Slaves to Evil - 11 (3 page)

“No,” she snapped. Was he hitting too close to something?

“The guy I’m thinking of is pretty persuasive. Especially with people who have problems of their own.”

“Shut up!” Elena shouted. She stood and took a step toward him.

Matt stood as well, holding the gun at his side. “Don’t.”

She stopped, seething with anger. He kept his voice calm. “I had to stop them. It was the only way.”

Maple Grove, North Carolina

It had seemed too obvious when Matt discovered MrDark.com, a blog about one man’s struggle to suppress his violent impulses, a side of his personality he called “Mr. Dark.” Still, it was the only potential lead on the Dark Man he’d come across for weeks. The blogger had referred to his hometown of Maple Grove, so Matt decided to track him down. He’d caught a ride with an obliging long-haul trucker who had confided his family’s homemade sausage recipe in far too much detail. The secret ingredient, Matt discovered, was cumin.

The MrDark.com blogger turned out to be an overweight fifteen-year-old boy who fantasized about beating up the bullies who regularly tormented him. He was rot-free and more pitiful than dangerous. But while in town, Matt had discovered a real threat.

Maple Grove was a divided community. The minority population of Muslim Middle Eastern immigrants was kept at a cool distance by the conservative Christian majority. The recent opening of a new mosque had generated plenty of controversy. Worse, a Turkish store owner had been viciously beaten to death, with no apparent motive beyond sheer hatred.

Matt encountered the men of the Patriot League at their softball game against the Shriners. The Patriots wore red, white, and blue uniforms. The catcher and three other players showed visible rot. One of these was Elena’s brother, Peter, with two full sleeves of tattoos plus several patches of gangrenous, decaying flesh.

Matt attended the next league meeting, expecting a fiery, anti-immigrant mob rally. It was surprisingly civilized, even dull, with the angriest speeches reserved for the greedy restaurant owner who had overcharged them for the awards banquet. The decomposing men sat together quietly near the back. He approached the group after the meeting, asking if any of them could point him toward a job.

Brady, a squat, muscular man in his forties, whom Matt would later identify as their de facto leader, shook his head ruefully. He looked at Matt from two empty sockets where his eyes should have been.

“Sorry, friend. You can try the textile mill, but they’re not hiring these days.”

Another Patriot muttered sourly, “They hired plenty of ragheads.”

Matt felt the others watching him. He gave a derisive snort. “Same story everywhere,” he said. “No jobs left for Americans.”

The men nodded in agreement. He’d passed the first test.

Elena’s sharp voice intruded. “Whatever you’re going to do to me, get on with it already.”

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” said Matt.

“Great,” she answered. “Then let me go.”

“I can’t. You’ll try to kill me again.”

She didn’t deny it.

Matt went on. “I have something I need to do here. Then I’ll leave. I’ll tell someone where to find you. You’ll be fine.”

But he’d already spotted the problem with this plan. Once free, Elena would probably keep coming after him. He’d just have to deal with that when they got there. “For now,” he told her, “I need for you to stay put. I have to get some things.”

Matt had no rope in his duffel. The best he could do was tear a T-shirt into strips and knot those together. He used that to bind Elena’s hands and secure them to a doorknob. There was nothing else in the empty room to tie her to. When he finished, he double-checked the knots, wondering how long they’d hold.

Elena saw his uncertainty. “Wow,” she said. “You suck at this kidnapping thing.”

He faced her. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

CHAPTER TWO

Matt headed to the local big-box store with sixty-two dollars and fifteen cents to spend. He picked up antiseptic, bandages, and extra-strength ibuprofen. He was getting hungry. Elena was probably hungry too. Of course, she might not accept any food he gave her. That would be up to her, he thought, as he picked up a jumbo pack of granola bars and several apples.

He was more concerned that the makeshift rope wouldn’t hold. For all he knew, she’d already worked herself free. He needed something sturdier. He moved on to the hardware section.

Matt surveyed the selection of rope. He tugged on some nylon cord. Too stretchy. Would chain be better? He wondered whether this was what serial killers did on the weekend, went comparison shopping for the best restraints.

“I favor handcuffs myself.” The voice was right beside him. Matt jumped, startled. It was Mr. Dark, dressed in khakis and a plaid shirt, with a baseball cap perched jauntily on his skull. “You can get them at the local S and M shop. They even have some lined with fur. For her pleasure.”

“What do you want?” Matt muttered.

“Just offering some advice on the care and feeding of captives.” He leaned in close and Matt smelled his vile breath. “Take it from me—they’re more trouble than they’re worth. I say kill her now.”

