights on, I got a better look at the state of things. A thin film of dust was on almost every surface. Two small houseplants in the living room window were brown and dead. A cursory glance at the fridge showed mostly bare shelves. A jug of milk sat curdled in the door. If I had to guess, from all I could see, Owen probably hadn’t been here in at least a month, probably longer.
Starting in the kitchen, I tore through drawers, pulling them completely out and dumping the contents on the floor. Silverware, spoons, spatulas, an entire drawer filled with takeout food sauce packets, but nothing important. I cursed and kicked the fridge, leaving a foot shaped dent in the door. Next, I checked the living room, nothing but a framed picture of Owen with Blaine at what looked like a high school graduation.
The bedroom turned up my first item of interest. In his closet, I found a pair of bolt cutters, and a toolbox. Inside the box, I discovered mostly tools and a box cutter. The blade of the cutter had a faint rusty color dried on it, that looked like it may have been blood. Had Owen been playing outside the house? Perhaps he’d begun his own forays into pain and punishment without my awareness?
Leaving the closet, I ransacked his desk. Old books, magazines, an encyclopedia. Two books struck me as bizarre. Best of Europe: A Travel Guide and Facial Recognition and the New World of Surveillance. My eyes widened slightly at the second title. How many cameras had Dahlia and I walked past while running to and through Europe? Security cameras in stores, airport cameras, crosswalk cameras, and a dozen others, all connected in one way or another to the internet. Was this how Owen seemed to find us so easily? It had never occurred to me that he would have that capability, but the world was changing fast. The technology was available, if you had the money. And it appeared Owen did have the money. I hissed and tossed both books aside.
A piece of paper fluttered through the air, falling from within one of the books. It should have fallen to the floor without me noticing, but something about it drew my attention. Kneeling, a frown forming on my face, I lifted the paper, turning it over as I did. It was a receipt for a paid in full storage unit rental. The date on the receipt was only a couple months old. The rest of the room turned up nothing. I even sliced open the mattress and box spring to see if something had been tucked away in there. No leads. Nothing but the receipt.
Snatching the bolt cutters from the closet, I made my way back to the front door, stuffing the small scrap of paper in my pocket. All I could do was pray that I found something at the unit he’d rented. Time and hope were running out. Dahlia needed me, and by god I would burn down heaven and hell if I needed to in order to save her.
Chapter 18
Dahlia
Dinner was a quiet and tense affair. Bri, however, acted as though nothing was amiss. She munched on the fresh baked bread, pasta, and salad like she was relaxing in a restaurant. Payton, however, looked miserable. Even through the burn scars, I could see the dark emptiness in his eyes.
He kept sending furtive glances my direction. My memories of the house were still indelibly carved into my mind, and despite my horror at the situation, the last thing I wanted was another starvation punishment. I ate. Quickly but begrudgingly stuffing my face, twice surreptitiously cramming a roll into one of the pockets of my sweatpants for later.
Finally, unable to hold back, I looked at Payton. “Why are you helping them? Why?”
He flinched as though he’d been struck, cowering away from my voice. Unable or unwilling to speak.
“Our friend Payton,” Bri said with a smile. “Had two options. The same two options I had. The first? Join Sam, oh I guess his name is actually Owen, but whatever. Join him, and in doing so, get to have power and freedom. For me, the choice was easy.” She speared a dressing- covered cucumber slice and popped it into her mouth. “When you really think about it? The playhouse is horrifying to live in, but the thought of being in charge?” Her eyes sparkled with manic glee, and I understood whatever sanity she’d had before had been completely wiped away. “Being in charge is fucking hot. Making these poor fuckers do what I want, kill, fuck, roast, and gut who I want? There’s nothing more I could ever want.”
“They made me,” Payton muttered, his voice barely audible.
“We didn’t make you,” Bri said, smiling at him. “We asked you, and you said yes.”
A bit of agency returned to Payton’s mutilated face, and he scowled at her. “You waited until the flames were in my goddamned room. I was already blistering when you asked. What could I have done? I was going to die, Bri.”
“And you easily could have,” she said as though telling someone they could make their own dinner.
“You also threatened my family,” he hissed.
“What? That old bitch mother of yours? Or the dad who disowned you when you told him you like to suck dick and fuck guys? Which one?”
“My mother and grandmother,” Payton admitted, but again lowered his head, as though the fight was leaving him.
Bri nodded. “Yeah. That’s true.” She looked at me and gave me a dazzling white smile. “We told him that if he didn’t help us hunt you and Drake down, we’d get a big burly fucker with no morals to rape his mommy and granny to death while he watched. Honestly,” she said, tilting her head back as though picturing the scene in her mind’s eye. “I kinda wish he’d said no. I’ve never seen a chick get literally murdered by a cock. Might have been enlightening to see.”
“You’re fucking sick,” I said, hissing the words at her.
