The shadows of summer, p.26
The Shadows of Summer, page 26
My head was pounding so badly that it hurt when I tried to open my eyes. But I did open them, slowly, and the darkness of unconsciousness gave way to the darkness of the room in which I laid. Complete and utter darkness.
I panicked and tried getting to my feet, but I immediately felt the friction of ropes digging into my skin. My hands were tied behind my back at the wrists and my legs were tied together at the ankles.
I attempted to scream but my jaws were seemingly sealed in place and my lips were stuck together. Tape. There was tape covering my mouth.
Feeling desperate, I kept trying to scream and break free of my bindings, naively believing that maybe, just maybe, I could rip through the tape and burst through the ropes by summoning super-human strength from somewhere.
Of course, my efforts were fruitless and, after several moments of wriggling, writhing and squirming, I abandoned all hope of escaping the bonds.
Completely swathed by blinding darkness, I stopped moving and listened. The only sound I heard was my panicked, rapid breathing. At first. Then, rustling noises emanated from somewhere in the room—maybe five or six feet from where I was laying. Something—someone—was moving. I wasn’t alone.
I strained my eyes trying to discern movement, but there was nothing but homogenous, unbroken darkness.
“Mmph, mmph, mmmph.”
Someone—a woman from the sounds of it—was attempting to speak and it sounded like her mouth was taped, as well.
Was it my mother or sister?
“Mmph, mmph,” the person mumbled again. Although the words were unintelligible, the tonality of the voice sounded like my sister’s.
“Mmph, mmph,” I responded back and we communicated like that, back and forth, until our incoherent dialogue was interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open.
Candlelight poured in and the room’s contents became visible. Sitting against the wall in front of me—bathed in dull orange candlelight—were my mother, father and sister. They were tied up at the wrists and ankles, their backs against the wall and their legs flat against the floor.
My father’s eyes were closed and he was leaning to one side, his head resting on my sister’s shoulder. He looked unconscious, but it appeared that he was breathing. A trail of blood ran from his severed ear, down his neck, and stained his t-shirt.
My mother’s wide, pleading eyes were fixated on me, but my sister was staring fearfully at something behind me.
I rolled my body 180 degrees, and Gator’s hulking figure stood in the room’s doorway, holding a lantern, staring at me with deadpan eyes. He was wearing dark jeans, black boots, and a black, sleeveless shirt which displayed his overdeveloped, veiny muscles.
He made a phlegmy, snorting noise, then he spit. A glob of saliva splattered on my left cheek. I let out a groan of disgust.
“I’m not even sure what to say to you,” he said.
I narrowed my eyes at him, refusing to show any hints of fear or deference.
“All these years I’ve been wantin’ revenge, I thought I’d have a whole damn speech prepared by now. But I don’t.”
Gator stared at me with a vitriol that could only be borne from years of internalized, suppressed hatred.
He took a step forward and kicked me in the chest with what felt like a steel capped boot. The pain was astounding. I did everything in my power not to moan or show any signs of discomfort but it hurt like hell. Behind me, my mother and sister let out screams that were muffled by the tape covering their mouths.
Gator laughed and said, “Your parents let me right into their house. Even though I hadn’t seen ‘em in years, they let me right in. I told ‘em I wanted to chat, catch up. They asked how my mom and dad were doing; how we were coping with Candace’s death. But they stopped askin’ questions when I pulled out a gun and made your dad tie up your mom and sister. Then I pistol whipped his ass unconscious and tied him up. It was a bitch getting them in the car without their neighbors noticin’. Had to open the garage and pretend like I was a contractor loading big ass loads of materials into my van. It was a challenge to say the least.”
He laughed heartily before his face became serious, introspective. Almost forlorn.
Gator then dropped to his knees and began weeping. The sudden shift in his demeanor was shocking. Auburn candlelight, interlaced with dark, dancing shadows, flickered against his face as he turned his head upward and cried out. Tears and saliva saturated his face.
