Not Dead Yet (24 page)

“Well, you know they make my favorite movies down there.  I helped them with some technical expertise on how to keep a person alive for longer periods of time while torturing him to death.  In fact, I perfected my technique.  I’ll demonstrate.  Come on, now, this shouldn’t come as a surprise.  I told you what I’d do if you ever committed adultery.”

“We’re divorced.  It’s not adultery.”

“No one divorces me,” Foster yelled angrily, then snapped the bag open.  “You can’t divorce me, dollbaby,” his voice went soft and kind of spooky.  “We’re joined for eternity.  And now that I’m back, we’ll always be together.”

Theia frantically worked at the ropes holding her wrists to the chair, tearing skin off as she did.  He set up a high metal tray table and folded a cloth, which he laid over the tray.  “I know what you want,” he said.  “I know what all women want.”  He took something out of the medical bag, something wrapped in cloth and tied around the midpoint.  He set the cloth on the tray and untied the fastening.  Twenty or thirty scalpels, clamps, and other surgical instruments clattered.  He arranged them at precisely equal distances from each other, exactly straight and lined up perfectly. 

He always was a neat freak.  When they were married, towels had to be placed perfectly on their racks, and the silverware all had to be facing the same direction, stacked precisely in the correct sections of the drawer organizer.  The good thing was, he never made any messes around the house.  Theia suspected he got up during the night and cleaned, since he was such a germaphobe.  She teased him once about being a germaphobe, and he gave her a gory lecture on disgusting things he had seen in the hospital, so she left it alone after that.  And now, the neat freak had lined up the instruments he would use to torture and kill her. 

Theia was dizzy.  She had to think, she had to find a way to keep him from cutting her. 

“Foster, can’t we talk?  I haven’t seen you in such a long time.  Maybe I made a mistake, maybe we shouldn’t have gotten divorced.  Things used to be really good with us,” she said sweetly.

His face softened, his eyes became wistful.

“Remember in Acapulco when you would stuff your pockets with quarters and nickels and dimes?  You’d stand in a plaza and throw the coins in the air.  Beggar children would come running.  We were so happy then,” Theia spoke gently.

“Do you remember the red, pink and yellow hibiscus flowers the hotel staff put in our private pool every day?” she continued.  “And the hot coffee and fresh pastries they put by the front door every morning?  And the view of the bay from our casita?”

“That was our Garden of Eden,” Foster’s voice cracked.

“We would take a taxi down into town, go to Sanborn’s Dos and have lunch out on the covered patio under the ceiling fans.”

“Chicken tacos,” Foster said.  “We had chicken tacos.  They were rolled up like tight little cigars.  Oh, they were so good.”

“We watched the tourists getting sunburned on the beach,” Theia forced a smile. 

“And drinking too much.”

“Remember when the exchange rate was 1500 pesos to one U.S. dollar?  We saw a big bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold that cost less than a dollar.”

“Do you remember the cliff divers?” 

“Yes, I was terrified they were going to die.  They were so high up, and there were huge boulders down where they were diving.  You told me that because of the waves crashing in and out, if they didn’t time their dives perfectly, they would land in too shallow of water and die or be paralyzed.  I held my breath on every dive until the diver emerged unharmed.”

“Those guys had been diving all their lives, Theia,” Foster said reassuringly.  “They could have dove in their sleep.”

“I was still terrified that they’d get hurt.  I remember when we ate dinner at the resort’s restaurant, under the stars, overlooking the lights of Acapulco Bay.”

“You had fettuccini Alfredo,” Foster reminisced.

“And you had your favorite dessert, Bananas Foster, that you said was named after you,” she said, forcing what she hoped sounded like a chuckle.  “As if I would believe that.  I was young, not stupid.”  She shook her head.  “But I was pretty naïve.  I didn’t know anything when we met.  You taught me what to wear, how to travel, how to handle eating at fancy restaurants and shopping at designer boutiques.”

“I created you,” Foster said brusquely, pulling down the mask. “All I ever wanted was to put you up on a mantle and look at you. I wanted to take care of you, pamper you, buy you presents. Why couldn’t things stay like that?” he pleaded.

