Page 34 of Claiming His Bunny
Another algorithm keeps watch on anything related to my current target, Carl Oberman, though it seems there’s nothing new about the supposed child molester. I know I should dig into it deeper or at least go to Oberman’s house and set up surveillance, but I’m reluctant to leave Kayla, even for a night or two.
Carl Oberman isn’t going anywhere. If he is guilty, he will pay. I’ll make sure of that.
I’ll get to him later. Right now, I have to focus on Kayla. And, sadly, also on Benjamin Adams.
I pass by the cabinets holding various weapons and my kill supplies and seat myself comfortably in front of the screens. Switching one to display a live feed from Kayla’s bedroom, I smile as I watch my little bunny still fast asleep. Good for her.
A few mouse clicks later, most of the screens are showing the camera feed from Adams’ house. I keep Kayla’s bedroom on one, just because I love peeking at her while I work, but focus on Benjamin Adams. He’s awake already, working out in his home gym. A maid is tidying his bedroom. A chef is preparing breakfast. Scrambled eggs and bacon, from the looks of it. Hardly a healthy breakfast for a child.
I switch to the feed from Aaron’s room only to find it empty. As far as I can tell, nothing has been moved since yesterday. The bed doesn’t look like anyone has slept in it.
I flick through all the other cameras but don’t see the boy anywhere. Benjamin Adams doesn’t look perturbed by his son’s absence, though. He finishes his workout, takes a shower, then gobbles down the breakfast his chef has prepared. All the while, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.
Is he hiding somewhere? His hospital records mentioned panic attacks, so perhaps he prefers to sleep under his bed? In his closet? In another small space a child of his age would consider safe?
It makes sense, but at the same time, it doesn’t. Something feels terribly wrong.
I leave one screen fixed on Benjamin Adams’ current position and pull up the recordings from the previous day on my main screen. I bet something in there will give me a hint of where Aaron might be.
Benjamin Adams comes home around six p.m. Aaron doesn’t come to greet him, hiding in a corner of his room instead, covering his ears with his hands. Clearly, he isn’t happy to have his father home.
After serving Adams a lavish, three-course dinner, the last of the staff goes home, leaving Aaron alone with his father. As soon as the door shuts after them, Benjamin Adams’ polite smile turns into a vicious smirk. “BOY!” he hollers. In his room, Aaron flinches, crawling deeper into the corner.
My heart speeds up as I watch Adams stalk toward his son’s room, still smirking. He isn’t acting like a loving father. Or like an indifferent father. Or like any father at all, for that matter. He looks like a monster ready to pounce.
Aaron doesn’t make a sound as his father drags him out of his room and into the living room. He doesn’t fight or cry.
Adams shoves him on the floor in front of the TV and plops down on the sofa. “We’re going to have some nice father and son time, watching movies,” he says, the coldness of his voice seeping deep into my bones. “Wouldn’t you like that, boy?”
Aaron manages a jerky nod, tears welling in his eyes. Whatever is going to happen, he’s suffered through it countless times already and knows not to draw his father’s ire.
“Good boy,” Adams says in a condescending tone. “And don’t you fucking dare to piss on the carpet again. I’ll leave you downstairs for the entire week if you do that.”
Downstairs? The word has chills running up my spine. Adams’ house doesn’t have “downstairs.” It has a basement. I didn’t put cameras there because I didn’t think Adams ever used it, and now I feel like a fucking idiot. Is that where Aaron is? Locked in a basement?
On the screen, Adams grabs the remote and starts going through a list of movies on a streaming service. A list of horror movies. The scariest, goriest, something-lives-in-your-basement-and-it-will-eat-you-alive-if-you-ever-go-there horror movies. Adams picks one and settles back on the sofa with a feral grin.
I’ve never seen this particular movie, but the opening sequence has a pretty blonde girl descending the stairs into a dark basement. Surprise, surprise, the lights don’t work. The girl sighs but continues going down, undeterred by the suspicious sounds coming from the darkness.
As the movie soundtrack tenses, Aaron brings his knees to his chest and rests his head against them, closing his eyes and covering his ears. In a flash, Adams jumps off the sofa and drags Aaron’s hands away from his ears.
“Watch,” he commands, his voice full of sadistic glee. “Watch her. She’s about to get torn apart by the monster. The basement monster. You know, the same one that lives in our basement. You must have seen it or heard it at least. Haven’t you, boy?
“At night, when you lie down there, you must have heard it slithering around, moaning and groaning because it’s so hungry. Does it ever crawl over to nibble on your toes when you fall asleep? Or are you quiet enough it doesn’t even notice you? Because, you know, if you make no sound, the monster might leave you alone. Or it might not,” he adds with an evil smirk. “Oh, this is a great scene. Just watch! That’s her liver the monster is chewing on.”
Bile rises in my throat, and I barely make it to the trash can in the corner before my stomach violently expels all its contents. I dry heave long after there’s nothing for me to throw up, hugging the trash can and willing my heart to slow down.
On the screen, the sick fuck continues tormenting his son with the scariest scenes from the movie, telling him how the monster might come to eat him tonight if he isn’t quiet.
And Aaron is quiet. Completely silent.
Though there are waterfalls of tears streaming down his cheeks, he doesn’t make a single sound. He doesn’t even protest when his monster of a father leads him to the basement door and forces him inside, into complete darkness.
“Time to go to sleep,” Adams says, his grin maniacal. “I’ll come pick you up in the morning. Unless the monster eats you, of course.” Then he shoves the boy inside and locks the door.
I stagger over to the workstation and turn off the recording. I can’t…I just can’t.
I’ve seen a fair share of shit in my life, especially when digging up dirt on my suspects. I’ve seen verbal, physical, and sexual abuse. But I’ve never seen anyone mind-fucking a child this way.
