Blind Spot, page 8
“What are you doing?”
He laughed again. “Naomi’s mom told me I stare mutherfuckingly when I’m thinking.”
Rebekah let out a roar of laughter. She thought of her niece when they were introduced and laughed harder. When the laughter subsided, Rebekah draped her arm over his shoulder just as she had when they were kids.
“We have seen some nasty things that people do to their fellow man,” she started. “If you are planning to have a life with them, you need to see past just moving her here. Why is she gone and the child with you?”
“Her cousin went missing,” he said. “The cousin also provided childcare for Naomi. She’s out looking for her. It’s been almost a week.”
She pressed her lips together. Her grip on her brother tightened. Five silent minutes passed between them before Rebekah spoke.
“Going home may not be an option,” she told her brother. “If she were taken, then the person who took her has all the information on where she lives, works, and the rest. When she is found, after a week, she may not be right in the head. It will take years. The person who finds her is not going to feel safe either.”
“I need to make them feel safe,” he said.
“Prepare the castle for the arrival of the princess and her handmaiden,” Rebekah said. “Each conversation, drop clues of the small things you are doing to prepare the lady for her new home and life with you here.”
“How do you know that is what I want?”
“I know you’re not going to allow your daughter to grow up without you there to tuck her in at night; you’ve fallen in love with the little lady and are not going to give that up,” Rebekah said, pulling her arm away. She stretched high, yawned, and kicked off her shoes. “Deep down, Michael, I truly believe her mother is the one woman you’ve always loved and no other woman is ever going to do. Now, the question is, what are you going to do to bring your family together under one roof?”
He didn’t have an immediate answer. The answers he did have were to questions posed, answered, and the information tucked away in the recesses of his brain. Mr. Slow never rushed himself on matters in life or of the heart. Armed with what he knew about the sniper with the sweet cherry aim, he gave his sister a nod of his head and went to grab his notebook. Inside, he started a list of things he knew.
1. Her favorite wine.
2. The bath bombs she liked
3. Her favorite music.
Now, he had a plan.
MUSTANG, THE TECHNICIAN from the Western Crew of Wild Horses, had a plan. Well, at least he had a plan when he woke up. Currently, he slept on the back seat of Cherry’s shop, strapped in across his midsection, snoring like a bear in the midst of hibernation.
Luckily, the drive to Saginaw only took an hour and a half. He had the flimsiest trail of information, but in less than two stops, there was a report of the make and model of the vehicle, a license plate, and a description of the man. No sign of a woman with him, the first person told them, but at the second stop, the woman, who needed to use the facility, left an item in the restroom.
“An odd thing to leave,” the store clerk said, pulling out a tube a cherry lip balm.
Cherry sighed, nearly cried, and grasped the lip balm in her hand.
“Yeah, that was about two days ago when they came through. She didn’t look scared though,” the woman said, “which is why it seemed odd. Honestly, she looked like too much woman for him, but then again, he could’ve been rich. Rich men, scrawny, ugly, or hung like a pigeon, get away with getting the hotties.”
Cherry didn’t ask them to describe the woman. The lip balm was her clue. The lip balm was her sign. A silly branding issue that her cousin thought was cute may just have turned out to be the thing they needed to find Shenita. In the shop, Mustang asked about the lip balm.
She held it up.
“Yeah, it’s a cherry lip balm,” he said, not seeming surprised, but then he looked at the wrapper. He spotted the bullseye target ring and realized it was a custom design. “Okay, care to explain.”
“When I became a technician, Shenita didn’t like the idea of me being out on assignments and nobody knew where I was from point to point,” she told him. “We came up with the lip balm. It’s small, not really noticeable, and a woman would carry it, or several at a time, in her purse. If anything were to happen, it would be like a trail of breadcrumbs. She’s leaving me breadcrumbs.”
The overhead light was on in the shop. Carefully, Cherry peeled back the wrapper. She sighed again, saying a small prayer.
“The Collector is chatty,” she said, showing him in the innards of the wrapper. “He’s taking her to his place on Lake Hamlin. A cabin, on the waterfront.”
Mustang leaned back in the front seat, placing his cap over his eyes. He sighed into the thin air, feeling a sense of contentment, knowing how much easier it would be to locate this Shenita and the other women.
“Arrogance is stupid,” he said under his breath. “They always get too cocky, thinking they have won. It brings them down every single time.”
“He’s not down yet,” Cherry said, “but he will be when I get there.”
Silently she prayed as she entered the interstate, the nose aimed toward Mason County. Later, if she got a chance, she would touch base with Slow to let him know how things were progressing. It had nearly been a week. Shenita had been gone for a week.
A terrible mind could do a lot of damage to a soul in a week.
THE EXCITEMENT AT HAVING a ray of hope coursed through her body like bolts of lightning. Somewhere around Mecosta and closer to Big Rapids, her bladder reminded Cherry it needed a break. A truck stop was a great place to take five, grab some grub, and make a phone call.
