Then he told me we would wait until it was ready to come out and take care of it then. The way he said this made me worry, but I had no clue what I could do about it. He made all the decisions. I just did what I was told.
This was my life, my normal.
The first time I felt it moving around inside me, I screamed. I was like, what the hell is that? I was afraid to ask him about it, so I just waited and finally figured out it was the baby. For some reason, it made me happy. Really happy. I had never had any toys except for that ratty old bear. Now I was going to have a baby of my very own. I could play with it and take care of it. It would look at me the way I looked at him. We would be a family.
Except that isn’t what happened.
When the labor pains began, I thought I was dying for sure. I screamed and cried and screamed some more. He went and got this old woman who lived down the block. She claimed she had brought dozens of babies into the world. The pain went on for hours. It felt as if my body had a mind of its own and was going to pop open any second. The pressure. The need to push. I couldn’t stop it. I had no control. I thought I was going to split in half for sure. All I could do was keep screaming.
Late that night, it finally happened. The woman used her hands and fingers to help the baby come out. She said I was real lucky that she was able to help the baby come out without a lot of tearing and extra bleeding. I was still hurting like hell, but mostly I just wanted to hold my baby. It was a boy. She cut the cord with scissors, then clamped it with a clothespin. She cleaned him up, wrapped him in a towel, and handed him to me. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
No other baby had ever been as beautiful as him. And he was mine.
She told me to let him suck at my breast. It hurt like hell, but I did it. Later I fell asleep. When I woke up, the old woman was gone and so was my baby.
I stare at the disgusting shell of a man collapsed into a heap in the corner. Even as he sleeps, his chest rises and falls with the rattle of the dying. The wound on his arm is infected. Yellow pus leaks from it. I am certain it hurts like a son of a bitch. I stand, walk over to him, and kick him in the arm, ensuring the toe of my boot goes into the wound.
He awakens instantly, howls and writhes in pain.
I smile and wonder how much longer his black heart can hold out. Long enough to keep the misery going for a day or two more, I suspect. Long enough for me to block out the memories of what he did to me with the howls of his agony. I squat down and watch as he shudders and quakes and cries.
When he has calmed himself and the pain has subsided to a tolerable level, I’ll kick him again.
Oh, what fun we’re going to have. I find it so amusing how his carefully laid plan to get back at me has backfired on him.
Twenty-One
Detective Olivia Newhouse
Saturday, May 5
“You’re saying they all got together and set up this plan.” It’s stunning, really. I can hardly wrap my head around it. We were concerned one of the victims might have started this thing, but all of them?
“She wouldn’t confirm who all was involved,” Walt points out. “But she did say ‘we all’ before her husband decided she needed to lawyer up. So last night I did some more research, particularly into Hyatt and Reeves. With those two MIA, I feel like Fanning is either with them or they are with him.”
“Damn,” I say. “Not really a good thing either way.”
Walt glances at me as he slows for the coming four-way stop. “Exactly.”
My gut is in knots. We have the Melanie Hardeman interview this morning. She wasn’t at the salon where she works as a stylist, so we’re headed to her residence. Maybe she will give us more.
However slowly, it’s all coming together now. The news Walt learned from Patricia Shelby helps tremendously. “So this is why Reeves and Hyatt were cruising past his place. They were the ones who weresupposed to make him disappear.” I pump my fist in the air. “I knew that receptionist at the riding academy was not giving us straight answers.”
“Agreed,” he says. “Which is why I had a BOLO issued for the two of them and their vehicles, including a ’69 blue Ford pickup we didn’t know about.”
“It wasn’t listed in the first search we did.” A frown tugs at my brow. I don’t know how we would have missed it. The Grand Am was the only vehicle registered to Reeves and the Range Rover to Hyatt.
“It was listed as belonging to the riding academy.” Walt shakes his head. “Along with a commercial-size van used for competition road trips.”
“Speaking of road trips,” I remember to tell him, “Gatlinburg PD called. No answer at the address we gave them. No vehicle, no sign of anyone staying there. Either that receptionist flat-out lied or she was lied to.”
“Someone is lying, that’s for sure. Maybe they have him stashed in one of the barns at that place—the riding academy,” Walt suggests.
“Unless he’s in Mexico with Sanchez,” I counter.
Walt chuckles. “Unless he’s in Mexico, yes.”
“This is about the wildest thing we’ve encountered.” I feel giddy at the idea that these victims banded together to make this bastard pay. I can’t help but respect the hell out of them for it.
