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Tom was unfazed. His eyes didn’t widen. His face didn’t pale. Icy. Yup, an iceman. But I saw beneath the surface. Beads of sweat were emerging on his forehead. His hands trembled. Only slightly, but I noticed.
“Nice of you to bring groceries. Were you planning to feed your guest in the basement?” I stood, advancing toward him.
His trembling hands got the best of him, and he dropped the bag of groceries. Apples rolled toward me as he turned to flee.
Oh, hell, no.
I ran after him and tackled him on the lawn with a thud. If only it had been concrete, I could have hurt the psycho. “You motherfucking son of a bitch!”
“Who are you?” he yelled. “You’ve got the wrong guy!”
“You want to tell me you’re not Tom Simpson? The fucking mayor of Snow Creek? One of the men who raped my brother? That bad dye job can’t hide who you are.”
“Let me go!”
I threw my body on top of him and clamped my hand over his mouth. “I’d recognize those eyes anywhere. My best friend has the same ones, and so does his baby son. And if I ever find out you touched one hair on that baby’s head— Fuck!”
I removed my hand quickly. The fucker had bitten me hard enough to draw blood.
He moved quickly, but I was bigger and stronger. In a flash, I had my hand back over his mouth, pain be damned. My blood smeared crimson across his cheeks.
“You think you can get away from me, you stupid motherfucker? I’m not a ten-year-old little boy. I’m a grown man, and I can destroy you.” I straddled his thighs, keeping his legs in place, and wrung his neck with my other hand. I looked around quickly. We were isolated enough that no one could see us, thank God. “I could break your neck. Right now as you lie here, struggling to get free. I could break your fucking neck, Tom.”
He mumbled unintelligibly against my hand.
“Why did you do it? Are you just that sick? Or did somebody pay you off? Why did you take my brother? Was it to get back at my father for something? You’re going to fucking tell me. When we go in the house, I’m going to duct tape your fucking arms and legs together, and you’re going to start talking.”
His lips moved beneath my palm, and I clamped my hand harder over his mouth. “No more biting, or I’ll make this worse for you.” I squeezed his neck harder. “Do we understand each other, Tom?”
He screamed against my hand, his voice vibrating against my palm.
“It’s a yes or no question. You nod or you shake your head. Do we understand each other?”
His eyes seemed to calm. What the fuck?
Slowly, without releasing my hold on his mouth, I unclenched my thighs from around his. Quick as a jackrabbit, I stood and jumped, bringing him with me and into a chokehold. I led him back into the house and threw him onto a chair.
Among the apples and other groceries on the floor was, lo and behold, a roll of duct tape.
I picked it up. “You use a lot of this, don’t you, Tom?”
He grunted, rubbing his neck.
Quickly, I opened the duct tape and bound his wrists and ankles. “Now we know you’re not going anywhere.”
“Who are you?” he asked.
I laughed out loud. “Do you really want to go there? Play the ‘you’ve got the wrong guy’ routine?”
“Help me! Help me!” His voice was forced and not very loud.
“Who the hell will hear you? That poor guy you have tied up downstairs? He’s so weak from the abuse he can hardly move. And why would he help you if he could? You’ve used and abused him, just like you did my brother, just like you did your own nephew. Just like you did all those other kids and God knows who else.”
He opened his mouth and then shut it.
“Got something else to say?”
“Joe…”
