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“I think I found your girl,” the guy says on the phone. “Her name is Summer, she fits the description, and get this, she has a kid.”
My stomach fills with rocks and the hairs on my arms stand at attention. The night I spent with Summer I felt a lot of different emotions. Many being new and foreign to me. While in lock down I studied, not only reading emotions from other people, but also what certain emotions do to me.
However, I didn’t need my research for this one. I haven’t felt this emotion since I was a child still living with my mother. Fear. For so long in my youth I wore fear like a second skin. Back then, I was helpless against my tormentor. Not anymore.
“The kid’s about five or six. Why?” He’s silent for a moment, listening to the person on the other end. “I don’t know. But he looks mixed. Do you want me to bring them in?” He’s silent again. “Alright, I’ll keep watching.” He hangs up the phone and places it in the drink holder beside him.
Shoving the pizza bag to the floor I sit up in the car causing it to rock slightly. Before the guy can turn around to see what caused the movement, my arm is barred around his neck. I apply just enough pressure to pin his head back against the headrest and keep him in place, but not enough to kill him. He fights against my hold. I grab the wrist of the arm pressed to his neck with my free hand and tug causing a little more pressure to his neck. He stops moving.
“Who are you working for?”
“I’m…not…talking…” the guy grunts out.
They all say that, but in the end, they all talk.
“The wicked shall be punished. Rip the truth from his deceitful mouth.”
“Yes Mother,” I comply.
I apply more pressure to his neck, cutting off his airways. Not enough to kill but just enough to render him unconscious. He fights a little before going stiff.
As soon as he’s out cold I climb out of the backseat. Opening the driver’s door, I shove the fake pizza guy over to the passenger seat and then climb in. He may not want to talk, but I promise by the end of the night he will.
***
I smack the fake pizza guy in the face. He comes awake with a start. As soon as his eyes adjust and he notices me, he starts to pull at his restraints.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“I won’t talk,” he once again threatens. “You might as well kill me now.”
“There is no peace saith the Lord unto the wicked,” Mother says in my head. “Make him suffer.”
“Gladly.”
I rip the front of his shirt open, exposing his chest. I then place the sander against his skin and turn it on. His screams roar over the sound of the power tool as his flesh slowly disappears and nothing but blood and muscle remain.
I stop the machine and place it down on the cart.
“Who are you working for?” It takes him a moment to fight through his pain in order to answer me.
“I don’t know,” he shouts as spittle flies out of his mouth. His head drops and sways as if he might be intoxicated.
Picking up the machine again, I turn it back on. I could do this all night.
“Wait. Wait,” he yells halting my movement.
Pressing the off button, I silence the machine.
He heaves a few breaths, his head lolling to the side as if it pains him to keep it up. “I don’t know the benefactor. He hired me to find a girl named Summer. That’s all I know.”
“How did he find out about her?”
“Look, I don’t know. All he gave me was a description and a name. An African American woman named Summer, light skinned, around the age of twenty-five to twenty-eight. Anywhere from five three to five four. He said she might have had a drug problem or a record.”
The benefactor had entirely too much information about Summer. Even knowing her name was a problem. My question now is why is this benefactor looking for Summer? However, I don’t think this man knows anything.
“How did you find her?”
