Текст книги "Contrite"
Автор книги: Kathy Coopmans
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
“I just need to use the bathroom and brush my teeth and then we are out of here,” he states, and rummages through his bag for his toothbrush and paste.
He marches past me avoiding any contact, and I sense his mood has dampened as he strides with purpose into the bathroom, leaving the door open.
Taking a seat at the small, round table he just vacated, my bottom feels something hard as I sit. When I reach underneath me to see what it is. It’s his phone! My hands shake as I stare blankly at the screen. I slide my finger across the screen and try to open it. Shit, shit, shit! He has it locked.
My mind scrambles to try and think of what his password could be. I start frantically pressing in random four digits in hopes I can come up with the right one. Nothing works. I have no clue. And that is when I see the pad of paper and a pen on the table. Wasting no time at all, I scribble as fast as I can my brother’s phone number, my name, and that I have been kidnapped and to please call this number. As I hear the water shut off, I place the phone back on the chair and turn the notepad upside down. I quickly sit myself back on the edge of the bed.
Trent strolls out and throws his items back in his bag, grabbing his phone in the process. Beads of sweat form on the back of my neck as I watch him closely as he zips up his bag and looks around the table as if he is making sure he has everything. He notices his phone in the chair and picks it up, studying it for several drawn out seconds.
My heart rate picks up speed as he turns to look at me. I look right back at him with what I hope is my best ‘I didn’t do anything’ look. A sigh of relief escapes me as he grabs both of our bags and instructs me to get up. I do as I am told and he holds the door open for me as we walk out into the bright sun. Instantly my vision blurs. I wish I could feel as bright and cheery as this beautiful day is. Instead, I feel dark and depressed, just like an overcast sky heralding a storm that will destroy everything in its path.
Trent unlocks the doors and tosses everything in the back as we climb into this truck. The truck I wish I could burn right along with the man who owns it. We drive for almost an hour before he finally speaks.
“I need gas again.” He pulls off another exit and into the parking lot of a gas station. “Stay put and I’ll get some coffee and something to eat.”
Jesus, what the hell is his problem all of a sudden? He slams the truck door and rounds the back to start pumping his gas. That phone call with his dad must have put him in a shit mood. Something has happened and it’s obvious it is something he doesn’t like.
Please God, don’t let it be anything to do with Turner. But something tells me it’s not. Maybe there has been a change of plans and he doesn’t agree with them. I have no clue, but one thing is for certain. I am going to ask him.
When he comes back, he hands me a large, steaming cup of coffee. I have never wanted coffee so much in my entire life. He hands me a bag with a couple of breakfast sandwiches as he starts to take off back toward the highway. Ten miles or so down the road we enter Mississippi.
Taking a small sip of my coffee and the last bite of my sandwich, I contemplate how to approach his mood.
“I overheard you on the phone briefly before we left. I assume it was your dad you were talking to. Did something happen?”
My voice cracks and my hands grip the coffee cup tightly.
“Something like that,” he says, leaving me to wallow in my curiosity.
“Um. Care to share?”
“You’re not going to like it any more than I do, but there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it until we get to where we need to go.”
I twist my body in the seat to face him.
“And where is it we’re going?”
He gives me a ‘shut up and I will tell you’ look.
“Zack has put out an APB on you. You’re all over the news, along with me, my father, and this whole fucking story.”
He slams his fist up against the steering wheel and presses down on the gas pedal. I keep my face impassive, but inside I am laughing like a lunatic. What the hell did they expect? For my family to just lie down and say, ‘oh, go ahead, you can just take Clove and we will be okay with never seeing or hearing from her again’?
Angling my entire body toward the window, my thoughts turn positive. I have no idea what kind of connections my brother has with cops outside his jurisdiction, but my guess would be once he receives the phone call from the hotel, if he hasn’t already, he will be on the road like Trent’s worst nightmare, and the asshole knows it as he continues his rant.
“Fucking Zack! He’s fucked this whole thing up, and my dad is pissed off at both me and you and . . . FUCK!” he screams into the truck, making me jump and press myself further back into my seat.
For miles and miles after his outburst, he doesn’t say another word. Every once in a while I risk a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His forehead is scrunched and the muscles in his jaw are clenched so damn tight that I can practically see the wheels in head turning. I cave and break the silence.
