Torn Apart (21 page)

Bobby was awake. He’d awakened just as the bad man was getting out of bed but had pretended to still be asleep. As soon as he heard him turn on the water in the bathroom, he began to tug on his bindings—pulling harder and harder, until the old panty hose began to stretch.

The man had quit tying his ankles days ago, but back then he’d been afraid to try anything. Now, as the days continued to pass, he’d begun to get angry. His clothes smelled bad, and his head itched. Even though the sores around his wrists were nearly healed, he wanted a bath, and he was tired of bologna and cheese sandwiches. And most of all, he didn’t like the drinks the monster kept giving him. They made him dizzy and left a bitter taste in his mouth.

With a glance toward the open doorway to make sure the bathroom door was still closed, he began digging his heels into the mattress and pushing himself toward the headboard. Even though his wrists were still tied, he managed to push himself to a sitting position.

Frantic that he would get caught before he could get away, he began pulling on the nylon around his wrists even more, using the added leverage of his body weight and his teeth to stretch them.

All of a sudden one hand slipped free! The feeling of freedom was so heady that he almost yelled in triumph. Desperate to get his other hand free before the monster came out of the shower, he continued to pull and tug. When the second hand slipped out of the bindings, he vaulted from the bed and started running.

Newt was still in the bathroom when he heard a loud thud. Frowning, he paused to listen. All of a sudden he was hearing footsteps moving fast past his door.

“Holy shit!” he yelled, and grabbed the doorknob.

His fingers were still slick from the ointment he’d been applying, and they slipped futilely off the knob. When he finally got the door open, Bobby Earle was all the way into the living room and heading for the door. Panic surged.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Hey, you little bastard!”

Bobby stumbled, then caught himself before he fell. He didn’t know he was crying as he reached the front door, but when he tried to open it, it wouldn’t give.

Locked. It must be locked.

With only seconds to spare, he finally got it to work. When the knob turned, he sobbed with relief. The door opened, and the wet heat of a Louisiana summer hit him square in the face. It was the best feeling he’d ever had. He took off without looking back.

Newt was too far away to stop him, and he knew it.

“You take one step out of this house and you’re gonna be sorry!” Newt yelled, but the kid kept going.

All of a sudden he saw the softball, grabbed it and threw it as hard as he could.

In his mind, Bobby was already running out of the trailer park and down the street. Then, all of a sudden, there was a sharp pain at the back of his head and everything went black. He hit the ground with a thud, face-first.

Newt was panting and cursing as he waddled toward the door. Frantically, aware of his nakedness and grateful for the shield provided by the fallen trees, he hurried down the steps and pulled the kid back inside, then looked around to make certain they hadn’t been seen. Satisfied that no one had been watching, he stepped back in and locked the door. When Newt turned around, he was shaking so hard he could barely stand.

“What the fuck? Damn you, you little bastard.”

The kid’s nose was bleeding, and it occurred to Newt that if the boy bled into his throat, he could choke to death, so he picked him up and carried him back to the bed.

Bobby was already coming to as Newt dropped him on the mattress. He opened his eyes, and when he saw the monster retying his hands to the headboard, then his ankles, as well, he started to cry.

“It’s your own damn fault,” Newt said. “You shouldn’t have tried to run away from me.”

“You hurt my head. You made me bleed. I want my daddy!” Bobby cried, and then started to scream. “Help! Help! Help!”

“Son of a bitch!” Newt said, and grabbed a sock off the floor and stuffed it into the kid’s mouth.

Bobby tried to spit it out. It tasted bad, and he felt as if he was going to be sick. Tied once again like the fatted calf ready for slaughter he’d read about in the Bible, he felt his rebellion die. He’d tried his best to get away, and it hadn’t been enough.

Daddy, Daddy, please come find me.

There was blood in his mouth. He choked and gagged, then closed his eyes and turned his head, defeated in spirit and in body.

“Hey! You’re bleeding all over the pillow!” Newt yelled, and pulled the sock out of his mouth, then used it like a rag to stop the flow from the kid’s nose.

Bobby wouldn’t look. He couldn’t.

Newt got the wet washcloth from the bottom of the tub, squeezed out the excess water, then came back and started cleaning up the blood while he talked.

