Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Henry
The walk to the old barn took just under an hour if I didn’t push the pace.
I could have taken the ATV and been there in ten minutes.
But I needed the walk, even if my ankle still throbbed slightly. A walk would do me good.
The night air cut clean through me, heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth.
The only sounds were an occasional hoot from an owl and my boots crunching on sticks and dried leaves.
Everything else was peaceful. The kind of quiet that settled into my bones and made me feel like the world had stopped turning. It helped me think.
I kept replaying the conversation I’d had with Ariana during dinner. The way her eyes lit up with hope when she asked if she could leave.
It caught me off guard. I’d assumed once she knew the truth about what Victor had done, she’d understand. That she’d feel safer with me.
But that question had landed like a blade between my ribs.
I wanted to protect her.
But a darker part of me wanted to keep her.
The last of the lights from the house vanished behind a row of trees, leaving me in relative darkness, apart from the moon.
But I didn’t need it to light the way. I knew every inch of this property.
I’d spent hours walking the two-thousand-plus acres of forest, pasture, and hunting ground.
Memorized every tree. Every bush. Every path.
Like my father taught me all those years ago during survival training.
After walking a few more miles with nothing but my thoughts to occupy myself, the barn came into view, a gray shape against the darkened sky.
I approached the reinforced door and ran my thumb over the biometric scanner.
The soft click of the lock disengaging echoed in the quiet.
The door groaned when I pulled it open, the smell hitting me the second I stepped inside.
Cold air, metal, and disinfectant. Beneath it, something older that soaked too deep into the concrete to ever wash away.
The previous owner had used this building to process game. I’d meant to convert it to something useful. I never got around to it.
Now I was glad I hadn’t.
It was perfect for what I needed tonight. Remote. Sterile. Soundproof.
And already equipped with chains.
I closed the door behind me, then rounded the corner.
Doctor Wilson Schaffer was right where Blake said he’d be. Barefoot on the concrete, wrists suspended from chains bolted to the ceiling. A single floodlight burned down from above, bleaching his skin white and casting long shadows across the floor.
When Blake eagerly agreed to bring Schaffer to me so I could ask some questions, I thought it would take a few days for him to complete his task. Then again, Blake worked with the efficiency of a trained soldier. Once he had his orders, he completed his mission.
My boots echoed on the concrete as I walked toward Schaffer, but he didn’t react. His head lolled forward, a dark bruise spreading along his temple from where Blake most likely had introduced him to the butt of his gun.
I studied him for a moment. The sweat-stained shirt. The sagging belly pressing against the fabric. The bald spot he tried to hide with a really bad combover.
Then I drove my fist into his ribs.
He woke with a choked cry, his eyes snapping open, panic flaring as he took in the chains, the light, the space.
“Morning, doc. Or, I guess I should say, ‘Evening.’”
“Wh-Where am I?” His voice cracked. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll be asking the questions.” I dragged a folding chair across the floor, the metal legs screeching against the concrete. “You can start by telling me why you think you’re here.” I plopped down in the chair.
“I…” He blinked, confused. “I don’t know.”
“Think harder. Your life depends on it.”
His gaze flicked over my face, searching. Calculating. Like a man trying to determine the rules of a game he didn’t realize he’d already lost.
“Is this about Daphne Summers?” he asked somewhat hesitantly.
“There we go.” I leaned back, propping one ankle on my knee. “And I was worried I’d have to…jog your memory. Now tell me. What arrangement did you have with Victor Kane?”
“I’m overseeing his mother-in-law’s care. I can’t tell you anything more without violating privacy laws.”
I threw my head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the barren space. “Privacy laws? You disregarded your oath the second you started drugging a woman for money, but now you’re worried about patient privacy?”
“I never disregarded my oath.”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “I’ll give you one more chance to be a decent person. Victor called you Sunday night. What did you talk about?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that information.”
“Pity.”
I stood and crossed to the workbench, my hand brushing the various knives mounted on the wall, all gleaming steel with dark wooden handles. Some long and thin, meant for detailed work. Others thick and brutal to make cutting through bone easier.
“My father taught me how to use each and every one of these,” I said softly. “Instead of toy cars or action figures, he gave me a set of hunting knives. Said I needed to know how to take something apart. How to make a clean kill.”
Schaffer audibly whimpered.
“I didn’t want to at first. I couldn’t stomach the thought of taking another life, even an animal’s.
But he taught me something that stuck. Not every creature deserves compassion.
” I laughed under my breath. “It’s funny.
After hearing him say it enough times, it became my mantra, too.
Made me realize he didn’t deserve compassion, either, so I killed him. ”
My hand hovered over the hacksaw before continuing onto the skinning knife, removing it from its place. I turned, the knife glinting under the light.
“Let’s see if you deserve compassion.”
He stiffened as I advanced on him, slicing down the front of his shirt, the blade easily tearing apart the fabric. The air hit his damp skin, sweat beading on his brow.
“Have you ever hunted, doc?”
He vehemently shook his head, his sole focus on the knife in my hand.
“It’s not as simple as pulling a trigger,” I explained.
“You see, we lived off the land when I was a boy. Had to kill to survive. I learned how to gut, clean, and quarter the game we killed.” I dragged my knife over his skin, but didn’t puncture it.
Not yet. “Over the years, I got to be quite efficient at it. I could take a freshly killed deer and have it quartered in less than an hour.” I gave him a sly grin.
“As if the poor soul never even existed.”
The stench hit before the sound, a sharp ammonia tang as his bladder gave out, staining his pants. The puddle gathered beneath his feet, trickling toward the drain.