“So are we heading to where your father is, or what?”
“Fuck, yes. We’re going to where they are. You don’t know my dad, Clove. If I don’t show up there with you, he will not hesitate to put a damn bullet through your husband’s head. And trust me sweetheart, it won’t be pretty,” he declares.
“Good God, Trent. I just don’t understand how the two of you could be so hateful toward your own flesh and blood.”
I knew the minute I opened my mouth I should have kept quiet. His glare swings towards me and his hand flies out, grasping me by my ponytail and yanking me in his direction.
“You will never understand shit! It’s not about the money anymore. You’re so concerned about my brother that you don’t see I am trying to save his fucking life here! For the love of Christ, woman, shut your damn mouth so I can think of a way to get your fucking husband out of that damn house.”
He shoves me back and even though my head is hurting like a bitch from his death grip on my hair, I can see a sliver of light through this cloud of darkness. This isn’t another one of his ploys to get me on his side. Trent means exactly what he says.
Not another word passes between us until we pull into a small town just outside Jackson, Mississippi. I have tried my best to keep track of where we are going in case Turner and I get the chance to escape. I’ve watched every turn, taken notice of every landmark or point of interest.
We pull off onto a dirt drive and continue to follow it until we are invisible from the road. Trent comes to a sudden stop. Putting the truck into park, he keeps his eyes locked straight ahead and his hands on the steering wheel, gripping tighter and tighter as the seconds tick by.
My senses perk up as I feel something pulling me forward. I can feel Turner close by, almost as if I can hear him calling to me. It’s a strange sensation, feeling him near me. It’s love. In spite of my fear and anxiety, I feel excitement. I want to jump out of this truck and run to him and tell him I am here and I am alive.
What the hell is Trent doing just sitting here? We need, no, I need to get to Turner. He needs me, I can feel it. I can’t stay caged in this truck any longer knowing my husband is close by.
“Trent?” I whisper.
“What, Clove?” He cranks his body in my direction and with icy eyes stares me down.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, trying to play dumb to get him to move his ass, no matter what is waiting down the end of this fucking road.
“They’re down there, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are,” he says simply, his tone of voice for the first time truly indicating fear.
“Trent, I have no idea what the hell we are about to walk into. You need to clue me in on what is going on here and what you want me to do, or I swear, I’ll-”
“You’ll what, Clove? Go marching in there and demand that my father hand over Turner and let you walk out of there alive? You’re out of your fucking mind if you think that will ever happen. I know him, and I will guarantee you he is drunk as a motherfucker in there. He is not a man to mess with when he is fucked up like that. Damn it all to hell, I have no clue if Turner is even still alive!”
All of the blood drains from my face and I lose all train of thought except for what just came out of Trent’s mouth, but then my intuition kicks back in.
“He’s not dead!” I blurt.
“No. Something tells me he’s not either. I am sorry I even said it, but you have to understand what we are about to walk into here.”
I shiver, trying not to let his words frighten the life out of me.
“You need to stay as close to me as possible when we go in there.” He reaches across the console and grips my hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Come on, Clove. Come back to me and listen. Where is that smart mouthed girl from just a few hours ago?”
Trent places his hand under my trembling chin and raises it so my gaze meets his. God, I don’t want his hands on me anywhere after everything that he has done, and yet I know instinctively he is the only one who can get both Turner and me out of here alive.
I hate having to rely on him for anything at all. I know he knows this as he watches my changing expressions. He looks away for a few moments as if he is trying to collect his own thoughts and releases both my chin and my hand.
Even though the sky is turning gray with clouds, and even though the deep shadows of the woods surround us, I can still see his eyes glimmering with tears. I don’t feel sorry for him. He deserves every bit of pain he is in, and more.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You really hate me that much, don’t you?” His words cut through the silence in the truck.
“Do we really have to sit here and talk about this, Trent?”
“No, I guess not. I deserve your hatred, Clove. This I know. A man can only hope, though. Right?”
He shrugs and starts up the truck. We are driving toward God knows what and a part of me screams with joy that I will see Turner soon. However, a bigger part of me is intimidated as all hell at the mere thought of what could happen to me before I get the chance.
After a short but very bumpy ride, we find ourselves parked outside of what has to be the most run-down house I have ever seen. The porch light is lit, chasing away the gloom and making every miserable inch of this place visible.
