Maximum Guilt (Hidden Guilt Book 2)

MAXIMUM GUILT

Copyright © 2016 Terry Keys

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author is unlawful piracy and is theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes) written permission must be obtained by the author
[email protected]
.

ISBN-10
:
1516974883 

ISBN-13:
978-1516974887

For Kesha, Jacob and Terrence

DEDICATION

I would like to dedicate this book to three special people who have helped sculpt my life in more ways than one. My younger sister Kesha, my younger brother’s Jacob and Terrence. Being the oldest sibling comes with a lot of responsibility. Some pleasant, other’s not so pleasant. Sometimes it feels like the weight of the world rests on your shoulders. Did you go to class? Have you talked to the boss? Did you talk to the teacher? Have you finished your homework? Here’s some money have fun. Don’t be out too late. Don’t hang with those guys. He’s not good for you – neither is she. The list goes on and on. I’ve done a lot of teaching but as I sit back and reflect I believe I’ve learned more from them than they may have from me. Each of them has qualities that I do not possess, that I envy and try to mimic as I evolve each day. It is often said that God will never give you more than you can handle. Well I don’t believe that – not even a little bit. You see God gives each of us WAY more than we can handle
on our own
. But he never intended us to go it alone. We have brothers, sisters, teachers, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, classmates, co-workers and even strangers we can lean on to help us fight the daily battles of life. And more importantly that he intended us to lean on. Make sure you are leaning on the people God has placed in your life and being a pillar to those around you who may depend on you.

Prologue

Motel 6 – Houston, Texas I-45 N 2:33 a.m.

John Blake thrashed in pain as he stared at his hand on the floor and blood painted the walls of the room a deep mahogany. As he lay in agony, tied up in the motel bed, he knew he’d been drugged. His head rang and the room spun. His arm throbbed where his hand had once been. Many thoughts raced through his mind. What would his wife think? His children? What kind of legacy would he be leaving behind? What a fucking mess he had gotten himself into. And somehow, deep down, he knew this would be his last night, his last hoorah. He felt sick in the deepest pit of his stomach.

The lights in the room were dimmed. A large duffel bag sat on the table in the corner. A cell phone sat on it too, classical piano humming from its’ speaker. Everything else appeared to be normal for a hotel room. What the fuck was this he wondered.

“You bitch!” he yelled as the woman ripped the tape off his mouth. But he knew the words fell on deaf ears.

“Aww, John, do we have to call names? You told me you wanted a bad girl, didn’t you? Hey, I’m talking to you! Look at me!” she said, yanking his head around. “Listen, I have a job to finish here. Let’s just get through this, can we? I need to bandage that nub of yours so you don’t bleed out on me before I’m finished.”

“Fuck you!” he said, spitting on the floor beside her feet.

“You sure wanted to, now didn’t you? Maybe, just maybe, if you had elected to stay home with that beautiful wife of yours . . . what’s her name? Patricia? You wouldn’t be staring at your hand here on the floor. Hey! Wake up! Don’t you go passing out on me. I want you to feel this—all of it. Isn’t that what you told me fifteen minutes ago? Fucking prick.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Are you kidding me, John? Why were you trying to do me? That’s the real question, or at least it should be. You don’t deserve that family you have, the job, the life . . . any of it. I mean, instead of being at home tonight, you’re out trying to fuck women who aren’t your wife.”

“Who made you the morals police? You’re a fucking stripper,” he said, looking at her in disgust.

“Now, now, John. Name calling again? I’m a whole lot more than that, don’t you think? Hold that thought.”

She reached over, grabbed the tennis ball from the table, and shoved it back into his mouth. Then she duct taped it in place. Next, she picked up the hacksaw and went to work on his left hand. He squirmed, kicked, and seized in pain, tears rolling down his face until the job was done. But his agony didn’t make her stop; she actually enjoyed it more when he showed her how much it hurt. Before tonight, she hadn’t realized how much she would enjoy such gruesome entertainment, but it gave her a high. Goosebumps ran down her arm. With the hand gone, she took out a lighter and burned the wound to stop the bleeding. The smell of warm blood and burning flesh turned her stomach a little, but it had to be done. Hopefully she’d get used to the smell over time.

“John! Hey, John, can you hear me?”

He struggled to open his eyes as she slapped his face. His body twitched uncontrollably.

“Okay, now that I’ve got your attention . . . I know this is going to be hard, but I want you to try. You’re a big boy. I’ve got faith in you. 2003 bachelor party for your brother. You called an escort service to hire dancers. Hey! Wake the fuck up!” She rapped on his face again.

