They Feed Page 2

  Foolishly, he had believed that the state’s inability to prove he had caused Stevie’s other wounds would absolve him. His lawyer, a public defender named John or James or Jason, had disagreed. Charged with first-degree murder, ignorant of the woeful failings of the American justice system and having less cash in his pocket than a tourist walking down the wrong street in Wichita after midnight, Tyler relied upon the advice provided him. He had pled “not guilty” and was thrown back in jail anyway.

  Later, after Tyler had spent a month twiddling his thumbs in the county jail, his attorney paid him a visit. He convinced Tyler that pleading out to a charge of manslaughter was his best bet. As the public defender had explained, the state was anxious to hang someone for the crime and would leap at the chance to place even part of the blame on any poor victim who would volunteer. They were offering a plea: manslaughter, with three years recommended sentence—a deviation from the normal sentencing range based on Tyler’s youth. He would spend the rest of his childhood, two and a half years tops, in a juvenile detention center, followed by a year of parole, with the possibility of time off for good behavior. The alternative was to be tried as an adult for murder and, if found guilty, sentenced to a life in prison. Even an involuntary manslaughter conviction could have netted him fifty-five months of prison time.

  He entered his guilty plea to the crime of manslaughter, thinking his sentence would be exactly as his lawyer had promised. The judge accepted it.

  But “recommended,” Tyler learned, did not mean guaranteed. Contrary to popular belief, a judge could accept a plea but impose whatever sentence he or she chose, regardless of whatever promises the prosecution might have made, so long as the punishment suited the crime. Apparently, Judge Fucktard didn’t feel the agreed sentence was punishment enough. No doubt pressured by outside forces, he altered Tyler’s punishment to fit the sentencing guidelines for adults convicted of manslaughter: a minimum of eighty-seven months in Wichita State Penitentiary, an ungodly place where only the strong survived, with instructions to “take it or leave it.” The latter meant he’d have to face the first-degree murder charge, which his lawyer told him he had no chance of beating. Tyler took the deal.

  Stevie’s family cried foul. So many of them were present at the sentencing that Tyler couldn’t hear the judge over their outbursts. They threw insults his way, then objects. Some promised their own brand of justice.

  One remained silent, a pretty girl in pigtails who was a few years younger than Tyler. She had sparkling blue eyes made ugly by a cold stare full of hate. On seeing the condemnation in those eyes, Tyler’s façade of strength crumbled. He felt so guilty beneath the girl’s stare, even though he knew Stevie would probably have died regardless of the bullet wound. I didn’t kill him, he silently pleaded to that girl’s blue eyes. He couldn’t rationalize away his shame. He didn’t even believe it hadn’t been his fault.

  The judge banged his gavel. Order did not return. As two pro-wrestler-sized court officers shuffled him from the courtroom, Tyler’s eyes filled with tears. They fell not for his loss but for the loss he had caused the girl whose stare siphoned away the last remaining bits of his soul. He couldn’t avert his eyes from her, and she wouldn’t take hers off him.

  Those mad blue orbs had followed him from the courtroom. They followed him still.

  He felt the girl’s stare as he stepped through the prison gate. He saw it every night in his dreams and hoped never to see it again in the flesh. That would be another nightmare in a life already plagued by them. Somehow, he had survived prison, a fact that amazed him but did not necessarily please him.

  Out of the frying pan. Tyler still felt as though he needed to constantly look over his shoulder. He shrugged. Now what? Funny… he hadn’t really considered what came next for him until that moment.

  He thought of nothing beyond the lake.

  He took in the fresh air but still smelled the air inside, his nostrils filling with musk. He looked to his right, then to his left. Empty cars lined the parking lot. The prison loomed behind him like a gothic castle, walling off those inside as if they were in need of safeguarding from the regular folk. Its gates beeped shut.

  Tyler sighed. The $42.56 he had in his pocket from doing prison laundry would only get him a cab ride across town and a sandwich, if he was lucky. His past—everything he once had and everyone he once knew—was gone. Yet the memories he wished he could erase lingered.

