Her Last Day (Jessie Cole #1)(4)

TWO

He pushed the dresser to his right, then leaned over and pulled open the wooden hatch. A hot wave of stench crept out of the dark space below. He turned away and coughed before he grabbed his backpack and slipped his arms through the shoulder straps. He then made his way down the stairs and into the underground room his father had built beneath their house before he was born.

The room was a one-thousand-square-foot space consisting of two jail cells made of crude metal bars and another enclosed cell with a slot in the middle of the door that made it easy to feed his prisoner without opening the door.

He waved his hands around to get the air circulating before lighting the oil lamps hanging from metal hooks on the wall. The space had been reinforced with concrete, which had created condensation. It was dank and damp, and the walls were covered with mildew. A large crack ran through the back wall and across a section of cement flooring. At times he wondered if these walls would cave in and the living space above might collapse on top of him. If his father had been smart, he would have used another inch or two of concrete and thicker rebar.

Too late now.

He opened the metal door. The man inside had a long, scraggly gray beard. He’d named him Dog. At the moment, Dog was crouched in the corner of the small space muttering to himself. In the cell next to Dog was Garrett Ramsey, a thirty-five-year-old man who looked closer to fifty. Garrett was rolled into a tight ball on the hard ground and appeared to be sleeping. As he did for all the animals on the farm, he kept the ground littered with straw.

He walked past Garrett’s cell and made his way to the stool in front of the third cell and took a seat. He removed his backpack, retrieved a tin can of sardines and a water bottle from his bag, and placed it all on the floor next to his feet. “Are you thirsty?”

She nodded.

He picked up the bottled water, slid his arm through the metal slats, and placed it inside her cell.

She licked her lips, but apparently her wariness of him overrode all else.

Next he pulled a pen and notebook from his bag. “What’s your name?”

He already knew it was Erin Hayes. When he’d found her on the side of the road with a flat tire, she’d accepted a ride, which he’d found surprising. Getting someone inside the car was usually the most difficult part. After drugging her and bringing her to the farmhouse, he’d looked through her purse. Her ID had provided her name and address. A search through social media had done the rest. But he would ask her questions anyhow because conducting interviews was half the fun. He thought of it as the beginning of the end.

When he realized she hadn’t answered him, he looked up from his notebook. “Are you having a hard time finding your voice?”

Another nod of her head.

The drugs were probably still wearing off. “I’ll give you a few more minutes, but that’s all, okay?”

He’d stripped her of her clothes before tossing her in the cell. She was sitting in the corner on a pile of straw. Every time he met her gaze, she looked away. He didn’t like that.

“Before I begin the questioning, it’s probably a good idea if I lay down a few ground rules. To start, I insist you call me ‘Sir’ at all times. If I ask you a question and you don’t answer right away, I consider that to be rude, and you would have to be disciplined. Punishment is not negotiable and comes in many forms.” He sighed as he thought about what to say next. “To give you an idea of what I’m talking about, should you make me angry, I might decide to electrocute you. Have you ever been electrocuted?”

She shook her head, the fear in her eyes making his heart beat faster.

“I could find the pliers and yank out one of your teeth instead. It all depends on my mood.” He chuckled as he remembered the woman named Jill who’d been forced to eat soup he’d made out of vile things he’d collected. “I could make you consume large quantities of something hideously distasteful.” He lifted an eyebrow. “There has been a time or two where I’ve allowed a prisoner to pick their own poison, so to speak. See? You just never know.”

He stared at her, unblinking.

When she saw him staring, she averted her gaze again.

“No. No. No. Look at me. Never look away when I’m talking to you. I hate that.”

She did as he said.

“Okay,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Erin.”

Good for her. She was off to a good start.

“In what city do you live?”

“Elk Grove.”

“What is the name of your best friend?”

“Amber.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

Every time she answered a question, he tossed a sardine her way, sometimes smacking her in the face or arm. She didn’t bother eating them as he wrote her answers down.

She answered every question until he asked, “What are you most afraid of?”

That was when she broke down and started to cry.

Damn. For some ridiculous reason, he’d thought she would be different from the others. Maybe it was because she’d seemed so comfortable with jumping into the passenger seat of his car and carrying on a conversation with a complete stranger. He riffled through his backpack and pulled out his Taser.