Shadow of Vengeance (47 page)

“I can,” Jake said. “The last sheriff never asked for any help and most of the locals and students acted like it was a legend, not a reality. Even your office blew me off after the hoax six years ago.”

“I also doubt the university mentions a possible serial killer in their recruiting letters.” Rachel tucked the pencil she’d been holding behind her ear. “Are those calls you plan to make going to be to your lab?”

“They are. While I’m taking care of that, I want you two—”

“We’re good.” Owen stood. “Like Rachel said, we’re heading to the university.”

Rachel also stood. “When we cross referenced our list of faculty and staff, we didn’t consider visiting professors. Human resources is supposed to supply us with that list.”

“Sounds like a long shot,” Marty said. “I’ll have Jake call you if I get any lab results.”

When Marty left the room, Jake also rose. “I have a feeling Robert Conway is going to make some trouble. Don’t be surprised if Marty throws all of us under the bus.”

“After how the state police disregarded your last victim, I don’t think Marty and his division will get off clean if that happens.” Owen followed Rachel to the door. “We’re doing everything we can. Conway’s angry, and rightfully so.”

“It’s Friday,” Rachel reminded them. “We’re running short on time. If we don’t get a break, Conway’s going to be more than angry. He’s going to be grieving over his dead son.”

*

“Good morning, Puke,” he said to the pledge as he stepped off the ladder’s final rung. “Today’s the big day. Are you as excited as I am?”

He turned on the lantern, then swung it in the puke’s direction. The boy winced and turned his head away. In the process, the pledge revealed the horrible purple bruises and raw abrasions coating his neck.

A small sliver of guilt pierced his chest. He’d gone a little too far yesterday. He’d strangled the puke with the twine until the boy had almost reached the edge of no return. More times than necessary, he’d choked him, then allowed him to live…only to die today.
 

“Those look painful. Nothing to worry about, though. By the end of the day, you won’t feel a thing.” He moved to the boy and pulled a piece of cold, burnt toast from his pocket. “Open wide and eat your breakfast. Because today is such a special day, I’ve decided to make something extraordinary for your dinner,” he said as the boy slowly chewed. “Do you enjoy lamb?”

When the boy didn’t answer, he pulled a water bottle from his pocket and offered him a drink. “Do you know that in Christian teachings “Lamb of God” refers to Jesus Christ because he sacrificed himself to God in order take away the sins of the world? There are some that argue that the significance of “lamb” is derived from the notion of a scapegoat.” He gave the boy more water. “Someone who takes the blame for another person’s actions.”
 

He stepped away, then went to the corner of the room. After finding a rag, he doused it with the remaining contents of the water bottle. “You, my dear Puke, are my lamb. You are the sacrifice that will take away the sins of your father.”

“It sounds like I’m the scapegoat,” the boy said, his voice low and raspy likely due to yesterday’s game of
choke the pledge
.

As he wiped the boy’s face and cleaned off the dried blood around his cracked lips, he smiled. “In a way I suppose you are. I didn’t plan on discussing theology, but here’s another way you can look at this situation. Do you remember what you told me about Hell Week?”

The pledge slowly nodded, then hung his head. “The guys from the fraternity said whoever was taken was a Hell Week sacrifice.”
 

“Yes,” he said, thrilled to share this new insight with the boy who would save him from twenty-five years of nightmares. “When you told me this, I considered that perhaps all of my pledges were somewhat of a sacrifice, but I realized I was wrong.” He tilted the puke’s chin until they were eye to eye. “God commanded Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac. Before Abraham killed his son, the angel of God stopped him, and told Abraham, ‘Now I know you fear God.’” He cupped the boy’s face. “
You
are my Isaac, my true sacrifice. The role of Abraham belongs to the devil who not only spawned you, but…tormented me.” He held the boy’s face tighter. “I’m playing God now. No, I won’t have your father killing his own son, but his actions, the choices he made twenty-five years ago, are what put Hell Week in motion.”

