Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Jackson
If the thought of me being evil helps her sleep, then so be it. No offense taken. I’m just glad she seems to be getting back to normal. Thus, the handcuffs had to go back on. The last thing I need is her running off.
I cannot stay still because my body is too revved up, even though I need to.
I consider my alternatives. Exercise, jacking off, or T.V.
Going for a quick run would give me a release I have yet to have, but first I need to see if the cops have plastered my face on the news.
The T.V. powers on, filling the room with white noise and static.
I force myself to wait for the screen to clear, the anticipation both thrilling and nerve-wracking.
Just how badly do the cops want me? Just after a few minutes of channel surfing, I catch a glimpse of my mug shot and with it a warning to the public.
“Escaped convict; armed and dangerous. Do not approach.” I’m not surprised and don't give a fuck except... sweat forms on my brow as I tap the top of my thigh. My brother will also see this and know I’m coming for him.
He’s like a mole, tunnelling his way out, right under everyone’s noses.
But he can’t hide forever. I will catch him and pull him out of his hidey-hole for all the world to see.
I flick the T.V. off, more amped up than ever.
The desire to hurt comes up so fast that I punch the wall.
Drywall flakes off my hand and onto the floor.
I stare at the hole I just created, knowing the destruction is not enough.
I need it to be my brother’s head. No. You need to run. My head tells me. Run him out.
This time I listen because no matter what I use to take the blunt of my frustrations, it’s not enough.
Without another thought, I grab my pants and room key, whip the door open, and run into the night.
The air feels cool against my bare chest as I make my way across the parking lot, but not enough to slow me down.
If anything, being able to run in this open space allows me to go faster.
It’s been years since my outdoor activities have been anything more than looking from behind a barbed-wire fence.
The sense of freedom feels good, even though I know it will be short-lived.
A click and flash on my right disrupts everything.
I jerk my head in that direction to find the lobby clerk with a phone in hand.
He waves as I make eye contact. My line of vision is nothing but a tunnel of red.
A smile slowly creeps along my cheeks while I watch him scurry away toward the front desk.
I take off, my bare feet kicking up rocks behind me.
He glances behind him, not once but three times, and with each one, I gain on him a little more.
I can hear his labored breathing. I can smell his adrenaline.
It’s intoxicating. Exciting. Just the solution I need.
As the guy turns to open the lobby door, I wrap my hand around his shirt collar from behind.
“Fucker,” he calls out, not realizing he just became a vessel to eradicate the heavy feelings that threaten to take over.
He probably saw me on the news and thought he could turn me in.
Without giving him any more chance to talk, I swing at his face, my fist making contact with his jaw. The first hit was too easy and not enough. I hit him again as my hand becomes wet with his blood. The man drops to the ground, covering his head, while the sounds from his mouth come out jumbled.
“It’s rude to take pictures of strangers.
” I say while snatching his phone. My eyes narrow as I study the photos on the digital display.
A blurry picture of me pops up first, but something tells me there’s more.
I keep going only to find photos of Madelyn walking into the hotel room, with emphasis on her ass.
My pulse picks up as they keep coming with all of them showcasing various angles of Madelyn’s body.
My eyes see red. He’s planning on fucking her.
“What the fuck is this?” I ask, while grabbing the guy by the front of his shirt with one hand and pointing the screen in his face with the other.
Red pours from his lips and drops to the ground in droplets as his head turns toward the phone.
He studies it, only to produce a smirk that goes from cheek to cheek-a look he does not pull off well.
I’d like nothing more than to break all his fucking teeth.
Impulses. Impulses. Let him respond. Then break his teeth.
“She’s going to be my prize,” he replies.
This bastard really thinks he’s going to take her from me.
His beady eyes shift from the phone to me.
I stare into them, only finding a pair of dilated pupils and a lot of audacity.
“You are either high as fuck or deranged because that will not happen,” I whisper, tone deadpan.
“I’m perfectly sane,” he says with the smile never leaving his face.
“That’s even worse.” I pocket the phone while maintaining my grip on him. With both hands free, I drag him inside the lobby just in case someone drives by.
Something must have clicked in his brain because he finally starts to protest. His arms reach out toward the counter as his feet aim for my knees.
A sharp pain radiates from my leg as he manages to make a hit.
I snatch him, only to notice what he was desperately trying to get.
A revolver. I shake my head, allowing tension to build in my core.
He wiggles against my chest, trying to slip out of my grasp.
I tighten my hold as my arms squeeze against his rib cage.
“Tell me what your plans were for the girl, and I might let you live,” I lie while slowly adding more pressure around his middle.
Like I don’t already know. I just want to hear it out of his mouth.
The tension between us builds. Seconds turn into minutes.
