CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Tongue and Toothpicks

I lowered myself onto the bed and thought of what else I could do to be a bad hostage. Thinking of Trinity and her trouble-making, I realized I had to meet specific criteria. I needed to tick them off without making my room unlivable. I didn’t know how long they wanted to keep me there. I bet they had changed their mind about getting Skull Boy Steve to take the camera out from behind the vent. My outburst didn’t make them want to do any favors for me.

The lights in the room went off by themselves at exactly 10:20. I was scared to sleep. I remembered how Rogan had coached me not to fall asleep when I was Jill. I worried that falling asleep might be the worst thing I could do. I was very tired, very bored, and when I tried to turn on the lights, they wouldn’t go.

I thought about making noise as I had with Brandon. It had not worked with him, and looking around at the walls, I thought it had less of a chance of working here. Besides, my throat was chapped from all the yowling I’d done when I was with him, just to be annoying.

Hours passed and the night grew quieter as staff outside the room retired. Footsteps down the hall ceased, and the quiet came. Then suddenly, something was familiar. I was basically in a hospital room, moonlight shone through the one window, light shone from under the door, and there was a slight humming in the air. The door creaked open and a man quietly entered.

Without making a sound, he approached the bed, took my hand in his and placed my right hand on his left. Allowing me to feel the place where he was missing a finger, he whispered, “Beth?”

“Did you come here to rock me to sleep?” I asked, as more of a password than anything else. After Brandan had convinced me he was Christian, I needed to make sure I trusted the right man.

“It would be wrong if I didn’t,” he said. The way he said ‘wrong’ was exactly the way he had said, ‘This is wrong,’ when he dropped me on the bed all those years ago.

“Christian!” I exclaimed, reaching for him, but my other hand found nothing but air. Resting my hand on the bed, my expression fell in dismay. Wasn’t he supposed to hold me? Wasn’t he supposed to draw me to him like he had that night long ago?

Instead, I heard his silky voice across the darkness. “We have to hurry.”

“How can we get out of here?” I asked, clasping his mutilated hand like he was my salvation.

He sat on the edge of the bed. “I gassed the security guards and shut off the locks. You know the layout of this building because I taught it to you. Go out through the break room,” he whispered under his brimmed camouflage hat. “Go straight through the woods to the road. Hide if you see headlights. Head north until you get to a farmhouse that has a barn door painted like a Scandinavian cross. Brandon will meet you there. Wait for me.” He turned to leave.

“What does that look like?” I mouthed with hardly any sound.

“A sideways cross,” he said patiently. “Leave quickly, Beth, and do not turn back.” He slid his smooth fingers from mine and fifteen seconds later, I saw the light in the doorway expand enough for him to slip through the crack. He moved so quietly, I didn’t hear which way he went after that. He had to be searching for the missing body parts.

Two seconds after that, I was on my feet, searching for something to wear, so I wouldn’t freeze outside.

***

Picking through the forest was hard. The place was wild, nothing had been cleared away. There were no obvious paths. I always thought they were joking when Snow White ran through the woods and tore her clothes. She was lucky the branches didn't gouge her heart out.

I hoped I was going in the right direction, but I had been walking forever and I hadn’t made it to the road yet. My progress was slow and the trees were like shredded toothpicks. I worried someone would see me because actually, there was no place to hide except to crouch on the ground.

Taking a break on a fallen tree trunk, I let my head loll back and I looked directly up. The stars were fading in the growing light. I breathed and tried to let the air that filled me be enough. The wind was perfumed with the scent of things living and dying simultaneously. I hoped Christian would catch up to me soon.

Finally, the sun’s light came over the treetops and I could see the road. At the edge of the treeline, I came to a barbed-wire fence. I planted my foot on it the way I had seen Christian-of-old step on blackberry vines and I stepped through it like a pro. I climbed the incline to the paved road.

Turning around, I could still see the compound! I must have walked in circles! A black SUV pulled onto the road. I tried to duck into the ditch, but I knew it didn’t work when they stopped and came after me on foot.

Charles was in the front. “Bethany, come on. Running away? Did you think that would pay off?” he said in a friendly tone. “Doesn't your back hurt?”

It did.

Grabbing my elbow, he spun me around to face him.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded as he frog-marched me to the car, his grip on my arm tight and painful. In the early morning light, he lectured me. “Do I really have to chase you down before sunrise? We’re not animals. Did we hurt you once?”

