One Blood

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Okay,” Brandon said. “Where is this thing you gotta show me?”

“My house. Let’s cut through the woods.”

They walked in silence through the forest, following a path that had probably been carved out by boys much like themselves years earlier. Eventually the woods cleared out and the path disappeared, revealing Shorty’s backyard.

 “Aight. This is what’s up,” Shorty said. “Somebody snatched the Governor’s daughter two days ago.”

“Karen Lafitte? Bullshit! That woulda been all over the news.”

“Not if they had a ransom. I caught them bringing her to Simmons Park, and then I followed them back to their hideout...”

* * * * *

Shorty had been headed to school Friday morning when he got a text from one of his “customers.” He took a slight detour to Simmons Park to unload a couple of dime bags before class. After he made the drop, Shorty smoked a little of the product and then continued on his way to school. He was about to jump the fence (put up after the killings to keep trespassers out) when he detected movement out of the corner of his eye. A fat guy and a musclehead were unloading a sleeping bag from the trunk of an Oldsmobile Eighty-Eight. The sleeping bag had a lock of blond hair sticking out of the top.

* * * * *

“Really?” Brandon asked. “Then how did Karen get here?”

“Well, I had a feeling that they might be watchin’ the place, know what I’m sayin’, so I pretty much just watched them come and go until I got their schedule down pat. Then last night I decided to check out the gym. You know I ain’t been up in that piece since before the shooting, bruh?”

“Me either.”

“Yeah, man. It was dark as shit up in there. That place used to be a lot bigger when we was kids, bruh…”

* * * * *

It had been easy to open up the gym door, but not nearly as easy to find his way around in the dark once he was inside. The sliver of light coming through the door from the single functioning streetlight was swallowed by the darkness. Shorty wished he had something to prop open the door, but he couldn’t risk someone seeing the door ajar and coming in to investigate. He pulled out his flashlight and took a few cautious steps forward. The outside door closed behind him.

The flashlight illuminated a paper-strewn hallway. He looked around for clues as to where they’d stashed the body. Shorty paused after finding a blond hair on the stairwell.

He stopped and listened.

Upstairs, someone or something was whimpering.

He took a few more steps.

A female voice cried, “Where are you, Kristopher? I wanna see you.”

* * * * *

“Come on, Shorty, that ain’t true,” Brandon interrupted. Shorty had told some tall tales in his life, but this had to be like Manute Bol tall.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Does ‘hell no’ mean anything to you?”

“That hurts, B, really. But I knew you wouldn’t believe me, that’s why I brought you here in the first place. So come on if you comin’.”

Brandon followed Shorty into the house. The place was a mess, as usual. Shorty’s rarely present mother was a packrat who had never found a piece of junk she didn’t love.

Brandon checked his watch. He was going to be late for school for sure. Coach Torelli would ream him out if he missed the morning meeting. “We got to hurry this—” Brandon started to say as he stepped into Shorty’s bedroom. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

A blond-haired white girl lay spread-eagled on Shorty’s bed. This couldn’t be Karen Lafitte. He had just seen her at Jessica Breaux’s homecoming after party. Karen had been named Homecoming Queen.

There was no trace of that girl here. Her wrists and ankles were taped to the metal posts. Brandon saw track marks up and down emaciated arms. She looked like the concentration camp victims in his world history textbook. He stared at Shorty dumbfounded.

“See. Told ya,” Shorty said smugly.

Brandon took a step backward. He wanted to bolt, but was held transfixed by the scene before him.

“What did you do, Shorty? What did you do?”

“What the hell you talking bout? I saved her life!”

Brandon looked away—Karen wasn’t wearing any panties. “This is sick, Shorty. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me? You got this twisted, bruh.”

Brandon barged past Shorty and started undoing Karen’s bonds.

“What the fuck you think you’re doing? Stop!”

“Make me.” Brandon had almost gotten Karen’s left ankle loose when he felt the gun pressed into his back.

“I said, stop.”

“You gonna shoot me, Shorty?”

“I don’t want to, so don’t make me. Now turn around. Real slow.”

Brandon’s heartbeat doubled as he got his second look at Shorty’s glock. “Come on, Shorty, you know me. We can work this out.”

“I thought so,” Shorty said, taping Brandon’s hands behind his back. “But I guess I was wrong. Now sit down and cross your ankles.”

Shorty took his eyes off Brandon’s face for a moment to tape up his legs.

Brandon jerked his knee into Shorty’s jaw. It was a solid hit. Shorty tumbled off him, temporarily unconscious. Working his wrists, Brandon freed himself, tied Shorty up, then went back to work on Karen. Once he had her loose, he gently pulled her to her feet.

Karen rolled her head back and looked up at him. “Isaac?”

“Shhh. I’m fin to get you out of here.”

“Brandon! Fuck, bruh!” Shorty groaned. “What you do that for. Let me go, bruh.”

“No way, Shorty. I’m gonna get Karen out of here and then I’m calling the police.”

“I’m telling you, I didn’t do this! All you have to do is go over to Simmons Park and see for yourself. That’s where they had her. Just check it out before you do something crazy, please!”

“You’re no good, Shorty. We’re getting out of here. I’m taking the gun, too, so don’t get any ideas.”

As Brandon dragged Karen outside he realized he was in way over his head.