The Rasner Effect (32 page)

“We shall see if you are,” Jen responded.

Rick was about to leave the room when Clara stepped in his path. She threw her arms around his waist and rested her forehead on his chest. “Thanks for getting me out.”

Rick seemed unsure of how to react. Jen let out a quiet chuckle. “A little emotion could go a long way.” She took Rick’s arm by the wrist and placed it over Clara’s shoulders. The hug was short lived but satisfying for Clara. It was the first positive physical contact she’d had since…well, she couldn’t remember the last time.

Rick put his hand on top of her head. “Okay kid, I have to go let Derrick know what we’ll need. But after that, I want you to meet me outside in the backyard. Figure twenty minutes from now.”

A permanent rage lived in Rick’s eyes, but Clara thought she could see behind it, to the real man. The man who was a combination of the therapist and the mercenary. He was also the only person she had ever known, except her grandmother, who seemed to give a damn about her.

“Let me give you a hand getting ready,” Jen said to Rick. “And then I will wish you luck, properly.”

She enfolded her hands around his waist and led him out of the kitchen. Clara watched them descend the basement stairs. She took a moment to sit and inspect her surroundings. Last night had been the first time in a long time where she remained alone in a room and not locked in.

Chapter Thirty-Six

“Okay, now grip the gun tightly and put your finger on the trigger. Keep your feet apart, just like I showed you.”

In the backyard, Rick stood behind Clara with her arms stretched out straight and the pistol gripped in her hands. The oak tree was twenty-five paces, just on the edge of the woods. An empty tin soda can perched on a branch about six feet off the ground. Rick said it wasn’t very far, but it was a hell of a lot further than the bitch had been.

“Don’t be afraid of the gun, Clara, it’s your advantage against the world. It’s your control,” Rick spoke in a low voice. “Line your shot up just below your target. Remember, the gun will pop up when it goes off.”

“Okay.” She squinted at the target, sighting over the top of the pistol.

“As soon as you’re ready, squeeze the trigger and release all the hate you feel inside.”

Clara squeezed one eye closed. The gun was positioned perfectly, aimed just below the bottom of the can. It felt as if the gun barrel touched the can as Rick said would happen. She was ready to pull the trigger. With Rick watching just feet away, she wanted to hit the can with her first shot.

Above the branch where the can sat, a dark gray pigeon flapped its wings, causing the leaves around it to rustle. Clara quickly brought her eyes back to the can, but then she couldn’t tell if the gun in her hands was still aimed properly. She brought her hands down to her sides and looked at Rick in frustration.

“Fucking bird,” she exclaimed, smiling a little.

Rick laughed as he reached over and took the gun from Clara’s hands. “The bird just ruined your shot.” He placed the gun on the basement window ledge to the right of the door.

“Yeah.”

“Nice to see you smiling, by the way.”

The comment brought a wider grin that she tried to stifle. She used to love to show off her smile, it brought her many compliments. It was long before she ended up in that place and then couldn’t find a reason to smile anymore.

“So what do you do about it?” Rick turned serious. He cocked a brow, waiting for an answer.

She wanted to ask,
about what?
but didn’t want to make him angry. “It’s just a bird.”

He sat in one of the folding chairs near the house and leaned his elbows on his thighs. “Bird or not. It doesn’t matter. It kept you from your target. It’s an annoyance and annoyances have to be dealt with harshly. As a message to the rest of the world.”

“You want me to kill the bird?” Clara really didn’t like the idea of killing an innocent creature to make a point.

“I want you to command the fear and respect of anyone who would dare cross you.” Rick sat up straight. His eyes widened in what she’d already come to recognize as an obsession. “If you can’t, they become a threat. It’s a kill or be killed world out there, Clara, that’s why threats need to be eliminated. Do not hold back!”

“You make it sound…easy.” Did he realize how hard all this was? She didn’t think so. Rick only saw life from one perspective—kill or be killed. There had to be other ways, didn’t there?

“It is easy!” Rick snapped, jolting her away from her thoughts.

“My whole life, everyone told me to hold back.” She stared down at her feet. “Think before I speak, control my temper, stuff like that. Even you told me I had to learn to control myself. Were you frontin’ or…?”

