21. Drake
The location was onlyfifteen miles from the previous house. Still on the same massive piece of property I owned. Crazy that Owen would be so fucking bold with his choice. The place had at one point been a huge private hunting preserve my grandfather had purchased back in the early sixties. It was still in my name, but Owen had forged enough documents that the construction crews he hired had done the work with no questions asked.
Trees and shrubs slapped the sides of my car as I drove the overgrown path toward the new playhouse. This road was much less used than the old one. I had to inch along at a snail’s pace due to me keeping the headlights off. I’d even stopped at the turn off from the highway and busted out the front and back running lights. I had to keep the element of surprise. God only knew what kinds of cameras and motion sensors Owen may or may not have installed. It would have been hard enough to sneak in without driving with beacons of light.
White knuckled, I gripped the wheel and leaned forward, peering through the windshield with nothing but the moonlight to guide me. The canopy of the trees wasn’t as thick as usual, fall had come to Savannah and the leaves had begun to fall, helping my vision.
The clock on the dash read four-fifteen in the morning. Dahlia had been taken less than six hours before, yet it felt as though she’d been gone for years, decades even. As hard as I tried not to imagine what Owen had done to her, I couldn’t help but visualize the atrocities he might commit. The blood, the severed body parts, intestines, rope, water, electricity, rape, all the degradations were possible.
Even as the horror movies of Dahlia’s destruction played through my mind, I promised that regardless of what I found, Owen would pay. If Dahlia was alive, then we’d ruin him slowly. Both of us together. If he’d already killed her? I would draw it out. Not for hours and days like I did in the playhouse. No, I’d keep him for years. I would hurt him, then fix him. Let him recover, and begin again. I’d cut pieces off of him, and wait for him to heal, then do it again. I would piss and shit on him every day. Maybe, in a decade, when he’d lost his mind and was begging me for death, I’d finally give it to him in the slowest, most painful way imaginable. Then and only then would it be over.
Ahead of me, rising up through the trees, I saw the dark black outline of the warehouse. I hit the brakes and threw the car into park. After turning it off, I got out and closed the door, and standing there, staring up at the monolith ahead of me, a sudden and dizzying surreal sensation came over me. It was like I stood in a dream. A nightmare. My greatest dream, my reason for being, and it was now under the control of a madman. It was almost like seeing your lover in bed with another man. Owen, with his betrayal, had turned me into a cuckold, watching as he tried to take what was mine.
Lips peeled back into a snarl, I trudged forward, moving toward the house. Within fifty yards, I came to a chain link fence, shiny and new. The gate stood rigid and locked. A keypad sat on the edge of the gate, and I stared at it for several seconds, wondering. It would be my only way in. The hum of electricity buzzed around me as it surged through the metal. As new as the fencing was, there would be no broken or damaged sections yet. No other way to breach the property.
“How dumb are you, Owen,” I wondered out loud and reached toward the keypad.
I punched in the six-digit code we’d used at the last playhouse, and to my mind-boggled surprise, the red light above flashed green and the gate trundled aside, propelled by the motor and chain drive that sat on the inside of the gate.
The sheer audacity of Owen was shocking. Or, I wondered, was it simply lack of imagination. Maybe he’d assumed I’d never find this place, or I’d be dead before I had a chance to look. Either way, he’d fucked up yet again. I’d be sure to force him to pay for it.
Slipping in through the entrance, I kept my eyes and ears open. For all I knew, he was watching me on camera at that exact moment. I had to be ready for anything. Owen could have more than just Bri working for him. Perhaps he’d turned Payton too? Hired some psychopaths with promises of torturing and maiming innocents?
The warehouse building had been painted a matte black, and when I got close, I could see that the paint, all the way to the ground, was solid in color. No mud spatter or moss growth close to the ground. This had been completed recently. Probably less than a month. That was good. It meant it had been rushed. Whatever Owen had wanted to do here, probably had shortcuts taken, just like the code at the gate.
Another security pad waited at the large rolling garage door. Taking a chance, I punched in the same code as before. This time I wasn’t surprised when the motor hummed, and the door began to rise.
