Fresh Flesh (16 page)

But Bat Jackson soon found revenge. He sought
out certain members of the wrestling committee and they found
themselves no longer legislating.

No longer living.

He murdered seven people with his bare hands
before the law caught up with him. It took twelve police officers,
several billy clubs, and great motivation to slap the cuffs on him.
But they never shackled the hatred in Jumping Bat Jackson's
heart.

Never because the place they sent him to
promised another match. The final match. The perfect
rematch
. And the man he was chasing now was not Richard
Templin, no, it was the crippled Fearless Forenza in disguise.

Bat was running down the aisles toward the
match. The crowd was reaching for him with hungry, appreciative
hands that felt like tree branches. Their applause drowned out the
claustrophobic, warm air. The smell of salt and perspiration clung
to the air like a bad omen. The lights had been killed, save for a
small wedge far, far above that looked like a three-quarter moon.
The match would soon begin.

Except this scheduled match was tag-team.
Jumping Bat Jackson was not running down the aisle alone, and
neither was Forenza. There was a big Indian with Bat that he didn't
like. A red man with a bad smell.

Bat suddenly stopped. He grabbed the Indian's
arm. "Let's get something straight," Bat said.

"What?" Butch Smith replied.

"You and me, we aren't no tag-team."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"If you jump in the ring, red man, I'll kill
you. Forenza is mine."

By light of the torch the Indian was
carrying, Bat could see the fear. The Indian was afraid, and that
was all Bat needed to know.

"We go," Bat said, and they continued on,
eastbound, closer to the match.

The Indian gave Bat an odd stare, as if he
didn't know who Forenza was.

Jessica urged Richard to stop. Her lungs felt
like the ground beneath a football team as they rushed out onto the
field. "I can't. . .go. . .on. . .stop, please."

Richard let go of her hand and looked behind
them. He turned back quickly. "We can't stop yet, Jessica. They're
following us. And not far back there. We must keep going."

"Just. . .one. . .minute. . ." she forced
through deep, heavy breaths.

He tugged her hand. "Come on, we must not
stop until we put some distance between us."

She took several more deep breaths while her
heart trio-hammered her chest. She looked up and around. They were
running along the south shoreline of the island. With sharp,
agonizing fear she thought:
we're working our way to the east
side of the island
.

The bad side of the island.

In the dark.

Richard tugged her hand again, this time with
more force, and they moved on.

But before she started running, she heard
someone else's footsteps from behind.

Getting closer.

Kyle had waited too long for a night like
this. Soon, very soon he would have Templin. The woman would be his
for the taking. To have, hold, use and abuse. To love in his own
twisted way. He would show her a new world.

The wind purred softly outside the cave
Roberts now staked as his. He left himself unguarded in hopes that
Templin might return. Kyle didn't think Templin was that stupid.
That was the one obstacle in the game that Kyle would have to
overcome. Templin had been wise enough to stay out of the way all
these years, and any man capable of doing that deserved some sort
of respect.

And out of respect Kyle would make sure that
tiny pieces of Templin's body would be scattered, not buried, all
over the west side of the island.

"C is for Cremation," he said, laughing.

Laughing echoed inside the cave walls.

And Kyle Roberts, the leader, was once again
alone.

He searched through the cave, trying to find
anything Templin might have left behind. Almost immediately he
discovered the secret niche in the cave wall. Kyle held up the
torch and peered inside.

The light from the torch shone back at
him.

Kyle reached in and pulled out something he
hadn't seen for a very long time.

A mirror.

At first he did not look at his reflection.
He held the mirror at an angle and saw his dirt-black fingernails
clutching the torch. Playfully, he tilted the mirror to see a
different angle. He didn't realize how much he looked like a child.
He didn't care. He was, in fact, smiling contently when he brought
the mirror to face him. Feeling happy for the first true time in
years. There was something majestic about the mirror in his hands.
He remembered how girls had thought he was handsome, how his looks
had been part of the trap.

For the first time since he'd parachuted to
the island, he saw his reflection.

He saw what the island, what power struggles
with other cons over the years, had done to him.

The mirror felt as hot as the glowing embers
in the fire.

He screamed with newly-found rage, horror,
disgust, hurling the mirror against the cave wall where it
shattered into dozens of pieces. His beautiful face was gone.

He had seen the butterfly killer. He'd seen a
monster.

It seemed hours, but was only fifteen minutes
before Richard put an end to their running. Her once rugged,
well-conditioned legs were aching.

Her heart had beaten so fast it must have
taken a year off her life. She collapsed.

Richard was there, catching her fall. "Whoa,
Jessica. You okay?"

". . .Tired. . .so. . .very tired. . ." She
huffed and puffed.

"I thought you said you had weekly aerobics
classes and they were the equivalent of a two-mile run?" Richard
said, barely breathing hard.

"I did. . ..but. . .they were. . .nothing. .
.like this. . ."

"Well, anyway," he said, righting her, "I
think we're safe for the moment."

"We. . .lost them?"

"About a half-mile back. It's too dark, even
with torches, to navigate the island in the dark. We are
lucky."

"Why's that?"

"Because I think I know this part of the
island better than any of them. Maybe even Roberts, I think, I
mean, look at it. It's dark. I thought at first the darkness would
hinder us, but it may be the one thing that's on our side."

She looked up at the evil three-quarter moon
and the black ravine surrounding them like the electrified fence of
a prison. She'd never concede the darkness was on their side.

She shivered. "I'm scared."

Richard didn't have a confident answer for
that.

She felt her wind returning, painfully slow.
The human body was a vengeful machine: if you hurt it, overworked
it, abused it—in one striking way or another—it got back at you.
You had to treat it well, maintain a steady diet, keep it away from
stress, or suffer its payback.