“Dennis . . . brother . . . I miss you,” he yelled out. “Candace . . . I love you. I should’ve been there for you. Rest in peace angel.” He buried his face in his hands and convulsed violently. It looked like he was having a seizure.
Within seconds, he stopped shaking and his body became still.
He removed his hands from his face and his eyes were murky, evil. He peered into my soul and said, “You and Kroy set everything into motion. Everything was fine until you two came careening into our lives. Dennis saved your worthless asses and you and your family never showed an ounce of appreciation. Did you? No, you didn’t. Dennis gave his life for y’all but y’all didn’t appreciate that.”
I gave him a hollow stare, refusing to show any emotion.
Gator shook his head, as if in disgust. “After that damn wreck, my mom and dad were actually nice enough to visit you both in the hospital. Do you know that bum Kroy had the nerve to tell my parents you and him were arguing when you hit that deer? I don’t know why he even felt the need to tell them that. Maybe he was high on pain medication. Hell, I don’t know. But all I’ve been able to think about ever since then is that if you stupid motherfuckers had been paying attention to the road instead of arguing, then maybe every single member of my family wouldn’t have been destroyed. My brother Dennis, dead. My sister Candace, dead. My mother a strung-out drug addict and alcoholic. My brother, Austin, a bitter, pissed off bastard just like me. My dad, a fake, holier-than-thou born-again Christian who we virtually have no relationship with. All of this because of you and your dumb ass, reckless ass boyfriend arguing and driving too fucking fast on Old Warren Road!”
He fell silent, gasping for breath, sounding as if his lungs were on fire.
“No worries,” he continued, his voice now raspy and grating. “I took care of Kroy. And I’ll be taking care of you soon. Plus, all of this wasn’t completely in vain. No ma’am, it wasn’t. You and Kroy were the catalyst for the ruination of one family, but also the catalyst for the creation of a new family. A new lineage.”
New family? New lineage? What was he talking about?
Gator stepped forward and picked me up as if I weighed less than a bag of flour. He swung me backwards for momentum and tossed me forward, through the air, towards the wall where my family members were huddled. I landed hard, all of my weight coming down on my mother’s leg. There was a snap, which I presumed was the sound of her leg breaking, and she let out an anguished, muffled scream. She twisted and squirmed in pain, but her mobility was hindered by the ropes affixed to her wrists and ankles. I rolled off of her and directed several inaudible, hate-filled curse words at Gator.
Gator laughed and his eyes went to something on the floor. I followed his gaze. It was the Moose Bar. It must have fallen out of my pocket when he threw me.
“Brought me a snack?” He said sardonically. “How thoughtful.” He picked the bar up and inspected it carefully. He then unwrapped it and scarfed it down in two greedy bites. “Good timing. I’m hungry as hell.” In a voice of fake sympathy, he said, “I’m sure your folks are staaarving.” He poked his bottom lip out, feigning empathy. “They haven’t had a bite to eat since I brought them here. Oh well, fuck ‘em. And fuck you, too.”
Gator bent down, slapped me hard, and spit in my face again. The impact of the blow caused me to see floating black spots. My mother and sister groaned out in protest. My mother’s face was damp with perspiration and tears. I wasn’t sure if the tears were from the pain of her broken leg or despair . . . or both.
I shifted my attention to my father’s chest, but now I couldn’t tell if it was expanding and contracting . . . meaning I was no longer sure if he was still alive.
“I saw you yesterday morning,” Gator said, “when you were hawking those Moose Bars in Atlantic station. You were happy that day. Free as a bird. You had no idea about the shit storm that was about to hit you. I couldn’t wait to steal your joy.”
While I’d been worried about the tattooed woman, Zoey, and her odd behavior at the Moose Bar event, Gator had been watching from somewhere nearby, completely unbeknownst to me.
“Warm and cloudy,” Gator said in a voice impersonating a meteorologist, “with a 99.9 percent chance of shit storms.” He placed his hand on his stomach, turned his head up, and laughed with gusto. “But I knew what was coming, of course. I had it all planned out. We had it all planned out.”
