Broken (17 page)

12

Randy sat at the table in his motel room, the television on in the background, the volume just audible, his concentration focused between the laptop and the address book he’d stolen from Sam’s apartment.

He navigated through the computer’s menu, selecting T-Box 655, and smiled selecting three listed devices, and activating them.

Three audio bars lined the screen, each one identified by its location; one each for Sam’s apartment, Jase’s apartment, and Pete’s apartment.

He set each one of them to ‘record’ then slipped a bud into his ear while his gaze flew far away.

The odds were against keeping Sam in the hospital too long, for all the blood streaking the woman, he hadn’t gotten around to causing as much damage as he’d intended.
Got caught up talking, can’t believe it, God, Eric! Why’d you have to come? Huh? Why’d you have to get involved little bear? Please, God, let him be okay, please! ‘Stop’ he says, heh, it’s never that simple, not for me anyway.

He ran the night through his head, over and over again. Over and over again, he felt the blade slide into his little brother’s belly.

Sitting at the table, his gaze lost in the previous few hours, even though his eyes stared pointlessly at the television, he took a deep breath, the heady combination of his and Eric’s scent refreshed in the back of his nose.

Lifting the front of the jumpsuit up to his face, he breathed again and felt his chest quiver as his mouth twisted and his eyes filled, turning luminous with deep tears. “I’m so sorry, Eric,” he breathed, sliding onto the floor, leaning back against the bed with his knees in his chest, his arms wrapped around them, while he rocked blankly.

--

“Count backwards from ten, Eric,” a soft voice instructed in his ear.

Ran,
“Ten… ni…”

“He out?” the surgeon asked.

The anesthetist nodded, honestly surprised he was conscious at all when they brought him in, considering blood loss alone he should’ve been out.

It was everything he wanted, Randy was holding him again, he could taste him too and he could feel tears of joy moving over his eyes.

“
Ran, please…” he smiled, pressing that stubbly cheek into his palm. Something was wrong, this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. ‘What happened?’ he wondered.

A flash of hot in his belly would have doubled him over if Randy hadn’t been there to hold him up, ‘God he feels so good, so warm, it’s cold in here.’

“
Maybe Randy’s broken, maybe he CAN’T love like we can,” his mother’s voice sneered from behind him.

‘
Yes he can! He does more than you’ll ever know,’ Eric wanted to shout, but he’d seen far too much. He knew he’d never be able to handle those punishments she’d laid on the older boy. His eyes flicked to her case, falling on The Big One. The same one that, if she hadn’t stopped when she did, might have landed Randy in the hospital, possibly with life-long damage. He still shuddered with the memory of that scream, and the blood.

For days, Randy hadn’t got out of bed except to go to the bathroom.

Waiting for his brother to return, Eric could recall sitting on the bed sobbing with the sound of Randy’s cries, groans and whimpers coming to his ears from behind the closed door.

Though Randy had tried to hide it, Eric also noted the obvious fear on his big brothers face every time their mother came into the room. Instead, he did everything he could to take care of the older boy. He brought him food, helped him wash and make sure the torn up skin was clean and cared for. And while Randy slept, curled on his side, with his head in Eric’s lap, it was
his
kind gentle hands that soothed his big brother when the nightmares brought the pain back.

“
No, momma, please, he’ll do what you say,” Eric pulled on the woman’s arm as it drew back again, the wooden spoon with the holes in it raised high, its imprint visible over and over again in the little boys bottom.

As was always the case once daddy and Mike were gone, and on a day when the boys were home from school, they were required to be naked until momma gave them permission to dress.

“
You’re damned right he will!” she gritted her teeth, flicking her arm and sending the little boy stumbling backwards into the wall.

“
Ow, please,” he asked again from the floor, rubbing the sudden bump on his head.

“
Fine,” she nodded, reaching into her bag pulling out a leather dog collar. She unbent Randy from over her knee, holding him by the shoulders on his knees between her legs. His torso shook but he quickly quieted his cries for fear of making her angrier, and his situation worse.

‘
No, momma, please don’t, please not again,’ Eric remembered thinking.

She closed the collar around Randy’s neck, making sure she could fit two fingers into it, and nodded even as he shook his head, pleading, his tears coming in a new wave. “No, momma, please don’t, don’t leave me alone again,” Randy shook his head.

Her hand slid down his naked body, settling between his legs where she squeezed until he screamed and begged, falling forward, held up only by the collar pressing into his throat.

When he was done gagging, Eric watched her pull the soft leather manacles out and fasten them around his brother’s unresisting wrists. Next came the chain. Once it was clamped onto the collar, momma used the little padlock to make sure Randy couldn’t get himself free, even if somehow he did manage to get out of the cuffs.

“
Now get!” she ordered, grasping a handful of Eric’s hair to get him onto his feet. Somehow, he’d always known part of her cruelty was borne of jealousy. He knew she envied how deeply the boys loved each other, and to protect themselves, they often woke before dawn so each of them could be found in their own bed. But sometimes she caught them wrapped protectively and lovingly together, though what it would cause for them later in the day was never certain.

She marched her naked boys through the house, down to the basement, and into the crawl space for the far too familiar ritual of chaining her older son to two of the beams, his arms pulled taut between them, the leash then run over a pipe that ran over head and tied tightly, pulling on his neck, forcing him to remain somewhere between standing and kneeling until she put a stool under his knees, allowing him a half-restful position.

“
Now, you think about your attitude mister and maybe I’ll let you out before morning!” she ordered, yanking Eric out of the crawlspace behind her, both of the boys’ faces shiny with tears, as she closed and locked the door on the sound of her middle boy sobbing.

