Bon Jovi was looking past Charlotte, down the hallway. She could hear her mother’s slow footsteps. Gamma must have seen him when she came out of the bathroom. She knew something was wrong, that Charlotte wasn’t in the kitchen on her own.
“Hey.” Black Shirt snapped his fingers for Charlotte’s attention. “Where’s your fucking daddy?”
Charlotte shook her head. Why would they want Rusty?
Black Shirt asked, “Who else is in the house?”
She said, “My sister’s in—”
Suddenly, Gamma’s hand was wrapped around Charlotte’s mouth. Her fingers dug into her shoulder. She told the men, “There’s fifty dollars in my purse and another two hundred in a Mason jar in the barn.”
“Fuck that,” Black Shirt said. “Call your other daughter in here. Don’t try any shit.”
“No.” Bon Jovi seemed nervous. “They were supposed to be at track practice, man. Let’s just—”
Charlotte was violently jerked out of Gamma’s arms. Black Shirt’s hand gripped her neck, his fingers like clamps. The back of her head was pinned to his chest. She felt his fingers cinching around her esophagus, pulling it like a handle.
He told Gamma, “Call her, bitch.”
“Sa—” Gamma was so scared that she could hardly raise her voice. “Samantha?”
They listened. They waited.
Bon Jovi said, “Forget it, man. He’s not here. Let’s do like she said and take the money and go.”
“Grow some balls, you fucking pussy.” Black Shirt tightened his grip on Charlotte’s throat. The pain burned like fire. She couldn’t breathe. She went up on her toes. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, but he was too strong.
He told Gamma, “Get her in here before I—”
“Samantha!” Gamma’s tone was sharp. “Please ensure the faucet valve is closed and quickly make your way into the kitchen.”
Bon Jovi stepped away from the mouth of the hallway so that Samantha couldn’t see him. He told Black Shirt, “Come on, man. She did what you said. Let her go.”
Slowly, Black Shirt loosened his grip on Charlotte’s neck. She gagged on the rush of air. She tried to go to her mother, but his hand flattened to her chest. He pinned Charlotte tight against his body.
Gamma said, “You don’t have to do this.” She was talking to Bon Jovi. “We don’t know who you are. We don’t know your names. You can leave now and we won’t tell anyone.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Black Shirt shifted back and forth. “I’m not stupid enough to believe a God damn thing any of you say.”
“You can’t—” Gamma coughed into her hand. “Please. Let my daughters go and I’ll—” she coughed again. “You can take me to the bank. Keep the car. I’ll give you every penny we have.”
“I’m’a take whatever I want.” Black Shirt’s hand slid down Charlotte’s chest. He pressed hard against her sternum, rubbed into her back. His private parts poked her. She felt a sudden sickness. Her bladder wanted to release. Her face turned hot.
“Stop it.” Bon Jovi grabbed Charlotte’s arm. He pulled, then pulled harder, and finally, he managed to wrench her away.
“Baby.” Gamma enveloped Charlotte, throwing her arms tight around her shoulders, kissing her head, then her ear. She whispered, “Run if you—”
Without warning, Gamma let go, almost pushing Charlotte away. She took two steps back until she was against the kitchen counter. Her hands were in the air.
Black Shirt had the shotgun pointed at her chest.
“Please.” Gamma’s lips trembled. “Please. I beg you,” her voice was low, like it was just her and Black Shirt in the room. “You can do anything you want to me, but don’t hurt my baby.”
“Don’t worry.” Black Shirt whispered, too. “It only hurts the first couple’a dozen times.”
Charlotte started to shake.
She knew what he meant. The dark look in his eyes. His tongue darting out between his wet lips. The way his thing had pressed into her back.
Her knees stopped working.
She stumbled back into the chair. Sweat covered her face. More sweat poured down her back. She looked at her hands, but they weren’t like her normal hands. The bones were vibrating inside as if a tuning fork had been struck against her chest.
Gamma said, “It’s okay.”
Black Shirt said, “No it ain’t.”
They weren’t talking to each other anymore. Samantha was standing in the doorway, frozen like a frightened rabbit.
Black Shirt asked, “Who else is in the house?”