He rested his forehead against the puke’s. “Unfortunately there will be no angel of God coming to your aid. I’m truly sorry for that.” He quickly drew back and held the boy’s shoulders. “But your father will know fear. He will comprehend at the most heinous level that for every action there is always a reaction.”

“You’re going to…kill me because of what my father did to you?” the boy asked, his eyes filling with hatred and tears.
 

“He’s given me no choice.”

“Sir,” the puke whispered, then cleared his throat. “There’s always a choice. You don’t have to kill me for whatever he did. If it was that bad, go to the police.”

He loved the boy’s determination, and while he should have gone to the police years ago, that
choice
had been taken from him. His selfish mother had not allowed her child justice. “You would want to see your father imprisoned?”

The puke looked away. “No.”

“But you don’t want to die for his sins.”

“No,” the boy repeated, louder, stronger.

“Well, you will. You see, your father cannot be tried for his sins. Michigan law has a statute of limitations for rape.”

Shock rounded the puke’s watery eyes. “R…rape?”

“Yes, Puke. Rape.” As he went back to the corner of the room and tossed the towel on the bench, the memories of that night haunted him, drilled a black hole into the depths of his soul. “Everything I’ve done to you this week, your father did to me twenty-five years ago.” He turned and faced the pledge. “He made me trust him. He made me think that if I suffered through his horrifying, painful, juvenile games, that I would be allowed into his circle.” He shook his head in disgust. “I wanted to desperately be his
brother
, to feel welcomed, to know that I had a group of men I could always count on when needed. Then he betrayed my trust.”

“Is that why you kept asking me if I trusted you? Because you
wanted
to betray me?”

“Yes,” he hissed, proud of his intelligent puke. “That’s exactly right.”

“This…rape…who did my father do it to?”

He stood in front of the boy again. “I think you know the answer.”

Tears streaked down the pledge’s face as he nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

Grief for what he would later do to the boy filled his heart and tightened his stomach with regret. He touched the boy’s cheek. “I’m sorry, too. Tonight will not give me pleasure.” Holding the back of the boy’s head, careful of his wounded neck, he kept the grief and regret at bay. “Joshua,” he whispered. “The savior, the deliverer…the meaning of your name is so fitting. Because I know in my heart your death will save me and at the same time, deliver your father into the bowels of hell.”

He quickly turned away, shut off the lantern and gripped the ladder. “Because we’ve become so close, I won’t lie to you. Tonight will not be quick, nor will it be painless. But it will be necessary.”

“Sir,” the boy called.

He stopped on the second rung, and looked over his shoulder. “Yes, Puke.”

“Will Junior be here tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Will you kill her, too?”

He chuckled. “Yes, Puke. I just haven’t decided whether to kill her before or after I kill you.” He continued up the ladder.
 

“Sir,” the pledge called again.

He stopped. “Yes, Puke?”

“Please kill her first.”

Chapter 20

Rachel shrugged out of her coat, then draped it on the bed. After Owen had parked the car, she’d quickly climbed out and headed inside Joy’s. Too many times today he’d brought up this morning’s argument and had tried to apologize. The betrayal too fresh, the wounds too raw, she wasn’t ready to dissect their relationship—if there was even a chance of one—or accept his apology. She needed distance.

A sharp rap at the door made her stomach twist.
Damn it
. Why couldn’t Owen give her space?

“Shorty, you in there?” Joy called and knocked again.
 

Relieved Owen wasn’t on the other side of the door, she turned the knob. “Hey, Joy. How are you?”

“About ready to sneeze my frickin’ face off. Did you see all the flowers downstairs?”

When Rachel had entered the house, a flowery aroma had assaulted her nose. Once in the dining room, she’d discovered the source. A dozen plus bouquets, baskets of flowers and plants littered the dining room and spilled into the great room. “Yes, they’re beautiful.”

Joy wiped her red nose. “At a distance. My allergies are killing me. Got anything I can take? Walt’s heading into town for that frickin’ festival, but won’t be back for hours.”