“Look, kid, Uncle Newt doesn’t like to be mean. But you broke a rule, and you know what happens when kids break rules. You have to be punished. One of these days, when I get well, we’ll load up the truck and head for Texas. Would you like to visit Texas? Cowboys and Indians and all?”

Bobby didn’t answer and wouldn’t look.

Newt cursed, then tossed the bloody washcloth aside.

“You’re not bleeding so much anymore. It’ll quit soon. I’m sorry this happened.”

A shudder rocked Bobby’s little body as tears tracked through the blood on his cheeks.

“I was just going to fix us some supper. Are you hungry, buddy? I’ve got some ice cream. Would you like some ice cream? Just tell Uncle Newt what you want.”

Daddy. I want my daddy.

But Bobby didn’t say it aloud. He didn’t say anything.

Newt sighed. This was a major setback. He had never been in such a mess. Always before, he’d created an immediate bond with the little guys by giving them candy and toys, and anything else they wanted to put them at ease. Now, because of that tornado and his burns, everything had gotten turned upside down. He’d never had to tie anyone up before. He’d never had to drug them. And he’d never gone this long without playing with them in the most intimate of ways.

He didn’t want to think it, but it was beginning to seem as if this wasn’t meant to be. If things got worse before he got well, he might be forced to overdose the kid and then get rid of him. A dead witness was almost as good as no witness at all.

He stood, then looked down at the bed. He’d never killed anyone before and wasn’t sure he could, even if he had to. Distressed by the turn of events, he walked out of the bedroom, then closed the door behind him. He would fix them some supper. Everything looked better on a full belly.

Tomorrow was Saturday. Sam’s son was supposed to come saw up the fallen trees that were blocking in his truck. Newt began to think about leaving Bordelaise. Even though he had no place more specific than all of Texas in mind, he was leaning toward the notion that packing up and leaving would be the safest thing. This near-escape had unnerved him. It had been close—too close. If Bobby Earle had gotten away, it would have been the end for him.

Still rattled, he grabbed a dirty pan from the sink, turned on the water and stuck it under the tap to rinse it out. Satisfied that it was clean enough to reuse, he opened a couple of cans of soup. It was too bad that he’d had to deck the kid like that. He’d had no idea Bobby would go down face-first. Now the kid’s mouth would be too sore to eat solid food for a while. Soup would be easier to get down. And he could slip the sleeping pill in the soup, rather than a Pepsi. Every day it had been harder and harder to get the soda down him. It was as if he knew what was in it. But that was impossible. The kid was just seven.

A few minutes later he went back to the bedroom, carrying the bowl of soup. He didn’t dare let the kid up again to feed himself, but he couldn’t let him starve.

“Hey, kiddo, look what we’ve got here,” he said, then sat down on the side of the bed, careful not to let the hot bowl get too close to his bare belly.

Bobby smelled the soup. His stomach growled. He was hungry, so hungry. But he hurt, and all because the bad man had hurt him.

“Open wide,” Newt said, as he moved the spoonful of soup toward Bobby’s mouth.

Bobby wanted to say no, but his survival instincts wouldn’t let him. His mouth opened almost of its own accord. It was noodle soup. One of his favorites. The last time he’d had noodle soup had been at Daddy’s house, along with a grilled cheese sandwich.

The spoon clicked against his teeth as the soup went in. He choked a little, then swallowed.

“Hey,” Newt said. “I think we need to sit you up a little, okay?”

He untied Bobby’s ankles, then pulled the boy up until his back was against the headboard.

“Now then. That’s better, right?”

Bobby shrugged. He didn’t want to talk, but he wanted the food. He hoped it wouldn’t take one to get the other.

Newt started to argue, then eyed the kid’s swollen nose and puffy lip, and decided he’d had enough for one day. From the way it looked, he would probably have two black eyes in the morning, but so what? No one ever died from a bloody nose or black eyes.

“Here’s another bite. Open wide for Uncle Newt.”

Bobby shuddered, but the soup was still too enticing, and he did as he was told.

The meal continued until the bowl was almost empty. But something was wrong. Bobby could feel that heaviness coming over him again. The one that always made him sleepy. Suddenly he realized that the bitterness taste he’d been tasting in his Pepsi was now an aftertaste in his mouth.

