Chapter Fourteen: The Revolver
I wish...
You'd stop looking at me—
Like that.
The pale indifference of his mask made her feel less than human.
Finally, she heard the deliberate tappings against concrete of Michael walking away.
What control he had on her nerves, they weren't subject to it anymore. But, her relief was short lived when that same feminine groan she heard earlier fell upon her ears.
She looked back at her hands guiltily. Was this cost of her wish? For someone else to fall victim to him?
As Michael to the passenger side of the truck, Carmen crawled over to Officer Deeney's body and cut off her breathing. With shaking hands, she patted down his pockets, careful to avoid the blood puddle under him.
She frisked the body in search of a key that would uncuff her and found it in his right cheek pocket. As determined as she was, curiosity trained her eyes and Carmen beheld a red smile carved upon Officer Deeney's neck. Glassy eyes reflected the image of the fluttering hem of her blouse that had come untucked from her skirt.
Remember to compose yourself.
She breathed through her mouth. She flexed her fingers. In a few dexterous motions, the cuffs were gone.
"Jimmy what… the fuck!?"
Jimmy?
Carmen knew a "Jimmy". A disturbed Jimmy Bonfim who had a morbid fascination with—
The sound of a girl's cry singed her ears and Carmen's conscience became unusually heavy.
When Carmen looked, she saw that Michael wrung a blonde girl with his one hand wrapped around the front of her neck. Her thin arms reached back to land a punch.
Carmen spared a few moments to wonder what had happened before — why had Officer Deeney stopped the truck? Where was the driver? Didn't that girl look like someone from school?—
And thought just as quickly that knowing wouldn't make a hell of a difference.
Her eyes darted through the window of the police cruiser. The engine still ran. The keys were in the ignition. With Officer Deeney dead, she could run now and none of tonight would tie back to her.
Coward.
Then, doubt turned into a solid in her mind, almost like a tumor.
Why should she have a responsibility for a stranger who was about to be brutalized or slaughtered? Every one deserved a good tragedy. Besides, the dead always taught better lessons than the living. Maybe, the family ought to have their daughter die. Serves them right for not keeping a better eye on her.
Oh, how cruel is death that without it we would take life for granted.
But, but, but…
Carmen wanted to cry again.
Michael would kill her.
Swinging her gaze around, with a heart like thunder in her chest, Carmen caught sight of a .357 Magnum revolver tucked in Officer Deeney's belt.
Carmen gulped, even though her throat was dry to the bone.
Michael will kill her.
Was that something she could live with?