Page 117 of The Weight Of Falling
I let my head fall back. Tears burn my eyes, but I blink them away. “What happened to the delivery driver?”
He cocks his head. “They’re right about you. Always thinking of others.”
A sob catches in my throat. “Did you kill him?”
“Nah,” he drawls. “I was tempted, I won’t lie. Gave him an ugly scar and a story for the grandkids.”
My breath rushes out of me in relief, easing the band around my chest.
“You should save your sympathy for your bodyguard,” he says, watching me carefully. “Had to knife him when he came around the back. I’m not sure what tipped him off, but I had to take care of him.”
I cry out and wrench against the ropes, devastation unspooling through me so fast I feel sick. I used to bring John coffee while he kept watch in his car. When he walked me anywhere, he was unfailingly polite and kind. He loved showing me photos of his wife and their two baby girls.
My kidnapper leans in to watch the grief roll across my face, licking his lips like he can taste it. His sharp, metallic smell fills my nose until I want to gag.
“You had some impressive security around you,” he says conversationally. “Took me a while to figure out how to get to you. But nothing’s foolproof, is it? There’s always a blind spot. I just had to find it.” He laughs, a high, delighted giggle. “Lucky for me; unlucky for you.”
He taps the sharp tip of his knife playfully against my cheek. I can’t help flinching. “Roy gave me strict instructions to make sure you suffer. Who am I to disobey an order?”
“Roy Bellings,” I manage to say in disgust, taking deep breaths against the fear that claws at my nerves. “The man who doesn’t deserve to be called Joel’s father.”
“Watch your tone,” he snaps. “Roy is a master, full stop.” He taps his knife against his knee. “I wrote to him, you know. Several times. Most of them don’t answer, but he did.” His tonegoes reverent. “He took the time. Told me which mistakes to avoid. Told me to use a truck they already trust.Hide in plain sight, Eddie, he said.People don’t look twice at what fits the picture in their heads.”
Eddie. The way he says his own name turns my stomach.
My nails dig into my palms. “You think he cares about you. He doesn’t.”
“He cares about good work,” Eddie retorts. “He even liked my first trial. He says I have good instinct.”
Terror rises like bile in my throat, but I want to keep him talking. At least if he’s talking, he’s not doing other things to me. Every word might buy me precious seconds. I don’t know if Joel will find me, but I know he’ll tear the town apart trying.
“Roy is manipulating you,” I say. “Can’t you see it? You’re just a tool to him.”
“I’m an apprentice,” he corrects. “Roy’s the master, helping me hone my craft. And he’s asked for a video of you screaming and begging. I’m happy to oblige.” He steadies the tripod-mounted phone, opens the camera app, and starts recording.
A sick, terrified feeling expands in my chest. “Please don’t—” I hear myself say, then clamp my mouth shut so he doesn’t get the sound he wants.
His eyes gleam in excitement. “I’m going to enjoy hurting you.” He rests the flat of the blade against my cheek, and I flinch. He watches the reflex with greedy attention, his breath hitching like he’s enjoying a private show.
“I’d like to do other things to you too, but I’m going to carve you up a bit first. I want you covered in blood when I finally take you.”
I strain against the ropes, thrashing and tugging.
He watches me with amusement. “I like that you’ve got a little fight in you. The ones who lie there like dead fish are no fun.”
Eddie drags the flat of his knife along my right forearm, testing the skin. I can’t stop the tremor that runs through me. Then he slowly carves a shallow line on my forearm. I suck in a sharp breath against the pain.
“Now, come on,” he admonishes. “I like a little screaming. When you’re quiet like that, you take all the fun out of it.”
He draws another line, parallel to the first. I whimper. He watches my face, fascinated. The fear is so full-blown I’m not sure I can hold myself together.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Eddie says casually. “Guess who else is gonna get the recording? Joely boy. Roy wanted his traitor son to hear your last words.”
Joel.
I stare at the cobwebs strung between the beams, my throat thickening with anguish and my lungs filling with impossible sadness.
He’ll never forgive himself for this. My heart aches for the torment and guilt and grief he’ll carry. I hope he never, ever watches the video.