Matt recoiled. “I’m not going to kill her.”

“Yet.”

“Ever,” he insisted.

Mr. Dark nodded thoughtfully. “So you’re going to let her kill you. Interesting strategy.”

“No,” said Matt. “I’ll find another way.”

“Such as?” Mr. Dark faced him with bright curiosity.

Matt was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know yet.”

“I do.” He put his arm around Matt’s wounded shoulder, hugging him close. Matt tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. “I’ve gotten to know you since your unfortunate death. And I know that when it comes right down to it, you’ll save your own skin. Even if it means wasting your pretty little prisoner.”

He grinned. Then suddenly he was gone. Matt didn’t move. The Dark Man was wrong. Yes, he’d killed in self-defense, but the deliberate murder of a young woman with no decay and an understandable grudge was something else entirely. He wouldn’t cross that line. He wouldn’t.

Matt grabbed the nylon rope. He also picked up a camping lantern and a couple of fleece blankets on the way to the checkout. He stopped at a water fountain to refill his bottle. That, at least, was still free.

He returned to the building. Elena was still tied to the doorknob. The T-shirt rope had held up surprisingly well. She’d obviously spent the time he was gone struggling to free herself. Her wrists were raw and bleeding.

Matt pulled the hydrogen peroxide from his shopping bag and approached her. “Let me look at your wrists.”

She kicked out at him viciously, barely missing his ankle. Matt backed off, raising his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

He sat down across the room and tended to his own injuries by lantern light. He cleaned and bandaged the entry and exit wounds. One benefit of his resurrection—he’d become a quick healer. Didn’t make it hurt any less, though. He took several pills with a gulp of water.

He turned to Elena. “You should drink some too. And have something to eat. Can I get close enough to untie you?”

She considered this and decided some cooperation was worth it. “OK.”

Matt picked up the revolver, which was still resting on the floor. He shouldn’t have left it in the room with her. He really did suck at kidnapping. Now he tucked the gun into the back of his pants. Elena still needed to think he might use it.

He untied her hands, watching to make sure she didn’t grab for the gun. He put a granola bar, two apples, and the water bottle on the floor beside her and stepped back. They both ate quietly. Matt knew he should say something, use this opportunity to…do what? Try to talk her out of avenging her brother? He didn’t know if that was even possible. He suddenly wanted Janey ferociously. She was always better at this kind of thing, soothing hurt feelings, sweet-talking the salesman into a lower price. She’d know exactly what to say.

“You probably have to pee, don’t you?” Matt winced as he heard himself.
Smooth, Cahill,
he thought.

But Elena nodded. “Yeah.”

“OK.” He stood, holding the gun at his side as before. “Let’s see if there’s a bathroom.”

She walked ahead of him out of the room and into a hallway lined with doors. She looked behind a couple and found the bathroom. There was no running water, but it would have to do. He nodded for her to go in. As she tried to close the door, he held it open.

“I’ll be right here,” he reminded her, then turned to face the other way. He heard her pull down her jeans and sit on the toilet. A pause, then a stream of liquid hit the bowl. Matt thought this might be the most uncomfortable moment of his life. Elena finished. No tearing of toilet paper. No flush. Just cloth sliding back over hips.

“Done?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Matt turned back toward her. He motioned for her to walk first back to the room. He took another stab at conversation.

“Does your family know where you are, what you’re doing?”

“No,” she said. “They think I went back to college.”

“You know they wouldn’t want you looking for revenge.”

They stepped back into the room. Elena turned to him. “Actually, Dad’s more concerned about whether Mom will try to OD on pills again when she comes home from the hospital.”

Her words were like a physical blow. She kept going, wanting it to hurt more. “She always denied it, but Peter was her favorite. I don’t think she’ll ever get over losing him.”

At that moment, Matt hated himself. As horrible as he’d always felt about ending human lives, no matter how corrupted by darkness, this was a new dimension of guilt. How much grief had he caused, for how many families? They’d never know the circumstances, just that their loved ones were gone forever. Matt knew that Mr. Dark played a big part in those deaths, but he couldn’t dismiss his own role. He did kill those people. Maybe if he’d been a little smarter, thought a little harder, he could have come up with an alternative to at least one death.

Maple Grove, North Carolina

Once he’d found the half dozen corrupted souls within the Patriot League, Matt set about befriending them, stopping to chat after each meeting. Finally a well-timed gripe about the spinelessness of the so-called leadership of the Patriot League seemed to open the door.