Airel: The Discovering (Airel Saga Book Two)

Chapter IX

Eagle, Idaho—Present Day

GIDDY, UNNATURAL, OVERPOWERING, WONDERFUL joy. Only the act of watching someone squirm in their bonds with a look of raw hatred on their face could bring these lovely emotions to bear.

Stan glowered back at her. He grandly produced a Cuban torpedo from his coat pocket, felt its moist firmness in his fingers, and sniffed it. Snipping the end, he lit it with a match. Smoke billowed up in his face. Stan looked like a ghost in the yellow light of the single lightbulb.

Stan stood in his own garage this time. It struck him that he didn’t know how long it had been since he had been home. Home? His suit was tattered, his fingernails dirty. He couldn’t remember his last shower. He didn’t care. He had walked out of his old life—and his new one, far more exciting, meant he had to give up certain things to get what he wanted. He licked his cracked lips.

Kim was bound to a wooden chair with duct tape. She had a strip plastered over her mouth as well. Stan looked at her with mild interest. She didn’t know where her best friend was, he knew that. But he had other plans for her: bait.

The peace that killing brought to him could only last so long. He needed more; the Bloodstone demanded more.

Kim was looking at him with big round eyes. No tears. No downcast obedience. Just hatred.

“We’re friends, aren’t we, Kim?” He stared at her with wild, bloodshot eyes. “Yes … yes, I can see that you agree. Good, good … I knew you, of all people, would understand …” Stan let his words reverberate in the silence. Then, remembering something, he ran from the dimly lit garage into the house.

He returned with a video camera in his shaking hands. “You wanna be in a movie? I know you do. Every girl your age wants to be a movie star.” His voice pitched higher in excitement as he set up a tripod. After a few tries, he successfully mounted the camera and turned it on.

“Say ‘hi,’ Kimmy.”

Kim sat, frozen.

“Good … very good. Kim, you get to be … helpful. You get to help me find your little friend. Won’t that be nice?”

Mental gears were grinding in his head, and he slipped into a stupor momentarily while everything got sorted. When he came out of it, he was addressing the audience in the camera. “My old friend,” Stan exclaimed in a joyful voice. “It has been too long. I’ve got a prize for you here, a token of my love, if you will.” He descended into crazy laughter. “I’m—” he hacked out a further giggle, “I’m not asking for a lot. All I want is a little fair trade.” He sang out his next words from behind the camera. “I—just want—to trade. This for that.” He took another long draw on the torpedo as Kim squirmed in the chair.

“Or I could just kill her.” He laughed again, but then he got serious and began to gesticulate. “If you decide not to give me the girl, I will kill this one and ship her piece by piece to her mother.” He was twitching. “But no more secrets about the plan.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and came close to the camera, still behind it. “You know where to find us, slave. You have twenty-four hours.”

Stan turned off the camera, picked it up, and walked out of the garage, turning off the single light as he went. Kim was alone in the dark. For the first time since she had been kidnapped, she let her guard down and allowed herself to cry. Tears dripped down over the duct-tape gag and collected at the tip of her chin.

Stan listened, just on the other side of the door. He suppressed a giggle. He could skip down the sidewalk chasing after the ice cream man, he was so ridiculously happy.

He went to his study and began to scratch out a wretched note:

Dear fools,

Play this tape on the news tonight. If you do not, I will kill this poor helpless girl— and you will all be responsible. If you refuse to OBEY, everyone will know you are the ones who killed her.

Stan’s the Man