Torn Apart (9 page)

He gasped, then groaned. A large blister between his wrist and elbow had stuck to the sack, and when he’d put it down, it had ripped the skin right off his arm.

When he began to hear a wild, frantic thumping, followed by a thin, high-pitched squeal, his first thought was, What the hell? Then he remembered the kid.

Without thinking, he dropped the sheet and began shuffling toward the bedroom, unconcerned about how the appearance of a nude, fat, full-grown male with too much body hair, and skin as red and blistered as a freshly boiled lobster, would affect the boy.

By the time he got to the bedroom, his pain was beginning to increase even faster than before. Then he saw the raw skin and blood on Bobby Earle’s wrists and ankles, the panic on his face, and knew a moment of regret. It wasn’t supposed to be happening like this.

“Hey, hey, kid…it’s me, Uncle Newt. Calm down, okay? No one’s gonna hurt you.”

But Bobby Earle had moved past reason. Newt Collins’s appearance was terrifying, and he couldn’t hear anything Newt was saying for the screams inside his head.

Newt scooted onto the side of the bed, wanting to make things right. He needed to untie the kid to calm him down, and he needed to calm him down before he removed the duct tape from his mouth. But Newt’s bandaged hands were clumsy, and getting a firm grip on anything, especially a kid who was thrashing around, was almost impossible.

As he fumbled with the knots in the rope, he felt blisters beginning to pop. He needed Bobby to lie still, to stop bouncing and kicking.

“Easy, kid…easy. If you’ll just lie still for a— Wait! No! Hey…look, I’m trying to… Shit, kid! I’m trying to untie you! Lie still!”

Finally all he could think to do was to cut off the ropes.

He abandoned the bedroom and headed for the kitchen. Once there, he began digging through the drawers, trying to remember where he’d put his one and only decent knife, then found it beneath an oven mitt.

As he started back to the bedroom, he paused and picked up the sheet he’d dropped earlier. Although it was a case of too little, too late, he wrapped it toga-style around himself and headed down the hall.

Bobby Earle was so out of his depth, he was on the verge of a mental meltdown. His heart was racing.

Every muscle in his body was trembling.

His clothes were drenched with sweat and sticking to his body. He had no understanding of why this had happened, or how his happy life had turned into a living nightmare. All he knew was that the monster from his dreams was real, and he’d taken him away from Mama and Daddy and tied him to his bed.

Even worse, when the monster had finally come back, he’d come without clothes. At that point Bobby had seen for himself just how monstrous his captor was, with his skin red and blistered and rotting off his body. Bobby was afraid that if the monster got too close, he might catch whatever was wrong with him, like he’d caught the chicken pox from Connor White.

When he heard footsteps coming down the narrow hallway again, his body tensed. Then his heart began hammering—hammering so fast it was hard to breathe. With his gaze locked on the door, the only person he knew who could hear him was God, and he began to pray.

God, it’s me, Bobby. I need help! The monster came and took me away. I don’t know where I am, but there’s a little gray squirrel who does. If You ask him, he can show You.

Before he could say amen, Newt Collins appeared in the doorway. Bobby registered two facts. He’d covered himself up, and he was carrying a knife. A big knife! Just like the kind Daddy used to cut the heads off catfish. Was the monster going to cut him up, just like Daddy cut up fish?

It was, for Bobby Earle, the last straw in a day filled with terror. The room began to spin, and then everything went black.

Newt’s emotions were mixed as he headed down the hall. The silence from the bedroom was heartening. At least the kid had finally stopped thrashing around. Now if he could just cut off the ropes without further injury, they could start their relationship over on a happier note.

He paused as he reached the doorway, unable to ignore the spurt of lust at what a picture the kid made, tied to his bed as if just waiting to play games.

But when he saw the kid’s gaze lock onto the knife, he realized he’d made yet another mistake.

Oh, crap!

Before he could open his mouth, Bobby Earle’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted.

“Well, hell,” Newt muttered, then looked on the bright side. “At least the little bastard won’t be kicking.”

He eased himself down on the side of the bed and gripped the knife firmly. Ignoring the pain, he began sawing through the nylon in short, jerky motions, until finally the ropes were off.

