Owen realized Shiloh was awake, her eyes glittering in the low light. Like Kelly, she kept her chin down, masking her awareness. I don’t want her to associate me with this hellish place. Owen raised his voice an octave, disguising himself as he told her soothingly, “Getting you out of here.” She shook her head, gaze cutting over to where Warrant was beginning to stir. Without looking, Owen reached out and reapplied the blood choke hold, stilling the movements within seconds. In no time, Warrant was effectively knocked out with the induced syncope, and Owen had the use of both hands again.
The broad collar was next on his agenda, and Owen felt along the edges of the leather, quickly finding the overlapping area held in place with a tiny lock. The blade would be best for this, but the idea of bringing a blade that close to Shiloh and scaring her any more than she already had to be was abhorrent. Owen cast around quickly, his attention falling on the man’s discarded pants. Surely it can’t be that easy. There was a keyring in one pocket, one for the truck, one he assumed was for the man’s home, and a jingling-jangling clump of keys each tiny enough to match the lock. The fourth one he fit to the lock turned easily, and the shackle clicked open.
Sight of the rough, reddened skin underneath the collar turned his stomach, as did the raised burn marks from the electric prods the man had used to keep the girl inside his little torture compound. Shiloh stared at him, at the mask keeping her from seeing him, his big hands cupping each side of her little neck, and she had no fear in her gaze. Totally like her brother. She’s tough as shit.
Owen swept her up in his arms and walked to the front door, edging it open with his hip. Kelly stood in the yard near the truck, a large boy angled in front of him, fists drawn up to shoulder height. Kelly was talking, explaining the things Owen had authorized when he caught sight of Shiloh. The little girl scrambled, hands shoving at Owen in an effort not to escape, but simply to get on the ground. He set her down feet-first, and the moment she connected with the dirt, the little girl pelted towards Kelly, who was headed her way at a quick trot. Kelly looked at Owen over the girl’s head as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The stare held for only a breath before Kelly turned her towards the road and the woods beyond.
Standing there watching as the little boy who’d had to be far too grown-up escorted his littler sister to safety, Owen took in a deep breath, the first since walking away from the car. Once beyond the dirt line where the fence was buried, the two kids paused, flashes of light color telling him Kelly was putting the clothing on Shiloh, making the rest of the walk more comfortable at least. Then they were gone, beyond where the scarce light could reach, following the lifeline of the road to the sanctuary of the car, and eventually to the freedom Owen had promised.
The boy who’d been talking to Kelly had turned and was staring at Owen. He took a halting step towards the porch, then teetered to a stop. “You gonna kill him?” Deeper than he’d expected, the voice held an edge of anger, and a hatred Owen experienced a strange kinship with. Owen nodded slowly, glad he’d retained the mask. The boy’s chest expanded and held, then he exhaled on a rush. “Good. Kill him slow.”
“Kid, what’s your name?” Owen studied him, sheer physical size testifying the boy verged on the edge of adolescent, certain in his gut the kid wouldn’t have lived another month in Warrant’s care.
“Terrence.” He backed up a step and his legs folded underneath him, depositing his body into a loose-limbed sitting position. “We aren’t supposed to have names, but mine is Terrence.”
“Terrence.” He gave the boy that affirmation, not missing the downward jerk of his chin that spoke so eloquently of the pain the dehumanization had left behind. “After I leave, the police will come. They’ll bring people to take care of you. Of all the kids.”
“Not Kelly or Shiloh, though.” Owen stared at him, then shook his head side to side in a slow arc. “Good. They deserve better. Far as I’m concerned, they were never here.” Standing straight, Owen marveled at this boy’s quick grasp of what he’d been asking for. “And neither were you.”
A loud thump came from inside the cabin, and Owen was reminded that he was on a time constraint. “Thanks.” Terrence slumped to the ground, curling himself into a ball. Owen shucked his jacket and swung the backpack off one shoulder, bringing it around to his chest so he could more easily dig through it. “I’ve got clothing for you and the other kids. Shirts and shorts, some socks. No shoes, those were too hard to transport.” He held the packages out as he made his way down the short steps, crouching down well away from where Terrence lay. “When I’m gone, you and the other kids should stay out of the cabin.” He ripped open a pack of shirts and gathered the hem of one in his hands. He leaned far over and tugged it down over Terrence’s head, smoothing it into place as the boy struggled to get his arms through the sleeves. “It’s not much, but it means you won’t face the police naked.”
“Kelly and Shiloh are lucky.” Owen shook his head, dismissing the statement as he opened the shorts and socks and handed Terrence the additional clothing. “Yeah, they are.” Terrence accepted the fabric, cradling it to his chest. “That”—he indicated the mask—“might be scary, but you’re a good man underneath.”
No, I’m not. Owen couldn’t say as much to the boy, couldn’t risk any kind of confession, so he chose to say nothing. With the remaining clothing selections piled around Terrence’s feet, Owen stood and took a step back, slipping into his jacket. “Don’t go into the cabin. Promise me.”
“Oh, I can promise that. None of us want to be inside there. Nothing good ever happened there.”
Inside the cabin, he found Warrant had worked his way halfway off the bed, arms and legs twisted painfully in their restraints as the knots tying him to the bedframe held tightly. From the position of the ball joint of one shoulder, Owen thought the man had probably dislocated it. The streaming tears and snot-filled nose gave weight to his suspicions. This wasn’t just a panic reaction. This was real pain. About fuckin’ time. He could see it was getting harder for Warrant to breathe, the gag not providing any leeway for acquiring additional air. “You need to control yourself or you’re going to die from suffocation.” As the tissues in Warrant’s nostrils swelled, even less air made its way through, and it was only a couple of minutes before Warrant hung limp in his bonds. “You’ve effectively choked yourself out.” He realized all he had to do was stand there, and Warrant would be dead within minutes. No dramatic speech, no flourish with the blade or gun, nothing to serve as notice that anything of note had happened here. Maybe that’s the better way for this trash. Without calling attention to himself via the death, this could almost appear to be a gone-wrong death. Watch and learn, grasshopper.
Hands clasped behind his back, Owen prepared to stand sentinel on the death of Earl Warrant, witnessing the ignominious snuffing out of a life. It would happen without fanfare, and the moment when the man failed to take in another breath would be nearly anticlimactic.
Warrant’s chest lifted with a heave, his body sucking in another lungful of air. Owen glanced at the covers strewn across the bed, gaze catching and holding on the smears of blood marking where Shiloh had lain. He’d ignored that while tending to her and getting her out of the cabin, leaving the challenges of dealing with what was pretty obviously a physical violation of her tiny body for later.