THE TORTURED (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY - ONE

FUCK IT. YOU’RE GOING TO DIE ANYWAYS.

TWENTY - ONE.
What little interaction that Ryan had with Meghan allowed him, for the first time in his life, to
feel.
Now, filled with emotion, Ryan felt a certain depth within him that he had not for his entire adult life. He felt as if his life had purpose. He now knew why people developed a love for a person that they were not bound to by the ties of family or blood. Ryan felt, although she was no longer in his presence, that Meghan had become part of his life.

A week prior, after a thorough survey of the land that surrounded the home, Ryan was certain that his plan
could
work. The home was positioned approximately two miles into the rural area that surrounded the city. The ten acres of land that surrounded the home allowed access from the front through the driveway that led to the house. The rear of the property was primarily pasture land surrounded by a fence with two gates that allowed access into the fenced acreage. A small pond was centered in the ten acre pasture.

Now sitting in his vehicle in the driveway, Ryan inhaled through his nose. A slow deep breath allowed a calmness to wash over him and provided him with assurance that he would be able to proceed.

Dressed in Khaki pants, a pressed khaki shirt, and boots, Ryan turned his head and looked around the rural area that surrounded the front of the home. There wasn’t another house within half a mile of the residence. It would be difficult, he assured himself, for anyone to hear or see what was about to happen.

Slowly, he inhaled another breath through his nose and grabbed the door handle of the stolen van. As he exhaled slowly through his mouth, he pulled the handle and stepped from the van into the driveway. After double-checking the placement of his photo identification clipped to the light jacket he was wearing, he methodically walked up the drive toward the front door of the residence.

Standing at the front door, Ryan inhaled another slow breath through his nose. As he held his breath, he pressed the button for the doorbell affixed beside the frame of the door. As he waited for the resident to answer the door, he exhaled and listened for any sign of movement in the home. After thirty seconds, he knocked on the door three times sharply.

As he heard the bolt in the door lock turning, Ryan began to feel relief. Planning any type of event and not being able to execute the plan never settled very well with him. As the door opened, Ryan looked up into the eyes of the resident and spoke clearly and with precision.

“Sir, I’m Blake Johnson with The Gas Service Company. Our systems have indicated a leak of forty-two cubic feet per hour at this residence. Although we are uncertain of the exact leak location, we’re quite certain that it is coming from this residence,” Ryan motioned to each side of the front of the residence as he spoke.

“I’ll need to ask your permission to enter the residence and attempt to locate and repair the leak,” Ryan turned to face the man and looked into his eyes.

Based on the expression on the man’s face, Ryan began to feel at ease.

“Wow. Here? Shit. Yeah, by all means, come in,” the man said as he opened the door.

Ryan pushed his hands deep into his pants pockets, stepped past the man, and into the living room of the home.

“I appreciate your courtesy - especially this late at night. As this isn’t the time of year that most homes consume natural gas, we made note of the leak right away. Can you direct me to the gas furnace and gas water heater, please?” Ryan blinked his eyes and offered a small grin as he spoke.

“Sure, follow me,” the man said as he stepped around Ryan.

As the man walked toward the kitchen, Ryan reached under the tail of his Jacket and into the waistband of his pants. This practice measure provided enough reassurance for Ryan to become comfortable of his ability to retrieve the pistol from his waistband without effort or concern. After placing his hands into his front pockets again, he followed the man to the basement door located at the edge of the kitchen.

As the man began to walk down the stairs, Ryan looked down the steps and inhaled through his nose slowly. Without thought, he pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed his palms on the thighs of his pants as the man worked his way to the bottom of the steps.

“Well, it’s down here in the utility room, you’re going to have to come down those steps,” the man chuckled.

“Sorry, I thought I was going to sneeze,” Ryan lied as he began to walk down the steps.

As the man reached the basement, he turned to the left and disappeared from view. Ryan walked down the steps, reached the landing, and turned left around the wall that separated the stairs from the body of the basement. In an illuminated room full of boxes and mechanical equipment the man stood waiting, his hands placed firmly on his hips.