Kneeling low and pulling my gun out, I waited outside behind the opening, hiding. As badly as I wanted to get to Dahlia, rushing could be suicide. I had to be cautious. There was nothing else to be done.
After almost five minutes, no one had come out to investigate, and I decided to move in. Holding my gun out, I pushed through the fake trees and plants. The cheap and rough leaves grated on my skin and clothes. The ground wasn’t even turf. Instead, Owen had installed garish bright green carpet. More shortcuts.
Inching my way toward the mansion, I strained to listen. I heard no screams, no alarms, no shouts. It was eerily quiet, and my nerves were sizzling as I readied myself for whatever might come. As badly as I wanted to rush straight toward the door, I had to make sure things were exactly as I thought. Taking a right, I circled the house, inspecting the area. The biggest surprise was the lack of a bunker. I double and triple checked. It was nowhere to be found. Owen must have either believed it was too much of an expense, hadn’t had time, or he wanted a more intimate experience and was inside the mansion with his dolls. That was fine. It meant there were fewer places for him to hide.
Finishing my circuit, I headed toward the porch, keeping my steps light, and quiet, my gun held out before me as I approached the front of the building. The house seemed to gaze down at me with its windows like dead eyes, and the door a gaping screaming mouth.
The porch steps didn’t creak as I stepped up, the boards freshly stained and still smelling of fresh cut wood. No sound either from the doorknob as it spun freely in my hand. Unlocked. Claxons of danger sounded inside my mind as the door swung inward. The front door was always locked. Why would it not be?
I stepped inside, and the first thing I heard was the low throaty feminine growl of rage, then a hand crashed down on my wrist. My fingers opened and my gun tumbled away. Twisting away from my assailant, I found Bri. She glared at me with hatred, her body naked and spattered with blood. Behind me, the front door slammed shut and latched.
“Hello, Drake. Funny seeing you here,” Bri hissed.
My initial surprise vanished. Anger replacing it. Reaching slowly behind me, I unsheathed the knife at my belt.
“Hello, Bri. I have to say, you’ve come much further than I ever anticipated.”
“You would say that, you fucking cock sucker.”
I gave her a sarcastic smile. “I think, if we’re being honest, the only cocksucker here is you. How does Owen’s taste, by the way?”
She released a howl of contempt and rage and lunged to the side, snatching up a heavy candlestick holder and rushing me. The heavy brass implement swung down toward my head, and I dodged aside at the last second, the air whistling by my ear. I couldn’t wait to bury my blade in her soft flesh. It would be better this way than with the gun. More intimate, the knife sliding into her body would be like a cock sliding into a pussy. Her blood seeping onto my fingers like cum spurting from the dick. Even now, fighting for my life, I was getting hard.
“Fucker,” Bri screamed and swung the candle stick at me again. This time it took me in the meaty part of the shoulder.
I stumbled aside, pain flaring in my upper arm. As I fell, I swung my arm out, arcing the blade toward her. It struck home, a shallow cut along her left thigh. While she hissed in pain, I rolled and righted myself, again on my feet, and dove forward, stabbing at her. She backed away, staying just out of reach.
“What’s wrong, Drake?” Bri hissed. “Is this pussy not good enough? Lie down, whip that big cock out. I’ll show you something Dahlia never could.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said. “I don’t feel like catching herpes, you stupid bitch.”
She smirked and made a feint to the right, but swung her weapon left, surprising me. I managed to dodge, and brought my knife down in a sweeping arc that took her in the chest. My blade sank into and then split her left breast, bifurcating it. Blood surged out, and I could see the yellow fatty breast tissue within.
Her scream of pain and shock set my teeth on edge. A high keening sound kept streaming from her mouth as she gaped at her ruined breast. That hesitation and distraction was all I needed. Rushing forward, I slapped her hand holding the weapon, sending it to the floor. Bri jerked her head up, mouth still hanging open in surprise and agony, and I kicked her in the stomach, doubling her over, and sending her toppling to the floor. The two halves of her breasts slapping together and clapping wetly as she went down.
Before she could recover, I straddled her and placed the tip of the knife on her chest, and squeezed her throat with my other hand.
“Is Dahlia alive?” I screamed, spittle spraying her face as I did.
Her face was going red, but I wasn’t gripping her neck tight enough to keep her from talking.