  A beat-up Chevy Malibu with no hubcaps pulled up while Tyler pondered his next move. A unintimidating man in his mid-fifties, wearing black slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a thin black tie that crumpled over a slight potbelly, stepped out of the car. An encyclopedia salesperson, if Tyler had to guess. Maybe he was there to stock the prison library.

  Tyler started walking. Whoever the man was, he didn’t concern him.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Encyclopedia Man said.

  Tyler stopped and faced him.

  “There’s always a fire to put out back at the ranch.” The man scrunched his forehead, adding wrinkles to the wrinkles. “You’re Tyler, right?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  The man laughed. “You guys are all the same when you get out. I’m Charlie Jackson, your parole officer. Didn’t they tell you I’d be picking you up today?”

  “Must not have gotten the memo.”

  “Well, come on. Get in. Let’s get you to your new home. It isn’t much, but I’m sure it’s a heck of a lot better than your last residence.” He nodded toward the prison. “I’ll explain everything on the way over.”

  As he patted Tyler on the shoulder, Tyler shied away from his touch. He couldn’t recall a time when physical contact had been a positive thing.

  “I don’t have to go anywhere with you.”

  “No? You’ve got a better option? There are no halfway houses in our fine state, but lucky for you, I’ve got the closest thing to it. I own a few rental properties and have this unfortunate habit where I go out of my way for unfortunate souls looking to get back on their feet. And the best part for the both of us is we won’t have to go over to Pittsburg for you to report in to your parole officer.” Charlie sighed and gave him space. “You can relax,” he said as if trying to pacify a toddler. “You’re going to need friends out here now. As lame as it sounds, I want to be your friend.”

  “You some kind of queer?”

  If Charlie was offended, he didn’t show it. “Nope. Just someone who truly wants to help.”

  “Why would you want to help me?”

  “Because I’ve been where you’ve been, stood where you’re standing. If someone hadn’t helped me, I would have ended up right back inside. It’s hard walking the Lord’s path, especially for someone who has fallen so far from it.”

  Great, a Jesus freak. Tyler slowly released his breath. Freedom’s starting with a bang.

  “You don’t have to believe in Him,” Charlie said as if sensing Tyler’s cynicism. “And I can’t speak for Him and claim that He believes in you. But I believe in you. If I could change, anyone can. Okay, enough self-esteem building for one day. Let’s get you home.”

  He opened the car door for Tyler. Waving an arm, he ushered him in.

  A faded yellow Geo Tracker burst to life at the end of a row. The car stuck out like a priest at a whorehouse, but Tyler only just then noticed its occupant. A woman sat behind the wheel. Her blond hair was tied back into a ponytail. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes. She seemed to be staring at him and Charlie from behind those lenses, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Probably the daughter of the next guy getting released today. At least he’s got somebody who gives a damn. Still, something about the woman made him look twice, though he couldn't put his finger on it. He shook it off and got into Charlie’s car.

  Before Charlie could take his seat, tires screeched against pavement. Tyler turned toward the sound just in time to see the Tracker speeding away. The driver rounded a corner and was gone.

  “Kids,” Charlie said,
shaking his head as he plopped down behind the wheel. “Always rushing through life, never taking the time to appreciate the everyday miracles around them.”

  Tyler was only half listening. As Charlie pulled the car away from the concrete fortress, Tyler stared absentmindedly out the window. His thoughts, as always, drifted back to the day when he shot a young man then fast-forwarded to that hostile girl with a stare made of hellfire and vengeance. He had been condemned by the power behind those eyes, his damnation reflected in them. Even now, the image chilled his soul.

  Chapter 3

  “You ready for round three?”

  Hearing the playfulness in Sebastian’s voice, Jeanette knew he was ready. And so was she.

  She no longer cared that she was having an affair or that they were out in the middle of nowhere, sucking and fucking in the dirt like animals. The twinge of guilt she’d once felt when she thought of her husband, Todd, at home with their two children while she took a “girl’s getaway” with her made-up friend and coworker, Sally, was a distant memory. Sebastian made her forget all of that. The sex was that good. No, it was fucking amazing. Sebastian turned sex into an art. He’d opened her up in ways she’d never imagined she could open.