Gamma shook her head. “Nobody.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Charlotte’s hearing became muffled. She heard her father’s name, saw the angry look in Gamma’s eyes.
Rusty. They were looking for Rusty.
Charlotte began to rock, unable to stop the back and forth movement as she instinctively tried to calm herself. This wasn’t a movie. There were two men inside the house. They had guns. They didn’t want money. They had come for Rusty, but now that they knew Rusty wasn’t here, Black Shirt had decided he wanted something else. Charlotte knew what that something else was. She had read about it in Lenore’s book. And Gamma was only here because Charlotte had called her and Samantha was only here because Charlotte had told the men that her sister was in the house.
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte whispered. She couldn’t hold her bladder anymore. She felt the warm liquid slide down her leg. She closed her eyes. She rocked back and forth. “I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry.”
Samantha squeezed Charlotte’s hand so hard she could feel the bones move.
Charlotte was going to throw up. Her stomach kept clenching, rolling like she was trapped on a boat in the pitching sea. She squeezed her eyes closed. She thought about running. The soles of her shoes slapping the ground. Her legs burning. Her chest aching for air. Samantha was beside her, ponytail flapping in the wind, smiling, telling Charlotte what to do.
Breathe through it. Slow and steady. Wait for the pain to pass.
“I said shut the fuck up!” Black Shirt screamed.
Charlotte lifted her head, but it was like she was moving through a thick oil.
There was an explosion, then a blast of hot liquid slashed at her face and neck so hard that she fell against Samantha at the table.
Charlotte started screaming before she knew why.
Blood was everywhere, like a hose had been turned on. It was warm and viscous and it covered her face, her hands, her entire body.
“Shut up!” Black Shirt slapped Charlotte across the face.
Samantha grabbed her. She was sobbing, shaking, screaming.
“Gamma,” Samantha whispered.
Charlie clung to her sister. She turned her head. She made herself look at her mother, because she wanted to make sure she never forgot what these fuckers had done.
Bright white bone. Pieces of heart and lung. Cords of tendon and arteries and veins and life spilled out of her gaping wounds.
Bon Jovi yelled, “Jesus Christ, Zach!”
Charlie kept herself still, unresponsive. She was never going to give herself away ever again.
Zachariah Culpepper.
She had read his case files. Rusty had represented him at least four times. Gamma had said just last night that if Zach Culpepper paid his bills, the family wouldn’t have to live at the farmhouse.
“Fuck!” Zach was staring at Samantha. She had read the files, too. “Fuck!”
“Mama …” Charlie said, trying to distract them, to convince Zach that she didn’t know. “Mama, Mama, Mama …”
“It’s all right.” Samantha tried to soothe.
“It ain’t all right.” Zach threw his mask on the floor. He had raccoon eyes from Gamma’s blood. He looked like his mugshot, but uglier. “God dammit! What’d you have to use my name for, boy?”
“I d-didn’t—” Bon Jovi stammered. “I’m sorry.”
“We won’t tell.” Samantha was looking down at the floor
like it wasn’t too late. “We won’t say anything. I promise.”
“Girl, I just blew your mama to bits. You really think you’re walking out of here alive?”
“No,” Bon Jovi said. “That’s not what we came for.”
“I came here to erase some bills, boy,” Zach said. “Now I’m thinking it’s me that Rusty Quinn’s gotta pay.”
“No,” Bon Jovi repeated. “I told you—”
Zach shut him up by jamming the shotgun into his face. “You ain’t seein’ the big picture here. We gotta get outta town, and that takes a hell of a lot of money. Everybody knows Rusty Quinn keeps cash in his house.”
“The house burned down,” Samantha said. “Everything burned down.”
“Fuck!” Zach screamed. “Fuck!” He pushed Bon Jovi into the hallway. He kept the shotgun pointed at Samantha’s head, his finger on the trigger.
“No!” Charlie pulled her sister down to the floor, away from the shotgun. She felt grit on her knees. Shattered bone riddled the floor. She looked at Gamma. She took her waxy, white hand. The heat had already left her body. She whispered, “Don’t be dead, Mama. Please. I love you. I love you so much.”