Mustang went left and she right to use the facilities, clean up and walk out the side door, but close to the window, where she couldn’t be seen as she punched in the number. Nearly five years had passed and she barely could muster the courage to think about him, yet now she dialed his number with ease. Each time she heard his voice, her heart fluttered and lady parts clenched. Michael Isaac Neary was that guy. He was the guy who got you to do things you said you’d never do, but did, twice on a Saturday night and for good measure, once more on an early Sunday morning. He answered the phone on the second ring.
“Slow’s down,” the deep voice said in the line.
“She left me a clue,” Cherry said happily, “so we have something to go on; we have a trail. The cherry lip balm, she peeled the cover back and left me a message inside. We know where he’s taken her.”
“We...so Mustang caught up with you,” he asked.
“Yes, I know you called in a few favors to get him as my backup; thank you,” she said, almost blushing.
“I called in more than a few, Cherry,” he said, lowering the octaves in his voice. “You have a family that’s waiting for you to come home. Come home to us.”
“Home?”
“Home,” he repeated, “listen, all I need is the word. I also need you to factor in what a week can do...how a week can be...what can alter in a mind in a week, under the wrong circumstances. Going home to your place may not be an option. I’m offering you another one. I can make some things happen if you give me the word.”
She sighed softly, “You make it sound so simple. Home...like it is this magical place.”
“I’m told it is where the heart is. Naomi is here. I am here,” he added, pausing for impact as he said what came next. “I also have two bottles of that shitty chocolate wine you like, I ordered those lemon cherry bath bombs for the tub, and you have a matching pair of bunny slippers to go along with the pair Naomi wears.”
Cherry held the phone, hearing what she had been waiting for years to hear everything she kind of, possibly, maybe, sort of, heard him offering. He was right. Shenita might not be right when she found her. In a week, by now, The Collector would have—she didn’t want to think about it.
“Let me slay this dragon, then I will deal with you,” she said, wishing she’d chosen better words.
“I’m not your enemy, never have been, never will be,” he said. “You called me. I came. You told me what you needed; I am delivering. Each and every goddamned time you have asked me for what you needed; I’ve delivered. It’s time for you to do the same. I’m asking. Deliver. Go get Shenita and bring your ass home to us.”
“Slow, what if...”
“What if my ass; get the job done, pack up, and get here,” he demanded. “The rest, I’ll take care of Cherry.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said softly. “Gonna get in there and get it done.”
He ended the call with simply a click. He’d provided her a focus. She was focused. Get Shenita. Finish the job. Drive to where he was. He would take care of the rest.
“The last time he told you that, you ended up plastered to his sheets for three days and left his hotel room limping and pregnant,” she said as her girl parts clenched again. “The damned man. I’m going to get Shenita, and I’m coming to him, simply for a night in his arms. Fuck!”
Mustang had come out the door and stood watching her closely. He scrunched up his nose, then shook his head. “Good dick will do that to you,” he said, chuckling before passing her a hot sandwich which would more than likely give her gas for the rest of the night.
The sandwich wasn’t the only thing that prevented her from getting a good deal of sleep that night.
Chapter 9- Ugly Duckling
Today. Shenita was allowed out of her room. She was dressed in a plain white long-sleeved shift, and The Collector led her into the main portion of the home to a dining room table. The table, set as a holiday feast, also had four other guests. He marched her in proudly, seating her at the table. On her ankle, the chain where he kept her imprisoned to the bed allowed one of her feet to be free.
One foot was all she needed. Before he had a chance to open his mouth, Shenita kicked at him, breaking his hold to bolt for the door. She made it to the heavy oaken door to find it locked several times over with deadbolts, hasps, and sliding locks. Undeterred, she ran to a window, losing hope when she spotted the bars barricading anyone from coming in, and preventing anyone from getting out.
“Bitch, you just won’t learn, will you?” he asked, walking over and striking her hard across the face with the back of his hand.
Her eyes went to the women at the table. She lay on the floor, her legs agape, wearing no undergarments and shaven like a pre-pubescent teen. The women’s eyes were all down at the table, no one looked at her, offered support, or dared even move.
They were broken.
The Collector had broken them.
Shenita’s heart sank.
“Ladies, she tried to run on her wedding day,” he said to them. “She tried to run to avoid giving me my wedding night. On the count of three, tell your sister what this means.”
He counted to three and the women chanted in a sing-songy tone, “If you run, you make it more fun. If you run, you make it more fun.”
“Thank you, ladies,” he said, gripping Shenita tightly by the arm.
He dragged her to the table, pushing her body into the chair then securing the chain to a bolt in the floor. Slowly, he adjusted the chair, turning her to face him. Her knees were slightly ajar as his hand slid up her thigh, the fingers pressing forward. Shenita clamped her thighs together, preventing his hand from going any further.
“I know it’s your nature to prevent me from sampling the goods, but I’m going to get it tonight anyway,” he told her. “It’s our wedding night.”
She was outdone. The ladies at the table she’d initially said she had no interest in helping were zombies. She had a fight left in her and wasn’t going to give up that easily.
“Ladies, have you been lying to this man making him believe that five inches in his pants did some damage to your uterine walls? I can’t see how this little fucker here has turned you all into these shells, afraid of your own shadows. There are five of us, and one little skinny-ass white man trying to be brave with his skinny little pink penis,” she said, pressing her lips together.