I gape at the front porch and the stairs that are missing several boards, which would cause an unwary person to fall right through. The white paint on the siding is chipped and peeling, several windows are broken, and the roof is covered in a thick layer of moss that appears to be growing up the side of the house.
I feel like I am staring at some haunted mansion. I am sure that once upon a time it was a beautiful little home, but this place is so bad now as to be unlivable. From what I can see of the yard, the grass has grown up so high it reaches over the top of the windowsills.
Oh, God. Did Trent grow up here like this? I envision a small boy running around here playing outside. Did he ever have anyone to play with? My heart breaks for the little boy who never deserved to have a life like this. And Turner. He’s been here for how long, now? Is there even running water in this place? Food? Obviously the electricity works, but good Lord almighty, how could anyone live this way? Tears spring to my eyes as I take it all in.
“The outside looks a lot worse than it does on the inside, Clove.”
I jerk my head around and face a somber looking Trent.
“Did you grow up here?” I sniff as I wipe away the tears from my face with the back of my hand.
“No. I grew up in Jackson, actually. This place used to be halfway decent when I was younger. Dad and I used to come out here and hunt all the time. Some of the very few times my dad was sober would be when he hunted. For whatever fucked up reason, that man was serious about his hunting. Especially deer and pheasant. I fucking hated it. But it was the only time I ever got to spend time with my real dad, you know?” He looks at the house as if lost in his memories before finally turning back toward me. His face turns serious as he opens his truck door. “You ready?”
I nod, still a little shaken.
“Stay close to me, Clove. And whatever you do, for the love of Christ, keep your mouth shut and only talk to him when he talks to you.”
Glaring at me, he steps out of the truck and shuts his door. I can’t move and I swallow the biggest lump in my throat as I try and force my unstable hands to reach for the door handle. Immediately Trent is right there opening the door for me, and places his hands on my shoulders as if he is trying to comfort me. Even though I hate having him touch me, at this moment in time he is the only comfort I have. He looks deeply into my eyes; searching for what, I have no idea.
“One more thing. I promise I will do anything I can to keep you safe, but if something happens to me, here is a spare key to the truck. You have got to promise me you will get the hell out of here and run, whether you have Turner with you or not. Promise me, Clove,” he commands, shaking my shoulders for emphasis.
“I– I don’t know if I can do that,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. He starts to shake my shoulders a little more vigorously.
“You have to promise me, Clove! I will get back in this truck and tie you down and we will leave, and I mean it if you DO. NOT. PROMISE. ME.”
Jesus God Almighty, what the hell are we walking into?
“I promise,” I say sullenly. One thing I know for certain; I will fight until my last breath before I walk out of here without my husband.
“Good girl.”
He releases his grip on my shoulders and grabs my hand as he helps me down. I grip tightly to his as he carefully leads me up the short, narrow path and the creaky stairs. As soon as we land on the top step, the door swings wide open and for the first time I come face to face with the man who created my husband.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my long lost son and the fucking princess herself,” he slurs slightly, wobbling.
James looks nothing like the man in the pictures I saw from years ago. His teeth are rotting, his face is pale, and oh God, his eyes. Even though they are bloodshot and halfway closed, they are the most terrifying pair of eyes I have ever seen. Eyes that say, ‘I know exactly what scares you, bitch, and it’s me.’ They bore into me with hostility and contempt. As skinny as he is you would think he would be easy to snap in half, but those eyes make you think twice about ever trying to fuck with him.
“I thought I told you to kill that fucking bitch, boy?” He straightens his posture as he glowers from me to Trent. “Does she have you fucking pussy whipped just like your fucking pussy ass brother? If so, maybe dear old dad should have a taste, too? Spread it around between the three of us before I fucking slice her into a million pieces.”
He rakes his eyes slowly up and down my body, allowing his gaze to linger on my chest. I cower closer to Trent and try and hide myself behind him as best as I can. I have never been so petrified in my life. And he can sense it as he stands there and laughs evilly.
“Bitch, he ain’t gonna save you from me.”
He lifts a bottle that I never saw in his hands to his dirty mouth and takes a heavy swig. I feel Trent’s body tense as I stand behind him. Is he just going to stand here and not say a damn word? I want in this house and I want to see Turner more than I have ever wanted anything in my entire life. I nudge him in his back slightly, trying to give him a hint. Finally he speaks.
