Part 15

Todd was having a pretty fine day. He was wandering around the compound doing little odd jobs, sweeping the clubhouse floor, wiping down the pool table, oiling door hinge squeaks, and daydreaming about Lydia. They'd been meeting and talking more and more lately, and it made him happy when her special ring tone went off on his phone. She was so pleased with the way things were coming along, the batches were extremely blue, and her elite clients said the latest shipments were "so tasty."

Lydia was just so different from anyone he'd ever been with, or grown up with for that matter. She seemed so delicate, yet could be so in charge and demanding in that cute, exacting way of hers. She was smart too. She talked to him softly, sometimes like a teacher schooling her student, but she never really raised her voice even when something he did or said disappointed her. Her hair was shiny, glossy, straight and dark - his palms itched when he thought of how it must feel. She always looked and smelled so nice, her clothes fit her well, never too snug or low cut or slutty, unlike what the other guys brought around, or those old, torn pictures uncle Jack showed him of his mom and her friends. She even wore fancy shoes with high heels when walking around the desert. He guessed business time was business time to her, no matter who or what she had to walk over out there. She just seemed to float above everything dirty around her, so untouchable. He really wanted to capture her drifting attention and impress her.

He remembered she had a kid, but kids are so easy to deal with.

Humming, Todd rinsed out the big, plastic, blue bucket and refilled it with very hot water. He took a scouring brush and bar soap from a shelf, wrapped them in a few, clean rags that he took down from a line above the sink.

Outside, he counted out $950 from the stash under the pile of tires near the car parts shed. He was planning what he would need from the hardware store tomorrow. He had his eye on the fancy bolt cutters with diamond encrusted blades that could cut through a 3 inch round bar of steel. That was much denser, though not as wide, as a human wrist. That reminded him that he also needed some longer, stainless steel, Fernco clamps, about 5 of them, the 300 series. There was also an assortment of long nails, a clear, welder's mask, two new acetylene torches, and a heavier, full rubberized apron. Hmm, he was forgetting a few things. Sometimes he had memory problems. He would find himself outside somewhere or in the middle of some task he didn't remember starting, but these little things really didn't matter. Uncle Jack never scolded him when he found him at his projects. He often praised him for what looked like really industrial work. Just as long as he got rid of everything the right way, like Jack showed him, when he was finished, everything would be just fine.

Todd wasn't worried. He was sure he would get what he needed once he was leisurely browsing through the hardware store. He really loved that store and all the fun and useful things it provided him.

He took the warm bucket over to the grate, quietly pulled open the entrance. He wasn't really worried about locking it now, and even the ladder was still in place. He kept on humming as he went down the ladder with the bucket, a little water sloshing over its side, the sun still warm on his face. He walked over to Jesse and watched him awhile. He didn't seem to be aware of his presence.

Jesse's wrists and hands were cut, bruised, swollen and useless from constantly pulling on the manacles. It was instinctual, he didn't realize he was doing it. His ankles and feet were in the same condition. Even if Todd were to let him go now, he wouldn't have even made it to the ladder, let alone outside or in the desert. The blood pool beneath him had dried, in places it was almost entirely black. It reached out in an oval around his body, an 8-inch, weeping mandala in reds and burnt browns. It was one of Alquist's better works.

Todd unwrapped a rag and soaked it in the bucket. He held it over Jesse's face, let it drip onto his eyes and mouth until he realized a sensation beyond the torture of his opened back.

Agonizingly slowly, he opened his eyes. The sensation of light seemed another assault, and he closed them again, tightly, when he realized it was Alquist.

"Hey, pay attention," Todd nudged his arm with the tip of his work boot. The sticky ground made a sickening squelch sound under his shoe. "Alright, I had to let you know what would happen if you didn't do exactly what I… we told you to do," Todd said. "Now you know." He squeezed the rag so more water flowed into Jesse's mouth. He didn't try to swallow it, even though he wasn't given any water for almost two days.