One problem solved, but now he had another. The rope had caused some serious abrasions on the kid’s wrists and ankles. They needed some doctoring, but it wasn’t like he could take the boy to the doctor. Then he remembered the stuff they’d given him at the hospital.

Moaning and cursing with every step, he managed to get back to the kitchen, where he dug through the sack of medicines and pulled out a tube of antiseptic cream.

By the time Newt finished smearing the stuff on Bobby’s wounds, he was in so much pain he was shaking. He needed to lie down, but had to make sure the kid didn’t make a run for it when he fell asleep.

After a fruitless search through the closet for yet another means of restraint, he moved to the single dresser and began digging through the drawers. There had to be something that would work to tie him up but wouldn’t cause any more damage.

Then he came across a stash of women’s panty hose and paused. The grin that spread over his face was nothing short of evil as he closed his eyes, recalling another time and another kid—a skinny little towhead with big blue eyes who’d also cried for his mama. It had taken finesse, but time had worked out the snags in what had become a long and productive relationship.

He chose a pair in a shade of taupe and retied Bobby’s wrists to the bed, opting to leave his legs free.

By the time Newt was through, he was covered in sweat and cursing with every breath. He popped a couple of pain pills, smeared some antibiotic ointment onto his burns and then dropped the sheet and eased himself down on the other side of the bed. He looked down at his raw, blistered penis, gave the kid a regretful glance, then closed his eyes and prayed for oblivion to take away his pain.

Penny hadn’t left Katie’s side since they’d arrived at the hospital. Still clutching the dirty bear, she had no idea if her house was standing or if her cat, Milford, was still alive, as she sat in Katie’s dimly lit hospital room and watched her sleep at last, thanks to the sedative the doctor had prescribed. The guilt of what had happened was so horrifying, she felt as if she deserved to lose everything, too—like Katie Earle.

She’d cried until she couldn’t cry anymore and prayed to God for things she knew weren’t going to happen. The only thing she had left was her faith, and it was wavering.

At one point, when the nurses ran her out of the room, her thoughts shifted to the search parties. She kept wondering if the hospital had been able to contact J. R. Earle and tried not to think about where they might find Bobby’s body, or what condition it might be in. She wanted to remember a happy, dark-haired little boy with brown eyes who insisted on sitting by his little friend, Holly, and who had colored his picture of Jesus in red, white and blue.

As she paced the halls, waiting to be allowed back inside, she noticed how much quieter it was here than it had been in E.R. It should have given her a peaceful vibe, but all it reminded her of was a funeral.

When she was finally allowed back inside the room, Penny resumed her watch, like an on-duty sentry. A short while later, she heard a page go out for Dr. Luke and wondered who else’s life was coming apart.

A short while later a nurse entered the room carrying a syringe full of something that she promptly shot into Katie’s IV.

“Any change?” Penny asked.

The nurse glanced at the machines, noting the vitals, then shook her head. “These things take time.”

Penny’s gaze shifted to Katie’s pale face, and she shuddered. “Has anyone been able to contact her husband?”

“Not to my knowledge,” the nurse said, and adjusted the drip in the IV.

“Why not? We know he’s in New Orleans. Surely the police there can locate him through the company he works for.”

The nurse shrugged. “All I know is that Hurricane Bonnie is playing havoc there, as well. The entire coastline has been inundated with storms.”

“Lord, Lord,” Penny muttered, and reached for Katie’s hand. “She’s in bad shape. She needs J.R.”

“I’ll let you know if we hear anything,” the nurse said, then gave Penny a rueful smile and left.

Penny blinked away the tears, then swept a strand of hair away from Katie’s eyes.

“I’m here, honey. Whenever you’re ready, you come on back to us, you hear?”

She paused, waiting to see if Katie would come to herself and talk back, but it didn’t happen. Because there was nothing more she could do for Katie Earle, she bowed her head and prayed for Bobby.

Bordelaise was a city in crisis. The electricity was still out in many places, even though crews were working around the clock, trying to restore power. Inside the houses that had escaped damage, the night air was hot and muggy, making sleep an impossibility.