“Dad, I told you on the phone I wasn’t going to do a damn thing to her no matter what you said to me, and I meant it. She gets out of here without a hair on her head touched or we will never be able to get out of this fucked up mess alive.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are, you little bastard? You don’t call the shots here, I do. I brought you into this world, you fucking punk ass bitch, and I sure as fuck won’t hesitate to take you the fuck out of it.”
He spits all over the damn place when he spews his fowl words at his son. Even though I am scared shitless, I am about ready to tell this asshole where he can shove it. It’s no wonder this man I am clinging onto as if my life depends on it is the way he is. James Calloway is a repulsive human being. He evokes the deepest form of hatred in my being.
“You’re drunk, Dad. When was the last time you had something to eat?” Trent asks kindly.
I don’t know if he is being sincere or not. I am sure a part of him cares about this man standing in front of us, but who gives a flying fuck if he eats or not? I sure as hell don’t.
“What do you care boy? You gonna make me some food?”
James laughs as he turns around and staggers into the house. Trent grabs my hand and pulls me forward with him. When the smell of the inside of this house assaults my senses, I have to place my free hand over my nose. The acrid smell burns my nostrils and I can taste it deep in my throat. It smells old, dusty, and damp. Rancid, even. The door slams shut with a loud squeak and I jump. Trent squeezes my hand as if trying to reassure me.
We walk deeper into the room. There is a small kitchen table with a few mismatched chairs and a kitchen off to the right. Dirty dishes cover every surface in sight. No wonder it smells in here, it’s just as filthy on the inside as it is on the outside. The white fridge is covered in a thick layer of black dust.
There are piles of shit everywhere, from papers to empty pizza boxes, all strewn across the table. Beer bottles and cans and empty liquor bottles in clear plastic bags are piled up in one corner while in another corner sits a small round table with a bag of white powder, razor blades, and rolled up dollars. Holy shit, it’s cocaine! This is the shit pile my husband has been kept in. I feel my blood start to boil looking at this damn mess. This place needs to be burned to the damn ground with this smug ass bastard in it.
“So what do you propose we do now, boy? Now that this bitch has fucked it all up for us and that money is good as flushed down the fucking toilet?”
“Come on, Dad. You know it’s not her fault. Jesus, can’t you stay off of the damn booze for one damn day so we can figure out how to get the hell out of here before the cops show up?”
Trent speaks as if he is pleading for this piece of shit’s help.
“You hearing me, Trent? WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO NOW? I say we kill that bastard son of mine in the other room, and then kill his pretty little wife. After I fuck her, first.”
As soon as I hear him say Turner is in the other room, I lose all sense of reason. I loosen my grip on Trent and move in front of him.
“Where the hell is my husband?” I scream and start to storm towards the only hallway in the house.
“Clove! Get back here!” Trent bellows from behind me. I run the few short steps it takes to get to the only closed door, but before I can reach for the doorknob I am suddenly jerked from behind and lifted up off of the ground.
“Trent! Put me down, now! He’s in there. God, let me go! Please!” I cry as I kick and scream and try to claw at his arms. He’s too strong, though. He carries me back into the small living room and sets me down on the ratty, filthy couch.
“Sit down and shut your damn mouth.”
Trent points his finger at me. I hear unintelligible words spouting forth from the chair where his father is sitting.
“You are one crazy ass fucking bitch if you think I am letting you anywhere near him. Not until I am finished with you first.” James stands and staggers backwards bracing his hands on the arms of the chair.
“Fuck you! You’re the crazy one here, not me!”
I have had it with his insults. Fuck him! He wants to continue to call me a bitch? I will show him what this bitch can do.
“Fuck you, you fucking slobbering spineless dick! The money doesn’t even belong to you. It never has and it never will. You’re nothing but a little weasel who has hidden behind his drugs and booze all of his life. Who the hell do you think you are? You’ve all but destroyed both of your sons’ lives. What kind of person separates their child from their mother and their brother? Brings them up like you did Trent, showing them not one ounce of love whatsoever. You’re a real piece of work with your evil, corrupted, warped mind!”