“So let’s try again, shall we? What did Victor say when he called you this past Sunday?”
“H-he was worried about Daphne,” he stammered. “Mrs. Summers.”
“Worried?”
“He’s been paying for her treatment. I—”
I cut a line along his abdomen. It was shallow, but sharp enough to draw blood. His groan echoed off the concrete, his breathing growing ragged.
“Don’t lie to me,” I seethed. “He paid you to falsify her records. Drug her until she couldn’t tell up from down. Isn’t that right?”
He shook his head frantically. “I only did what—”
“She’s under real care now,” I interrupted.
“The doctor I hired is a top neurologist. He performed another scan. No atrophy. No cognitive decay. In fact, this most recent scan is so different from all the other ones in her medical records, there can be only one explanation.” I pressed the blade further into his skin. “Your scans were falsified.”
“I may have…adjusted them,” he gasped. “But that’s all—”
I dug the knife deeper, and he screamed out, his face scrunched up in agony as blood ran down his side.
“Don’t worry, doc,” I said calmly. “That won’t kill you.
Not right away. But I don’t need to tell you that.
You’re a doctor. You already know you can survive for a while with a puncture wound in the intestines.
I mean, you will eventually die if left untreated.
And it’s a slow, agonizing death. But, hey. At least you’re not dead yet. Right?”
“I swear to God,” Schaffer began, his voice barely audible as blood fell in streams from his open wound.
“God can’t help you now,” I taunted. “Only I can. So tell me the truth.”
“I did. I don’t—”
I flipped the knife and pressed the handle into the wound. His scream tore through the silence, raw and anguished.
“Try again.”
“I gave her medication,” he confessed, “to mimic symptoms.”
“Why?” I dug the handle a little deeper.
“He asked me to.”
“And you just blindly obeyed?”
His silence was all the answer I needed. It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together. I saw the donations to Schaffer’s charity. A bribe masked as benevolence.
“I see.” I removed the knife, and Schaffer exhaled a long breath. “As long as someone with enough money asks you to disregard your oath, you’re happy to do so. Tell me, doc. What’s the going rate for your soul these days?”
“I didn’t hurt her,” he attempted to argue in his defense.
“You drugged her,” I snarled, bringing the knife up to his throat. “You stole her memories. A decade of her life was spent in a perpetual state of fog and paranoia. And you think that’s not harm?”
“She’s alive, isn’t she?” he rasped. “He ordered me to kill her, and I didn’t. Doesn’t that count for something?”
My grip loosened, his statement stealing my breath. I lowered the knife, studying him for any hint of deception. “Who ordered you to kill her?”
He pinched his mouth together, not wanting to utter another word. But I had ways of convincing people to talk.
Stalking over to the workbench, I grabbed the pliers and returned to him, bringing them up to his pinky. He immediately stiffened, trying to yank his hands away, but the chains made it impossible.
“Last chance, doc. Who ordered you to kill her?”
I already knew. I just needed him to say it out loud.
I added pressure to his finger, the sound of breaking bones echoing in the space.
“Victor!” he shouted through his labored breathing. “He told me to kill her, but to make it look natural. Like she’d died from her condition.”
“The condition you fabricated.”
“I knew it was another test of my loyalty, but this one… It went far beyond the drugs or sterilizations. I never thought he’d ask—”
“Wait. What?” I released his pinky and stepped back. “What are you talking about? What do you mean by sterilizations?”
He inhaled a sharp breath, as if realizing what he’d just said. “I didn’t—”
I brought the pliers up to his next finger, about to squeeze once more, when he blurted out, “He’s had me sterilize women.”
I took a step back, toiling this new piece of information over in my head.
It was the last thing I expected to come out of his mouth. I figured Victor had been bribing the doctor to falsify Daphne’s records as a way to control and manipulate Ariana. Keep her quiet. Keep her compliant.
But to learn this? It seemed out of left field.
“You’re a neurologist. Isn’t this outside your area of expertise?”
He shrugged. “I’m not technically board certified, but I spent time volunteering overseas during my younger years. I learned the procedure then.”
“How many women?”
“I don’t know.” I approached him once more, and he rushed out, “Four, maybe five.”
“For what? Why did he want you to do this?” I demanded, although I had a feeling I already knew.
The last thing Victor needed was a scandal to ruin his squeaky-clean reputation. What better way to make sure there weren’t any surprises than to sterilize the women he was sleeping with outside of his marriage?
“It wasn’t my place to ask,” Schaffer responded.
“Of course. As long as the money’s green. Right?” I sneered in disgust as a thought popped into my head.
I yanked my cell out of my pocket and pulled up a photo of Sarah, holding it in front of him.
“Do you recognize this woman? Did you sterilize her?”
He studied her, the seconds seeming to stretch as I waited for him to confirm my suspicions.
“I can’t be sure. Maybe. Truthfully, they all looked the same.”
I shoved my phone back into my pocket. “And you never questioned Victor as to why he wanted you to sterilize these women instead of them going to their own doctor?”
“I told you. It wasn’t my place to ask.”
Annoyed by his blind obedience, I whirled on him, thrusting my knife into his stomach.
Deep.
Precise.
Deadly.
His eyes widened, and he made a sound, half gasp, half sob. Then his head fell forward.
I stood there for a long time, watching the red spread across the concrete, my pulse roaring in my ears, adrenaline eating my veins.
I drew in a calming breath, finding more satisfaction than I should have as I watched the blood trickle down the drain.
“Like I said… Not all creatures deserve compassion.”
I tossed the knife onto the workbench. Then I turned and walked away.