Page 96 of Fighting Conviction
“Holy crap,” Ellie whispered.
Is he dead?
“I don’t know. But there’s nothing you can do for him in here.”
Ellie turned to Virginia, the crack shining enough light in the small room for her to see her friend’s pale face and closed eyes.
“V, we gotta get outta here. Come on,” Ellie whispered, hoping she would wake up. A thought crossed her mind and she didn’t know why she didn’t think of it before. Not that she’d had a whole lot of opportunity to think rationally. “Wait, do you have your phone?” Ellie didn’t know anyone’s numbers by heart but maybe they could call 911?
Virginia swallowed and she responded with a hoarse whisper. “Yeah, it’s…” Virginia’s fluttering eyes flashed wide. “El, I-I can’t move my left arm…”
Ellie glanced to see Virginia struggling, trying to roll over to seemingly free her right arm, but her left arm was flopping uselessly. Blood trailed down it and Ellie realized the problem.
“The gunshot… Virginia, I think the bullet did something to your arm.”
Tears streamed down Virginia’s paling face. “I’m tired, Ellie.”
Ellie squeezed her eyes shut as she thought. She was handcuffed and couldn’t get Virginia’s phone, wherever it was, nor could she retrieve her bobby pin from her hair. Could Ellie leave Virginia to run to find help? If that was the best option then she’d do it, but it seemed risky. But maybe a neighbor next door would be home and Ellie could ask them to call 911—
A loud squeaking stopped Ellie’s train of thought dead in its tracks. The back door closed softly, and the owner of heavy footsteps darkened the pantry before passing by. Ellie tiptoed to the sliver of light and saw the same monster of a man looming over the frighteningly still investigator.
“He’s back.”
Unease slithered down Ellie’s spine.
Why?
Sasha was silent as Ellie watched the Russian circle the recliner. He studied the room, a look of disgust staining the hard angles of his face before settling his stare on something out of Ellie’s vision.
He faced the board he’d spoken with the investigator about and fished his phone from his pocket before holding it up for a few minutes.
Is he taking pictures?
He shoved his phone away and rounded the chair to enter the kitchen again, out of Ellie’s sight. Something scraped over the counter and Ellie strained her eyes despite the man not even being in her field of vision, until the Russian got back in her eyesight. She watched, horrified and helpless, as the Russian unscrewed the mason jar lid he carried, sniffed it, and poured it over the investigator’s still body.
Once the jar was empty, he tossed it behind him, causing athunkwhere the glass must have fallen to the carpet. The Russian passed by the door again, making Ellie even more on edge. He went back to the living room, with a large mason jar in each hand. He emptied one in the direction of the board before shaking it all over the living room. There was anotherthunkfollowed by more splashing. The man had developed a rhythm, but the beat stopped just before Ellie saw him take the investigator’s lighter. She bit her lip from screaming out, as her tired mind finally connected what was happening.
With the lighter in his hand, the Russian continued his deadly cadence, leaving a trail of liquor in and around the kitchen and punctuating the end of each jar by shattering the glass onto the linoleum. His shadow darkened the pantry, and Ellie slowly moved out of eyesight to lean against the wall.
With each crash, slow tears leaked down Ellie’s face, no doubt from the alcohol vapors and the helplessness of her situation. Finally, the morbid song stopped. She closed her eyes, saying one final prayer that she was wrong.
The Russian’s deep voice interrupted Ellie’s thoughts and she had to strain to understand the foreign language.
“Tell the Pakhan he knew too much, but it is done.”
The back door squeaked open and Ellie continued her fervent whisper, hoping saying it out loud would encourage the universe to tell him to leave.
But then there was aflick. The world erupted and Ellie’s hell came to life.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The sweet euphoria that always flowed in his veins after he shot up, halted at once, freezing his blood in place. Neal opened his eyes to his empty living room.
Well, it wasn’t really his living room. It couldn’t have been. But it reminded him of his living room from the past. Back when Cici was still alive.
Brighter. Cleaner.
Neal sat up abruptly in his chair and searched the side table. No bent spoon. No baggie. No trash on the floor. His eyes scanned the rest of the room and found no cork board covered in his obsessive search for freedom. He glanced into the kitchen and blinked rapidly.
