Paradise Falls (29 page)

In less than a minute, Blondie had him stripped to the waist. The only resistance was a part of Jacob’s sleep that caught on his handcuffs. Blondie had to grunt and yank it loose. He stood in front of Jacob, testing the weight of the knife in his hand, staring at the blade. His hand and the knife fell to his side, and his mouth fell open. Ellison whistled softly, as Blondie whispered, “what the fuck?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Ellison, blinking, still staring at the ridged network of scars all over Jacob’s body.

Blondie lifted the knife.

“It’s dull,” said Jacob. “At least I keep mine sharp.”

“Check this guy out,” Blondie laughed, looking at Ellison. His voice was tight, agitated.

He put the knife aside and drew his pistol, and moved over to Jennifer.

“You’re taking a lot of precautions,” said Jacob. “I’m just one guy.”

“Right,” said Ellison. “I’m not stupid. I know what you can do.”

Jennifer snorted.

“Shut up, twat,” Ellison snapped. “You get to watch, then it’s your turn.”

Jacob bared his teeth, and Ellison pulled his baton from the ring on his belt. He twirled it, his smile spreading into a mocking grin.

“See, back in the day, when my Dad was a beat cop,” he said, “they gave us nightsticks. Ash, hickory, rock maple, the same shit as a baseball bat. Problem was, you hit somebody in the arm with something like that, it’ll break a bone, and then there’s all these forms that have to be filled out and everybody wants to sue about their civil rights. Now this,” he bobbed the baton in front of Jacob’s face, “this won’t break a bone or fracture your skull. It’s made of lightweight composites. It will, on the other hand, hurt like a motherfucker.”

He wound up and took a hard swing, putting his weight into it. The long end of the baton whipped into Jacob’s upper arm, and he jerked, rattling the chain. Still, he made no sound. Grimacing, Ellison hit the other arm, then his elbow, over and over, slamming the meat of his shoulder, his back. He put one hand on Jacob’s side to stop his spinning on the chain.

“Then there’s the other end,” said Ellison. He swung the baton around, gripping the side handle with the long end braced against his forearm, so the other end jutted a few inches past his fist. “We use this for pain compliance techniques. Joint locks, that kind of thing. It also works great for this.”

He rammed the end into Jacob’s stomach, so hard it made him swing.

Jacob let out a little
whuff
as the breath was forced out of his lungs, but still he was silent. Ellison stepped back, breathing hard.

“Come on, shitbird,” Ellison snarled, “Let me hear it.”

“No,” Jacob rasped.

“You fucked up my brother pretty bad,” said Ellison. “Put him in the hospital. Broke his fucking arm. I’m gonna make you wish you’d never been born.”

Jacob coughed, and wheezed. “Take more than you to do that.”

Ellison screamed and hit him again and again, driving the end of the baton into Jacob’s belly until he was red-faced and panting, struggling for air as he tried to double over but couldn’t, his own weight stretching him out as he hung from the chain. Ellison cracked the long end of the baton against his head and slipped it back into his belt. Jacob swung, a gash opening angry and red on his forehead.

“You can’t do this,” said Jennifer.

Ellison looked over.

“Why not?”

“You have to explain what happened to us.”

Ellison snorted. “Yeah, about that. I took you in for a couple of hours, questioned you, and let you go with a stern warning not to leave town. I got a building full of cops that saw it all happen. If nobody sees either of you ever again, I guess that just confirms our suspicions and you fled the area.”

“Come on, man,” said Blondie. “You said we were gonna fuck him up.”

“Easy, slick.”

With a shake of his head, Ellison took a potato sack from the table, and an orange.

“See this?” he said, dropping the fruit into the bag. “Another of my Dad’s old tricks. I can whale on you with this for an hour and it won’t leave a mark. Not for a couple days, anyway.”

He twirled the bottom of the sack so it twisted shut, spun it around and whipped the orange into Jacob’s stomach. Jacob jerked and let out a soft sound then, a grunt, but even on the next hit and the next, he was silent. Ellison spun him around and whipped the orange over and over, hammering the small of his back, and then the backs of his thighs, before spinning him around again to flail against his belly.

By the time Ellison stepped back, Jacob was shivering as though he was outside in a blizzard, red-faced and covered in sweat that thinned the blood from the dozen cuts on his arms and sides and sent it trickling down over the ridges of his muscles. Ellison dropped the bag and stepped back.

