Number Seventy-Five (3 page)

Oh God, where in the hell was I?

The smell that woke me up hit me again, the scent stronger being than before. I held a whimper of despair at bay when I recognized it…the stagnant, pungent aroma of decomposing flesh.

I tried to use every trick I’d ever been taught to retain my composure, but my body betrayed me and began to tremble in fear. Realizing I might only have seconds before it was noticed that I was awake, I forced my left eye to open and peered out from behind my dirt-encrusted eyelashes.

A faint glow of yellow didn’t illuminate much, but it was enough to grasp the enormity of things. Shallow mounds of raised earth, more than I could count, faced me, each neatly dug in straight rows, identical in size and shape to the other. A mangled body was laid out on top of the freshly extracted dirt closest to me, the blood a dark shade of burgundy, signaling coagulation had begun. Although nearly every inch of the clothes it seeped out upon was covered, I recognized the outfit and the blonde hair. The whimper I held back for so long escaped when my eye forced my brain to comprehend what it was looking at.

Graves—with Jacob’s body next in line for burial and most likely, followed by mine.

“Oh, you woke up. Sorry, Mandy. Guess Jacob didn’t clock you as hard as I thought. I’ll tell ya though, from my vantage point, it sure seemed like he did.”

The sound of shoveling stopped, and I heard the crunch of the hardened earth under heavy soles as feet brought my faceless captor closer. The tears flowed faster when his dirt-covered boots stood in my direct line of vision and recognition of his voice hit home.

My thoughts were a muddled mass of questions and each jockeyed for control.
What the fuck was going on?
When I recognized the deep, baritone voice of Samuel coming from behind me, a rush of elation raced through me, but that glorious sensation was short lived. Other, more ominous thoughts took center stage.
How in the hell did he know Jacob’s name? Why was Jacob’s dead body in a bloody pile less than ten feet from me? Did Samuel kill him to save me? If so, why wasn’t he helping me? Where was I? Most importantly,
w
hy the hell was he digging?

A yelp of anguish erupted out of me when his cold hand reached down and touched my face. His filthy fingers slowly wiped at my tears. I heard a crack from his knees when he bent down and brought his familiar face inches from my own, his breath hot as it warmed my icy cheek.

“You weren’t supposed to wake up, doll baby. God, I didn’t want you to suffer, I really didn’t. I hoped you’d just sleep forever, without any more pain. Poor girl, you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Samuel stared down at my crumpled body while his hand caressed my knotted hair, his blue eyes full of madness and sympathy.

No longer did the fear of being noticed keep me still, so I gulped in a few pain-filled breaths of the frigid night air and spit out the grit and gravel that filled my mouth before I responded.

“Samuel, what are you talkin’ about?” I asked, the words barely above a breathy whisper as they exited from my swollen throat.

He continued to stroke my hair, but the once gentle caresses were gone, replaced with the heaviness of anger. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in my blood.

“I promise you, Mandy, I didn’t have no idea you were his date tonight. Please, please believe that. When I saw you get out of your car at the restaurant and walk in, you got no idea how upset I was.
This
was the
night!
It’s been planned for months now, and everything was set in motion just so. No turnin’ back once the wheels started rollin’, no siree Bob. There was no way I could stop. You understand, right?”

While he spoke, his blue orbs pleaded with mine for recognition that I did as tears of regret swam behind them.

“No, I guess you wouldn’t. But that’s okay. I’ll explain it all to you while I finish up,” Samuel said, rising to his feet and stepping behind me once more. I assumed he took my silence to his question as my answer.

“This was the end, the last one. I swear to it, as God almighty is my witness, Mandy. He didn’t want to stop, but I told him in the beginnin’ that seventy-five was the magic number. You don’t know how much I wish it wasn’t yours.”

In the pain and terror-filled state I was in, my cheek still firmly pressed against the wet dirt, comprehending Sam’s words was damn near impossible. However, I did detect a hint, a deep sadness, in his voice.

Number seventy-five? Last one? Last one, what?

The sound of the shovel as he snatched and flung more earth from its place started again. Each time the metallic end made contact with the hardened ground and dug the hole deeper, I felt the sensation travel through my nerves. The screeching neurons left me no doubt that I was awake and not experiencing a wicked nightmare. I forced myself to remain calm and keep him talking while I worked out the details of what could possibly be my last few moments alive.

The coolness of the night air helped dislodge the cobwebs from my head, but that feeling didn’t last too long. The scent molecules that followed it made my stomach lurch in protest. My heart pounded in response to the stench of death.

“Samuel, please. Ribs are broken…trouble breathing,” I gasped, hoping I could convince him to drop the shovel and at least help me move, buying me a few more precious minutes. Sure enough, the clang of the handle as it met with the ground rang through my ears. In a flash, he was in front of me once more.

“Oh Mandy, sorry. Should’ve helped you up before. Lots going on tonight and manners just slipped my mind. Guess I am not thinkin’ clearly. This’ll probably hurt. He roughed you up pretty bad before I got there. You put up a good fight, though. Got a few good licks in on him too, so you should be proud ‘bout that, my li’l spitfire. You didn’t go down without a good fight. And that’s the Mandy I know and love. But don’t worry, he can’t hurt you, or anyone else, anymore. I made sure of that.”