Minutes seem like an eternity, especially when I’m fighting so hard not to just break his neck.
My hands travel up from his chest. If he doesn’t respond by the time I reach his neck, I’ll snap it off.
“Keep her,” he finally responds right before my hands reach their destination.
His voice is barely a murmur against my hold.
Those two words alone allow me to confirm what I thought was true and also my next actions. No one will keep her against her will but me. Still, I am curious about something else. “And me?”
The man shakes his head but says nothing.
The silence looms again, and with it, it tells me everything else I need to know.
Confirmed by his lips or not…it does not matter.
Nothing does once I decide to end a life.
I throw him then, making sure he collides with the back wall of the lobby.
His head bounces off the wood paneling, releasing a sound I know as broken bones.
Blood flows from his nose and into his mouth. Slow breaths escape his chest as his body slides down the rest of the way to the floor. “I didn’t want to do it,” he mutters while spitting red onto the floor. It’s a confession that’s come a little too late.
My eyes glance from him to the camera monitors that’s along the back of his desk.
Once black, they now showcase a dimly lit room.
As soon as he went for the revolver, I caught a glimpse of exactly what he had in mind.
I just wanted him to admit it. Murderer to murderer.
Taking the gun off the counter, I point it at his head.
“You weren’t going to do it because I would never have allowed it. ”
The monitor clicks over again to show movement on the screen.
A silhouette paces against what appears to be another motel room.
“Being out in the middle of nowhere gives you the freedom to do as you like, so it makes sense that you would act on impulses.” I position myself so that I am at eye level.
“But that’s the problem with no self-control.
It’s hard to stop. Like now. With mine.”
The man meets my gaze, suddenly serious. “He forced my hand.”
I tap the tip of the barrel against his temple. “Am I supposed to know who you are talking about?”
He breaks eye contact, choosing to focus on the monitors instead.
The screen switches to static, and I wait for his attention to come back.
It doesn’t. If anything, the man appears to be a million miles away, lost in things I can not see.
“When you first pulled up, I thought it was him. Until I saw the tattoos.”
My grip slips on the revolver at his words.
The only person who can be mistaken for me is my twin.
“My brother? Jamison?” I grab the man by the head, forcing his attention back on me.
“When the fuck did he set this up?” The guy’s skin turns white from the pressure of my fingers on his cheeks.
Jamison has always had other people do his dirty work, but I figured I would have until the news reported my escape before he did anything.
“Jackson,” he says, the first time using my name. “Did you really think Jamison wouldn’t have a plan if you escaped?” The words come out forced. A wet cough escapes his lips, spitting blood on my feet.
“He would expect me to be alone,” I say, anger rising in my voice.
Jamison may have made plans, but he would not have considered me carrying along passengers.
I can see it clearly now- this motherfucker’s thought process.
Lure me in here and wait for my brother’s next instructions. Then, when I’m gone…keep Madelyn.
My vision blurs around the head of the man I hold.
Heat pumps through my veins until it reaches my fingertips.
Climbing on top of him, I go for his eyes first. Forcibly jamming my finger into his socket and pulling, while only thinking about one thing-he will never use them to look at Madelyn again.
The man screams as blood and eye fluids gush out from his body and down my arms. I don’t stop.
Not even as he pleads. Not even when he thrashes.
His movements excite me, as does the eye that just popped out of the socket.
The man slouches before his body slides the rest of the way to the floor.
No breath comes from his mouth, and I consider if having one eye is enough.
Hovering, I study him and the way his body is motionless and twisted.
Beneath the blood, shades of blue and brown appear along his skin.
I bend down and rip the other eye right out of the socket before locating the only camera in the room.
I blow out a sigh, feeling disappointed that the kill didn’t satisfy.
There is no substitute for the one I really want.
The eyeballs twirl like marbles in my head as I make my way to the camera.
Holding them up, I show them off. “Thanks for the parting gift. I’ve never seen a motherfucker squirm so much.
” I pocket the eyes and snatch the revolver from the floor.
The camera monitor flicks on to show the figure sitting on the floor.
Whoever it is may have something to exchange for their freedom.
I walk out of the lobby in search of the mysterious silhouette.
The motel is a one-story building with all the rooms in one straight line.
It’s a small property with what appears to have a maximum of twenty-five rooms. There are no other vehicles in the parking lot besides Madelyn’s.
I start at the room closest to mine and study the windows for signs of life.
After a few minutes, I find nothing and move on to the next in line.
Room after room, the result is still the same.
No movement. No extra bodies. No fucking reason to aim a camera in any of these places.
I guess I assumed wrong. The person being monitored is not in this motel.
And now that there’s a corpse at the front desk, neither can we be.