DYING TO SURVIVE (Dark Erotica) (18 page)

Spending time with her daughter, as comforting as it was - caused Meghan to question her inner psyche - her mind’s subconscious thoughts. The fact that Meghan had not spent much time thinking of her daughter while she was in captivity bothered her. She struggled with acceptance of her actions while she was in captivity, trying to discern if her thoughts and actions were a defense mechanism, some form of survival skill, or simply denying if it was all real.

As Meghan spooned her last bite of yogurt into her mouth from the cup, she once again wished Ryan was available to talk to her. She had so many questions she wanted to ask, but was incapable of doing so. There was no doubt in Meghan’s mind that she loved her daughter, and for now that would have to suffice.

As the spoon circled the empty yogurt cup, Meghan’s mind wandered to thoughts of survival. The simple thoughts that she had struggled with, and the ones that came without even thinking at all. Life’s difficult decisions becoming simple and without thought. Survival, Meghan decided, was something that the human mind did
without
thinking. As she stopped thinking and watched the spoon circle the cup, she realized that it was log since empty.

Meghan looked up and focused on her daughter.

“Sweetie, are you finished?” she asked Amanda.

Amanda nodded her head, unaware of the thoughts that filled her mother’s mind. Her hands covered in milk, and her bowl free of Cheerios, her morning was complete and ready for what the day might bring.

“Momma?” Amanda asked from her chair at the table.

“Yes, sweetie,” Meghan responded, realizing she was still staring into the empty cup of yogurt.

“Gram said things die because their time on earth is over with, that’s what she said,” Amanda stated without emotion as she fished her fingers through the bowl of milk.

Surprised at Amanda’s recollection and recital of the statement, Meghan lowered her empty yogurt cup and focused on her daughter for a moment. She began to feel uncomfortable, and tried to decide if it was Amanda’s statement regarding death, death in general, or thoughts of Elena that caused the uneasy feelings that began to fill her.

“Baby, what was she talking about when she said that?” Meghan asked as he stood from the table.

“Chancey died, momma. He wasn’t at Gram’s when you were sick. He was gone. His bed was gone and so was his dishes. Gram said he died. His time on earth was over with,” Amanda slid out of her chair and onto the floor.

Meghan recalled her mother’s explanation of the death of her cat, Chancey. The cat was almost twenty years old, and had been a part of the family since Meghan was about ten years old. The cat died a few weeks before Meghan’s abduction, and she struggled even then with attempting to explain the death to her daughter. She reached over the table and picked up her daughter’s bowl, wondering what she might offer to make the thought of death easier for her daughter to understand.

“Well, baby,” Meghan walked to the sink, recalling the family cat sleeping in her bed when she was in middle school. The cat often provided Meghan comfort as it snuggled against her body to stay warm. Once, when Meghan was twelve years old, she had closed her door for privacy after a tough day at school. The young cat pressed against the door and meowed until Meghan let the cat enter her room.

Promptly, and without knowledge of Meghan’s hardship, the cat found its place on the bed. As it nestled against Meghan’s torso and began to purr, she smiled, realizing that the cat had no knowledge of her day at school. It provided unconditional love, regardless of the surroundings.

“Momma, are you crying because Chancy is dead?” Amanda asked as she stood beside Meghan, her hands raised high in the air.

As Meghan realized she was standing at the sink crying, she wiped the tears from her eyes and wondered.

“Yes, sweetie. Chancy was a good cat and a great friend,” Meghan dropped the bowl and yogurt cup into the sink and picked up her daughter.

“Sweetie, I suppose God decides. He decides when it’s time for things to go up to heaven and live with him,” Meghan answer came without thought or planning.

“Everything goes to heaven when it dies? Even Stephanie?” Amanda turned to her mother and placed her milk soaked hands onto her face.

Meghan, recalling the death of Amanda’s gold fish Stephanie, pondered her response. She smiled and opted for the easy response, and as she did, she wondered exactly who did decide and how.

