That’s not raw hamburger. That’s my hand.
And she promptly passed out.
Duncan
Duncan VanCamp sat behind the wheel of the Dodge Caravan and wondered why he wasn’t more scared.
Though he was just a kid when all the bad stuff happened in Safe Haven, he still thought about it a lot. And sometimes, when he was alone in his room at night, he was frightened enough to turn on his closet light.
But everything since then had been great. He loved Josh like he was his real dad. He loved living in Hawaii. He had cool friends. He’d even been seeing a few girls. When he went to the beach with Woof and Mathison, girls would flock around him like he was a celebrity. And these weren’t like the girls in his freshman high school classes. These girls were older. One was even eighteen, and she kissed Duncan and they texted each other a lot, even though he told his buddies it wasn’t serious because he was too young to get tied down.
But now here he was, thousands of miles away from home, helping his parents clean up the mess that began at Safe Haven.
He should have been freaked out. This wasn’t kid stuff. This was real serious shit. People dying, government cover-ups, experimental military super commandos. But as Mom and Josh had told him too many times to count, praemonitus praemunitus; forewarned is forearmed.
In other words, if you’re always prepared for anything, you can never be surprised.
So Duncan took judo classes, and learned to shoot and field strip various firearms, and was able to wake up from a dead sleep and get into the panic room in less than thirty seconds. He didn’t find any of that strange. It was just part of his daily life.
He checked his watch, then reached for the walkie-talkie on the passenger seat next to the 9mm and tapped the talk button twice, giving his parents the all clear signal once again. The night, and the fields, and the house, was all pretty spooky. But Duncan kept cool. He’d just seen Mom shoot some dude, and it didn’t bug him at all. Dude shouldn’t have shot first. Duh. You can’t expect to act violent and not expect violence in retaliation.
Praemonitus praemunitus.
Duncan placed his hands on the steering wheel. The van was parked, the engine not running, but Duncan had already driven three times, even though he still hadn’t gotten his permit, and he was pretty sure he knew what he was doing. He went through the start-up procedure, like Josh had taught him.
Put on his seatbelt. Done.
Check to make sure all of his mirrors were adjusted. Done.
Keys in the ignition, foot on the brake. Done.
Then Duncan pretended to start the van. In his mind he put it into drive and pulled onto the H2 Freeway in Mililani. He had Jenni, the eighteen-year-old he’d kissed, in the passenger seat. She was wearing a halter top, and her boobs were huge. If Duncan had a chance to kiss her again, he’d have to try to touch one and—
Something dark appeared in the passenger window.
Duncan turned and looked, but there wasn’t anything there.
Weird. He would have sworn that—
The walkie-talkie that had been on the seat.
It was gone.
Duncan looked up, finding the interior light on the ceiling, switching it on. The radio wasn’t on the floor. Could it have fallen between the seat and the door? If so, how?
He leaned over, trying to see, but the seatbelt only stretched so far. So he unbuckled it, opened the door, and walked to the front of the van. The moon was out, but not very bright. And there were no lights on in Butler House. Only the interior light of the van.
Then that winked off.
In Hawaii, even the darkest night was bright with stars, alive with sounds. This place was dark and dead. No frogs, no insects, no birds. The night was like a smothering blanket, covering Duncan’s eyes and ears.
And he was afraid.
He hurried around to the passenger side, no longer caring about the radio, much more interested in getting that 9mm pistol Josh had left him in his hand. Duncan swung open the door, reaching for the seat.
The gun wasn’t there.
He felt all the old fears come back and climb onto his shoulders, weighing him down, pinning him so he couldn’t react.
Then he pushed all the fear away. This was being forewarned. Now what did he need to do to protect himself?
When he didn’t check in, his parents would come back for him. That meant holding his position until they arrived.
Duncan immediately climbed into the van and crawled into the driver seat. He locked both doors, and rolled up the windows as he hit the overhead light again.
As soon as it went on, something lunged out of the backseat and attacked Duncan with a scalpel, driving it into the boy’s shoulder.
Tom
Torble held the glowing branding iron in front of Tom’s nose.
“This liquid smoke crap Forenzi insisted I spray all over my body, so I smell like Sturgis Butler burned at the stake, it’s not right. I mean, it seems to scare people just fine. But the odor is off. As I told you in prison today, the real smell of searing flesh is much tastier.”
Torble tore the buttons off Tom’s shirt, exposing his bare chest. Just as he stepped back, Tom lashed out with his foot, trying to kick away the poker.
He missed. By a lot.
“Seriously?” Torble said, looking amused. “That was your big move? How long have you been planning that one?”
“A while,” Tom admitted.
“That was pathetic, man. I mean, I’m actually embarrassed for you.”
“It went better in my head.”
“How so?”
“I kicked the poker, it went flying up into the air, and burned my rope off, freeing me.”
Torble nodded. “That would have been pretty cinematic. But instead we’ll have to settle for this.”
When the branding iron touched Tom’s chest, the sensation defied description. He’d been hurt before. Badly. Plus there were all the common, human pains everyone had to deal with. Toothaches. Back strains. Ear infections. Kidney stones. Kicked in the balls.
This was worse than all of that, happening all at once, confined to one small section of Tom’s body, multiplied by ten.
It hurt like hell.
The next thing Tom knew, he was being slapped in the face. When he woke up, the pain was still there.
“You passed out,” Torble said. “And you’re crying. It’s really disappointing, Tom. Aren’t you supposed to be the hero? The one who rushes in to save the day?”
The branding iron was back in the stove. Tom was shivering all over, and the tears wouldn’t stop.
“You smell that?” Torble took a big, exaggerated sniff. “That’s you. Isn’t it the most succulent scent? I confess, sometimes when I had a whore down here, the smell was so overpowering that I took a little nibble. I’ll try to refrain from doing that with you, Detective. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But if I do have a moment of weakness, I hope you’ll forgive me.”
Tom kept looking at the stove.
“Don’t worry, Tom. It’ll be ready shortly. Iron holds its heat pretty well. If you’re anxious, I can have two irons going at once, so one is always heating up. I’ve also got some pincers we can try. They snip out a bit of flesh while they’re burning you.”
Torble came over, gave Tom a gentle poke in his new burn.
“I believe that’s going to leave a scar, Detective. That is, it would, if you lived long enough for it to heal. I have to say, you look really frightened right now.”
Torble moved closer.
“Don’t you have anything at all to say, Tom? No begging me to stop? No threats? Don’t worry, you’ll open up. You’ll tell me all about your life. Try to get my sympathy. Try to distract me. By the end of the day, I’ll know everything about you. Your hopes and dreams. Your fears. All the little secrets you’re too embarrassed to even tell your lover. It’s a bonding experience, Tom.”