“I don’t smell a damned thing,” the man sighed as he stared at the heater.

“You can’t
always
smell them. The leaks, that is,” Ryan assured him as he approached.

“It’s why I brought the leak detector. It can detect a miniscule amount up to 50 parts per million. Far below our nose’s ability to determine any form of leak. Step aside please,” Ryan said as he entered the room.

The man stepped to the side of the door and allowed Ryan to pass between him and the heater that stood beside the entrance of the door. As Ryan reached the rear of the heater, out of the man’s view, he pressed the
test
button on the detector he had purchased at Home Depot an hour earlier. The detector beeped twice loudly, startling the man on the other side of the heater.

“Well, we have one small one right here. We may need to evacuate the home if there’s many more. It’s difficult to be too certain yet. I guess now is the time to ask, is there anyone else in the home?” Ryan asked softly.

“No, I’m the only one that lives here,” the man responded as he looked at the other side of the heater.

Standing on the opposite side of the heater, out of view of the man, Ryan placed his detector back into the belt clip. Slowly and quietly, he removed the pistol from the waistband of his pants. Cautiously, he removed the safety.

“You are the owner of the residence, are you not? Joshua Volvo?” out of view, Ryan raised the pistol and waited for a response.

“Yep, that’s me,” Josh responded from the other side of the heater.

“Two more places I need to check, just a minute,” Ryan said as he stepped around the heater and into view.

“What the fuck…” Josh began to shout as Ryan came into view.

Ryan pointed the barrel at the crotch of the Josh’s jeans and pulled the trigger slowly.

The explosion was deafening, and the concussion from the recoil of the pistol startled Ryan. Quickly, he recovered, pointing the pistol at Josh’s chest. As Ryan stood pointing the pistol, Josh’s legs gave out and he slowly lowered himself to the floor.

“Don’t say a word, or I will shoot you in the chest. I prefer not to listen to you at all, so be quiet if you don’t mind. Whining has always irritated me,” Ryan said loudly.

Ryan licked the roof of his mouth in an effort to remove the taste of the cordite. The coppery smell of blood filled the air as Josh fell to the floor, groaning. As he sat on the floor, he continued to moan and press his hands into this lap.

Ryan knelt beside Josh and began to speak quietly.

“You see, I wanted to be certain to shoot you in the groin. I have no idea how that feels, but I suspect it isn’t a great feeling. Am I correct? The detectives will look at the psychological aspect of it later. They’ll assume you were disgusted with yourself, as you should be. Well, enough of that. You have no idea what I’m speaking of, and to be quite honest,” Ryan paused and pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“I am tired of looking at you and speaking to you,” Ryan stood and looked around the room.

“Oh lord, call me an ambulance. Holy shit, I need an ambulance,” Josh shouted as he pushed his hands against his groin. Blood seeped through his fingers and onto the floor.

“Enough. Stop speaking. Listen, Mr. Volvo. I am here in an effort to send you to hell for what you have done to your niece, Meghan. You, sir, disgust me,” Ryan said softly as he pointed the pistol at Josh’s temple.

“I need an ambulance,” Josh begged.

“An ambulance?” Ryan chuckled.

“Fuck it. You’re going to die anyways,” Ryan whispered.

As the Josh began to speak, Ryan pulled the trigger. Almost immediately, Josh fell backward onto the floor. As the blood oozed from Josh’s groin and head, Ryan placed the pistol in his waistband and slowly removed his jacket.

Ryan folded his jacket into a large thick bundle and placed it on the floor on the right side of Josh. After placing the jacket on the floor, he reached into his front pocket and removed a pair of rubber gloves and one cartridge for the pistol. He placed the cartridge in between his elbow and his torso, pressing it against his shirt. Carefully, he stretched the rubber gloves over his hands and removed the pistol from his waistband and the cartridge from between his elbow and stomach.