“Yes, sweetie.  All things go to heaven,” Meghan paused and swallowed the small lump that rose in her throat.

“Even Stephanie.”

CHAPTER TWENTY - ONE

FUCK IT. YOU’RE GOING TO DIE ANYWAYS.

TWENTY - ONE.
What little interaction that Ryan had with Meghan allowed him, for the first time in his life, to
feel.
Now, filled with emotion, Ryan felt a certain depth within him that he had not for his entire adult life. He felt as if his life had purpose. He now knew why people developed a love for a person that they were not bound to by the ties of family or blood. Ryan felt, although she was no longer in his presence, that Meghan had become part of his life.

A week prior, after a thorough survey of the land that surrounded the home, Ryan was certain that his plan
could
work. The home was positioned approximately two miles into the rural area that surrounded the city. The ten acres of land that surrounded the home allowed access from the front through the driveway that led to the house. The rear of the property was primarily pasture land surrounded by a fence with two gates that allowed access into the fenced acreage. A small pond was centered in the ten acre pasture.

Now sitting in his vehicle in the driveway, Ryan inhaled through his nose. A slow deep breath allowed a calmness to wash over him and provided him with assurance that he would be able to proceed.

Dressed in Khaki pants, a pressed khaki shirt, and boots, Ryan turned his head and looked around the rural area that surrounded the front of the home. There wasn’t another house within half a mile of the residence. It would be difficult, he assured himself, for anyone to hear or see what was about to happen.

Slowly, he inhaled another breath through his nose and grabbed the door handle of the stolen van. As he exhaled slowly through his mouth, he pulled the handle and stepped from the van into the driveway. After double-checking the placement of his photo identification clipped to the light jacket he was wearing, he methodically walked up the drive toward the front door of the residence.

Standing at the front door, Ryan inhaled another slow breath through his nose. As he held his breath, he pressed the button for the doorbell affixed beside the frame of the door. As he waited for the resident to answer the door, he exhaled and listened for any sign of movement in the home. After thirty seconds, he knocked on the door three times sharply.

As he heard the bolt in the door lock turning, Ryan began to feel relief. Planning any type of event and not being able to execute the plan never settled very well with him. As the door opened, Ryan looked up into the eyes of the resident and spoke clearly and with precision.

“Sir, I’m Blake Johnson with The Gas Service Company. Our systems have indicated a leak of forty-two cubic feet per hour at this residence. Although we are uncertain of the exact leak location, we’re quite certain that it is coming from this residence,” Ryan motioned to each side of the front of the residence as he spoke.

“I’ll need to ask your permission to enter the residence and attempt to locate and repair the leak,” Ryan turned to face the man and looked into his eyes.

Based on the expression on the man’s face, Ryan began to feel at ease.

“Wow. Here? Shit. Yeah, by all means, come in,” the man said as he opened the door.

Ryan pushed his hands deep into his pants pockets, stepped past the man, and into the living room of the home.

“I appreciate your courtesy - especially this late at night. As this isn’t the time of year that most homes consume natural gas, we made note of the leak right away. Can you direct me to the gas furnace and gas water heater, please?” Ryan blinked his eyes and offered a small grin as he spoke.

“Sure, follow me,” the man said as he stepped around Ryan.

As the man walked toward the kitchen, Ryan reached under the tail of his Jacket and into the waistband of his pants. This practice measure provided enough reassurance for Ryan to become comfortable of his ability to retrieve the pistol from his waistband without effort or concern. After placing his hands into his front pockets again, he followed the man to the basement door located at the edge of the kitchen.

As the man began to walk down the stairs, Ryan looked down the steps and inhaled through his nose slowly. Without thought, he pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed his palms on the thighs of his pants as the man worked his way to the bottom of the steps.

“Well, it’s down here in the utility room, you’re going to have to come down those steps,” the man chuckled.

“Sorry, I thought I was going to sneeze,” Ryan lied as he began to walk down the steps.