I refrained from mentioning the cut on my back, the three other cuts I had that hadn't warranted stitches, the stitches that had been torn out and the way Charles twisted my arm. I could feel him getting revenge for every single time I had talked down to him. His satisfaction was unmistakable.

The early morning birds’ voices rang shrilly through the trees and a moment later a gunshot was heard cracking through that same air. The birds’ wings panicked them into the air. One of the windows had been shot out of the SUV.

My eyes scanned the area frantically to see where it had come from. Had Christian come after me? A second later my question was answered and not by him. Another person appeared from a dense patch of foliage. The black cap on his head hid his identity for a second, but the black shotgun in his hands revealed his nature before I could see his face. It was a face I recognized.

“It’s Brandon!”

“Huh?” Charles grunted. He was still scanning the treeline. He hadn’t seen him yet.

“Let’s go!” the driver called to Charles.

Another shot went off. This one hit one of the men in the shoulder.

I pounded my heel onto Charles' foot, and he let go of me.

He yowled as he reached for me again, bouncing on one foot.

“He wants his tongue back,” I said, twisting out of his reach.

The SUV was moving now. They were leaving without Charles and me! The guy in the passenger seat had pulled out a revolver and he shot at Brandon, but missed. Brandon fired again and hit the driver. The SUV spun out of control and stopped with a skid.

Charles dove for cover while I limped toward Brandon. I had only gone a few steps when I saw him deliver death shots to both the driver of the SUV and the passenger.

My stomach flipped. I had just seen two people murdered. My hand involuntarily cradled my heart and the other one covered my mouth. I turned and fumbled my way toward the forest. I had seen both Christian and Brandon shoot people before. I shouldn’t have been so shocked, but I was as I stumbled away.

When the hand fell on my shoulder, I jumped. Brandon’s blue eyes stared into mine. He couldn’t call me. He couldn’t tell me what he wanted. He just looked apologetic as he put a small silver gun to my head.

I winced. “We’re going to do this kidnapping thing again?” I moaned. “Can’t you think of another way?”

He ground the barrel into my temple like he was grinding out a cigarette. He didn’t care, he was going to use whatever leverage he had to get what he wanted. If I understood right, he didn’t care about what happened to me because whether I died that day or with the natural course of time, I was still a dead woman. He, on the other hand, had to live forever and he did not want to live forever without his tongue. So he put my life, that would expire with or without his intervention, on the line.

Brandon put his arm around my neck and kept the barrel of his gun pointed at my head. He led me down the compound and to the front doors of the building. They had no warning. Charles hadn’t made it back and the other two guys were dead. The boy sitting at the reception desk had his feet up and he was watching something on his monitor. Brandon walked me right up to the desk. The receptionist almost fell off his chair when he saw us.

“Hi,” I said, with my head in a headlock. “Remember me? Can you please call Dr. Hilliar and tell him Henry Brandon is here and he would like his tongue back?”

The receptionist recovered quickly. One hand went to his phone and the other went for a gun in a holster under his coat.

Brandon pulled the gun on him before he could reach it.

I spoke for Brandon. “You’d better give me your gun. He really will kill you.”

The boy hesitated.

“Hand it over!” I screeched. I did not want to see another one of these hooligans shot to death in front of me.

Reluctantly, he did. I took it, and twisting a little to look at Brandon, he indicated with his eyes what I should do. I slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.

“If you have any more guns,” I continued. “Better give them to me.”

The boy shook his head and picked up the phone. His voice into the receiver was clear like nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place. “Mr. Henry Brandon is here. He’s here to pick up a parcel. Something about a tongue…”

Brandon lightly smacked me on the side of his head with his gun.

“He wants Christian Henderson’s finger, too,” I inferred.

The person on the other end of the line commented though I couldn’t hear it. “Yes, it’s Bethany,” the receptionist said. “He’s got a gun to her head. She’s okay. You’re coming? I’ll tell them.” He hung up the phone and turned to us. “Dr. Hilliar says security has been tightened since we were robbed in the spring and it will take some time to get those things out of cold storage. Would you mind waiting ten minutes or so?”

Brandon didn’t get a chance to show whether he was willing to wait ten minutes or not before I piped up. “You were robbed last spring? What was stolen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The guy looked uncomfortable, probably because Brandon pointed the gun at him again. I guessed he was interested in his answer as well.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t work here then.”