We. Was he referring to the various lunatics who’d been tormenting me—the man at the gym, the woman from the train tracks—or was he referring to someone else? Maybe his brother?
“Enough talking for now,” Gator said. “Time to move on to phase two of your demise.” Without another word, he turned and trudged out of the room, taking the lantern with him. The room once again became encased in complete darkness. He slammed the door and locked it.
What did he mean by phase two? Torture? I imagined him in another room preparing various instruments of brutality. A scalpel. Razor blades. A rusty saw.
A shiver of dread went through me.
I scooted backwards, nudging my way in between my mother and sister. I simply wanted to feel the warmth of their bodies, the dampness of their skin against mine. My mother was still squirming and moaning in pain, and my sister was bawling uncontrollably. It was probably best that it was dark, so that I couldn’t see the pain and suffering manifest on their faces.
Don’t give up, I thought. The backup plan could still work . . .
That was true. However, it would be pointless if the backup plan didn’t take effect until after Gator had murdered us.
I shifted positions, wiggling and worming my body to one side, until I was next to my father. My arm rubbed against his arm. His skin was ice cold. Colder than human skin should have been. He was breathing, though. Thank the Lord, he was breathing. But barely. He was hanging on to life by a thread and wouldn’t last much longer.
Knowing my father was still alive, and that he was on the precipice of death, infused me with a fresh dose of determination.
I had to free us from our bonds and get us out of here, somehow. But how? The ropes around my wrists and ankles felt tight and strong.
Without something sharp and a free hand, I thought, there’s no way I—
From somewhere inside the building, Gator began making loud, guttural noises, as if he was retching. Then he screamed. It was an animalistic scream, brimming with anger and agony. Through our room’s closed door, he yelled out, “You bitch!”
The sound of his thunderous footsteps came closer, closer, closer . . . and the door to our room flew open. Once again, light from Gator’s lantern filled the space.
With the meager candle light, dancing shadows sheathed most of his face, but I could clearly see the fury burning bright in his eyes.
His mouth and chin were wet. Bits of food clung to his lips. The top of his shirt was stained. Gator had just vomited.
My backup plan was working much faster than I’d expected.
“You bitch,” he growled, spitting out chunks of food. “You put something in that fucking Moose Bar. You’re fucking dead!”
Chapter 35
Wednesday, June 13
10:10 p.m.
When I got the syringes from The Refuge hours ago, I had a specific purpose in mind. I’d watched enough ID channel crime documentaries to know that antifreeze was a very effective poison. Not only does it taste sweet, but it also wreaks mayhem on the human body when ingested.
I had used one of the syringes to poke a tiny hole—a hole that was unlikely to be noticed—through the candy bar’s wrapper and I injected the bar with a few ounces of antifreeze. I kept the candy bar in my pocket hoping that, in the event of my capture, my abductor would stupidly confiscate the Moose Bar and greedily consume it.
Gator had done just that.
I’d been worried that he would notice the runny, green antifreeze or perhaps even spot the pinprick hole in the wrapper. But he didn’t, and the darkness of the building we were in probably had a lot to do with that. He had inspected the bar before opening it but, thankfully, he’d failed to notice the tiny hole.
“Tell me now, you fucking tramp!” he said. “What did you do?” He clutched his stomach, doubled over, and puked violently. The smell—something akin to old cabbage and three-day-old spaghetti—filled the room.
He wiped his mouth with his arm, stumbled over to me, and ripped the duct tape off my mouth. “Talk,” he said.
“Talk?” I responded. “About what? The weather? Politics? The Atlanta Braves? Or the fact that you’re fucking with me and my family for something that’s not my fault?”
He balled his fist and threw a punch, striking me hard against the bridge of my nose, most likely breaking it. Globules of blood oozed from my nose. I responded by spitting a mixture of blood and saliva in his face. “Fuck off.”
