Turtle Island (21 page)

The drive was short… so short; that was part of the fun
though.

Rick could hear crying coming from somewhere, the sound
invading his brain, stirring the dormant thought process. As his
mind began to whir, starting to function, he recognised the crying
child's voice, it was his son. Rick opened his eyes to total
darkness. Cold water lapped around his thighs and for the first
time with it the realisation that he was cold, very cold. He tried
to call out to calm his son but a gargled cacophony filtered
through the tape. Rick was aware that his arms and legs were bound
and that he was secured to a chair immersed in water of some sort
but how he got there was a mystery. He wondered if it was some sort
of nightmare. The fact that he knew he was awake made him shudder
because it meant this was real. Rick tried to move his arms but
they were bound so tightly he knew it was a waste of strength.
Whoever was doing this to him would make themselves known soon;
otherwise he would already be dead. The water around his legs
lapped gently over his thighs. Rick could hear a muffled sobbing
coming from somewhere near his left.

Jo-Lynn woke first, the drugged haze in her head now clearing.
Her understanding of what was happening even less clear than that
of her husband’s. She too, could hear Ray's sobbing but was
helpless to either reply or give any form of comfort to her son.
Jo-Lynn had waited with her eyes open for over ten minutes before
hearing Rick's struggling. In that time her eyes had not adjusted
to the dark. No chink of light entered the place where they were
being kept. The cold water that came up to Jo-Lynn's stomach gave
her a sense of foreboding that frightened her almost beyond reason
but most of all she wanted to be close to her son, if she was
frightened she dreaded to think what her son was going through.
Right now all she wanted to do was hug and reassure him, tell him
that everything would be okay, even if she didn't quite believe it
to be the truth herself. Jo-Lynn tried to move forward but the
chair she was secured to rocked uneasily in the dark. The prospect
of plunging head first into the water soon stopped any attempt to
free herself.

He watched them slowly wake through his night vision glasses.
First the woman, then the boy and finally the detective; the reason
they were all there. His enjoyment was all encompassing. He felt
the embodiment of that joy soaring through his body. The pleasure,
a palpable tingle that coursed and surged and grew greater as each
member of the Montoya family woke from their drug induced sleep. He
watched from the safety of darkness, a voyeur observing a sacred
moment, one he had prayed to God for. A moment that was finally
answered, God does indeed move in mysterious ways. He moved closer,
into the water, stirring the stagnant liquid, until he was inches
away from the detective’s face. He whispered in Rick Montoya’s
ear.

‘Soon.’

Wesley Timms opened his e-mail program. The always-on
connection heralded each new arrival with a trumpeted fanfare,
which pissed everybody in his office off, but he didn’t give a
fuck. He never really cared about any of them, except maybe Chelsea
Drake; yes there he could give a fuck…given the opportunity. Wesley
spent most of his day peeling off layers of her clothing with his
eyes, but knew she wasn’t interested in him. He’d have to find
other ways to make her interested and he never doubted his own
ingenuity for one moment.

He read the e-mail.

Some time ago you contacted me with a business proposition,
now is the right time to talk seriously, go to www.deathcam.com now
and see if you think the time is right. Click on the web cam link.
Password ‘CORRUPT.’

This e-mail address will remain active for one
hour.

A Friend

Wesley felt his throat tighten. His fingers jabbed at the keys
on his keyboard, misspelling the web site address twice in his
clumsy eagerness. As the site began to load Wesley imagined Chelsea
Drake fuck naked, straddled over him, dripping lust.

The first image that loaded on his screen was a picture of
Korjca. As Wesley typed the password, the letters appeared on
Korjca’s forehead, written in blood. She was obviously dead. The
picture disappeared, replaced with a new image. A night cam offered
grainy views of a cellar, three figures were strapped to chairs and
a counter was set on the screen counting down. 59:59:40. In the
darkness a figure moved toward the camera, covered from head to toe
in black with just two slits through a mask highlighting the
killer’s eyes, which in the weird lighting looked like red
pools.

‘Hello Wesley…feel honoured…you should. This is a premiere,
just for you.’

Rick didn't know what time it was or even the day. The
darkness had stretched the hours. He tried to wriggle his fingers
and toes. The immobility coupled with the cold water had numbed
them and the only sensation he felt was a dull aching that was
spreading from his feet upwards. It had been ages since he had
heard the voice and in the hours that had passed had spent his time
trying to match a face to it. Hoping to make sense somehow of why
he and his family was being tortured in this way. A blinding flash
suddenly illuminated the room, the bright, startling explosion,
momentarily stunning Rick.

‘Smile you're dead!’ The voice said.

The command was followed by another flash. This time Rick saw
a blurred outline of his captor. He briefly saw a Polaroid camera
in the split second that it took for the flash to expose the film.
His brain took in a lot of background detail and for the first time
he was aware of where he was being kept.

‘Once more, this time with emotion.’ The voice called
again.

Rick felt a stinging blow to the side of his face.

‘Profile.’

Rick turned his head and the flash popped once more. In the
far corner of the chamber he caught a glimpse of his son, head
slumped down unconscious, asleep or...Rick didn't want to think of
the worst.

The Polaroid camera whirred as it spat out the
print.

‘Other side.’

Another slap, pushing his face to his right. The flash this
time illuminated his wife. Jo-Lynn was sitting up in the chair,
bound in a similar fashion to him. Her eyes wide open with fear.
Water soaking through her nightdress, a small smattering of blood
smeared down one arm. The horror images were relayed to Rick's
brain, absorbed in the fraction of a second of light. Suddenly the
darkness seemed to be a preferable option. It was the markings on
the wall behind Jo-Lynn that confirmed Rick's dread. He had seen
them before, and in the split second it took to illuminate them,
his brain had searched and recollected just where. The videotape
sent to Barbara Dace’s grandson.

