CHAPTER SEVEN
“Give me the scissors,” Conor said, reaching toward Julia.
She stared at James, gagged and tied up on the floor. She clutched the scissors against her chest. Conor lowered his voice. “He can’t do anything. I promise. I just don’t want you hurting yourself. Let me have them.”
A trickle of blood leaked from her left nostril. She sniffed, and then said, “No,” as she smeared the blood with the back of her wrist.
Conor squatted next to James and untied the white gag.
“Call the police,” said James. “That girl is insane. She almost killed—”
Conor covered James’ mouth. “Where’s your wallet?” he said, then lifted his hand.
James blinked. “What?”
Conor rolled James on his stomach, patted him down, and pulled a wallet out of his back pocket.
“Untie me,” said James, rocking back and forth.
Conor opened the wallet and took out the driver’s license. He rolled James to his back and dropped the wallet on his chest. He held out the license. “You’re James Stockton?”
“What are you doing?” sputtered James. “Untie—”
Conor stomped on James’ shoulder. He watched James wince, waited a moment, and then held the license in front of his face. “You’re James Stockton?”
James nodded.
“You live on Turner Avenue in Massey, Ohio?”
James nodded again.
Conor slipped the license into his pocket. “What do you do in Massey?”
“I’m, uh... I’m a superintendent of a school district.”
“Which school district?”
“Woodlands.”
Conor made a ‘Tsk, tsk’ sound and shook his head. He turned, noticing Julia behind him, blank-faced, her eyes trained on James. A trickle of dried blood marked her upper lip. She tightened her grip on the scissors.
“Well, James Stockton, superintendent of Woodlands School District, you got a problem,” said Conor. “Julia looks like she wants to cut your junk off. And me? I just want to beat your head in, maybe with a hammer. How’s that sound?”
James squeaked. His bottom lip quivered. He had no problem slapping a girl around, but he turned to Jell-O when someone got in his face. It took all Conor had to keep from pummeling him.
He grabbed James. People who thought they were on top of the food chain—people who had money, a labradoodle, a mansion in the suburbs, and a job telling other people what to do—rarely had a backbone.
Seeing a stream of piss run out of James onto the carpet proved the point.
James thought he could do what he wanted to Julia because, in his mind, she was below him.
She was a toy. James was in charge. He was untouchable.
Until now.
Conor rolled James to his belly and untied his ankles and wrists. Wrapping the electrical cord around his fist, he kicked James in the side.
“Zip your pants and stand up.”
James pulled up his pants, stuck his wallet in his back pocket, and struggled to his feet. Piss stained his chinos. He wiped at the stain with a trembling hand and looked at Conor. “What are you going to do?”
Conor swept his arm toward the front door. “Nothing. Get out.”
James looked at Julia holding the scissors. “Can you tell her to move?”
Conor shrugged. “She’s not doing anything. Start walking.”
“But I can’t—”
Conor lifted his fist. “Yes, you can.”
James walked toward the front door. If Julia stabbed him, Conor wouldn’t stop her.
She’d earned the right to do whatever she wanted to him.
He watched her pivot, leveling the scissors at James as he walked by.
Then James was past her, opening the front door.
Julia lowered the scissors. Conor flexed his hand, feeling the electrical cord tighten around his knuckles.
He felt bad that Julia was letting this creep go home without a scratch.
“Hey, James,” he said, pulling the driver’s license from his pocket.
He tapped a finger on the license. “Expect a visit from me.” He stepped across the room, slipping the license into the pocket of his jeans.
“We can hang out. Use your Jacuzzi and watch a game on your flat-screen. You know, pal around. That’s okay, right? ”
“I don’t underst—”
Conor punched James in the throat. James dropped and crawled out the door, gasping and holding his throat.
Conor followed him into the hall and kicked him in the stomach.
Air whooshed out of James’ lungs as he bowled over.
Conor stood over him and stomped his crotch.
James mouthed a silent scream, grabbed his junk, and balled up in the fetal position. Julia watched from the doorframe.
“If you want, I’ll keep it up,” Conor said, looking back at Julia.
“When I’m done, he won’t bother anyone ever again.
” He kneeled and grabbed James’ ear. “I’m calling some buddies of mine in Massey.
Maybe you know them. They ride with The Locos.
I fixed their bikes, and they owe me, so they’ll be checking on you. ”
He twisted James’ ear, listening to him wail.
“But watch out for Pedro,” Conor whispered.
“He’s just out of the joint and, from what I hear, he really, really hated school.
Got picked on. Bullied for years. And no one ever did a thing.
He’d like nothing better than to get his hands on a school superintendent for payback. In fact, he’d love it.”
Conor unwrapped the electrical cord from his hand and dropped it on James. He looked at Julia and spread his arms. “I got all night. You want me to cut him loose or keep it up?”
Julia wiped her bloody nose, dropped the scissors, and walked into her apartment.
“Guess we’re calling it a night, James,” said Conor. “But I’ll see you soon. Count on it.”
He picked up the scissors and stepped into Julia’s apartment. Walking into the kitchen, he kneeled in front of the sink, opened the cabinet doors, and pulled out a bucket and some rags.
A good hard scrubbing cleaned most of the piss and blood out of the carpet.
Finished cleaning, he looked at Julia’s beach painting above the couch. He touched the girl in the painting. It looked to him like Julia had painted a self-portrait. The girl was beautiful.
He dumped the dirty water, put the bucket and rags away, then walked to Julia’s bedroom. The door was closed. He knocked lightly. “Julia?”
Silence.
He opened the door. Julia lay on the bed with her back to him, outlined in a touch of light leaking through the window across the room. He shut the door and eased onto the bed behind her.
“Hey,” he said. “It’s gonna be okay. He’s gone.”
She turned to face him. He reached for her. She pulled away.
“Sorry,” he said. “I forgot—no touching. I’ll leave if you want.”
“You can touch me,” she whispered. Her eyes closed. Her breathing slowed. Then she slept.
He watched her breathe through barely parted lips, how her eyes moved behind closed lids, no doubt surveying a dreamworld.
Her brow pinched and her neck muscles tightened.
He touched her cheek, lightly brushing her scar.
She exhaled and relaxed. He ran his fingertip down the bridge of her nose.
Over her lips. His cell buzzed in his pocket.
It had to be Sully or Fitz.
He sat up, pulled his cell out, turned it off, and slipped it back into his pocket.
They’d have to wait. Lying on his side next to Julia, he stared at her and ran his hand over her forehead and through her hair.
It wasn’t long before his breathing fell into rhythm with hers.
The comfort of her bed, her body heat, the smell of her hair, all of it held him there like a spell until he, like her, slipped into a dream as relaxing as a hot bath.