He slowly raised his head and opened his eyes again.

“It was for my brother Carl. Yes, I remember.” He barely sputtered out the words.

“We told you no sex. You remember that? You don’t have to answer. You remember taking a girl to a room for a private dance? Told her you’d give her $1,000?”

“Maybe. I mean, I don’t know. I was probably hammered out of my mind.”

“Oh yeah, you were. All of you were, as a matter of fact. You remember drugging that girl and raping her?”

“What?”             

“Oh, don’t act so innocent, like that’s beneath you or something. I’m sure I wasn’t the first girl you raped, you piece of shit, but you won’t be raping anyone else!”

She went over to her purse and came back with a pair of gardening snips. She slowly opened and closed them a few times to gratify herself.

“Now, John, what do you think I’m going to do with these?” she said with a huge grin on her face.

John started to yell, but she shoved the ball back into his mouth again and taped it shut. She reached down and grabbed his limp penis. She put the metal blades of the tool against it, but then she had an idea. She wanted to toy with him a little. She began jerking him off. At first nothing happened, but she kept tugging.

“John, you aren’t playing nicely. Come on! Can’t this little thing get hard for me? Aren’t you attracted to me, John?
Goddamn you’re hot, baby. I wanna fuck your brains out!
What happened to all that?”

Just then, she felt his penis stiffen a little. She looked at his face and could see pain and disgust as she pulled and pulled.

“Ahhh! There we go. Get it nice and big for me, baby,” she taunted.

As John’s erection grew, she stopped tugging, grabbed the snips, and cut off his penis—all the way to his testicles. She watched as he flailed in pain.

“You won’t need that anymore.”

She waited a few minutes to let him mull everything over.

“Okay. Okay. Maybe I remember, but what the fuck did you think I was paying you $1,000 for, huh? A goddamn lap dance?”

“John, I don’t know what you were paying for, but I told you no sex—more than once, if memory serves. Well, that is before my memories stopped that night.”

“Do you want money? Is that what this is about?”

“You’re pathetic. After all this, you really think I want your fucking money? No, John, I want you to meet your maker tonight. That’s what this is about. That’s really all I want. You know what it’s like to be raped, John? Do you? You even called your brother in to get a little. I’ll see him in a few weeks, by the way. This is about karma. This is about revenge. This is about justice.”

John’s eyes closed, he started to fade but the quick slaps on his face woke him up again.

“Listen, let’s be rational here. I mean, I can give you enough money to change your life.”

“Can you give me enough money to buy back that night you took from me, John? Do you have enough money to erase my memories? Do you have that much money? Of course you don’t.”

She tapped her fingers on her forehead and waited a minute for him to respond.

“Nothing to say, huh?”

“You know I can’t take back that night. And if what you said really happened, I am truly sorry.”

“Ohhh listen at you!
I am truly sorry
. No, I don’t believe you. I believe
you are truly sorry
that I am about to blow your fucking brains out.”

She walked over to her purse, pulled out a pistol, and slowly put the silencer in place. She returned to him and pressed the gun to his forehead.

“By the way, the name’s Brittany; that is who I am. Brittany Foy. Not bitch, hoe, stripper, slut, or any of the other names you pieces of shit refer to us as. And it damn sure isn’t Candy Cane. Stupidest stripper name ever, I fucking swear. It’s fucking Brittany. Just Brittany. But I would like to thank you, because there is a silver lining here, and I don’t want it to go unnoticed. Thank you for helping me understand what I was placed on this earth for. I’m ready to fulfill my calling—helping rid the world of douche bags like you. So thank you, John. I truly mean that.”

Then she fired two shots into John’s head. She watched with pleasure as the rise and fall of his body slowly stopped. Brittany stepped back and looked at John’s lifeless body. She thought she’d feel remorse or sadness after her first solo kill but she didn’t. It made her feel empowered. Like she had taken something back that belonged to her. She sat down next to her victim and gently stroked his hair. She took a paintbrush from her purse and walked to the wall behind the bed. She used the splattered blood on the wall to write MORE TO COME “BF” AKA WIDOWMAKER! Then she carefully removed the two pairs of gloves she was wearing and put the inner pair in a plastic bag. She tucked the bag, her gun, and the silencer back into her purse, grabbed her sunglasses, and left.

Chapter 1

I glanced around the room, looking for a hidden camera. This had to be some sort of sick reality show I had somehow become the star of. This couldn’t be real, I thought—but it was. After finally getting my wife, Miranda, back, I immediately lose another loved one to the same fate? How could this be? I was happy and heartbroken again all at the same time. I felt drained and empty. I fought back the urge to puke. I looked around the room again, but she was gone. It was no dream; my Karen was gone.

