A giggle this time. It came from the far corner of the room.
“We found your hidin’ place,” he said, shifting so he was moving along the wall, toward the kitchen.
He could see Collins crouched down beside the couch in the far corner, as though he was actually hidden from view.
“You said I wouldn’t find it, but I did, Jake. The game’s over.”
“Nuh-uh,” the childlike voice said. “I tricked you.”
“Tricked me? How’d you trick me?”
“They’re not all here,” he called back, another giggle following. “You missed one. My brother took her after he killed her. You’ll never, ever find her.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Oooh. You can’t say bad words.” The tone of the voice shifted from jovial to accusatory, his head peeking up over the arm of the couch. “You’re gonna be in trouble for that.”
“By who, Jake?”
“The mean lady.”
“What lady, Jake? Talk to me. Who’s gonna be mad that I said bad words?”
Detective Collins, or rather Jake as seemed to be the case now, unfolded himself from the corner, standing tall. He was wearing a ratty T-shirt and a pair of jeans that had seen better days.
“Momma,” he answered, his eyes widening as though he was expecting her to appear at any moment. “She’s gonna make you pull your pants down.”
Brantley watched as horror reflected on the detective’s face, his eyes darting to the hallway.
“Does she spank you, Jake? Is that the trouble you mean?”
He shook his head adamantly. “Not only that.” His eyes darted around the room.
He honestly didn’t want to know the horrors this man might have suffered as a child, but he needed to know what pushed him to do such heinous acts, so he asked, “Does she hurt you, Jake?”
His eyes were wild now, his hands trembling. “She can’t find us here, Brantley Walker. We can’t let her find us.”
“She won’t,” he assured him. “Your mother won’t find us.”
“Yeah, she will. She always does.”
“What does she do when she finds you?” he asked, keeping his gun trained on the man.
“Bad things.”
Christ. They had figured something tragic had happened to make this man regress into a child, but he hadn’t considered all the horrific ways she could’ve inflicted that pain.
“Like what, Jake? Does she not like when you play hide-and-seek?”
He shook his head, lower lip protruding in a pout. “No.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause I’m only s’posed to play games with her.”
He could feel his gut churn, but he asked anyway. “Like what?”
“The feel-good kind. It’s our secret game. I’m not s’posed to tell nobody.”
Oh, fuck. “But you don’t play those games anymore, do you, Jake?”
The man nodded.
“What does that mean, Jake? You do play them?”
Another nod. “With my friends. I play the game with my friends. To make them happy. It’s supposed to make them happy.”
“But it doesn’t?”
“He doesn’t let me play for long.”
Brantley frowned, trying to keep up. “Who? John?”
John/Jake shook his head. “Not John. He’s nice. He loves me.”
Brantley waited, holding his breath.
Again, the detective looked around, eyes wild as though he expected someone to jump out at him.
“Who, Jake? Who’s the mean one?”
“Jack,” he whispered loudly. “He’s the mean one. He doesn’t like playin’ games.”
There was a third one?
“I try to make it better when he’s done. I really, really try, but they cry when we play. I don’t know why, but they cry.”
“Then what happens, Jake?”
The response didn’t come, but right before Brantley’s eyes, the man’s expression shifted, hardened, his posture straightening. Gone was the child, in his place the grown man they’d originally talked to at the police station.
“John?” Please, God, let it be John and not another one.
“You shouldn’t be here, Walker.”
Okay, good. It was John.
“We’re here to help you,” Brantley said softly. “We’re just here to help.”
“They’re dead, Walker. They’re all dead.”
He sure as fuck hoped not. And since Reese hadn’t returned, he could only pray he’d found the women and he had called emergency services.
“We know you were protectin’ Jake. He told us. That’s why you did it, right? That’s why you hid their bodies?”
“I had to,” he said, his tone adamant. “He doesn’t deserve what happened to him.”
He saw the man’s eyes dart toward the coffee table.
“Don’t move, John,” Brantley ordered, taking control of the situation. “Don’t fuckin’ move.”
“You can’t take him,” John stated, his tone hard. “You can’t take my brother. He won’t survive without me.”
“We’re not gonna take him. He needs to get help, John. We just want him to get some help.”
“They won’t help him. They’ll hurt him. They always hurt him.”
“He said there’s one woman missin’,” Brantley said, hoping to divert his attention. “Who’s missin’, John? Where is she?”
John shook his head, glared back. “You need to let this go, Walker. You need to leave. Let it go.”
“I can’t do that. You know I can’t. Those women have families, John. Their families miss them.”
“Families are overrated,” he snarled.