--

“…and in local news today,” Randy’s head snapped up, his tear-gummed eyes opened and, stiffly, he pushed himself up, returning to the table, “After fleeing his home town of Glen Falls late last night, the Northside Rapist, identified as Randall Custon, continues to elude police.”

In the corner of the screen, his Staff Link security identification photo appeared along with his vital statistics.

As the anchorwoman continued, his photo was replaced with a publicity shot of Sam with her name just beneath it, “Meanwhile, psychologist Samantha Backer, Custon’s 13
^th
known victim, died early this morning from complications of the injuries incurred during the attack.” Randy turned his head, surprised at the orange glow that barely seeped through a break in the room-darkening drapes. A quick glance at the clock told him he’d slept almost the entire morning away, a fact his rumbling stomach confirmed. “Ms. Backer, a twenty-five year old psychologist with the Greater Outreach Center of Dubuque, grew up in the same small town as Custon. It is currently unknown whether the two had a history that might have played a part in her abduction and eventual death.”

He watched the generic hotline number scroll across the screen as his photo lingered on the screen again.

“Any information about Ms. Backer’s funeral is being withheld at this time. Local area police are asking anyone with knowledge of Mr. Custon’s whereabouts to call this toll free number…” he changed the channel and smiled, picking up his .9mm and checking it casually. “Flush-em-out 101,” he grinned, shaking his head. “Good try, fellas, but I got other plans.”

On the computer screen, the sound bar for Jase’s apartment jumped in an all too familiar rhythm. Randy slipped the bud into his ear and selected the audio bar, playing it back from the ‘shave and a hair-cut, two-bits’ knock.

--

At the doorway, Jase tapped out ‘shave and a hair-cut, two-bits,’ drawing Sam’s attention from the TV Guide in her lap. Sitting beside her, he thumbed a slip of hair behind her ear, smiling softly.

“The hospital’s swarming with under-covers, including Jesse’s own people. The cover story went out this morning, AFTER you were brought here.”

“And you have to leave me alone,” she smiled wanly. “I gotta say, I’m pretty surprised to see the guy get involved with this so deeply, especially for someone he doesn’t even know.”

“You
are
his flesh and blood, and from what I can tell, so far, he’s a stand up guy. As soon as Mrs. Caffey told him what that Waldham bitch and Mr. Caffey did, he wanted to come up and meet you. But then, when he found out…” he shrugged, “he called in some favors and brought a lot of folks to the search parties.”

She shook her head, “I don’t wanna think about it, about him, or her, or search parties, or anything, and I don’t want you to go, but I wouldn’t mind a little alone time, too, y’know?” she asked.

He lifted up the blankets, grinning in spite of himself at the sight of her pink bunny pajamas. “You’re going to spend tomorrow with my .38 in your,” he looked again, “your jammies need pockets,” he smirked.

She couldn’t help but grin, “I’ll keep it in my hand, thanks.”

“Good,” he shook his head, smiling, warmed with gratitude for Eric’s interference that probably saved her life. “Hey, before I forget, can you recommend someone for Eric to talk with? I told him I’d bring him some information when I go back to the hospital.”

Tears slid down her cheeks and her mouth turned down. She nodded, “Yeah, I know someone.”

“God help any son of a bitch that tries to hurt you. So help me, that bastard’s better off swallowing a bullet than to come across me after what he’s done,” he ground through clenched teeth.

“Jase, you can’t hate him. Please, don’t let yourself go there,” she sniffled.

“He wasn’t
born
this way. He wasn’t supposed to be this way, he was
made
into the man he is,” her breath caught in her throat, the sound of Randy’s voice in her head, the sight of his tears, the rage that tried to strangle him on its way out as he paced in front of her, laying out the details of years of humiliation and degradation. “He was just a little boy that got hurt too deep too many times. He coulda been anybody. It just so happened that it was him.”

“Are you shittin’ me?” Jase was incredulous.

“No. I’m really not. What she did to those boys…” she shook her head, “she betrayed the most sacred trust there is, Jase. She was their MOTHER. She perverted something sacred. Every evil thing he’s done needs to be laid at
her
doorstep.”

He nodded, not wanting to see her so upset, and certainly not on behalf of the psycho that nearly killed her,
how can she? I mean she’s SEEN what he’s done, she almost, I don’t get it.
“Alright, okay,” he soothed, “I get what you’re saying, Sam, I really do. But tell me this, when is he supposed to take responsibility for his actions? Huh? When? She didn’t hold a gun to his head and tell him to rape those women. To kill the, what? Five that came after Terry Lowenthal,
BEFORE
this spree. When does he take ownership of his own shit, huh?”

“I don’t know,” she shook her head, another fresh volley of saline falling down her cheeks “I just know he wasn’t supposed to be what he became. There was just too much hurt to cope with.”

“Yeah, well, you keep on thinking like that, ‘cause you’re a better man than I, Gunga Din,” he scoffed.

Sam drew him toward her, pressing their lips gently together, “Not better, just different,” she smiled. “A couple of the few things that we know for certain about serial killers, is that 1) more than 99 percent of them are male, 2) no matter how impassioned or out of control they get in the act of killing, they tend to objectify their victims, dehumanize them, and 3) in a lot of cases there’s a psychological inability to make an emotional connection to others. Randy’s different,” she took a breath, the sound of his emotion laden voice in her head,
“He was
everything
to me and she turned him against me, she made him doubt me, doubt my love. I have NEVER stopped loving him! And I never will!”
“There’s too much inside him,” she stroked his stubbly cheek. “He’s not gonna be able to contain it for very much longer, and when he self-destructs, it’s gonna be bad.”