I frowned deeply. “Are there lots of body parts on ice downstairs?”

The receptionist gawked at me. “You’re not much of a hostage, are you? It seems like you're his friend and not ours. Aren’t you Lance Coldwell’s daughter?”

I glanced at Brandon. “Yeah, I like this guy better than I like all of you, but I do think he’ll shoot me if it comes to that.”

“Why?”

“He wants his tongue back more than he wants me to live, moron.”

The guy didn’t understand. “What’s the big deal? They borrowed one of his specimens.”

“Specimens? That sounds like the truth bent a hundred and eighty degrees. Is that what Dr. Hilliar told you?”

“Yeah, just now on the phone.”

I sighed. It was probably better if the receptionist didn’t know the truth.

Exactly ten minutes later, Dr. Hilliar came through the back door, carrying a Tupperware container. The sides of it were foggy like it had just come out of the freezer.

Brandon shook his gun at Dr. Hilliar, but the old codger didn’t seem to know what he wanted until I shouted, “Open it!”

With the lid off, Brandon looked inside. He turned and whispered in my ear. “Put it in my mouth.” His voice was terribly garbled and the only reason I could understand was because of the movement of his lips, which touched my ear.

I looked away, unwilling to help.

He noticed my hesitation and encouraged, “Only way to check if it’s mine.”

Quick as a bunny, I stuck my fingers into the container and wrapped them around the cold tongue. I shuddered and rocketed it into Brandon’s open mouth.

I gagged and I couldn’t look at him. The thing was frozen. How could he possibly tell if it was his or not?

The doctor put the lid back on the container that had Christian's finger in it and handed it to me. I put it in Brandon’s coat.

“Satisfied?” the doctor asked blandly.

Brandon shifted his severed tongue into his left cheek and then into his right.

“Aw! Come on! I’m gonna throw up. Is that your tongue or not? If it’s not…” I put a hand over my mouth to stop the gagging.

The doctor chimed in. “It’s the correct tongue. If you are satisfied, could you please turn Bethany over to me? Her father is unable to come downstairs and is most anxious.”

Brandon pinched his lips together and nodded.

He walked backward, still holding me with a gun to my head until he made it to the door. Checking the area, he mumbled something.

“I think he wants you to walk him to his car,” the doctor interpreted. “It’s unnecessary. No one is going to come after you, Brandon, but if you must, I’ll allow it.”

Slamming his back against the glass doors, he opened them and we were back outside. I looked around the compound. Did Brandon even have a car? I had seen him come out of the bushes. Were we going back to the bushes?

He muscled me off the property line and across the road. From there, he checked in all directions to make sure no one was following us on foot, or had us in their sniper scope, or were otherwise waiting for us. When he was satisfied, he let me go.

For a second, I thought about following him rather than going back to my wretched father and his cronies. I only took one step before Brandon turned around and pointed his gun between my eyes. I stopped dead in my tracks. The feeling was completely different than when he had held me at gunpoint just seconds before. His eyes were steely and cold. He lowered his black eyebrows and shook his head. He pointed toward the compound with his free hand and I felt exactly like a dog being told to reenter a burning building when I’d just pulled someone clear.

With my head low, I walked back to the road. From there, I got picked up by the receptionist and Charles. That sweet little receptionist boy was packing a machine gun and Charles was holding a revolver.

I jumped when I saw them. “He’s gone. Put those away.”

Charles looked spurned. “The guns aren’t for him. They’re for you. You’ve got to come back with us.”

I threw my hands into the air. “I can’t believe this place. Do you know how many guns I’ve had pointed at me since I got here? It’s getting out of hand. I’m going to end up getting shot, even if I cooperate.”

“No you won’t,” Charles soothed, not sounding reassuring at all. “Just come along and everything will be fine.”

“Whatever,” I fumed as I was hauled back into their hideout.

Not more than five minutes later, I was back in my lovely suite, with the door triple bolted behind me. The room was the same, except that there was one addition. Christian was sprawled out on my couch. Approaching him, I saw he was hurt. His face was badly bruised and one of his eyes was swollen shut. His hands were bare and the stub where his finger was missing was showing. The knuckles on his hands were cut and dark with bruises.

I knelt next to him, totally confused. Hadn’t he gotten away?