The Erotic Expeditions - Complete Collection (51 page)

Seydou turned to Emile, handed him the bottle, and followed Jaston into the cell. The chicken clucked a few times.

“Stay away from me,” Mel said, pressing into the corner. She held her hands up in front of her. “I’m warning you.”

Seydou smiled as he and Jaston moved closer.

“Yes,” he said, as though he were truly amused. “This one has fight. And
that
is why we are here.” He paused, eyeing her. “Siete Puntas,” he said into Jaston’s ear.

At that Jaston screamed and sprang at her.

“No!” Kirk yelled, jamming his arm through the bars until he hit his chest.

Jaston collided with Mel and immediately had his hands around her throat slamming her against the cinder block wall. The chicken squawked at the commotion and Seydou laughed at the top of his lungs. Though Mel was taller by a couple of inches, Jaston had taken her by surprise and pushed right past her hands. She pushed frantically at his chest but he couldn’t be moved, especially in his fevered delirium. Though his hands wrung her neck, his elbows flailed as he continued to scream, swiveling his head, spit flying, keeping her off balance. She grabbed his wrists but couldn’t dislodge him.

“Scratch his eyes!” Kirk yelled. “Put your finger in his eye!”

Mel tried but Jaston was too much. Her head knocked against the wall and his flailing elbows didn’t let her hands anywhere near his face. But suddenly she kicked–savagely, with all her might, and the top of her foot connected under Jaston’s crotch.

“Yes!” Kirk yelled, rattling the bars. “Again!”

Unfortunately, Jaston seemed not to have noticed the blow. Instead, he yanked her away from the wall, pulled her close, and put a knee in her midsection. Her strangled cry of pain mixed with Emile’s wild shriek as she doubled over and sank to her knees.

“Mel!” Kirk yelled, reaching both arms through the bars.

Jaston’s entire body shook uncontrollably now, his hands still around Mel’s neck. His contorted mouth emitted grunts and high-pitched whining sounds that simply weren’t human. With a quick backward thrust, he let go of Mel’s neck but her arms hung at her sides and her eyes were only slits.

“Mel!” Kirk screamed.

As she started to collapse to the floor Jaston backhanded her. Seydou backpedaled to give Jaston more room as he followed Mel to the floor. Suddenly, the chicken flew into the chaotic scene and, as Mel hit the mattress, Emile sailed into Jaston’s back. They flew the short distance to the back wall, both screaming now.

“Mel,” Kirk yelled over the cacophony. “Mel, get up!”

She’d sprawled on her side, half on the mattress, half off. Hair covered her face and Kirk couldn’t see her eyes but she hadn’t moved.

“Mel, get up!” he tried again.

Seydou roughly pulled Emile off of Jaston, who had sunk under the boy’s weight. He thrust them apart, shoving Emile back toward the door. Jaston slid down the wall as Seydou glanced back at him, then looked back toward Emile. He said something in Creole, in a tight controlled voice, that made Emile freeze. Jaston curled up on his side behind Seydou, his eyes open but glazed, and Mel still had not moved. Seydou pointed at the chicken fluttering away in a corner of the cell and seemed to be waiting for Emile who looked from him to Mel and back again.

Come on, kid
, Kirk thought.
Help her.

Seydou raised his staff and Emile flinched. Sullenly, the boy moved toward the chicken.

“Mel!” Kirk yelled but she didn’t move.

As Seydou turned to him, Kirk lunged at him as far as the bars allowed and it was Seydou’s turn to flinch.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” Kirk ground out through his clenched jaw. “When I get my hands on you, you’re gonna pay.”

Seydou ignored him and withdrew something from his pocket. As Emile cornered the frightened chicken, Seydou began drawing something on the floor. He sprinkled a red powder onto the ground, letting it dribble from his fingertips. As Kirk watched, a pattern began to emerge. Seydou was drawing diamonds, side by side, with dots in them. He added each one carefully until finally one large diamond was formed of all the small ones. By the time he was done, Emile had captured the chicken and held it upside down by its feet. Apparently satisfied with the diagram on the floor, Seydou turned to Jaston.

“Siete Puntas,” he said quietly.