“We can have all that again.  I don’t even like  practicing law.  I can stay at home, and you can dress me up and buy me presents.  I’ll be your own personal doll.” She had worked the rope on one hand loose, and could almost slip her hand out.

“I nearly forgot!” Foster exclaimed.  “I almost ruined everything.  I planned every detail so carefully, and I nearly blew it.  I’ve played this in my head a hundred, no, a thousand times.  The whole time I was recuperating and then when I was working in South America I visualized this moment.  Every step I would take, every word I’d say, everything I would do to you.  I have to get the other things so I can do this right.  You’ll see.  Everything will be perfect for us now, dollbaby.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

He removed the surgical garb, which he folded and placed neatly on a chair, then brought in a garment bag and overnight case from his car.  Unzipping the garment bag, he proudly removed a gown and matching heels, and showed them to Theia.  He looked like a child showing his homework to a teacher, eyes big, silently pleading for approval. The gown was shimmering antique gold, with a fitted bodice and a full, ballerina-length skirt. 

“That looks like the dress you bought for me when we went to Eleuthera,” Theia was frightened.

“I stopped off at your favorite shop in Atlanta on my way here,” Foster said proudly. “I couldn’t believe the similarity in the dresses.  You said when you wore that dress you felt like Titania, Queen of the Fairies, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

“All I needed was a magic wand,” Theia breathed.  “I could use one now.”

“Put on the dress,” Foster ordered.

Theia frowned at him.  “How?” she asked, annoyed, looking down at herself, tied to the chair.

Foster smirked.  “You know I have every detail planned.”

He removed a packet from his medical bag, stood behind her as he tore open the packet and held a moist towelette over her nose and mouth.  Theia turned her head side to side, trying to avoid what he was pressing against her face.  He cupped one hand under her chin and held the towelette firmly in place.  Theia’s eyes fluttered then closed.  Her head slumped to the side when he removed his hand from under her chin.

Foster walked over to the metal tray and carefully selected a scalpel and a pair of surgical scissors.  He tilted her head up and, using his thumb and index finger, spread one of her eyelids open, checking her pupil.  Satisfied with what he saw, he untied her, scowling when he saw her chafed wrists. He quickly removed her shirt and pants and put the gown over her head. 

Foster held her at arm’s length and looked at her as if he had just opened his favorite present on Christmas morning.  He carefully set her back in the chair and tied her wrists back to the chair.  Slipping the fairytale heels on her, he retied her ankles to the chair.

Pulling a brush out of the overnight case, Foster gently brushed her hair while singing a broken lullaby. He extracted a long velvet box from the case.  Snapping the box open, Foster gazed at the glittering diamond and emerald bracelet, necklace and earrings.  Humming a nursery rhyme, he put the jewelry on Theia, then stepped back to gaze on her. 

He frowned and looked intently at her, inspecting from head to toe.  There was something missing.  He went back and rifled through the overnight case, tossing things out as he did.  He became angrier by the second.  He pulled out a makeup case, let out a cheer and held the makeup case in the air.  He swept eye shadow and lipstick on Theia.  Throwing the case toward the kitchen table, Foster stood back once more and stared at Theia.  His face softened. Pulling out a music player, Foster put on a mix of Randy Crawford music.

He pulled a small vial out of his medical bag.  Standing behind Theia, he pinched the vial hard until he heard a crack.  He then squeezed until the liquid from inside the vial saturated the surrounding material. A sharp smell filled the air.  He waved the vial under Theia’s nose.  She sniffed, then her head jerked back.  Her eyes watered and she coughed.

Theia looked around the room, slightly groggy.  Blinking and frowning, her eyes slid across the room until they hit on the man standing beside her.  Although restrained, her body contracted in fear.  She looked down at the golden gown she now wore.

“Do you know why I chose Randy Crawford, dollbaby?” Foster asked, holding up a scalpel. “This is a test.  What is the right answer?”

“We went to a Randy Crawford concert on our first date,” Theia responded.

“Good answer,” Foster said, setting the scalpel back in place on the tray with the other instruments.  “Here’s your door prize,” handing her their ticket stubs and the program from the concert.