In a raspy hiss she said. “Yeah, but not for long. Owen’s gonna take care of her. Already would have if you hadn’t shown the fuck up.”
“Where is she? Tell me!”
“Library. Not that it will help. The door’s locked, you dumb shit.”
I had another question, but there was no way to know if she’d be truthful or not. Still, I needed to ask. Maybe I could see the truth in her eyes even if she lied.
“Who else is in the house? How many people?” I growled.
She coughed and winced in pain, then said, “Five. Owen, Dahlia, and three new dolls. They’re new here. We haven’t even let them out yet. Just been feeding them and keeping them locked up until we dealt with you and that bitch of yours. It had been six, but Dahlia fucked all that up.”
No lie there. She was too tired and in too much pain to tell tales. I didn’t know what she meant by Dahlia fucking something up. Sounded like she’d probably killed someone. That was fine. It meant she was still fighting, still doing what she’d been born to do. Kill.
“You know, Bri, I never liked you,” I said.
She sneered at me, her face growing redder by the second. “You’re just mad you never got to fuck me. I know your type.”
“Well, let’s remedy that, shall we?” I said, my eyes widening in excitement.
Before she could respond, I moved off her, and slammed the bald of my knife straight up into her pussy. Blood burst from the wound, and Bri’s eyes snapped open wide in agony. Her mouth dropped open, but the pain was too intense, she couldn’t catch her breath to scream.
“What’s wrong? You don’t like a good hard fuck, Bri,” I whispered and brought the knife out and then back in.
Finally, a guttural and manic scream exploded from her mouth. She batted at my chest and face, trying to fight me off, but already her strength was fading. Shoving her legs apart, I drove the blade into her again and again, blood and soon shit oozed onto the carpet as her bodily functions began to release. I slammed the blade into her harder with each thrust until, eventually, the handle and my fist itself was buried inside her pussy, blood coating my wrist and forearm.
When I looked up, she was gazing down at me, blood oozing from her lips, eyes vacant and staring.
Letting go of the knife and leaving it inside her, I extracted my hand from between her legs.
“I hope it was all you hoped for,” I said and stood.
I kicked her in the side of the head as I walked over and retrieved my gun. So far, Owen hadn’t shown himself. He was watching though, that much I knew for certain. I looked up at the nearest camera, raised the pistol and winked at him, then fired, blowing the round plastic lens apart.
Bri had been right. The doors being locked did pose a problem. That would have been if I hadn’t been the one to design this entire house to begin with. Owen had already shown a remarkable lack of creativity. If I wasn’t wrong, my secret access panels would still be here.
The large foyer where Bri and I had fought led to the dining room. No secret wall here, another time and cost cutting measure probably. Across the dining room, the massive wooden door out to the hallways stood shut and locked. Reaching forward, I took hold of a thick section of molding around the door and pulled hard. The molding clicked, and a twelve-inch piece lifted up, revealing another keypad. Tossing the wood aside, I punched in the code, and the door swung open, revealing the hallway beyond.
Again, I moved forward holding my gun out, inspecting each corner before moving down the hall. Thankfully, it appeared Bri had been right. There seemed to be no other assistants helping Owen. Part of me worried that Owen might, at that very moment, be escaping, but Dahlia was the most important thing right then. Once we were together again, we could worry about catching Owen.
After finding the Library, I used the same trick, ripping away the faux border and opening the door with a code. What I saw within gave me pause. Dahlia lay unconscious beside a slight body, a woman from the swell of breasts beneath her sweatshirt. That was all the identification I could make due to the pulverized skull.
My heart nearly erupted from my chest at the sight of Dahlia, her chest rising and falling slowly. She was alive. I couldn’t remember ever being so happy or excited to see someone. My soulmate, my muse. The person who knew the desires of my mind as intimately as I did. The only living soul on earth who could be my match.
The smell of blood and gore tickled my nose, and I cast another glance at the dead woman. The entire head had been shattered and smashed to pulp by what appeared to be a small bust of Shakespeare that lay beside Dahlia’s outstretched hand. The statue was cracked in blood and brain matter. A single half smashed eyeball sat lodged between the chin and chest of the bust.