As the man reached the basement, he turned to the left and disappeared from view. Ryan walked down the steps, reached the landing, and turned left around the wall that separated the stairs from the body of the basement. In an illuminated room full of boxes and mechanical equipment the man stood waiting, his hands placed firmly on his hips.

“I don’t smell a damned thing,” the man sighed as he stared at the heater.

“You can’t
always
smell them. The leaks, that is,” Ryan assured him as he approached.

“It’s why I brought the leak detector. It can detect a miniscule amount up to 50 parts per million. Far below our nose’s ability to determine any form of leak. Step aside please,” Ryan said as he entered the room.

The man stepped to the side of the door and allowed Ryan to pass between him and the heater that stood beside the entrance of the door. As Ryan reached the rear of the heater, out of the man’s view, he pressed the
test
button on the detector he had purchased at Home Depot an hour earlier. The detector beeped twice loudly, startling the man on the other side of the heater.

“Well, we have one small one right here. We may need to evacuate the home if there’s many more. It’s difficult to be too certain yet. I guess now is the time to ask, is there anyone else in the home?” Ryan asked softly.

“No, I’m the only one that lives here,” the man responded as he looked at the other side of the heater.

Standing on the opposite side of the heater, out of view of the man, Ryan placed his detector back into the belt clip. Slowly and quietly, he removed the pistol from the waistband of his pants. Cautiously, he removed the safety.

“You are the owner of the residence, are you not? Joshua Volvo?” out of view, Ryan raised the pistol and waited for a response.

“Yep, that’s me,” Josh responded from the other side of the heater.

“Two more places I need to check, just a minute,” Ryan said as he stepped around the heater and into view.

“What the fuck…” Josh began to shout as Ryan came into view.

Ryan pointed the barrel at the crotch of the Josh’s jeans and pulled the trigger slowly.

The explosion was deafening, and the concussion from the recoil of the pistol startled Ryan. Quickly, he recovered, pointing the pistol at Josh’s chest. As Ryan stood pointing the pistol, Josh’s legs gave out and he slowly lowered himself to the floor.

“Don’t say a word, or I will shoot you in the chest. I prefer not to listen to you at all, so be quiet if you don’t mind. Whining has always irritated me,” Ryan said loudly.

Ryan licked the roof of his mouth in an effort to remove the taste of the cordite. The coppery smell of blood filled the air as Josh fell to the floor, groaning. As he sat on the floor, he continued to moan and press his hands into this lap.

Ryan knelt beside Josh and began to speak quietly.

“You see, I wanted to be certain to shoot you in the groin. I have no idea how that feels, but I suspect it isn’t a great feeling. Am I correct? The detectives will look at the psychological aspect of it later. They’ll assume you were disgusted with yourself, as you should be. Well, enough of that. You have no idea what I’m speaking of, and to be quite honest,” Ryan paused and pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“I am tired of looking at you and speaking to you,” Ryan stood and looked around the room.

“Oh lord, call me an ambulance. Holy shit, I need an ambulance,” Josh shouted as he pushed his hands against his groin. Blood seeped through his fingers and onto the floor.

“Enough. Stop speaking. Listen, Mr. Volvo. I am here in an effort to send you to hell for what you have done to your niece, Meghan. You, sir, disgust me,” Ryan said softly as he pointed the pistol at Josh’s temple.

“I need an ambulance,” Josh begged.

“An ambulance?” Ryan chuckled.

“Fuck it. You’re going to die anyways,” Ryan whispered.

As the Josh began to speak, Ryan pulled the trigger. Almost immediately, Josh fell backward onto the floor. As the blood oozed from Josh’s groin and head, Ryan placed the pistol in his waistband and slowly removed his jacket.

Ryan folded his jacket into a large thick bundle and placed it on the floor on the right side of Josh. After placing the jacket on the floor, he reached into his front pocket and removed a pair of rubber gloves and one cartridge for the pistol. He placed the cartridge in between his elbow and his torso, pressing it against his shirt. Carefully, he stretched the rubber gloves over his hands and removed the pistol from his waistband and the cartridge from between his elbow and stomach.