Jaston’s glassy eyes looked up at him and he quickly stood, though he teetered and had to regain his balance. Kirk tensed as he watched the man. Those same two words had triggered his wild attack on Mel. But they had a different effect now. Kirk watched as the two men approached her. Seydou set his staff down on the mattress and rolled Mel’s shoulder away until she lay on her back. Kirk could finally see her face–she was unconscious. As Jaston picked up her knees, Seydou grabbed her under the shoulders and, in a coordinated move, they picked her up and moved her the short distance to the diagram. Then they laid her down in the middle of it.
 

“What are you doing?” Kirk growled but no one replied. No one even looked at him.

Seydou motioned to Emile who’d also picked up the glass bottle. He handed it to Seydou and anxiously gazed down at Mel’s face. Seydou took a swig from the bottle but, instead of swallowing it, he spat in a fine spray, wagging his head back and forth as he covered Mel with the liquid. Then, he bent to Mel’s face, pulled her jaw down and poured. A stream of clear liquid flowed into her mouth and also down her chin. Then he pinched her nose.

“Hey!” Kirk yelled.

Mel convulsively coughed. Though not fully conscious, her throat had instinctively closed and now she was fighting for air. Kirk smelled alcohol. That had to be Clarin, probably their own home brew and, from the smell of it, pure alcohol. Mel gulped and tried to breathe but Seydou poured until the bottle was empty, tossed the bottle aside, and then closed Mel’s mouth, wrapping his hand over it.

“She’ll suffocate!” Kirk yelled. “Let her breathe!”

Her hands moved lethargically toward her mouth.

“Let her go!” Kirk yelled.

Finally her eyes opened but she didn’t seem to be able to focus. But as her hands fell limply to the floor, her eyes closed.

“She can’t breathe!” Kirk screamed. “Let her go!”

Seydou did, only to grasp both her wrists as Jaston grabbed her ankles.
 

Mel sputtered, heaved in a huge lungful of air, and then coughed spasmodically. Kirk breathed a sigh of relief and put his forehead against the bars.

Seydou motioned to Emile. As Emile passed him the chicken, Seydou took it and said something to him. Emile took Mel’s wrists, knelt next to her head, and pinned them to the floor. As hacking coughs continued to wrack her body, Seydou shoved the fabric of her tank top up her midriff, baring her flat abdomen.

Kirk came up on the balls of his feet and gripped the bars, shaking them. Fury flared inside. Rage built on top of rage until his teeth were grinding and his shoulders strained at the metal barrier, trying to tear it from the concrete.

Seydou stood, reached into his other pocket, and pulled out a knife. With a flick of his wrist, it snapped open. Now all eyes were on the blade. Even Jaston stared at it, mouth hanging open, eyes still glazed.

 
“Kirk?” Mel whispered hoarsely in the silence.
 

“I’m here,” he responded immediately.

She tried to turn her head toward him but her movement was slow, uncoordinated.

Suddenly, the chicken squawked and Kirk looked back in time to see Seydou tucking it under his arm. Then, with a quick jerk, he yanked the head as though he were pulling it off. A distinct popping sound could be heard and the chicken’s body went still, but the head was still attached. Then, Seydou grasped the feet and dangled the limp bird over Mel’s midsection. Mel tried to raise her head to see.

“Don’t look!” Kirk said, but too late.

The blade sliced clean through the neck and the head plopped onto her stomach. Mel screamed as Emile and Jaston held her wrists and ankles. Seydou drizzled blood from the severed neck onto her, thick red drops glistening against the smooth tan skin, trickles running over her ribs as she tried to roll away. The head rolled off and landed on the floor. Despite Mel’s screams, Seydou calmly stooped to pick it up and then used the severed neck as a brush. He smeared the blood over her, from her navel up to the edge of the tank top. He pressed down hard, smearing back and forth, creating a red diamond on her skin, as Mel whimpered and coughed. Finally, he stopped and looked at Jaston.

“Siete Puntas?” he said and waited.

Jaston swung his dazed eyes from Mel to Seydou.

Seydou watched Jaston carefully, waiting. Finally, Jaston nodded unsteadily.

“Bon,” Seydou answered, also nodding, as he tossed the chicken head aside.
 

He said something to Emile and both he and Jaston let Mel go. Though she was free, it was as though she had no energy. She lay exactly as they’d left her, her diaphragm covered in blood as it pulsed in and out with her gasping breaths and coughs. As Seydou picked up the empty bottle and then his wand, he was careful to carry the chicken carcass away from him so it didn’t drip on his still white clothing.