After removing the magazine, he loaded the spare cartridge into the pistol. With his gloved hands, he wiped the pistol free of all fingerprints with his shirt. He then bent over, formed Josh’s lifeless hand around the frame of the firearm, and pressed his finger into the trigger guard.

Cupping his gloved hand around Josh’s hand, he pressed the barrel into the folded jacket, and pulled the trigger. Carefully placing Josh’s bloody hand around the pistol, Ryan released Josh’s arm and allowed it to fall naturally back into the location where it had been.

After picking up the jacket, discharged round, and one of the shell casings, Ryan stepped over the body and into the doorway. The detectives would now find two shell casings, and two discharged bullets, one in Josh’s head, and one in his groin or hip. Josh’s hand would be covered in gunpowder and blood, supporting the indication that he shot himself. The amount of cartridges missing from the magazine of the pistol would precisely match the amount of bullets that were in Josh’s body - two.

The suicide note would make the investigation relatively short.

In time, the detectives would potentially find more; potentially in a matter of weeks or even months. Either way, Meghan’s mother would see Josh for who he was, and not at the telling of Meghan. Without a doubt, Meghan would feel relief from Josh’s untimely demise.

Ryan stepped over the body and around the corner of the basement, holding the jacket in his gloved hand. In entering the kitchen, Ryan removed his gloves and placed them on top of the jacket on the center of the floor. He pushed his hand deep into the pocket of his khaki pants and removed another pair of rubber gloves and slowly pulled them over his sweaty hands.

Ryan looked up from his now glove covered hands and peered down the hallway of the house. He walked down the corridor to the rear of the home, and opened each of the doors independently. The first was a bathroom. The second, without a doubt, was Josh’s bedroom, the third a spare bed room. He flipped the light switch and illuminated the spare bedroom. As he turned to face the foot of the bed, a sigh of relief passed his lips.

The typewriter.

What appeared to be a World War II era Smith-Corona.

Ryan began opening the drawers to the desk. He smiled as he opened the lower right drawer and found a loose sheet of paper. After feeding the paper into the typewriter, he placed his gloved hand on his chin and thought. Slowly, he pressed the keys on the typewriter.

My disgust turned into shame, and the shame to pain.

The pain, now, is too much to fathom.

And with these parting words,

I become numb. 

Ryan read what he had typed and smiled. He then reached into his rear pants pocket and retrieved a small zip-lock type bag and opened it. He reached into the bag and removed one of the post mortem fingernail clippings from Shellie’s fingers and dropped it on the floor. Satisfied at what was available for the detectives in this room, he turned and walked to the bathroom.

Ryan stepped into the bathroom, to the shower, and pulled the shower curtain open. Carefully, he removed a few of the strands of Elena’s hair from the small plastic bag and dropped them in the bathtub. After tossing a few strands onto the floor, he stepped into the hallway pleased of his placement of clues.

As Ryan walked down the hallway and toward the kitchen, he zipped the plastic bag and placed it into his rear pants pocket. After recovering the jacket and gloves from the kitchen, he walked to the van, opened the rear cargo doors, and placed his items in the rear of the van. As he walked to the front of the van he considered potential forgotten items. Convinced that he remembered everything of importance, he opened the door, got inside, and removed his gloves.

A sense of satisfaction filled Ryan as he started the van. He felt satisfied, in a somewhat sickening sense, that he and Meghan were now equal. Satisfied he had accomplished his goal, and satisfied that Meghan’s abuser would not be capable of harming another. 

Ryan backed the van out of the driveway, drove to the rural location where he had left his bicycle, and parked the van. After retrieving his bicycle from the fence it was locked to, he walked to the rear of the van and opened the cargo doors. A back pack and a can of gas sat inside the doors. Ryan gathered his backpack, unzipped it, and removed his sneakers. He then removed his outer khaki shirt and boots, and placed them in the back pack with his jacket and gloves. After he laced up his sneakers, he zipped the backpack and stood up.