“Forget what I said there, listen to me now!” Rick started out of the chair, but then got hold of himself. She nearly smiled. For a moment, he looked like the Rick Rasner who sat across from her in the therapy suite.

Rick fell back in the chair, both loafers flat on the floor. He pointed a finger at her. “You don’t let people shit on you, Clara,
ever
! You have to know how to handle the Millers and the Royals of the world. They’re the types who prey on the weak. You show them weakness and they will eat you alive.”

“I tried to fight back, I really did.” And she had. “Every time I stood up for myself, Officer James held me against the wall by my throat, sometimes until I couldn’t even breathe. Every time I opened my mouth, they’d throw my ass in seclusion.”

Clara couldn’t believe she’d almost shouted at him. She clamped her lips together and looked toward the ground. The grass needed mowing. “I couldn’t do nothing but take it.”

“I never liked bullies. And that’s all Officer James was, just a bully with a badge, and not even a real badge. That’s why he’s dead now, good riddance.”

“I hated that stupid straitjacket.” She couldn’t stop the shiver that coursed through her whole body. “Some of the time, I was only fighting because I didn’t want it on me. But he was too big. Too strong.” Clara glanced at the can still sitting on the branch. She picked up the gun and tested the heft of it in her hand.

“He’d close the door to the seclusion room so we were alone. Sometimes there was another guard in there, sometimes it was Miss Hefner. One time, Mister Royal held me down. Most of the time, it was just us.” Clara rubbed a thumb on the pistol’s handle grip. She watched her thumb go back and forth.

“Continue.”

“He would take off his belt, whipping it out of the holes on his pants. He’d pull my shirt up and start slamming the end of the belt against my back.” Clara pushed out a deep angry breath. She’d never told anyone about that. Not even the therapist before Rick. Hell, she hadn’t told her anything. Their sessions consisted of her seated in that hard wooden chair, tearing her fingernails off with her teeth. “Then he put the jacket on me. I yelled that I would tell my grandmother what he did. He always said to go ahead, he didn’t care. Now I know why.” A wave of sadness engulfed her and she turned away. The act made the pigeon fly into the air. She raised the gun, sighted quickly, since the target was moving, and pulled the trigger. The bird squawked once and plunged to the grass.

She felt Rick staring at her but she couldn’t tell if she made him angry or not. She hadn’t asked permission to do that. “He used to call me his little slave girl. He said he called me that because he whipped me like one. I
hated
when he said that.”

She lifted the gun again and fired at the can. The bullet hit the bark of the tree, leaving the can untouched. Very slowly, she turned on a heel. Rick stared at her. She couldn’t read his emotions. If he was mad she missed, surely he would’ve reacted by now.

“I really hated that straitjacket.”

“I had no idea that was going on. He really whipped you with his belt?”

“Yes.”

Clara had been called a liar by so many people she’d about given up on them. That was part of the reason she was here. Whatever Rick and the others were, they were honest, at least with her. Clara turned away and pulled up her shirt. From the soft curse behind her, she knew he’d seen the scars across her back.

“This is all from
him
?” The chair squeaked as he rose. A finger probed the worst of the marks. It ran all the way across her lower back.

“Some of them are—the newer ones.” Clara dropped her shirt and faced Rick. “Some of the other kids got
punished
too, but he whipped me more than anyone else.” Clara tucked her shirt inside her pants. “Mister Royal used to say how come the others could learn respect but I needed a lot of lessons. God, I hate them all!”

Clara set the gun back on the ledge and then wiped her nose with the back of a hand. She blinked off the threat of tears. She wanted to stay strong, and not cry. Not ever again.

“Clara, you have experienced firsthand why you can’t let people hurt you. They get away with it once, they’ll do it again.”

She watched his attention drift. He ground his teeth and cracked his knuckles. When she looked back at him, he gazed off into the distance, a scowl on his face. Suddenly, he said, “Even when they say it’s for your own damn good. Even when he calls it part of the training…”

“I know you’re right. But what can I do?”

“Yes. What can you do?”