“Your turn,” he said.

Blondie walked over and picked up the knife again, and tucked his pistol into his back pocket.Without a word, he swept the blade across Jacob’s chest, opening a gash from one side to the other that welled with blood and spilled dark red. Jacob twitched and winced but still was quiet.

Ellison stepped next to him.

They turned their backs to her.

She swallowed, hard.

They were going to kill him.

2.

Stupid, stupid, stupid,
she hissed at herself, though it sounded like her mother’s voice.
What are you going to do, conjugate their verbs?

Blondie gave Jacob a spin.

“How’d you get these scars?”

“Cut myself shaving,” Jacob wheezed.

“Funny. Too bad these ain’t gonna heal up. ‘Cause you’re gonna be dead.”

Jacob made a soft sound that might have been a grunt, but she could swear it was an exasperated sigh.

Jennifer twisted at the waist, shifting her arms from behind the back of the chair, turning until she could slide them against her body. If she could bend back far enough she could get the cuffs under her backside, and under her legs. There was a time when she was flexible enough for it, when she was thirteen.

They weren’t watching her. Jacob’s eyes widened and he shook his head just a little. Ellison and Blondie didn’t look back. Instead, one held him still while the other carved an M in his stomach, making one fine, shallow cut, and then another.

“After I’m finished with you,” said Blondie, “I got plans for her. First I gotta finish what I started when them two the other night,” he laughed, “Then I’m gonna cut her fucking throat and let you watch her bleed out before I do you. That’s what you get for fucking with the vice-president of the Leviathans.”

Slowly, carefully, Jennifer kicked out of her shoes and pulled her knees up to her chest, arching her back. Her shoulders screamed as she tightened her chest and pulled, forcing her legs between her arms. She had to bite her tongue to stop from crying out from the final, painful pull on her aching muscles as she finally slipped the cuffs under her thighs. Now she was worse off than before, the chain under her knees.

Jacob was bleeding in a dozen more places, breathing hard.

She bent forward, sucking in her a breath with all her might, curled her legs in, and pushed her feet through. Her eyes watered from the strain as the chain tore the feet of her stockings and finally slipped free, popping over her toes. She lowered her feet to the ground. Shifting her weight forward, she crouched on the balls of her feet, ready to spring.

The gravel crunched slightly as the chair shifted, and she stopped. It was only a foot or two. Blondie’s gun was just stuck in the pocket of his jeans. All she had to do was grab it. Jacob shot her a frantic look just as Blondie slowly pressed the tip of the knife into his shoulder, blood welling around it.

Jennifer jumped forward at full sprint crossed the space in two long strides, barely feeling the sharp stones slicing open her feet. She snatched the grip of the pistol and yanked it free. Blondie yelped and turned around. The blade came at her, flashing, and she jerked away.

The back of his hand hit her cheek and she fell. Jennifer swung the gun around, but Blondie grabbed her wrists in a death grip and shoved it, pushing her back. He bent her back over the table, and the knife came at her again. She jerked out of the way. Ellison yelped and jumped out of the way of the muzzle of the gun in her hand as Blondie pressed it to the table.

He put the point of the knife against her throat.

“Let go.”

She let go of the gun.

“Stupid bitch,” Blondie snarled.

“Get away from her,” Jacob rasped.

Blondie set the point of the blade against her cheek, behind her left eye. Hot blood welled around it and itched down her cheek, like a tear.

“That scar on your face makes you look real tough,” Blondie snarled, “Maybe your girlfriend would like one, too.”

Click.

Everyone in the room froze, except Jacob. His arms snapped free and swung around so fast they blurred. He snatched the pistol out of Ellison’s unstrapped holster, aimed down, and pulled the trigger. The report inside the barn was deafening, bouncing around the walls before leaving a ringing in her ears. Ellison’s shocked cry of pain was almost as loud, and he fell in a heap to the floor. Jacobs swung the gun up, holding it upside down.

Blondie pulled back, and Jennifer jerked against him, trying to free herself, crying out as the blade dragged a hot red line down her cheek. Blondie snapped the knife down to Jennifer’s throat, leaving a gash down the side of her face as he pressed the edge under her chin.