Donald and Nathan sprayed dirt and gravel as they drove down the road.  They wanted to put some serious distance between them and the farmhouse.

“That doc is one sick son of a bitch,” Donald said.

“Yeah, he scares the hell out of me.  I’d rather be back in prison than be that lawyer bitch right now. What do you think he’s gonna do to her?”

“Hell, I don’t even want to think about that,” Donald twinged.  “I mean, you and I raise a little hell now and then, but he’s one twisted fuck.”

“That’s for damn sure.  Hey, what’re we gonna to do with them?” Nathan signaled with his thumb at Jack, Lu and Colleen in the back of the pickup truck.  “We better cover them with tarp or something, before somebody sees them tied up back there and asks questions.”

“No shit,” Donald agreed.  He put on an exaggerated Hispanic accent and crooned, “Lucy, you got some ‘splaining to do.”

They pulled over and went around to the back of the truck, jeering at their captives.

“Y’all look like shit.  You need to take better care of yourselves,” Nathan taunted. 

“Yeah, well they look a sight better than Theia will when her crazy-ass ex gets done with her,” Donald said.

“What?” Lu blurted.

“Didn’t we tell y’all to shut the fuck up?” Nathan cut her off.  “The next one who talks gets dragged behind the truck.”  Lu fell silent, looking in shock at Jack and Colleen.

Donald poked around in the storage compartment at the front of the pickup bed.  He threw old beer cans and trash onto the road. 

“This’ll work!” he exclaimed and pulled out a filthy tarp.  Spiders scattered from webs loaded with spider eggs.  He shook the tarp over them as Colleen and Lu shrieked.

“Hell, being the generous hosts that we are,” Nathan derided, “we aren’t gonna charge you extra for the spiders.” They spread the tarp over their captives and tied the ends to the four corners of the truck bed.

Getting back in the truck, Donald drove down the rural road, seeing only fields and woods.

“So what are we gonna do with them?” Donald asked.  “He told us to dispose of them.  The way I reckon, that means we can do whatever we want, as long as they wind up dead.”

“I say we turn them loose in a field and shoot ‘em as they try to run,” Nathan suggested amiably.

“Not bad, but we’ll have to dump the bodies.  I sure as hell ain’t going back to the farm to use the wood chipper.”

“Neither am I.  And I was looking forward to chopping them up.  Well, that’s a disappointment.  Hey, how about we wait around and see if the sick bastard leaves when he’s done,” Nathan looked hopefully at Donald.

“I don’t think he’s gonna be done for a long time.  And I ain’t going back to check and see if he’s gone.”

“Me neither.  Man, I wish we’d grabbed us some of that beer we had at the house,” Nathan whined.  “That would go down pretty good right now.”

“Beer?  Hell!  I want some whiskey,” announced Donald.  “Where the hell are we gonna get whiskey?” Nathan complained.  “You got some genie in a bottle or something?”

“Better.  Look up there,” Donald pointed at the shabby little mom and pop rural grocery store ahead.  “Let’s get ourselves shitfaced, and then we’ll decide what to do with them,” he jerked his thumb back at the motionless lump under the tarp.

“I don’t know if we’ll think of anything half as good as the wood chipper,” Nathan complained. 

“Don’t worry, little brother,” Donald slung his arm around Nathan. “We’ll think of something good, either on our own or with Jack Daniels’ help.”

They pulled into the parking area in front of the store.  There was gravel in some places and old, cracked pavement laced with potholes in others.  No maintenance had been done in years.  Spindly weeds grew in tufts at the edges of the parking area.  A tired, crooked little shack stood about twenty feet behind the store, with potholed pavement for a front yard.

The store was a cramped, one story cinder block construction with a dull metal roof that showed evidence of old storm damage. Dents, large and small, graced the surface.  Faded yellow paint was cracked and peeling at the trim.  A large empty metal ice box stood just outside the store.  One door was missing and the other hung at an angle.  Rust had eaten holes where the base met the ground.  Nathan picked up some rocks and tried tossing them through the opening.  He missed the first two, but the third rock went in.  When the rock landed, something inside the metal container slithered and rattled.