A thunderous rage seeps out of James’ eyes, and his fists clench at his sides as I finish my little speech. When he speaks, I begin to realize I should have just done exactly what Trent told me to.
“This is my house, and women speak when they are told to speak, and not before. And they sure as fuck don’t call me crazy. But since you think I am crazy, let me show you just how crazy I can be.”
Before I can even blink, James strikes me right in the jaw with his fist. My head snaps back from the blow, slamming me into the wall. For the longest time I can’t move as pain radiates from my cheek and mouth and the taste of blood dissolves on my tongue.
“Get her the hell out of my face until I decide what the hell I am going to do with her.”
I open my eyes and his gaze is murderous and unblinking as a deadly viper. Trent quickly scoops me up into his arms and carries me down the short hallway. He stops at the open doorway directly across from the room I know Turner is in. I try to hear any kind of noise coming from that room and there is nothing. Could he be dead, or close to it? I panic and forget about my throbbing face. Trent carries me through the doorway and lays me calmly on top of a bed.
“Do you want to get yourself killed, Clove? Because you are heading in that very direction. I told you to keep quiet, and I meant it. You’re damn lucky he hasn’t killed you yet! He knows there is no reason to keep you alive so now, you’re stuck in this damn room until I can figure out what the hell to do.”
He turns to leave and I stamp down my anger for a brief minute or two.
“Trent, you have to go in there and make sure Turner is alive. Please?” I start crying and sobbing uncontrollably.
“Get your fucking ass out here now and leave that bitch!” James shouts.
“Fucking Christ. Stay put.” Trent slams the door shut, leaving me feeling all alone for the first time in days.
“Turn on the damn light!” I yell to no one. Great. Now I am sitting in the middle of a dirty fucking bed with who the hell knows what on this floor. I curve my body around, placing my feet on God only knows what. However, as I start to walk with my hands out trying to find the wall in hopes the light switch is by the door, I am assaulted with carpet. It feels soft and squishy underneath my barely there flip-flops. Finding the door, I scrabble my way until I finally find a light switch. When I flick it on, I am stunned to silence by what I see before me.
“Holy shit.”
There is a small, black-framed bed up against the wall, with a dark gray comforter and matching pillows, and a matching dresser, which I am currently propped up against. The room is spotless, except for the small amount of dust that has made its home on top of the dresser. The room is tiny, and as I take a few steps my mouth drops open and I collapse to the floor, gaping openly at the pictures above the bed and all across the entire length of the wall.
They are all of me. Me with Turner and my friends and family. Years . . . there are years of me in these pictures. I place my hand over my mouth to stifle my choking sobs as I try and gain some sort of composure and stand. Here is the proof of his obsession. Dear God, what is going on?
The walls start to close in on me as my eyes drop to a certain picture of Turner and me. This was right before he boarded that plane to take off for his business meeting. I reach for it and run my hands across Turner’s face. In the picture, he has his hand on the back of my neck, bending down to kiss me goodbye. I pluck the picture off of the wall and bring it to my chest, placing it directly across my heart. Then I cry in absolute silence for what feels like eternity.
My husband is right across the hall from me and I can’t even get to him. I am so afraid that he is really dead, or lying there badly injured. He must be. If something wasn’t wrong with him, there is no way Turner would have heard me screaming for him and not tried to get to me. I just have to find a way to get to him.
Knowing this is Trent’s room, I scan my prison looking for some kind of weapon. Both of those men underestimate the power of the love I truly have for Turner if they think they can keep me locked up in here until he, they, or who the hell ever decides my fate. Turner may never forgive me or want a damn thing to do with me after he finds out the debauchery I have sunk to with Trent; I can live with that, but what I cannot live with is not doing everything in my power to get him the hell out of here.
No sooner than I find what could possibly be a knife on top of the small dresser, I hear a key being turned in the lock. I shove the picture into my back pocket, realizing I have no time to grab the knife. I hear a rush of blood in my ears from my heart pumping overtime as the door slowly creaks open. I slide down the wall until my butt hits the floor.
Trent enters the room and follows the trail from the pictures to me sitting on the floor with his eyes. It’s in that moment I fear for my life as he stands there with a smile, holding a gun in his hands. When he lifts it in my direction I try and scream, but nothing comes out. Nothing comes out at all.
The world goes black.