  How many orgasms has he given me? She’d lost count after a dozen, one flowing right into another, all control forfeited. She loved every goddamn minute of it. Todd didn’t know a clitoris from a kneecap. He certainly didn’t know how to please or tease one. Slobbering idiot.

  Jeanette never had to fake it with Sebastian. She would leave it all for him—her home, her family—if only he’d ask.

  Her entire body ached. Her legs trembled, and although the night air was cool, temperature had nothing to do with her shaking. A cramp twisted her stomach. She wondered how many times Sebastian had speared her. Yet she was still wet, always wet for him, always craving more. She felt like such a whore, and it excited her. She was ready for round three.

  Pace yourself, you slut, she told herself. You’re not as young as you used to be. But damn, she felt young, as though she was back in those five college years that she had spent on ecstasy and dick, popping pills and popping off orgasms as if that was what college was all about. Todd had no idea about any of that, either. Useless boy. I never should have married him. If he didn’t have money and that sweet ride…

  Feeling young again—that was what Jeanette liked best about her new boy toy. Sebastian seemed to crave her as much as she did him. The way his cock hardened at her touch told her that she was still beautiful, still desirable, and that was the sweetest fruit, her fall into Eden.

  “Someone’s waiting for you.”

  Jeanette turned to see his purple-headed warrior—and if ever there was a penis deserving of that term, it was Sebastian’s—poking out through the tent zipper. She giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. Though nothing they had done, however wild, had made her blush, his silly joke did.

  Her smile curled mischievously. Already hard. “I’ll be right back. I just have to use the little girl’s room.”

  “You can do it on me if you want.”

  “Gross! You’re so dirty,” she said, laughing. “You sure know how to get a girl back in the mood.”

  “Please hurry.” Sebastian clicked on a light inside the tent. She could see his dark outline through the tent’s thin red mesh. His hand was oscillating up and down just below his waist. “I’m not sure how long I can wait for you.”

  Jeanette rolled her eyes. Sebastian’s T-shirt, as big as a nightgown on her frame, slid down one arm. A late-spring breeze blew across her naked shoulder, sending chills down her spine and cooling the sweat between her breasts. She crossed her arms and stiffened as she walked across the dew-covered clearing to where the vegetation thickened. The wet grass and soft earth caressed the spaces between her toes. The air smelled clean, a refreshing change from the exhaust fumes and sewer-pipe stink of the city.

  Her nostrils flared as she drew the crisp air into her lungs. Pure oxygen—mostly. Something foul lingered, barely detectable. She sniffed her armpits, assuming the odor to be a byproduct of her sexual athletics.

  I can’t go home stinking like this. She frowned. She didn’t want to go home at all.

  She gazed up at the stars. They had already lost some of their twinkle. Just above the treetops to the east, the black of night faded to gray. Though she couldn’t see it, she imagined it faded even more at the horizon. Purples and pinks would follow, then the oranges and reds of the sun’s first rays. Had she really fucked the whole night through?

  Her body would pay for it, but she’d worry about that later. Carefully, she stepped into the brush, mindful of twigs and thorns. Out of habit, despite the isolated location, Jeanette felt the need to hide herself while she urinated. She took a few steps into the darkness beneath the trees.

  A bush shook a few feet in front of her. Jeanette yelped and rocked back on her heels. She froze and listened. Something dashed away, disturbing the undergrowth as it traveled. The racket suggested something larger than a squirrel—a fox or large rabbit, perhaps, or maybe even a coyote or small bear.

  The latter thought brought with it a wave of anxiety. She’d read the signs on the way in that basically said, “Hey, stupid, don’t feed the bears, or they might feed on you.” And if a black bear cub was around, Mommy and Daddy bear could be close by, too.

  Coyotes didn’t sound much better. They might as well be wolves. Jeanette didn’t know anything about the canines or if they even lived in the Ozarks. She had heard stories about coyotes stealing babies and eating them. Or were those dingoes? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t even sure she knew what a dingo was, but she knew she didn’t want one next to her in the middle of the woods while she tinkled around her ankles.