Sam’s tattooed arms encircled my waist, and in one swift movement, he scooped my limp body, cradling me like a football under the crook of his right arm. I bit my lip so hard that I tasted the rusty flavor of my own blood to keep my screams from shooting out of me. He took a few careful steps before depositing me in the sitting position, my back pressed up against a damp, icy surface. He knelt down and wiped the bloody mass of hair from my face, his eyes backlit by the faint yellow light from the lantern that sat next to his silent shovel.

A dirty, blood encrusted shovel that rested right next to the freshly dug grave.

“There. That should be better. At least you aren’t face down in the filth anymore. I’m sorry the cave wall is so cold though. Guess you should’ve worn a jacket, huh? But you looked really nice this evening, Mandy. Really, you did. Just as pretty as a picture.”

His voice was tender, just like his fingers that smoothed my hair back, which allowed me to take in a full view of my prison for the first time. Once the white stars of pain disappeared from my vision, I followed the dim light and glanced around. My heart nearly stopped beating when full cognizance settled in—I
was
in a cave. One full of shallow grave mounds too numerous to count. My stare was locked onto the newest one that Jacob’s crooked frame rested upon, his body not yet deposited into its final resting place.

Tears leaked out in response to excruciating pain of being moved.

“Now Mandy, don’t cry. At least not for that evil vermin over there. He ain’t worth it,” Samuel said, his eyes settling upon the same spot as my own. “You should be thankin’ me that I pulled up when I did. I stopped him before he did to you what he did with all the others. He was just loadin’ you in his truck when I arrived. Had he taken you to his place…well, you don’t want to know.” His tone switched from tenderness to irritation as his hand swept the expanse of the endless shallow graves in front of us. “That’s all his doin’, not mine. Damn but he was a cruel, vicious bastard.”

The tears flowed freely down my face, but not for the reasons my best friend’s brother thought. They raced down and melded into the dirty cotton of my once white shirt and made a montage of patterns from the caked-on dirt. No, these tears were produced by stark reality. I was in hell and my means of escape were nil.

Confirmation of broken ribs, a dislocated kneecap, and three busted fingers on my right hand was made when Sam moved me. The dull throb increased in intensity from my left ankle. I had no idea how long I’d been unconscious. The throbbing in my temple and the memory of Jacob coming at me with the tire iron sped by, which meant I had a mild concussion. I prayed silently that my skull wasn’t fractured.

I had no idea where I was, and neither did anyone else. The only thing I knew for sure was that Sam was digging my grave even though he didn’t really seem to want to. But he wasn’t stopping, either.

Something deep inside me reached invisible fingers up to my heart, and like the tentacles of an octopus, wrapped around it like a crushing vice. The tightness shut off all my emotional connections to the outside world. All of my attention needed to focus on Samuel, or as I had always called him, Sambo. My mind had always seen him as the quiet, shy boy who had tagged along with me and Shawna ever since I could remember. The loner who worshipped me from afar, his heart saddened when I got married and broken when I rejected his advances after my divorce. I needed to use those feelings to my advantage against him.

My best-friend’s little brother who went from playing cops and robbers in their backyard to actually becoming a well-decorated and respected deputy. The quick smile and bland face that I knew so well now held me hostage and was about to bury me
.

I refused to beg for my life. No way would I go out blubbering like some pathetic, half-clothed horror movie victim.

Not me.

Not Mandy Russell.

If this was to be my final stand, I would battle, tooth and nail, for every last breath.

I needed to keep him talking.

I needed to keep myself out of that fucking hole.

“MAY I?” I
asked. I nodded my head and darted my eyes to the opened pack of cigarettes in Samuel’s pocket.

“But Mandy, you quit,” Samuel replied with a look of repugnance mixed with disapproval. His shocked expression nearly made me laugh. I stared at my childhood friend and waited in silence. The dark blue eyes that looked back at me were a strange conglomeration of agony and anger at our current situation. I could see the conflict raging behind them.

“Please?” I begged. My raspy voice garbled and sold the urgency of my request.

He took in a deep, disapproving breath. A faint smile arched his lips upward as he reached into his pocket. He held in front of me the slender, white casing that I had worked for ten years to steer clear of. I reached out slowly with my undamaged left hand and brought it to my cracked lips. I squinted at the intense flame when he flicked the lighter and inhaled deeply. The old habit settled into my burning lungs with surprising ease.

He set the pack and lighter down in my lap and stood back up. I watched him lumber over to the quiet shovel as he began digging once again while I puffed away on the smoke. After so long being nicotine free, the sudden introduction into my already damaged system was having the affect I had hoped it would.

I was fully awake and pissed as hell. The old Tennessee country girl that was no stranger to a few bar fights after one too many beers was in full control. The smoke barreled through my fear and left only fury in its cloudy wake when I exhaled.

A plan was beginning to form as the fogginess of unconsciousness began clearing.

“Thank you, Sambo.”

I saw him flinch, a shiver of hurt at my referring to him by the name I had called him ever since he was five. He didn’t stop his work when he answered.

“For the smoke or for savin’ you from being raped?” he replied. He tossed another shovelful of black dirt to the side.

“Both,” I said while keeping my eyes locked on his. He broke the stare first and resumed his task.

“Number seventy-five, huh? What exactly does that mean, Sambo?”

“Well, we had this plan, you see. To make money off of desperate women who had more cash than brains. A cop’s retirement pay ain’t diddly-squat.”