“Just a few more bites,” Newt said, “and then I’ve got a cookie waiting for you for dessert.”

Bobby wanted the cookie, but he was angry. The monster was tricking him again.

“Open up,” Newt said, and tapped the spoon against the edge of Bobby’s lips.

Bobby opened his mouth, but as soon as the soup hit his mouth, he spat.

Noodles and salty broth hit Newt’s belly. The soup wasn’t that hot, but it was unexpected, and when he flinched, he dumped what was left in the bowl in his lap.

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled, as the salty broth soaked into his open wounds. He jumped up from the bed. “What the hell did you do that for?” he yelled.

“You’re making me sleepy!” Bobby cried. “You’re a bad man!
A bad man!
You put bad stuff in my Pepsi, and you put bad stuff in my soup!”

Newt was stunned. The kid was smarter than he’d thought.

“No! I never,” Newt said, and looked down at the noodles stuck in the hair on his belly.

“You did. You lie! You hurt me, and you tell lies, and you give me bad stuff in my food! I hate you!
I hate you!
” Bobby screamed. “I want my daddy!”

Newt was stunned. Where had all this come from? He’d never met any kids this defiant.

“You better shut up or you’ll be sorry,” he yelled back.

“Daddy!” Bobby screamed. “I want my daddy!”

“Shit,” Newt muttered, and headed for the dresser, grabbed the roll of duct tape and tore off a strip, then headed back on the run.

All he needed was for someone to be walking by the trailer in the middle of this. He slapped the tape across Bobby’s mouth, then yanked the boy’s legs out from under him and retied his ankles, even though the kid fought him every step of the way.

By the time he was finished, his belly was bleeding and he was cursing at the top of his voice. When he finally stepped back, he was so pissed he was shaking.

“You little bastard! You fucking little bastard!” he screamed. “I’ll make you sorry. You’ll see! When I get well, I’ll make you sorry!”

Then he staggered out of the bedroom and back into the bathroom, where he spent the next half hour under the shower, picking bits of noodles out of the hair on his belly and washing the salt out of his sores. When he came out, Bobby Earle was asleep.

Newt wiped the soup off the bed as best he could, and then cleaned up what was left on the floor.

He was tired and aching, and wanted to sleep, too. But he was so mad at the kid, he didn’t trust himself to lie down beside him without silencing him for good.

Pissed that he only had the one bed, he grabbed a pillow and a sheet, and headed for the living room. He’d slept on the sofa before. It wouldn’t kill him to do it again.

He popped a couple of pain pills as well as his antibiotics, then swiped some more ointment on his sores. Tomorrow, after the trees were cleared away, he was done with this place. He might take the kid with him, and he might not. The way he felt right now, he would be happy to choke the ever-living life right out of him and never look back.

Twelve

I
t was getting dark. J.R. and Katie had been driving all over the north side of Bordelaise, taking photos of license tag numbers on all the blue trucks they saw. They had yet to cover a third of the city and already had more than twenty-five tag numbers.

But the more time that passed, the quieter Katie became. Just after she’d taken the last shot, she’d recognized the driver, then sighed and dropped the camera into her lap. Frustrated, she’d leaned back against the headrest and shut her eyes. She’d just realized it was the third time she’d taken a picture of the same man in the same blue truck, but in three different locations.

“What’s wrong?” J.R. asked now.

“I can’t remember the numbers anymore, but I’m beginning to recognize the drivers, and that’s the third time I’ve taken a picture of this one.”

J.R. sighed. “I’m sorry. Do you want to quit?”

“I can’t. It would be like quitting on Bobby.”

“No. It’s not the same, and you know it. You’re tired. It’s getting dark, and I say we give Penny a call, let her know we’re on the way home and see if we can bring her some supper along with our own.”

Katie couldn’t bring herself to care one way or the other.

J.R. felt her disconnect and gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m feeling lonesome, honey. Scoot over here by me,” he said gently.

Katie undid her seat belt and scooted across the seat.

“That’s better,” he said. “Just like old times.”

Katie’s face crumpled. “Oh, J.R. I want that back. I want all of it back. What if we don’t find Bobby? I don’t think I can bear it.”