Лорел Гамильтон: Blue Moon

Patrick finally said, "Never begin a hunt unless you mean to kill."

"That's the one," Jason said.

"But this wasn't a hunt," Patrick said.

"Yes, it was," Jason said. "We just weren't hunting the deputy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

I answered, "It means we're hunting the people in that house."

Patrick turned a pale face to me in the dark. "You can't mean that we are to kill all of them. Only one man cut off her finger. Only one man is guilty."

"They watched. They did nothing to prevent it. It's the same as doing it in the eyes of the law," I said.

"You are not the law," he said.

"Oh, yes, I am."

"No, you're not. Damn it, no, you are not!"

"Anyone who harms the pack without just cause is our enemy," I said.

"Don't quote pack law to me, human."

"How do we deal with our enemies?" I asked.

Jason answered, "Death."

"Most packs don't hold to the old laws anymore, and you both know it," Patrick said.

"Look, Patrick, I don't have time to explain it all, so here's the Reader's Digest version. Niley and crew raped and tortured Richard's mother and brother. We are going to kill them for that. All of them."

"What about Sheriff Wilkes and his men?"

"If Thompson helped rape Richard's mom, then he wasn't the only one. Anyone who touched either of them is dead. Do you understand that, Patrick? Dead."

"I can't do it," he said.

"Then stay in the car," I said, "but shut the fuck up or I'm going to shoot you."

"See," he said, "see, your conscience is bothering you."

I glanced at him huddled in the dark. "No, my conscience isn't bothering me. Not yet. Maybe later. Maybe not. But now, tonight, I don't feel bad about what I did. I wanted Thompson to hurt. I wanted to punish him for what he did. And you know what, Patrick? It wasn't enough. It will never be enough, because I killed him too fucking quick." Tears were threatening at the back of my throat again. When the numbness and anger wore off, I was going to be in trouble. I had to hold onto the adrenaline, the rage. It would see me through the night. Tomorrow, well, we'd see.

"There had to be another way," Patrick said.

"I didn't hear you offering any suggestions at the time."

"What's bothering the good doctor," Jason said, "is that he didn't say anything. He didn't do anything to stop us."

I appreciated the "us."

"I didn't hold him down," Patrick said. "I didn't touch him."

"All you had to do was say, 'Stop, don't, but you kept quiet. You let us chop him up. You let us kill him and didn't say a damn word," Jason said. "Your conscience wasn't working so hard while he was still alive."

Patrick didn't say anything for a long time. We bumped over the road, avoiding tree branches and dirt-filled holes. There was nothing but the darkness, the golden tunnel of headlights, and the engine-filled silence. I wasn't sure silence was my favorite thing right now, but it was better than listening to Patrick tell me what a monster I was. I agreed with him, which made it harder to hear.

Then something filled the silence that was even harder to hear. Patrick was crying. He huddled against the far door, as far from both of us as he could get, and cried softly. Finally, he said, "You're right. I did nothing, and that will haunt me for the rest of my days."

"Join the club," I said.

He peered at me through the darkness. "Then why did you do it?"

"Someone had to."

"I will never forget the sight of you chopping him up. This little girl … The look on your face when you killed him. God, you looked blank like you weren't even there. Why did you have to be the one to do it?"

"Would it have been better if one of the guys had done it?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Please don't tell me this is some macho shit. That you're this upset because a girl did it?"

Patrick snuffled. "I guess it is. I mean, I guess it wouldn't seem so horrible if one of the others had done it. You're this pretty little thing. You shouldn't be chopping people's fingers off."

"Oh, please," I said.

"I will go to my grave seeing the look on your face at the last."

"Keep it up, and you'll go sooner than later," I mumbled.

"What did you say?" Patrick asked.

"Nothing," I said.

Jason made a small sound that might have been a laugh. If he only knew how unfunny the comment had been. I was having enough trouble with what I'd just done. I didn't need a sobbing Jiminy Cricket to emphasize the fact that I'd fallen into the abyss. The monster wasn't breathing down my neck; it was inside my head. Inside my head, fat and well-fed. What made me so sure the monster was home was the fact that I didn't feel guilty. I felt bad because I was supposed to feel bad and didn't. I had to have some personal line that could not be crossed, and I'd thought torture was it. And I'd been wrong.

Tears tightened my throat, but I'd be damned if I'd cry. It was done. I had to let it go — or at least push it back long enough to get the job done. The job was to rescue Daniel and Charlotte. If I didn't get them out, then it had all been for nothing. I'd added a new nightmare for nothing. But it was more than that. I couldn't face Richard if I let them die. I'd been angry with him, pissed, but now I wasn't. I'd have given a great deal for him to hold me right now. Of course, he'd have probably agreed with Patrick. Richard would be a very wise man if he didn't attempt to lecture me tonight.

But it wasn't just Richard. I'd met the entire Zeeman clan. They were so close to perfect that it made my teeth ache. The family might never recover from a loss like this. My family hadn't. I was counting on Daniel and Charlotte to recover from the torture. I was counting on them being strong enough to not let that alone be enough to destroy them. I hoped I was right. No. I prayed I was right.

Thompson had told us what room they were keeping them in. It was in the back, near the woods, as far from the road as possible. Not a surprise. There might have been information that Thompson had that could have been useful. Maybe I should have used less torture and more threat. Maybe that would have gotten us more detailed info faster. Maybe, maybe not. I was new at interrogation by torture, lacked the proper technique, I suppose. I would have said I'd get better with practice, except I wasn't doing it again. I might have the screaming meemies forever from just this one incident, but if I did it again, it was over. They'd have to wrap me up and put me away. I kept flashing on the feel of the cleaver biting into the floor. I remembered thinking that I didn't feel it go through the bone. I just felt it bite into the floor underneath. I saw the fingers go in a wash of blood, but not as much blood as you'd think, for some reason.

"Anita, Anita, the turnoff."

I blinked and slammed on the brakes, throwing everyone forward. I was the only one wearing a seat belt. I usually remember to have everyone buckle up. Careless of me.

Jason peeled himself off the dashboard, pushed back to the seat, and said, "Are you okay?"

I backed the van up slowly. "I'm fine."

"Liar," he said.

I eased the van back until I could see the white sign that said, "Greene Valley House." You didn't expect to find a house with a name at the end of a dirt road, but there you are. Just because the road isn't paved doesn't mean the people don't have style or maybe pretensions. Sometimes it's awfully hard to tell the difference.

This road was gravel. The gravel pinged against the underside of the van, even at less than twenty miles an hour. I slowed down further. Roxanne knew the house. She'd grown up with the Greenes' son. They'd been best friends until the hormones kicked in and he started trying to play boy to her girl. But she knew the house. There was a clearing about halfway down the road where we should park the van. The clearing was right on schedule. I pulled the van into the weeds. They whisked against the metal, whipping the tires. The black van was sort of invisible, parked in the trees. It was also sort of wedged. We wouldn't be moving it quickly. Of course, I wasn't planning on us having to make a run for it. My priority was to get Daniel and Charlotte out as unharmed as possible. I had no other priority. It made things simple. We secured the hostages, then we killed everybody. Simple.