“Fuckin’ put it down, man,” he wailed, his voice high and tight. “I’ll fucking kill her, I mean it.”

“Put the knife down,” Jacob rasped. “I’ll give you one chance.” The gun shook like a leaf in his hand.

“No,” Blondie hissed, “Fuck you. Drop the gun or I’ll cut her throat.”

“Put the knife down,” Jacob bellowed.

Blondie pulled Jennifer up. She was taller than he was, and the knife came away from her throat as he tried to turn her around. She grabbed his arm, tried to pull away. The knife touched her neck, and she felt that strange itchy feeling just before it would begin to cut.

Jacob’s hand stopped quivering and went stone still.

Bang.

A flash of panic overruling everything else, Jennifer snaked away from the knife as Blondie fell. He didn’t clutch his side or cry out, like in a a movie, he just fell in a boneless heap to the gravel floor.
Then
he clutched his side and tried to scream, but it came out in a gurgling wheeze. The
in
was under his left arm, a smoking red hole under his ribs. The
out
was on the other side, and much worse. Gore fanned out over the gravel. Ellison was still screaming. Blondie didn’t have the strength to roll over onto his side.

“Jennifer,” Jacob rasped, “Get the gun.”

She picked up the pistol from the table and aimed it at Ellison. His left foot was a mess, shot through just behind the toes, and he was clutching it and whimpering, blood sluicing through his fingers.

Jacob tossed Ellison’s gun away and with a groan of effort folded up, bending at the waist until he took hold of the chain, jerked his feet free of the hook, and lowered himself to the ground.
 

“Uncuff his feet,” Jennifer snapped.

Ellison raised his hands in an awkward gesture of surrender, fished the key out of his pocket, and unlocked the cuffs. Jacob sat up, loosed the cuff from his other wrist, and tried to stand, only to sink back down.

“On your back,” Jacob barked.

Ellison rolled over. Jacob rose up enough to snap the handcuffs on him, and secure them. He snapped the other pair around Ellison’s ankles and leaned on his back.

“Make a move and you’re dead.”

Jennifer held the gun on Ellison, trembling. Behind her, Blondie was moaning, his voice coming out in a wet, sickly rasp. She went rigid when Jacob took her by the arms and pulled her to him, throwing his arms around her. For a moment she folded against him, the terror she’d held down exploding up in an anguished wail. He pulled the bloodied locks of hair away from the side of her face and cupped her chin in his hand, grimacing when he saw the wound.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “Oh God.”

“I’m alright,” she managed, somehow. “The kid.”

Jacob got up, leaning on the table, and dropped down beside Blondie. Jennifer checked the safety on the pistol and stuck the barrel in her coat pocket, and knelt down at Blondie’s head. Jacob slowly turned the boy on his back, and a grim look flashed on his face when he saw the wounds.

“Am I gonna die?” Blondie whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

“No,” said Jacob. “We’ll get you patched up.”

His eyes jerked from side to side, searching. “Why?”

Jennifer smoothed the hair out of his eyes. Her face was still bleeding, but something about the vacant look on his face and the cold sweat clamming up his skin dulled the pain. The boy stared at nothing.

“I don’t wanna die,” he said.

“Ellison,” Jacob rasped. “Car. First aid kit?”

“The trunk,”

“Keys.”

“Back pocket. Left cheek.”

Jacob took the keys and got up while Jennifer pulled Blondie’s head on his lap.

“What’s your name?” she whispered.

“Michael. I’m gonna die.”

She shook her head, and smiled. “No, no you’re not.”
 

“I’m in trouble.”

“Yes,” she said, “but we won’t let you die. How old are you, Mike?”

“Nineteen,” he choked out, “in October.”

Jacob came back and dropped to his knees. He opened the kit and looked at Blondie’s wounds, and the color drained from his face. Blondie was pale as a sheet now, and his arms and legs lay limply on the gravel. His eyes stared into space, and his breath came in quick, hot gasps.

“I don’t wanna die,” he said again, and did.

Jacob knelt beside him, holding the open first aid kit in his hands, staring at a sterile gauze pad in a package and a pair of surgical scissors, wrapped up in plastic to preserve their sterility. He slowly lowered them into the box.

Then he got up. A guttural, almost inhuman noise bubbled out of his throat. He stood over Ellison, yanked him back up by his wrists, and snatched the knife off the table.