For the residents who’d lost everything in the storm, the temporary shelter that had been set up at the high school gymnasium was even hotter. The body heat of the hundreds of displaced residents lying side by side on cots and pallets on the hardwood floors only increased their misery.

Outside, Chief Porter and his deputies cruised the debris-strewn streets, hoping their constant presence would discourage any looters, although they’d commented to one another more than once that they had no place left to lock anyone up, should the need arise.

The search parties had been called off for the night and would resume at daybreak. Until then, there was nothing more anyone could do.

For Frances and Tommy Maxwell, life was a little calmer. After the storm had passed, leaving their little family still intact, they counted their blessings as they headed for home. Even their car, which had been parked in the church parking lot, had escaped serious damage.

Tommy was a farmer at heart but a welder by trade, and they were anxious as to what they would find when they got home. Upon arrival, they were relieved to discover that the tornado had completely missed them.

Frances saw the relief on her husband’s face. He and Holly were her world, and she couldn’t imagine what it would be like right now to be in Katie Earle’s shoes. Tommy wasn’t Hollywood handsome, but she loved his green eyes and big smile. He took care of them and loved them, and it was all a woman could want.

But their relief was short-lived. No sooner had they walked into their house than they realized their troubles weren’t quite over.

Their daughter, Holly, had run to her room to see if her dolly had escaped the storm, but she’d no sooner gotten out of their sight before they heard her shriek.

Shocked, they looked at each other, then bolted down the hall to find Holly standing in the middle of her room with her dolly at her feet. She was clutching her hand against her chest and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Holly! Holly! What on earth?” Frances said, as she knelt at her little girl’s feet.

“My hand! Dolly hurt it when I tried to pick her up!” she wailed.

Tommy squatted down beside her. “Is that the hand that got stepped on at the church?” he asked.

“Yeeesss!” Holly wailed, and when he tried to examine it, she screamed again.

“What do you think?” Frances asked.

After a more thorough examination of her tiny hand and her shrieks of pain when anything was touched, Tommy made the decision.

“I think we better have a doctor look at it.”

“Noooo!” Holly wailed. “I don’t want to go to the doctor!”

“I know, but you have to,” Tommy said, then picked her up and carried her back to their car, with Frances right behind him.

When Tommy carried her into the emergency room, they were met by chaos.

An elderly man was sitting in a chair in the hallway, holding a blood-soaked towel to his head. A young woman in red shorts and a gray tank top sat next to him, holding a sleeping baby in her arms. Blood was seeping through a makeshift bandage from a cut on her leg. There were people everywhere, all talking at once, and doctors and nurses moving at breakneck speed, trying to accommodate the victims of the storm.

Shocked, Frances grabbed Tommy’s arm. “Oh, Tommy! Just look. Bless their hearts.”

Tommy knew he had a few cuts and scratches on his back from shielding his family with his body, but he’d gotten worse building fence. Frances had a few bloody scratches on her face and arms, and one cut at the edge of her hairline. It had left a dingy brown stain in her short blond hair, but that only reminded him of how fortunate they were.

“I know, Frannie. This is awful.”

Frances momentarily leaned her head against Tommy’s shoulder, taking strength in the fact that they were all in one piece.

But Holly wasn’t as appreciative. Her hand hurt, and all the noise and the bloody people scared her. She took one look at the chaos and started to wail.

A doctor walked by, saw the expressions on the couple’s faces and bypassed the hospital’s usual routine. Instead of finding a nurse and having them spend what was going to amount to hours filling out paperwork, then waiting, he stopped.

“Hey there, honey…what’s making you cry?”

Holly hid her face as Tommy started talking.

“We were at church when the storm hit, and the kids were outside playing,” he said. “When the siren sounded, they ran for the church, and Holly fell and got stepped on in the stampede. We didn’t think she was hurt, but now she cries every time anything or anyone touches her hand.”

“Then I think we’d better take a look at it,” the doctor said softly, and laid a hand on Holly’s arm. “Hi, honey. My name is Dr. Luke, and I’m going to be examining your hand, okay?”