He cursed, drew his arm back and began striking me with a series of hard punches to the face and body. With my arms tied, I was unable to shield myself from the onslaught and, with each hit feeling like a jackhammer, I was certain I’d be knocked unconscious. The stifled screams of my sister and mother intensified with every blow Gator delivered.
My plan, which evidently wasn’t well thought-out, had backfired. I hadn’t expected the antifreeze to kick in so quickly.
Instead of buying extra time, poisoning Gator had simply accelerated his brutality. Even worse, the antifreeze had weakened him, but it failed to incapacitate him completely—which is what I needed to happen.
After more than two-dozen blows, he stopped throwing punches, seemingly due to exhaustion.
My vision was blurred with tears. Blood oozed from my mouth and I spit out three teeth. Pulses of pain screamed from various parts of my body, not least of which being my ribs. A couple of them felt broken. I wavered on the edge of unconsciousness.
Gator looked about as bad as I felt. His breathing was unsteady and his eyes were woozy. Beads of sweat speckled his forehead. The antifreeze was clearly affecting him. Panting like a dog out of breath, he staggered, steadied himself, and wiped sweat from his brow.
“I’ve got something for you,” he said. “I’ve got something that will wipe that smug look off your face.”
I spit a glob of blood at his feet.
“You little . . .” He brought his leg back, in preparation for a kick, but froze with his leg in mid-air, grabbed his stomach and groaned in pain. “Shit! What the hell did you do you little bitch?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said with a mouth full of blood. “Maybe you’re having an adverse reaction to the steroids you fucking circus freak.”
“You know what . . . you’re making this worse for yourself. I’m gonna carve you like a Thanksgiving turkey. Or maybe I’ll torture your mom and sister and force you to watch. Hmmmm. How ‘bout I do both!”
He picked up the lantern and walked towards the door. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
He exited with the lantern and darkness reclaimed the room. Jessica and my mother desperately tried communicating with me through groans and grunts, but their efforts were futile. I considered using my teeth to remove the tape from their mouths but I couldn’t see a thing and I wasn’t even sure how many teeth were left in my mouth.
Seconds later, Gator returned with the lantern . . . and a couple of other items. He held a large knife in his right hand and there was a gun tucked into his waistband.
“I can’t decide whether I want to finish you quickly with the gun or sloooowly with the knife. I think I’ll . . .” He grimaced in pain and let the sentence trail off, before dry-heaving two or three times. After regaining his composure, he glared into my eyes and said, “For years, I thought I would take joy in torturing you. Watching you suffer. But now that I have you, I just want to kill you and put an end to this shit.”
He raised the gun and fired.
Bam
I did not close my eyes. Fire spit from the gun barrel.
The bullet slammed into my right shoulder like a freight train, causing my body to spin forty-five degrees.
For some inexplicable reason, I wanted to touch the scar on my face.
He fired again.
Bam
The bullet whizzed by me and burst through my mother’s leg; the leg that had already been broken.
If my mother was screaming beneath the duct tape, I couldn’t hear her. I couldn’t hear anything. My ears were ringing like an alarm, drowning everything else out.
Another gunshot rang out.
But no fire spit out of Gator’s gun barrel. Instead, he stumbled forward as if he’d been pushed.
Another gunshot resonated. He stumbled forward again and fell to his knees, with the gun held down to his side.
It occurred to me that he was no longer the one doing the shooting.
I looked at the space behind Gator.
Zoey, the tattooed woman from the Moose Bar event, was standing in the doorway aiming a smoking pistol at Gator.
Chapter 36
Wednesday, June 13
10:24 p.m.
It was her. I couldn’t believe it was her. Who the hell are you? I thought to myself.
A combination of fear, sadness, and anger displayed on Zoey’s face. She stood completely still, pointing the pistol. Gator, still on his knees, turned to face her. He was holding the gun down at his side
Me, Jessica, and my mother watched, wide-eyed in disbelief. The three of us were silent. Even my mother’s whimpers of pain had ceased. There were two burgundy wet splotches on Gator’s back and thigh where Zoey had shot him.