She studied the bushes that surrounded her
and grabbed one. It was one of the poisonous plants that Richard
said were all over the island. She showed him.

"Poison hemlock," he said.

"I figured when you told me that if I ate it,
I wouldn't be coming home for dinner, it was probably poisonous,"
she said with a smirk.

"Remember asking where I learned about these
things? Remember the survival school in Kentucky that I told you
about? I read over a dozen books on every subject I thought would
help me here."

Jessica dropped the plant and ground it in
with her heel the same way she had the day Bobby attacked her. The
more she thought about the government's experiment, the more
nauseated she became.

Although she had not formed a position on
capital punishment, others in her life had. Edward thought the
criminal, if possible, should be executed in the same manner they
took the innocent person's life. Ron believed no human being should
be denied life, no matter what crime was committed. Jessica
wondered if Ron would think differently if he was the one running
for his life?

Jessica found her father's view the most
curious: Just do what the Bible says.

Her father's thoughts were not uncommon. On
issues like capital punishment, she felt by taking a position she
was drawing sides. Similar of abortion, existence of God, and life
after death. Jessica fitted into the unwilling to commit to either
side group.

"Jessica?" Richard whispered. "This may be a
funny place to ask but. . .do you miss Edward?"

"It is a funny place," she said, and then
began to wonder.

"I mean. . .well, you wouldn't have ever come
to this island if you hadn't married Edward."

"That's a strange way to look at our
predicament."

"I would never have been lucky enough to have
gotten to know you." He strained for the right words. "I. . .1 was
just wondering how you felt about him?"

"Why is this so important? Why right
now?"

He answered after a small, thoughtful pause,
"Just curious."

"That's all?"

"Yeah."

"Then, yes. Of course I miss him."

'You do miss him?" he quickly replied.

"Of course."

"Would it be too personal of me to ask what
he did to make you love him?"

She was beginning to understand what Richard
was getting at, but she decided to play it out anyway. "Edward
could be very warm and reassuring. I need that in a
relationship."

As she spoke some of the bitter past seeped
through her tone and inflection, "But Edward couldn't be faithful.
From the start, yes. But after that. . .there were other
women."

"Why would he cheat on you? You've got a
wonderful disposition. You're beautiful, charming—what else could
he ask for?"

She looked closely at Richard and realized
that he didn't understand that he was speaking from his heart.
Expressing his feelings. He was trying to speak through someone
else. A very cunning, coy way to disguise his feelings for her.

"Edward had his money," was her answer. "He
always had his money. That was the way he wanted it. He wanted to
be buried inside Fort Knox. Kind of like Jimi Hendrix being buried
with his guitar."

"So, you're saying that the storm, when it
took your boat and Edward down, it was kind of like burying him
with his money?"

"In a sense," she replied. She wished that
was how it had happened, instead of the sea spitting up his hand
with the added bonus of his memory-filled wedding ring. If she
hadn't seen that, perhaps she would have better accepted his
death.

Instead of letting it haunt her mind.

A strong, shrill wind curled in, silencing
both of them. By the time it died, Jessica realized that Richard
had done it again. He'd diverted pending terror by using romance.
Sly devil
.

"Do you think we've lost them, Richard?"

"For the night, yes."

"Where exactly are we?"

"We're on the southeast corner of the island.
If we go another mile north, we'll be at their camp."

She felt a chill. "Are we too close?"

"I don't think so. Nobody's probably there
anyway. They're all out searching for us."

"What about Roberts?"

"I don't think even he realized how dark this
island gets at night. There are too many places for us to hide at
night. The best way to capture us will be during the day. We're
safe for now."

"We can't run forever," Jessica said.

"No," He snuck a peek at the three-quarter
moon, then back down at her. "But I have something in mind that
might help."

"Really?" she said, thinking:
here goes
the mystery again
.

"Not now, but soon. For now, you must get
some sleep."

"I don't think I can sleep with them out
there looking for us."

"I'm here, I'll stand guard tonight."

"You need sleep too."

His reply came from the deepest region in his
heart. "I'll survive."

And she knew with frightened certainty if he
didn't, neither would she.

One by one, the disappointed hunters returned
to the cave with faces drawn in defeat. Some of them walked into
the cave with their heads hung, others shaking their heads, only
one came back looking undisturbed. And that one, Walkins, was
standing before him now.

"We lost them, Kyle."

"I can see that. What happened?"

"Too dark. Even with the torches, we're
searching blind."

"Everson! That incompetent fuck. This should
have been over before starting. Now. . .now it looks like it's
going to be a fight."

"We're going to have to get them during
daylight," Walkins said.

"Dammit!" Roberts kicked the dirt. "I should
have gone myself instead of sending Seth."

Walkins stood his ground, still
expressionless.

"Why aren't you like the others, Walkins. Why
aren't you disappointed?"

"Because, I'm waiting."

"Waiting?"

"Yes, when the others fail, I will have his
head. And the woman's flesh."

"You will, will you?" Kyle said with a smile,
turning to pace the cave. Had he discovered a problem child?

C is for Child.

"Yes. You know I'm not like the others."

C is for Courage.

"What, you mean you're not crazy?"

"No, I'm not."

Kyle turned, still smiling. He drew his
knife.

"Listen to me Walkins. I'm in charge of this
place and don't ever forget it."

"Sure, Kyle, of course you are."

"So if I tell you to cut your throat right
now, you'd do it, right?"

Hesitantly, "I. . .I. . ."

"Would you?"

Fear. Fear in Walkins' eyes. Roberts held
fear at his grasp and loved it.

C is for Coward.

Kyle ordered him to draw his knife.

He did.