The Asian woman at the table shook her head no. The red-headed woman, whose skin was so white it appeared translucent, her eyes grew wide. A Hispanic woman with an eye swollen shut began to cry. The other woman, Shenita assumed to be Mediterranean, had olive skin and never looked up.
Instead of observing the women, Shenita realized too late that she should have been watching the man. A pain so deep and so severe pierced the bottom of her left foot. The same pain cut through the fog of her brain on the right foot and she looked down as pools of red blood formed on the floor. The barber’s knife he held in his hand sliced again, and again, and again, across the bottom of her feet.
“I have told you about your sassy mouth, now you shall be punished,” he said, yanking her out of the chair.
Shenita’s body hit the floor with a thud. The white dress grew dark from the blood on the floor. In the air, he raised the blade, bringing it down, cutting away the dress, and leaving her nude on the floor.
“I told you, I would fuck you so hard that you will cum and thank me afterward,” he said to her.
In horror, she watched him unfasten his pants. She tried to struggle and fight but to no avail. He was on her, then inside. Her mouth opened wide to cry out, but with the pain in her feet matched with the pain of his assault, she didn’t know how to react.
“See, I know a woman’s body, My Chocolate Queen,” he said, shifting her body to a weird position. He used his fingers and an odd angle of entry, and to Shenita’s horror, her body responded. “That’s it, Bitch, cum for Daddy.”
She closed her eyes, mortified that her body had turned on her. The involuntary spasm of the muscles made her shudder through the release. Shock, disgust, and other emotions she couldn’t put her finger on ran through her head as she lay there for the next ten minutes waiting for him to finish. She knew it was ten minutes because she watched the clock on the table. In ten minutes, he took her to the mountain top twice. He grunted through his own release and had the audacity when he was done to kiss her on the mouth.
“The next time, I going to strap you in and use my mouth and my favorite toys,’ he told her. “I’m going to make you cum so hard, you’re going to squirt in my mouth, then beg me to do it again.”
She lay in a crumpled heap. He shredded the tattered white dress, using the fabric to bandage her bloody feet. He stood over her, with his cock hanging out, and pulled her to a sitting position. The strength he exuded in deadlifting her to the chair surprised Shenita, and he strapped her back in and pushed her seat to the table.
“My apologies, Ladies, but sometimes a fella has to let a bitch know who’s in charge,” he said, taking his seat at the head of the table. “I hope dinner isn’t cold. You may serve me now.”
The quiet sullen women began to move, passing his plate around the table as the food was added and returned to him. He offered a thank you to the Asian woman who had prepared the meal for the evening. His eyes went to Shenita.
“Chocolate Queen, say thank you to China, for cooking dinner tonight,” The Collector said. “To your left is Italy, next to her is Irish, and finally Mexicali. It is my hope that you can make some good fried chicken, neck bone soup, and a pot of turnip greens better than my crazy ass Ma! Let’s eat.”
The women began to eat slowly, but Shenita had no appetite. Her head hung low as she sat at the table, nude, filled with his seed, thankfully praying that she couldn’t conceive from the animal. More importantly, she sat plotting and thinking of ways to kill him dead.
“You are my ugly duckling, my Chocolate Queen, but fear not, Daddy will shape his new wife into the best swan in my pond,” he said with a wink. “Also, if you need any reassurance, you were so much better than I had hoped. I know I pleased you. Be nice, and the next time, I may allow you to please me as well.”
Shenita would only be pleased when the man was dead. She planned to make that happen as painfully as possible. She couldn’t make eye contact with the women at the table, but she would get them out of here as well. No one deserved what had just happened to her. No one. And she had no idea how long these women had been in the house and how often he did the same to them.
He wouldn’t hurt anyone else if she could help it. But first, she had to figure out how to help herself.
“You know what is missing,” he said aloud and slapped the table, “wine. How can we celebrate our wedding night with no wine? Ladies, please excuse me.”
Shenita lifted her head when she heard his footsteps walk away. There was a basement. A cellar. He went down the stairs. She looked at the four women. China shook her head no and put her finger to her lips.
“There are five of us, and only one asshole,” Shenita whispered.
“This is a test; you must learn to hold your tongue,” Italy told her.
“How long have you been here? Have you tried to escape? What is wrong with him? He can’t plan to keep us here indefinitely,” Shenita whispered only to be pinched by Mexicali, who place her finger to her lips as well. “I will not be silenced!”
China leaned forward. “Either you learn to keep your fucking mouth shut, or he will take care of you and silence you.”
Shenita was about to open her mouth, but Irish pointed to Mexicali. Her mouth was opened and inside was dark. The more she stared, the more horrified she became. Mexicali had no tongue. The Collector had cut out her tongue and sealed the ends with what looked like a brand of some sort.
It was then that Shenita wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t give up. She had to fight. Justice was required. He needed to pay.
He returned to find the energy in the room had shifted. They had spoken while he was away and told the new sister his rules. It was important for his dolls to know the rules.
“Rules are what sets us apart from the animals, and even they have their own sets,” he said, uncorking the bottle of red and passing the cork to Italy to sniff.
