Page 100 of Right Number, Wrong Man
The rest of Justin’s belongings are boring in comparison.
A wallet with some cash but no ID, car keys, a cheap, off-brand smartphone, and an ancient-looking, leather-bound book. I flip the cover open to find writing in faded ink on the first page.
“From the library of Elizabeth Mary Burns, Granville OH… Another trophy from one of his victims?” I muse.
“I’ll have my people run the name through the database. Might get luckier than with his picture,” Cody says.
I nod, snapping the book shut and leaving it on the table. “Can you get rid of all his other shit?”
“I’ll make a nice little bonfire, but we gotta keep the car keys. His vehicle must be parked somewhere around Hailey’s apartment and since he doesn’t seem to have a home address, I’d bet it’s an RV. We don’t want it getting towed and drawing attention. Before that happens, we have to find it and dispose of it.”
I rub over my face. “Right. Good thinking.”
“Don’t worry, man. I’m here to help. I’ll deal with the car when I’ve dropped you off at home later. Speakin’ of help, need some assistance downstairs?” he asks eagerly.
“Nah, you taught me well. This one’s all mine.”
Rage flashesin Justin’s eyes as I enter the basement.
He shouts through the gag in his mouth, yanking on the cuffs binding his hands and feet to a metal chair, which is bolted to the concrete floor. In the harsh fluorescent light, the bruises and blood on his face stand out like splashes of color.
“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. The generator is pretty loud. Come again?” I mock and take his cracked glasses from my pocket, putting them on him. I want him to see me.
This is my arena and I’m in no rush. Hailey is safe at home with Gracie, and I meant it when I promised that I’d make Justin pay.
I give a feral smile, walking to a locked steel closet onthe far wall as I speak. “When I was a rookie, my good friend Cody gifted me a pearl of wisdom.Proper planning prevents piss poor performance,he said.This basement is the perfect example. I always thought I’d need a safe house someday and Dad’s old hunting cabin is ideal. His back’s too bad to hunt now and not a soul comes this far out. Renovating the basement to fit my needs was surprisingly easy.”
I open the combination lock on the closet door and haul out a big storage box. A flutter rises from my gut as I place it on a simple steel table by Justin’s chair. Giddy like a kid locked up overnight in a candy store, I take out a car battery and connect it to a portable defib unit before hooking up two electrode patches. Justin squirms as I rip his shirt in the front and apply the patches to his chest.
I love working with a rifle, but shooting is hands-off. Impersonal. Cody introduced me to my favorite activity: Prisoner interrogations.
Justin ain’t scowling no more. The rage has drained from his face, and I know that expression in his wide eyes. It looks the same in every human.
Pure terror.
I click my tongue. “Lemme guess, asshole. You love torturing women but you ain’t so great at taking the pain, huh? Men like you disgust me. You can’t even call yourself a man. You’re a worm.”
He twitches, brows drawn.
I chuckle. “You must be wondering,what the hell is he doing with that car battery and the defib unit? Let me enlighten you. See, the human body can only take so much agony before you pass out. When you start to shut down from the pain, I’m gonna give you a zap and—bzzt! You’re wide awake to feel itall again!”
For the fun of it, I take off the gag. I wanna hear him scream and beg for death.
“You don’t get it! The little whore cheated on me!” He spits.
Rage descends on me like a dark red veil.
My fist flies and my knuckles ache as they smack into his jaw. His head lolls to the side and he slumps, but I grab his hair, ripping him upright.
“Don’t you ever speak of Hailey like that again,” I growl. “If you think you’ve seen the worst of me, you’re wrong. I’ll make you wish you were dead long before I grant you death’s mercy. Because it’smydecision. I’m your fucking God right now! I decide how long you’ll suffer, and you just added to your sentence.”
38
COLT
The sour stenchof blood and scorched flesh thickens the air. I drink it in with heavy breaths and it burns on my tongue like bourbon, filling my mouth with the delicious taste of agony. Sweat trickles down my neck, my reddened fingers clutching bloody garden shears.
Casually, I kick Justin’s pinkies across the floor and they roll into a puddle of his blood. I laugh. Looks like mini sausages in ketchup, which reminds me of the hole in my stomach.