“Mel?” Kirk said quietly.

Jaston stumbled out of the cell and Seydou let him go ahead and then followed. Only Emile remained, putting the chain and padlock back in place and casting one last, long look at Mel before he left too.

Kirk crouched down.
 

“Mel, can you hear me?” he said.

As though every move was agony, she finally moved her arms to her sides and tried to turn toward him.

“That’s it,” he said, quietly, wanting desperately to help her, to hold her. “Turn this way.” Despite knowing he couldn’t reach her, he stretched out his hand. “Can you take my hand?”

Though she’d managed to roll to her side and started to reach out to him, she quietly groaned and slowly drew up her knees and held her stomach.

Kirk felt his own stomach tighten and he grabbed the bars.

“Mel, are you okay?”

Though her eyes tried to focus on him, they were filled with tears.

“I don’t think so,” she whispered in a dry voice, the words slurred.

Slowly, though she seemed to try to fight it, her eyes began to close. Her body relaxed, then went slack and her breathing slowed and became regular.
 

Just keep breathing.

It might be the alcohol, or the blow from Jaston, or her consciousness shutting down after the attack, but as long as she kept breathing she’d be all right.

Kirk slowly exhaled and sat tiredly on the floor, watching her. Then he glanced at the kerosene lamp outside his cell and looked to the small front room where Seydou and the others had exited. His hands clenched into fists as he imagined the man’s face. Then he thought of Emile and glanced back to Mel.
 

Emile was going to be the key. He was the weak link.

Seydou watched the couple check their diving apparatus. The trip back to where they’d found the boat had been quiet. When he wasn’t steering or navigating, Emile pouted. Jaston was still recovering from his possession but he was well enough to hold a gun. And the man and woman treasure hunters, Kirk and Mel, hadn’t uttered a word. Seydou had escorted them below, one at a time, to get changed. As far as he could tell, they hadn’t said a word to each other.
 

The dark circles under her eyes and the stiff way she moved told Seydou that she’d remember what had happened last night. But the way the woman kept herself as far away from him as possible, pressing her back against the wood paneling of the narrow corridor as she passed him, confirmed it.

He nodded to himself.

The voodoo had worked, as always. He would bend the woman to his will and the man, who obviously cared for her, would bend with her. He had hovered near her all morning. Seydou would control them both.

“Weather on the horizon,” Emile said from the helm above.

Seydou looked up at him but kept the gun pointed toward their captives. Emile pointed west. Just above the dark line of the water, a grey band of clouds hovered but didn’t touch it. Seydou shrugged.

“He’s right,” he heard Kirk say. “It’ll be here by evening.”

Seydou turned to find him looking up at Emile and nodding in agreement.

“You do not know what he said,” Seydou said.

“I see him pointing at that storm,” Kirk replied. “And it’ll be here by evening, at the latest.”

“Then you dive until the evening,” Seydou said.

Kirk shook his head.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he said. “The tanks last about an hour with average use. We’ll dive in the morning and the afternoon but, depending on the length and depth of the dive, we’ll take breaks according to the dive chart.”

Seydou eyed him. Last night, the man had been spitting blood, ready to kill them all. Today, he was trying to be helpful.
This one would bear watching.
Of the pair, Seydou had thought the woman was dangerous. But maybe he had to rethink that.

“It does not matter,” Seydou said. “You dive until we have the treasure.”

The longest they’d kept a kidnapping victim was eight months. Seydou wasn’t in a hurry. In fact, on Haiti, an entire industry of food providers and messenger services had grown up around kidnapping. But he, Jaston, and Emile preferred to manage by themselves. They used Navassa and kept more of the money that way. The treasure had been unexpected. Seydou would simply keep them diving until the ransom money arrived.

“Find the treasure,” Seydou said, emphasizing the point with his gun.

Kirk glanced once more up at Emile and then turned back to the woman. As he put a hand under her elbow to help her, she yanked her arm away. At the back of the boat, they did something with their air tanks. Seydou glanced up at Emile, who was staring at the woman in her pink diving suit. Finally the man and woman jumped into the water together and Jaston laid the gun on the bench.

“Emile,” Seydou called. “Come here.”

Emile came down the ladder and stood on the deck, arms crossed.