Sara closed her eyes, softly patted his head.
“One time, I remember, there was a girl. I got to her before the others did. Got to her and took her to a private spot. I ripped off her clothes. Then I took a stick. A big stick—”
His eyes got big, his smile growing as he talked. Sara placed her other hand under John’s chin, winding her fingers in his hair.
The crack wasn’t as loud this time. More like a pop.
Lester peered at the vomiting boy through the viewfinder, then pressed the button again. The flash went off, and he looked at the screen on his digital camera to see how the picture came out.
Very nice. He glanced up at the boy, who was looking around, wondering what was happening.
Time for Lester to show him.
Lester tucked the camera into the bib pocket of his overalls and walked out of the scrub brush. He smiled at the boy’s reaction, a mixture of fear and awe.
“The boy shouldn’t try to run. It will just make Lester mad.”
Lester strolled over, appearing casual but ready to bolt if the boy took off. But the boy stayed on his knees, mouth hanging open, some barf on his chin.
Kind of sexy.
Lester stood next to the boy and peered down at him. He reached down, and with his index finger, caressed the lad’s cheek.
“What is the boy’s name?”
“T…Tom.”
“Lester.”
Lester glanced down at the mess Tom made, locking his eyes onto one of the bigger chunks. He tried to remember all the things he’d ever put in his mouth, but knew he’d never be able to remember them all. If Lester could bite it, he had. But he didn’t think he’d ever eaten something that had already been eaten by someone else.
Unable to control the impulse, Lester snagged the piece of meat from the puddle of stomach acid. He opened his jaws and tossed it in like popcorn.
Tangy.
“Lester has a girlfriend,” Lester said, chewing.
“That’s…uh…cool.”
Lester nodded. “Does Tom have a girlfriend?”
Tom’s eyes were very wide. He shook his head. “No.”
“That’s sad. Does Tom have a boyfriend?” Lester asked.
The boy shook his head again.
“That’s good.” Lester got on his knees. He still towered over the boy, and had to lean down.
“Lester doesn’t have a boyfriend either. What a lucky day for Tom and Lester.”
Lester felt Tom scream in his mouth as he kissed the boy’s deliciously tangy lips.
Doctor Plincer got under the bed covers, then reached onto the nightstand for his earplugs. Subject 33 was really coaxing some screams out of his new playmate, and Plincer needed to get some sleep before the meeting with Kong Zhi-ou.
He found the two foam plugs by the base of the lamp, and spent a minute taking off his prosthetic ears and shoving the plugs into the holes. When the cries were dulled to a whisper, Plincer placed his glasses where the earplugs had been, switched off the light, and rested his head back on the pillow.
Oops. Almost forgot.
Plincer flicked the lamp back on, sat up, and spent a minute picking the facial putty out of the divots in his nose, chin and cheeks. When he had a decent sized ball of it, he set that next to his glasses and again killed the light.
The doctor actually did sympathize with the poor suffering girl. Sympathize, and empathize.
Plincer rested his hands on his bare chest and ran his fingers over the rubbery scars. There were several dozen gnarled, shiny bumps, in precise, even rows. It felt like touching a truck tire.
The plastic surgeons weren’t able to do skin grafts, because there was no place on the doctor’s body where skin could be harvested. His arms, legs, back, and even buttocks had the same scars.
Scars from Lester.
Doctor Plincer knew, firsthand, what it was like to be completely at the mercy of a psychopath. After the court ordered Lester into Plincer’s care, the doctor had been so intent on curing the teenager he hadn’t given enough thought to precautions. Lester was smart, and managed to escape his room one night and sneak into the doctor’s.
For two days, Doctor Plincer had been victimized by the boy. Lester stripped him naked, tied him up, and began the methodical process of biting him over his entire body.
Human beings can clench their teeth with a hundred and fifty pounds of force. It hurt worse than being pinched with pliers. Not to mention the obscene intimacy of it. Plincer often imagined he could still feel Lester’s lips, his warm breath, his slick tongue, on his skin. Followed by the piercing, tearing pain.
Plincer had screamed during the ordeal. Screamed until his throat went numb. And when Lester finished, when he’d covered almost every bitable scare inch on the Doctor’s body, he started over. Nibbling off the scabs. Reopening the wounds. Ramping the agony up to surreal levels.
The maid saved Plincer’s life. Coming in for the weekly cleaning, she heard the doctor’s whimpering and called the police.
Doctor Plincer needed over two hundred stitches and staples, and three pints of blood. The most extensive reconstruction work was done on his face and genitals, to little effect. It took him weeks to recover, and Plincer knew that perhaps he never truly did get over the psychological aspects of the attack.
But he didn’t blame Lester, any more than he could blame a shark for following its nature. When Plincer healed, he resumed his experiments with Lester. Curing him. Enhancing him.
Plincer sighed, digging another bit of putty out of the gap in the bridge of his nose and flicking it off into the dark. Funny, that he’d still have so much vanity he had to put on his face before the new arrivals saw him. He had no reason to care if they saw his disfigurement or not. Even if one of the female visitors on the island took a liking to Plincer, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Lester had bitten off those parts of him.
Chalk it up to an old man’s pride, Plincer thought. We’re all entitled to our little idiosyncrasies.
He sighed deeply and burrowed his head into his pillow. If all went as planned, by this time tomorrow he would no longer have money troubles. He’d even be able to buy some better, more modern equipment, and have enough left over to feed those unfortunate ferals for a while.
Plincer allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps he should write a letter to his accountant, have him invest in a company that made ear plugs.
If Kong was going to do what Plincer anticipated, there would soon be a lot of screaming, all around the world.
The flashlight from the first aid kit was small, but it had a nice bright LED bulb. Sara clenched it between her teeth and bit down, hard, as she peeled off her jeans. The wound didn’t look too bad when she cleansed it; just four tiny punctures and a growing oval bruise. But it bled like hell and wouldn’t stop. Sara knew that a vein, or maybe an artery, was torn beneath the sin, and wasn’t sure what to do about it. She settled for wrapping it as tight as she could, then putting on a fresh pair of jeans and a sweater.
While Sara chugged a bottle of water she went through the backpacks, searching for anything useful. She pocketed some fingernail clippers, a lighter, and a compass when something caught her attention. Resting unfolded on the ground, like a dead dove, were the divorce papers.
Seeing them brought a lump to her throat.
Martin, her Martin, was out there, in the woods. So were Tom and Laneesha and Georgia. But Martin…
I’m more worried about him than the kids.
The thought surprised her. Here they were, a signature away from never seeing each other again; something Sara initiated. Yet the thought of Martin being killed—it scared her more than anything else.