Rick seemed to still be in some sort of self-imposed trance. He shifted his glance to the gun on the ledge just below the basement window. She folded her arms across her body and shook her head. “I guess nothing.”

“Guess again.” He spun around. His left hand shot up and wrapped around her throat. He heaved her back against the wall. Clara was so surprised she didn’t react except to gasp. When no air would pass, she pulled harder, the instinctive need for air compelling her.

“Don’t panic, think. Consider your situation and figure your way out of it.”

What the hell was he trying to prove? Then she knew. Learn by example. Her right hand shot up and took hold of Rick’s wrist. She yanked on his hand, but his grip was too tight. She needed air. She couldn’t think.

“You’re not strong enough to pull my arm away, you can see that. Use those brains of yours. Come up with something else.”

Clara punched at him, but she couldn’t reach him.

“Work it out in your head before you act!” Rick fingers tightened a little more. Her legs grew weak. “Think your way out of this; otherwise you’re going to die here!”

He was serious. To teach her this lesson, he would let her die. Air! She needed air. Her movements turned erratic, frantic. She kicked, she clawed.

“Come on, think!”

The fingers of both hands found Rick’s fingers. She plucked and dug at them, pulling, wrenching. She’d never felt so helpless. Not even in that straitjacket.

“Good! You’re on the right track now. But my fingers are too strong. They work together and outnumber you. What else can you try?”

Her brain wouldn’t work. Burning lungs about to explode.

All at once, she had hold of his thumb. Dig! Four fingers and a thumb wrapped around it. Jerk, pull, get it away! Clara yanked it with all her might and desperation. The pressure released a tiny bit, just enough for air to reach her throat. Before he could clamp around her again, she jammed her knee between his legs.

He let out a shriek that brought an apology to her throat. But the words never made it to her mouth. She dropped on all fours, gasping for air. Four feet away, Rick gasped too. The knowledge brought quicker recovery and she battled to stand up, coughing so hard she thought her insides might come out. The contact of his fingers was still a vivid reminder.

Rick improved and climbed to his feet, his left hand clutching his crotch. First instinct told Clara to turn tail and run. This man wouldn’t take kindly to what she’d done. Instead she planted her sneakers, ready for another attack. His right hand shot out. She leaped back and he grabbed dead air. A few more steps made her more secure.

Rick half-crouched over, his hand still holding his privates. But—and she couldn’t believe it—he was smiling. “Very good,” he rasped, “
that
was the right move. You get an opening you take advantage immediately. Never hesitate.”

His fierceness made her want to wince. She wouldn’t though. She maintained the extra distance from him while rubbing her throat.

“Someone grabs you like that, you take the thumb and twist. That will cause a stumble. And then you fire a shot between the legs. You kick so hard, your attacker’s balls squirt out his mouth. Do you understand?”

Clara planted her feet, sucked in her gut, and nodded her head in the affirmative.

“Do you know what you do after that?”

“Run like hell?”

His emphatic “No!” made her jump. “You don’t have to run. Not as long as you keep hold of this!” Rick removed the gun from the window ledge. “Keep hold of your weapon. Never give it up or hand it over like you did for me earlier. When your attacker is in pain and stumbling, you point this right to his head and squeeze the trigger.”

They both eyed the gun Rick held between them. “Permanent solutions. Remember those words.”

“That’s what you want me to do tonight.”

“Exactly right. Tonight, we both get what we deserve. We both settle our past issues—once and for all.”

Rick took a step back and folded his arms, tucking the gun near his ribcage. “How does that sound to you?”

Bewildering
. What did he want her to say? Okay, I’ll kill at will? She couldn’t guarantee that. Not yet anyway. Maybe in a few months. Maybe never. She really had no idea what she would do in the situation.

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“No…I don’t know. A little, I guess. I’m just not sure…if I’m the kind of person who could…who would…”

“You’re the kind of person who ended up in a mental institution, Clara.”

This time, she couldn’t stop herself from flinching.

“You are the kind of person who walks a fine line between angel and rebel.” His tone sounded scolding, but his face didn’t look perturbed. “You can’t be both, because that’s what gets you locked up, when your conscience surrenders you to the decisions and mercies of others.”