“Look upon thy death, indeed,” I said, quoting Romeo and Juliet as I knelt beside Dahlia.
While watching the door for Owen, I patted Dahlia’s cheek. That was when I saw the device on her arm and put two and two together.
With a few quick movements, I pulled my second knife from my boot and slipped it beneath the band and sawed at it, trying to cut it off. Owen had cut more corners. Rather than the tightly woven metal fiber bands I’d sourced, this was high quality Kevlar. It took a few seconds, but the fibers of the band tore away beneath the blade and eventually the entire device fell away.
Dahlia was still out, and time was running short. We had to get moving.
“I’m sorry, my dear. I hope you forgive me.”
I slapped her face as hard as I could; the crack of it echoed through the room, and her eyes snapped open. Dahlia sucked in a heaving lungful of air, then coughed before sitting up.
“Drake,” she moaned, and threw her arms around me.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured, running my hands through her hair.
“I thought you were dead,” she sobbed, her body shaking with sobs of relief.
“Never. Hell itself couldn’t keep me from you. Who’s this?” I asked, nodding to the body on the floor.
“A bitch who deserved what she got,” Dahlia said. “That’s all.”
“Come on then,” I said, helping her to her feet.
“Drake, he remade the playhouse. It’s like an exact replica.”
“Yes. That’s his first mistake.”
“What?” she looked at me dumbly. “What’s the first?”
“Not killing me when he had the chance. Come on.”
Taking her hand, I led her out into the hall, hurrying as fast as I could. Deep at the back of my mind, a kind of clock was ticking, draining away time.
“Can we get out?” she asked as we hurried to the stairwell.
I shook my head. “I have ways of getting into the individual rooms, but the exterior doors are controlled only by special control panels in the hidden rooms Owen and I used. We’ll need to get into one of them, but first we blind Owen.”
Halfway down the hall, I pulled her to stop. On the wall sat a beautiful replica of The Night Watch by Rembrandt. In the old playhouse, the painting had been The Swing by Fragonard. No matter, if Owen had used the original schematics then I knew what lay behind it. Ripping the painting from the wall, I found a large electronics box set in the wall. Another keypad beside it.
Bong. “Oh, Drake. How lovely that you’ve come. I truly longed for this. Though, I didn’t think you’d get past my new assistant so fast. Perhaps I should have kept the other alive a bit longer. Tell me, how did I fuck up? I had to have done something wrong for you to find me.”
I grinned maliciously and glared at the nearest camera. “A receipt. You left one in a book on your desk. That and leaving that damned computer in your office, your stupid passwords, using the same codes on the keypads, I could go on. Honestly, Owen, the longer this night goes on, the more I realize I partnered with a fucking moron.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may,” Owen said, and I noticed a hint of anger in his voice. “We’ll see how things go. Hmm?”
The speakers went silent, and I punched the code in before anything else could happen. Opening the cabinet, I found a massive nest of wires. This was the junction for all the cameras in the whole house. The cameras and the hidden microphones. I tore my knife back out and hacked through everything, leaving frayed and cut wires hanging.
“What’s next?” Dahlia asked.
“The other dolls,” I said. “Before I killed her, Bri told me there are three more in the house with you.”
“We’re gonna set them loose?”
I shook my head. “They can’t be let out. They’ll bring the police right back here. Even if we burn this place like the last one, the property will be traced back to me. They’ve not been altered by the house, either.” I shook my head sadly. “They have to be killed.”
“Will Owen let us do that?”
“He’s blind now. He could lock the house down, sever access to the hidden keypads, but he’s going to be too busy. If I had to guess, he’s in the house somewhere with us. He’s scrambling to get what he needs to run. We’ve got some time, and with the cameras and microphones out, he’ll have a hard time knowing where we are. We’ve got to kill the dolls first though. All it will take is him telling them that we’re the ones keeping them hostage. He could turn them on us like attack dogs. Are you ready?”
“They’re innocent?” she asked.
I shrugged. “So was Bri.”
Dahlia’s face grew stoney, and she nodded, a grim look of determination on her face. “Fine. It’s us or them. Survival of the fittest, right?”
Running a thumb along her jaw, I grinned at her. “That’s my girl.”