Trapped

Paulie never forgot one of his children. Especially the ones that got away.

He just had to get her in his pain box.

The box was based on years of testing and experimenting. Every skewer positioned and angled so it wouldn’t hit anything vital. Paulie’s biggest wish was to get the doctor in there.

But until that day came, this was a tasty little substitute.

Sara was paralyzed with fear. A tiny part of her brain recognized what a cliche that was. But it was true. She was so terrified, so overwhelmed by dread, she couldn’t move.

Paulie Gunther Spence stared at her. Through her. Sara knew he could read her thoughts, sense her helplessness.

He lowered the meat hook and gave her a lopsided grin. Then he walked slowly to Sara’s left, stopping at a dresser.

Run! Sara yelled at herself. Get out of there!

But her feet remained planted, her veins felt filled with cement. She couldn’t even turn her head, staring at her abductor out of the corner of her eyes, watching as he slowly slid open a drawer. He put his hand inside, grinning, obviously enjoying himself, and then removed a rope.

No! Don’t let him tie you up, Sara! You have to move!

That’s when the door burst open.

The sound was enough to break Sara out of her frozen state. In one smooth motion she dove sideways, tucked her elbows in, and rolled lengthwise under the bed, the utility knife clutched to her chest.

“You! You killed my pet!”

Lester’s presence seemed to fill the room. He looked twice as big as the last time she’d seen him, and his eyes were wide and lips pulled back to bare his revolting teeth. He was pointing, accusingly, his hand ending in a knife that glinted orange in the candlelight.

But he wasn’t looking at Sara. He was looking at Paulie Gunther Spence.

“The Joe pet is dead. Now Lester will kill Subject 33’s pet.”

Lester took two quick steps toward Laneesha’s cabinet, and Sara watched aghast as he flung open the large middle door without removing the skewers.

Laneesha’s insides came out, spilling onto the ground, some of them sliding under the bed and onto Sara. She shoved her knuckles into her mouth and bit down to keep from screaming.

Lester turned, raising the knife.

“Now Lester will kill Subject 33.”

Paulie Gunther Spence held up one hand in supplication as he shook his head. His other hand was gesturing wildly.

Pointing right at Sara.

But Lester wasn’t following the man’s finger, and though Paulie’s lips were moving, no sounds were coming out.

Lester lunged.

For a fat old man, Paulie moved pretty fast. He danced away from the blade and came up on Lester’s side, the meat hook raised. Paulie swung, cutting through empty air with a whir.

Lester lunged again, nicking Paulie on the shoulder. Paulie again swung and missed. The taller man’s reach was too long, and he easily kept Paulie at a distance.

When Lester cut Paulie’s other shoulder, she could see the futility on Paulie’s. He knew he was going to die. That’s when he stared Sara dead in the eyes, and then ran right at her.

Sara shrank back, but it wouldn’t help. This was a cheap bed, light and flimsy. Paulie would be able to upend it with one hand, exposing her to Lester.

But Lester acted fast, sticking out a foot, tripping Paulie so he fell near the edge of the bed. The fat man flopped onto his belly, momentum making him slide across the gore toward Sara.

The meathook clanged to the floor and bounced away, and Sara locked eyes with the fallen killer, less than two feet between them. Paulie’s pea green eyes were no longer the sadistic, powerful eyes that haunted Sara’s dreams. These eyes belong to a desperate, frightened man. A human being, not a monster.

Then Paulie stretched his hands under the bed and grabbed Sara’s wrist.

Martin was feeling pretty good. The drugs had taken the edge off his injuries, the children were all accounted for, and he was about to spend some quality time with the missus. Plus, he was now the owner of a pretty sweet boat. Which, unfortunately, he was going to have to sink.

Martin had told Captain Prendick the truth about his prices being too high, and Martin taking over Plincer’s supply needs. But the real reason he killed Prendick was because he needed the boat for the plan to work.

A noted psychologist, a ship’s captain, and six teenagers couldn’t just disappear while Martin walked away scot-free. So Martin was going to use Prendick’s GPS navigation system to find the deepest part of the lake—Huron went down 750 feet in some parts. Then he was going to set the boat on fire and sink it, putting in a last minute call to the Coast Guard just as he jumped overboard.

“There was some kind of horrible explosion,” he would tell the authorities. “I must have been thrown clear. Damn lucky thing I had my life jacket on. Oh, my poor now-dead wife. Those poor, underprivileged, blown-up children. What a terrible and tragic freak accident.”

He’d work on the story, and his delivery. A few burn marks on his life preserver would lend credence, as would his outstanding reputation in the field of social work.

The best part? Sara was insured for half a million dollars. Enough to buy a nice, new boat. Joe had been right about that one thing; boating life was the way to go. The things were like floating whorehouses.

Martin got to the top of the stairs and wondered if he should drop in on brother Joe, maybe give him a dog bone for old time’s sake. But the growing tension in his groin told him to wait until later. He wanted to get in some husband and wife bonding first.

He walked to his room, smiling when he saw the trunk in the corner. Martin could picture Sara in there, tied up and terrified. He thought of all those countless, wasted nights, holding her in bed because she was frightened, pretending to care.

Payback was a bitch.

Martin snuck over, raising his palm to give the chest a good whack and scare the crap out of her, when he heard Lester yell something down the hall.

Odd. Lester never yelled. Not in the six years Martin had known him. Something must be happening.

He left Sara to her personal hell and went into the corridor.

Another yell from Lester. It seemed to be coming from Subject 33’s room.

Martin headed that way.

Whatever hold Paulie Gunther Spence had on Sara over the years, whatever spell he’d woven to keep her in near-constant state of fear, was now gone.

Instead, it was replaced by rage.

Paulie gripped her wrist, his eyes huge with panic, trying to drag her out into the open.

No way in hell that was going to happen.

Sara still held the utility knife, and she used it without hesitation, slashing at his knuckles, his hands, his arms. Digging deep and twisting the triangular blade.

Paulie released her, his soundless lips flapping as Lester tugged him away from the bed. Paulie’s arms scoured the floor, trying to grab onto something, finding only bits of Laneesha.

Sara watched, awestruck, as Lester placed a huge foot on Paulie’s flabby backside, leaned down, and plunged the knife into his back. Paulie flopped around for a bit, like a fish on a pier, his mouth wide in a silent scream.

Then, all at once, he stopped moving, a sail that ran out of wind.

She stared, knowing Lester wasn’t going to stop there. While part of her said she should turn away, another part wanted to watch as Lester cut her boogeyman into a million little pieces. Indeed, Lester tugged out the knife and raised it again. But his plans were interrupted when the door opened.

“Lester? Aw, shit, Lester! What did you do?”