Page 93 of Fracture

Dylan laughs, tossing the knife into the air and catching it by the hilt. “You got a lot of fire for an old man in your position.”

“What do you want?” Spittle foams at the corner of Iverson’s lips.

Dylan rolls his shoulders, tilting his covered head in my direction. “What do we want,guapo?”

I suck on my teeth, rubbing my chin through the mask. “Man, you know what I really want? I really want to know how that little girl in the pictures on your mantelpiece is, Stanley.” I drop into a crouch in front of Iverson, whose eyes are widening. “She’s real sweet. You must be proud of her. Your granddaughter?”

He bucks and roars, the chair shifting beneath him and the ropes binding him leaving red grazes behind. “You sick fuckers, if you touch her-”

“I don’t touch little girls, Stan.” I lean closer to him, close enough to smell the sweat and fear dripping from his pores. “I’m not like you.”

Iverson freezes, he even stops breathing for a second. His eyes widen even further, his pupils blowing out. He starts to splutter, shaking his head, his eyes darting around the room as though his salvation could be found in the corners of this abandoned old barn.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice doesn’t carry a hint of conviction, but is laced with fear. “You sick bastards leave my family alone.”

Dylan nods slowly, turning the knife in his hand, over and over. “It’s a horrid thought, isn’t it? To think of someone taking your granddaughter, and hurting her. Must make you sick to your stomach.”

“I mean, what kind of monster would do that?” I ask Iverson, holding my hands up. “Who would take a little girl, one who’s been drugged, into a hotel room?”

Iverson’s eyeballs are going to roll out of his skull. His head swivels from Dylan to me and back again, his mouth flapping uselessly. He begins to shake his head, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Imagine how scared she’d be,” I say softly, retrieving the gun from my waistband, and holding it loosely in my hand. “Lying there helplessly, while a sick old man leered over her. While he told her he’d paid extra to violate her without a condom.”

“Know what we’re talking about yet?” Dylan’s voice drips ice.

Iverson’s head isn’t so much shaking as it is quivering. Thick lines form in his forehead as his eyebrows lift. “I have no idea what you-”

His words are cut off with a howl as Dylan plunges the knife into Iverson’s meaty thigh. Blood sprays across my chest, and I rise to my feet, backing away a few steps as Dylan yanks the knife from Iverson’s flesh.

“Are we remembering yet?” Dylan’s voice thunders over Iverson’s screams and blubbered pleas. “I’m not hearing any recollection, maybe we need to do the other one to help you out, huh?”

“No, please, please,” Iverson sobs, drool dripping from his lips. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

Dylan presses the flat of the bloody blade to Iverson’s throat, forcing his head back. “Then maybe you should start talking, old man.”

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Iverson whimpers.

“Who?” I cock the gun and press it to his temple, and Iverson begins to cry in earnest. A pool forms in the dirt below his chair as the pathetic old man pisses himself. “You never wanted to hurt who, you disgusting old fuck? I want to hear you say her fucking name.”

He’s shaking so hard now, I’m sure his heart is about to give out. His blue lips quiver, his eyes clenched shut, sweat pouring down the back of his neck.

“S-Stella.” He barely gets the name out. “Stella Langford.”

Dylan’s dark eyes burn into mine, and I can see the violent feathering of his jaw through the mask over his face.

“And what did you do to her, huh?” Dylan presses the blade harder against Iverson’s chin, drawing a thin line of blood.

The man snaps for air, his chest sucking in hard against his ribs. “Her father said, he said, he said it was fine, he assured me. It was fine!”

Dylan slams the blade into Iverson’s other leg, and his screams echo around us, out into the night. He waits until Iverson runs out of steam, nothing coming out of his mouth but pathetic, high-pitched gasps, his head slumped against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I never meant to hurt her.”

“You raped her.” I use the barrel of the gun to force his head back up. His eyes are glassy as they open slowly. “You lay on top of that girl, and you raped her.”

“It wasn’t just me,” he says. “There were more. Please, don’t kill me.”

“Who else, huh? We want names.” Dylan fires up the taser. “Otherwise, you’re useless to us.”

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