Her Last Day (Jessie Cole #1)(83)
Forrest struggled to get free, his legs flailing and his fingers clawing at Ben’s as he tried to get loose. Ben felt the muscles and tendons in his forearms tighten as he crushed Forrest Bloom’s windpipe until finally he felt the full weight of the madman’s body in his grasp.
And there it was. A wispy sort of gasp escaped Forrest’s mouth before his body went slack.
Only then did the old man’s shoulders relax. His head fell gently to the right, and a trickle of blood slid from the place between his eyes where the dart protruded. The old man was dead—of that Ben was sure. Only then did he let go.
Forrest Bloom crumpled into a heap at his feet.
Ben stepped over the body, pulled the dart from the old man’s forehead, and tossed it to the ground before he felt for a pulse. Just as he’d thought, there was none. He gently closed the old man’s eyes and then bent over and grabbed the keys from around the killer’s neck.
Ben walked around Jessie, stepping through sticky blood, his shoes making a suctioning noise as he made his way to the first cell and unlocked the door. A loud whooshing sounded in both ears, like ten-foot waves crashing against the shore.
The dark-haired girl thanked him as she swept past. She went straight to the open door of the cell he’d just left and peeked inside.
Ben wasn’t sure what she was doing, but he had an inkling she wanted to make sure her captor was dead.
By the time he unlocked the other cell and knew for certain the woman lying inside was dead, the girl was pulling a hose out from behind the stairs. He had no idea how long she’d been down there or what, if anything, had happened to her, but the normalcy with which she moved about was impressive. She turned on the water and then pulled off her long-sleeve coat and used it as a wet rag to wash the thick coat of blood from Jessie’s face and neck.
Ben looked around, unable to comprehend all that he was seeing.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and it was then that he took a breath of rotten air and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
The girl dropped the hose, and together they helped Jessie up the stairs and outside, where he watched the dark-haired girl put her face to the sun and smile.
FORTY-FIVE
The sun had begun to rise the next morning when Jessie shot up in bed, her arms waving about as if to ward off whatever might be coming at her.
Somebody grabbed her arm, stopping her from flailing around.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re safe.”
It took her a second to realize she was home in bed. “Colin?”
“It’s me. I’m here.”
The dizziness passed, and she saw him clearly. She caught her breath and said, “It’s good to see you.”
“I’m always glad to see you.”
She smiled.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he told her. “I’ve got to get back to work soon, but if it’s okay with you, I thought I’d stop by later with some Chinese food for you and Olivia.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
“It’ll be crazy busy for the next few weeks.”
“Understandable.” She inhaled. “Is Olivia home?”
“No. Andriana took her to school. She’s doing good, though. She was with you at the hospital last night before we brought you home.”
She put a hand to her temple. “I hardly remember.”
“The doctor gave you something to help you relax.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry about everything, Jessie. Mostly I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“It’s not your fault. I rushed in when I should have been more careful.”
“By the time I heard your message and found out what was going on, you were being brought to the hospital.”
“It’s been a crazy time for both of us. You’ve been busy. We both have.” She pushed the covers off her, slid her legs over the side of the mattress, then got to her feet and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight.
“It’s okay,” he whispered as he rubbed her back. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Frightening images came to mind: Natalie lying in a pool of blood, Zee rattling the bars, trying to get out of her cage, the high-pitched wails as Forrest Bloom tortured the old man, and the silhouette of a man standing on the stairs.
Ben Morrison.
The look on his face when he’d seen Forrest Bloom torturing the old man was a look she’d never forget. As blood dripped off her face, she’d seen his eyes grow cold and hard, his jaw rigid as he wrapped his meaty fingers around the madman’s throat, pressing hard, still squeezing long after the life had left the other man’s body.
She stepped out of Colin’s embrace and headed into the living room where Higgins greeted her, his tail wagging. “Good dog,” she said, scratching the top of his head. The TV was on. One of the local news stations showed the long gravel driveway leading to the Bloom farmhouse lined with police cruisers and media vans.
Colin came to stand beside her. “You’ve been to hell and back. Maybe you should sit down.”
He was right. Her knees felt wobbly. She took a seat on the couch.
“People have been calling in to talk about how Forrest Bloom was tortured by his father,” Colin told her. “After his mother died, he returned to the farm to get revenge on his father. They’re saying he kept his old man chained in the basement.”