A nurse walked up to me and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Detective Porter, what’s wrong? Is everything okay? You’re pale as a ghost.”

I didn’t feel like explaining to her that Stacy’s little note wasn’t some cute love letter. Instead, it was confirmation that she was as sinister as . . . Hilary had been trying to warn me all along. The room was spinning. My head pounded. Why was everything moving so goddamn fast?

I slammed my fist on the counter. “No! Everything is not okay. Take Miranda back; get her checked from head to toe,” I demanded. And then it was lights-out.

“David? David! C’mon! Wake up, kid,” Wilcrest shouted as he slapped my face. I opened my eyes to find the captain hovering over me.

My head throbbed as I struggled to figure out where I was and what was going on.

“David, look at me. Come on. There you go. No, no . . . don’t sit up. Just open your eyes.”

I had fainted. First time I’d ever done that. I guessed the nurse had been right when she said I looked pale as a ghost. I struggled to my feet, despite the warnings from everyone to stay put. It felt as if I’d just spun around in circles for five minutes or had been playing beer pong for three hours straight.

“I’m okay,” I said. “I just . . . I just . . . I don’t know. I just fainted, I guess.” And we all shared a brief chuckle at my expense. Even Miranda was smiling. Man, it was good to see her smile. I stood for a second longer trying to shake off the cobwebs. I leaned against the wall to regain my balance. Everyone stared at me like I was some kind of freak.
Come on, Porter, get it together
.

“David, you should go back with Miranda,” Wilcrest said. “We’ll get started at the house. Go! That’s an order, son,” he said when I hesitated to move. “I have every cop and then some looking for Karen and Stacy. We’ll find them.”

I knew Wilcrest had guys on it, but I also trusted my instincts more. I didn’t want to leave Karen’s fate in someone else’s hands. I also knew I wasn’t one hundred percent, even though I was faking it well.

“Yes, David, please come back with me. I don’t think I can be without you right now,” Miranda said, her voice weak. She held her arms across her chest, and I noticed how they were trembling.

The cop in me wanted to begin questioning Officer De Luca to find out the details about her brief captivity and the basement her and Miranda had been held in. The father in me wanted to set the streets ablaze and hunt Stacy down like a bloodhound. I knew the hot trail Stacy surely must have left behind would become cold rather quickly. I was hoping to capitalize on any mistakes she might have made in her haste, as leaving like this was probably spur of the moment. I trusted Wilcrest, and I knew without a doubt that the boys would give this the highest priority. Maybe they would track her down as I sat this one out. Stacy was no different than any other criminal. Sooner or later she’d make a mistake.

Wilcrest was right—Miranda needed me as a husband right now and not a cop. It would be a balancing act from this point on, because I knew I needed to spend ample time tracking down Stacy before it was too late. I believed she was capable of not only hurting Karen but killing her if she got in the way. I couldn’t begin to imagine how confused Karen must be right now. I’m sure she wondered why she and Stacy had run off all of a sudden.

They led Miranda and me down a hall toward a testing room. I imagined they would run a million tests to see just how bad off she was physically. Doctors and nurses approached and asked question after question, making notes and probing Miranda.
God, I hope this will be over soon.
“This is where we’ll perform most of our tests, Miranda,” a nurse said. “You okay here?”

“Yes, I am fine,” Miranda replied, looking over at me.

I couldn’t tell how many pounds she’d lost, but I did know it was significant. I knew she was fighting hard to hold back a slew of pent-up emotions from her time in captivity. It must have been eating her up inside. Miranda prided herself on looking her best, even at home.

“I’m so blessed to have you back in my life, Miranda. You look beautiful,” I said, trying my best to comfort her.

I sat beside Miranda and held her hand as the doctors ran test after test. My mind, however, was traveling at warp speed. My oldest daughter Hilary felt uneasy about Stacy from the moment she appeared at Miranda’s funeral. Even I thought her “outofnowhereness” seemed a bit strange, but no one could have imagined this. How could I have been so blind? So stupid? It all made sense now—her eagerness to become a part of our lives, move in . . . the pregnancy. The pregnancy! What did that mean for me now? And now I would have to explain it all to Miranda, including the college fiasco I thought I’d left behind. I wondered how Miranda would react to everything. All of this on top of Karen’s disappearance and the healing process Miranda would have to endure as a result of her own abduction. I had never taken advantage of the psychiatric counseling we had available, but now seemed as good a time as any. For all of us. I held Miranda’s hand as tight as I could and just stared at her. It seemed unreal that she was here again, here with me.