October mornings in Portmorion, Maryland, are crisp. Georgina
loved them when as today they were bright and sunny. The prospect
of winter loomed around the corner and she hoped to be able to
spend some time at home decorating and making her house more
habitable. For the past fourteen months it had been no more than a
place to rest her head in between cases, no more than another motel
but off a familiar highway. She hadn't yet given the old
half-brick, half-wood, constructed house her own sense of identity.
She stood at the kitchen window and looked out onto the overgrown
lawn, promising to cut it at the weekend, if she could wrangle a
day off. Two brightly coloured fake magnetic tropical fish flipped
about in their water world fish tank. The buzz of the roving magnet
-that enticed and seduced the metallic clones, drawing them to all
the corners of the tank- no more than a faint hum in the
background, soon to be consumed by the radio. Georgina filled the
kettle. She hummed along with the tune, a song by Radiohead. She
wasn't sure of the title but thought it to be 'Karma Police'. Her
suspicions confirmed when the chorus started. After drinking a cup
of strong coffee she changed into her running gear, long grey sweat
top and baggy jogging pants, a pair of Nike Air trainers and went
for a five mile run around the streets of her hometown. Portmorion
was a small, quiet fishing town, somewhere away from the hustle of
Maryland and the bustle of the city. It was the ideal retreat that
Georgina sought. A sanctuary away from the horror and madness that
often was a big part of her work. Running through the small lanes,
past the old colonial houses, she could quite easily get away from
the stresses and strains of the day she left behind, and the day
that was to come. She turned inwards to the coastal road. The
slight incline was especially tiring as it came near the end of the
run, but it was worth the final burst of effort just to take in the
view of the Atlantic Ocean. It was a view which always managed to
take her breath away with greater ease than the endeavours of her
exercise. As she neared the top of the hill the sea came into view.
A benign smile spread across her face. Georgina breathed deeply,
the air slightly salty, blowing in on an easterly wind that
although light, still managed to blow her short black hair
backwards. As often during a run along the coast road, Georgina
felt a surge of joy spread through her body. She knew all about
runners high's and the endorphins that were released into the brain
and bloodstream and guessed that she was a little luckier than most
experiencing that sensation almost every time she ran that route.
She stepped up the pace for the final mile, the cool morning chill
dissipating under the warming autumn sun. Her breath bellowed in
cloudy vapour trails, she could feel the sweat under her running
top, cooling and clammy against her skin. Another part of her
morning ritual that she enjoyed would be the steaming hot shower
when she arrived home and the breakfast that followed. 'Probably
scrambled eggs or French toast' she informed herself. She turned
off the coast road and headed down the last five hundred metres.
Soon her house would come into view, a sight that always brought a
smile to her face… but not today.

The blue flashing light was a part of her daily life,
something she saw every day. Something that she should be immune
to, but when Georgina saw a police car parked outside her house,
the momentary feeling of dread spread through her the way it would
anyone else. Thoughts of her father entered her head, memories of
her mother and how the news of her death was broken. Georgina was
unaware that her speed had picked up to a sprint, her mind
concentrated solely on the black and tan with the blue flashing
light. Her breath bellowed in white clouds from her nose and mouth.
As she drew nearer the car she saw a familiar face sitting in the
back of the car. Leroy LaPortiere allowed a grin to spread across
his face on seeing her approach. He opened the door and stepped
from the warm interior of the car into a cold Portmorion morning.
Georgina instantly recognised the detective’s anxiety and put aside
worries of personal tragedy. She knew this had to do with work and
also from the look that now occupied Leroy's features; she could
tell it was serious. Georgina stopped in front of Leroy, her breath
now coming in sharp bursts; she doubled over to catch her breath.
Crouched over, her hands resting on her knees for support and
recovery, she looked up at him. Leroy's expression remained
sober.

‘Hi.’ His greeting flat; another ominous sign. ‘We need to
talk.’

The inside of Georgina’s house was not far off the mark as to
how Leroy had pictured it in his mind's eye on the flight from
Missouri. She was a neat and tidy person whose tastes ranged from
the homely dresser in the kitchen with its myriad of plates, cups
and saucers, to the slightly modern, with a glass topped wrought
iron legged coffee table that stood conspicuously in the centre of
a lounge, full of older furniture. None of it fashionable but by
the same token not too hard on the eyes either. Rather like
Georgina herself, Leroy thought to himself, watching her as she
entered the lounge holding two coffee mugs in one hand and a plate
of chocolate cookies in the other. She had a towel draped over her
shoulders and her hair was tousled from a vigorous rub. She had
discarded her sweatshirt and just wore the sweat stained tee shirt,
which hung loosely over her jogging pants. Georgina handed Leroy
the mug of coffee and placed the cookies by his side on the sofa.
She sat down opposite him, the way she had six months previously in
his house. Leroy took a sip from his mug; the steaming liquid
lubricated his dry throat. Georgina waited for him to
speak

‘I got three weeks left in the force...three weeks and then
I’m out. That’s the plan. Gonna move up north to Washington, join
Lia. We talked the other night for the first time since she left,
really talked, you know. About six weeks ago I finally tracked her
down. She's livin’ with her aunt...’ Leroy left the sentence
unfinished. Georgina could sense there was another motive to his
visit other than to impart the news of his personal life. ‘Rick and
his family have been kidnapped.’ Leroy blurted the line out. He
moved back in the chair and rubbed his hands wearily over his face.
‘Oh man, this is bad.’

Georgina sat stunned for a moment, allowing the information to
filter through her shock.

‘Korjca's dead.’ Leroy continued.

The two words sledge hammered into Georgina. The blood drained
from Georgina's face. Her lips opened slightly allowing a few words
to escape.