Sean also had bad allergies. Rachel had made it a habit to keep her purse stocked with allergy medicine should he need it. “You’re in luck.” She rummaged through her purse. “One of these should help.” She handed her the bottle of pills.

“I owe you, Shorty.” She popped a pill and dry swallowed. “How’d it go today?”

 
“Not well.” Defeatism wasn’t normally her nature, but with one dead end after another, and her fight with Owen, she couldn’t help allowing pessimism to creep to the surface and take hold of her. “The visiting professor route was a no go. Josh’s dad was a jerk and no help at all. The inspector from the state police hasn’t heard back from the lab yet…” She sighed and dropped onto the edge of the bed. “On the bright side, we stopped and saw Sean. He’s doing great. Dr. Gregory is releasing him tomorrow morning. Do you mind if he stays here?”

“Of course not. We’ve got plenty of room.” Joy swiped at her watery, bloodshot eyes. “Is he going to go back to school?”

“I’m not sure what he wants to do yet. He’s really broken up about Josh…so am I for that matter.” She crossed her legs and hugged herself. “I’m really worried, Joy. If we don’t find Josh…until him, Sean’s never had many close friends. I don’t know how he’s going to cope with this.”

“Sometimes life’s a bitch, which is why I tend to be one.” She half-smiled. “We’ve all got a lot to cope with right now. You bring your baby brother to The House of Joy and we’ll cope together.”

Rachel swallowed around the lump in her throat. For all her gruffness, Joy was a kind woman. “Thank you.”

“You know how you can thank me? Help me sort through those frickin’ bouquets. I want to write down the names of everyone who sent flowers, but don’t want to get near them.”

“Sure.” Even though she wanted to open her laptop and do more research, she could use a break. A tedious task was just what she needed to take her mind off her brother, Owen and the investigation. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Seconds after Joy left, there was another knock at the door. She looked to the bed and scooped up the pills Joy had left behind, then went to the door. “I could have brought them down,” she said as she turned the knob.
 

Owen filled the doorway.
 

“Oh, it’s you.”
 

“I saw Joy leave your room. She looked like she was crying.”

“Allergies,” she said and held up the pills. “What’s up?”

“I’m going to head over to the festival with Walter. Do you want to come?”

Memories of their time there yesterday flooded her mind. Before the longing for what could have been took root, she shoved those memories aside. “No. After I help Joy with the flowers I want to recheck what we’d cross-referenced and look at what we have again. I keep feeling like we’re missing something.”

“I can stay and help.”

“No,” she said louder than she’d intended. “I’m…I’d rather do it alone.”

He shoved his hands in his back pockets and looked to the floor. “Want me to bring you back anything? Yesterday, I saw you eyeing up the stand selling funnel cakes.”

“Nope. I’m good,” she said even though she
had
eyed up those funnel cakes last night. But she didn’t want anything from him. Not after what he’d done to her, and potentially to her career with CORE. She also didn’t want him to be sweet or sexy, but unfortunately, he was both. While her feelings for him hadn’t changed and she still loved him, he’d not only crossed the line with his email to Ian, he’d broken the trust between them.
 

Finished with their conversation and needing to distance herself from him, she started to close the door.

He stopped her, then with lightning speed, gripped her shoulders. “I can’t apologize enough for sending Ian that email. Hell, you won’t even
let
me apologize.”

“Apology accepted. You can go now.”

Giving her a light shake, he drew her closer. “Stop. Please, just stop with the bullshit and listen to me. Let me make it right. I’ll call Ian and tell him—”

“Don’t. I don’t need or want you calling Ian.” She fought to ignore his nearness, his familiar scent. His words and touch both distressed and calmed her. If she let him contact Ian, he could smooth things over by explaining away his original report. But even if she did let him, it didn’t change the fact he’d gone behind her back, or that he didn’t think she was cut out to work in the field. “Once we’re back in Chicago, I’m going to need time to decide what I’m going to do.”