"Well, no, you're going to have to try to swallow because I'm going to give you these." Alquist pulled out a clear, orange prescription bottle from his pocket and rattled the pills in front of Jesse. "It's…" Todd turned the bottle in his hand and read the label again, "It's Oxycodone, should help a lot, they give it to cancer patients during their last weeks. Says it's the fast acting kind." He opened the bottle and put three pills into Jesse's mouth, soaked the rag again and dripped in a mouthful of water. "Swallow those. You'll need three more."

Jesse tried to take in what he was given. His body was on the verge of rejecting any new sensation forced on it, almost threw up the small pills.

Todd realized he had gone too far, again. He removed the shackles around Jesse's ankles, the metal belt from around his waist. He could almost feel the thready heartbeat as it pulsed through his swollen hands. Jesse was trembling, whether from heat or cold he couldn't tell. He poured a little hot water onto his neck and chest, wiped his face and body gently with the rag. Jesse writhed under the unwanted attention.

"The medication will kick in soon, just hold on a little bit longer," the nurse said to him. Jesse felt a sting in his forearm, and a cold relief washed like a breaking wave from the point outward. The numbing pleasure in that hand made him moan, softly. The warm cloth returned to his throat and chest. Another sting repeated in his other arm, euphoric relief embracing him. He finally felt like he could sleep, dreamless, and escape.

…

Marie clutched the gun to her heart. It was heavy, and special, with an intricately patterned, burled wood handle polished monthly by her husband. He was enamored with weapons, as cops usually are, being a large element of their jobs as well as a protector of their, and others', lives. He liked to polish it while watching his myriad of sporting events, especially Nascar racing. She had often complained about the noise, how many times can someone listen to an engine go around a track forever? What was the excitement? How about those poor people who lived around the stadium, the constant noise, the shouting crowds, the endless litter of beer cans and plastic food containers? She imagined living around the stadium area to be a sort of war zone of noise and heat and bad manners. Why she wondered such things showed the level of her boredom on sports day, meaning, with their satellite hook up, almost every weekend, unless she could pry him, complaining, to do something, silly (to him), with her. She habitually felt the sports widow, and beer widow, and would sometimes wonder, when the house was so quiet and lonely, why they lived together in the first place.

When Hank couldn't walk, and that was such a worrying time, she had him all to herself, 24/7, and that might have been the worst part in all their marriage together. She thought they would grow closer during that ordeal, how could they not? She was caring for him, feeding him, slept in a little bed next to him, constantly watching that he was comfortable. He despised her during all that comforting. Here was this macho, action man, an important guard of the entire region no less, being reduced to the sympathies of a healthy, slight, doting woman, a woman who he picked on constantly when she didn't bring him the brand of snack food he wanted, couldn't sort his collection to his liking, or was just around too much. He started to hate her mooning face, the lovely one he fell so hard for those many years ago. Maybe, if she could have had children, it would have been different. He unfairly blamed her for that too. It was no wonder her compulsions grew during those days. This wasn't love, yet…

I would do anything to have that hated time back. She sat still, stopped her fiddling, wiped a few tears away with her free hand.

Hank had left the beautiful gun unloaded. He was a responsible man, and even though they had no children in the house, a stored, loaded weapon was just a snake waiting to strike at the worst possible circumstance. It took Marie over an hour to figure out how to load it. She eventually had to resort to the internet.

Skyler would never have helped me with this. I don't know why I went to her.

She stared at the thing. It seemed lovely to her now, too. The weight showed her it was of some quality, precisely machined, probably hard to miss with. She should have practiced with it when it was empty. She didn't want to fuss with reloading it again.

Marie, this is a very bad idea. Don't do this. Her husband's voice floated in her mind as she positioned the gun.

Please, Marie, if you ever loved me, don't do this.

She resettled herself on their bed, crouching over the pistol, staring down the barrel. It was just as scary as all those movies depicted.

I'm sorry, my darling, I do love you. I'll love you always. You gave up your right to tell me what to do when you left me.