  If it’s a bear, play dead. If it’s a coyote… run like hell.

  Her eyes followed the sound, but she couldn’t see its maker. Whatever it was had stopped moving no more than twenty yards off.

  “I’m waiting,” Sebastian called. “What’s taking so long?”

  “Shush!” Jeanette spat. Her heart was racing. For the first time in their three-day woodland weekend, she remembered why she hated the great outdoors. Camping was Sebastian’s thing. Sebastian was hers. Had Galveston State Park not afforded such convenient seclusion, she wouldn’t have gone out there unless she were bound, gagged, and dragged by her feet. She had already experienced two out of three of those things that evening. Her thoughts shifting, she began to relax.

  Until the noisemaker moved again. This time, it came a foot or two closer.

  “There’s something out here.” Jeanette spoke loudly, hoping to scare the animal away.

  She could almost hear Sebastian sighing. “Babe, we’re in the middle of the woods. There are a ton of things living out here. None of them will hurt you. It’s probably just a rabbit. It’s perfectly safe.”

  “Yeah, but it’s still here. I think… I think it’s watching me.”

  Jeanette couldn’t explain it. A voice inside her told her that whatever it was, she should be afraid. It was watching her—watching and waiting. But for what? She tried to chalk it up to irrational fear, but synapses inside her brain flashed a repetitive warning. The hairs on her arms rose. She stood silent, listening for another sound, scanning the area for whatever forest creature was standing its ground nearby, and terrified by the thought of finding it.

  But Jeanette couldn’t see a damn thing except dirt and shrubs and trees. The moon lit up the clearing as if it were under a protective dome. The lush firs, tall as skyscrapers, shrouded the forest in impenetrable night where anything could hide.

  “Now who’s killing the mood?”

  Jeanette glanced over her shoulder to see Sebastian’s proper head poking out of the tent. His carefree eyes and perfect smile grounded her, gave her courage. She blushed, feeling silly. An animal had fled from her, likely more afraid of her than she had been of it. She was the foreign presence out there, interrupting the creature’s nighttime
frolics. Nothing was out there but a cute, furry animal that had probably dove back into its home to escape her.

  Nothing was watching her. She shrugged and smiled then pulled up her shirt and squatted.

  “Cool,” Sebastian said.

  Jeanette exaggerated a frown. She was doubtful he could see it or her activity, but in the dead quiet of that sliver of time between the nocturnal creatures tucking in for morning and the birds singing to greet it, he could probably hear the flow of her stream.

  “Get back in there,” she ordered, scolding him as if he were one of her children.

  “Aw,” he whined. “You never let me have any—”

  His words were cut short. So was Sebastian. His head fell to the ground, bounced and rolled a few inches. Blood spurted from his severed neck. Something Jeanette couldn’t make out moved over it, clogging the hole.

  She gasped. Her bladder emptied.

  She hadn’t seen anything approach him. She hadn’t even seen it chop her lover’s head off. Before her were only shadows, swirling against a curtain of darkness.

  Her survival instinct erupted, and she turned to run, stumbling in her haste. She fell onto the urine-wet earth. A sharp pain rang through her knee as it collided with a rock.

  Noises came from both sides of her and behind her, swishing sounds like sidewinders skirting over sand. They grew louder, closer. Jeanette scrambled to her feet and sprinted into the woods.

  Her panic caught up to her, and she screamed. Her mind struggled to process what her eyes had seen. One moment, Sebastian had been alive and well. The next, his head lay at his feet.

  Bile rose in Jeanette’s throat. She wished she could wipe the image from her memory, but her mind resisted, playing it back over and over again like a terrible song on repeat. She needed to focus. Something was out there. It had killed Sebastian. For all she knew, it wanted her dead, too. She ran harder.

  Branches clawed at her skin. Thorns embedded themselves in her legs. Her thighs screamed. Pain shot through her soles with every rock and twig they landed on. It kept her alert and afraid. It kept her moving.