The Belial Stone (The Belial Series) (6 page)

CHAPTER 10

Havre, Montana

C
ommander Gregory ordered Tom and another man to pick up the body.  They carried it to what Tom thought was a drainage ditch located on the opposite side of the entrance. 

A powerful stench wafted at him as he made his way toward it.  He nearly dropped the body, it was so strong.  Holding his breath as he reached the edge, he peered in. 

This time, he did drop the body.  It wasn’t a drainage ditch. 

It was a huge pit, maybe twenty feet in circumference and at least ten feet deep.  Tom couldn’t tell its exact depth because of the bodies that covered the bottom of it. 

The bodies lay at least three deep, and they had been there for a while.  It looked like the ones on the bottom had been burned, and then new bodies had just been tossed in on top of them.  There must have been over a hundred corpses, rotting away.

Transfixed by the morbid sight, Tom couldn’t move, couldn’t think.  How could this be happening?  Why the hell had he been brought here?  Who were these guys?

The guard accompanying them slammed him in the back with the butt of his rifle.  Tom’s back arched as he crashed to his knees. 

“Pick it up and toss it in,” the guard ordered, his tone bored. 

Tom scrambled back to his feet, his lower back throbbing, and helped the other man toss the body into the ditch.  Bile rose in his throat as he watched the body bounce as it landed on the other corpses.  He heard a crack as someone’s bones broke.

On the walk back, he tried to keep his face a mask.  But he knew shock was splashed across his features.  In line again and feeling eyes on him, he looked up to find the commander watching him.  Smug.  The commander looked smug.

Gregory ordered the shackled men into the enclosure and, collectively, they followed him through the entrance, surrounded by the four commandos.  There were no buildings inside the wall, only one old RV near the entrance that had seen better days.  And the area encased by the wall was huge – at least the size of a football field. 

The enclosure was a beehive of activity.  There were groups of men working in gaping holes deep into the ground.  Huge mounds of dirt were scattered around the enclosure.  Ramps led from the surface to the subterranean trenches.  And there were a dozen eight-foot tables where men sifted dirt through large, screened squares. 

Tom could hear shovels striking the ground as they walked through the enclosure.  The men were too far down in the ground, though, to be seen.  

Other men in tattered clothes moved quickly through the enclosure: pushing wheelbarrows full of dirt up the ramps, emptying them at the dirt mounds, and then quickly making their way back down into the trenches again.

Tom’s group was led to an undisturbed part of the landscape that was marked with orange grid lines spray-painted onto the ground. 

Gregory cast a scathing look across the men.  “You will dig here.  If you are slow, if you refuse to work, or if we don’t like you, you will be replaced.” 

Tom had no doubts what that meant.

“And if you hit anything solid, and I mean anything, you stop immediately and call over a guard.  Do you understand me?” Gregory pinned each man with a glare. 

Timidly, they all nodded back.

With a grunt, Gregory turned away and handed them over to the man who’d slammed Tom in the back with the butt of his rifle. 

“Line up, maggots,” the guard barked as he pointed to the ground in front of a wheelbarrow to his right.  The men quickly complied. 

“Your restraints will be clipped and you will grab a shovel.  Then you will immediately go to the area I point to, and start digging.  Do you understand, maggots?” 

The men nodded, although most of them still maintained a bewildered look on their faces. 

As the line moved forward, Tom watched the man standing silently behind the wheelbarrow piled high with shovels.  The man stared at the ground, and never once looked up.  It seemed like an incredible effort for him to stay standing.  He was emaciated to the point of being skeletal. 

Tom couldn’t even tell the man’s race or age due to the dust that covered him and the skin that sagged from his face, distorting his features.  He looked like a concentration camp survivor.  Although, Tom thought, looking around, the term “survivor” was probably optimistic at this point.

Each man approached the wheelbarrow and a guard cut off his restraints.  He retrieved a shovel and was shoved towards a spot to begin digging.

No one said a word or made any protest.  When he reached the front of the line, Tom took his shovel just like the rest.  He was directed with another inmate to begin digging in a section at the outer rim of the gridlines.  Tom looked around for a moment as he reached his section.

“What are you waiting for?” bellowed a guard, kicking a man on the other side of the grid in the thigh when he did not begin digging fast enough. 

Tom quickly turned his attention to the ground and began to dig.  And he didn’t stop for hours. The sun was actually sinking in the sky before he even looked up again.

His back ached, his hands were a mass of blisters and cramping.   He still didn’t understand why he was here, but there was one thing that was one thing he knew with absolute clarity: He was a slave.

CHAPTER 11

Syracuse , NY

W
hen Laney rounded the corner of State Street fifteen minutes later, her hands were still clenched around the steering wheel.  It had become painful, but she couldn’t release her grip.  Logically, she knew her attacker should be down for the count, if not dead.  But she could still see him coming for her.  She expected to glance in the backseat and see him pop up.

The sight of Rocky pacing along the sidewalk in front of the Syracuse Police Department helped release some of the tension.  They’d met in graduate school, and bonded over their mutual love of martial arts.  Laney had been teaching the class and Rocky had been taking it

A car tried to pull into the spot in front of the building and Rocky stepped in front of it, her trademark gold hoop earrings swinging.  With her long dark hair, curvy figure, and small stature, the driver did not take her for a cop.  Sweeping her dark navy blazer back, she pulled her badge off her belt and waved him on.  The man gave her the finger and Rocky slapped the back of the car, yelling something Laney couldn’t quite make out.  A small laugh escaped her lips, the knot in her stomach loosening even more.

Spying her, Rocky waved her to a stop.  Putting the car in park and pocketing the keys, Laney let herself be pulled from the car and into a tight hug.  And even though she was a good head taller than Rocky, she felt safer.

When Rocky pulled back, her dark eyes full of concern.  “You okay?” 

Laney nodded, not trusting herself to speak.  Rocky seemed to understand and didn’t ask any more of her.  She led her across the sidewalk and into the bustling station.  They walked past the front desk, where an elderly woman in her bathrobe was loudly demanding someone find her cat, Lovey.  The sergeant behind the desk buzzed them through, with an eye roll for the old lady.

A number of police officers gave her a familiar nod as she passed.   Laney had been to the Syracuse Police Department plenty of times. She’d done a handful of research projects for the city: on racial profiling, gang initiations, use of force. Never, however, as a victim.

After the third officer’s gaze shifted from familiarity to concern, though, she glanced down at herself.  Her clothes were splattered with dried bloo
d.  She blanched.  “Oh my God.”

Her knees went weak.   She reached out to the wall for support, but Rocky got there faster.  She put her arm around Laney’s waist.  “It’s okay, honey.  I’ve got you.”

Rocky led her through the locker room door and stopped at her locker.  Spinning the combination, she yanked it off.

“Rocky, I-”

Rocky put her hand up.  “It’s best if you don’t say anything yet.  We’re going to have to do everything by the book or they’re going to pull me off your case.  Okay?”

She nodded.

Rocky pulled out a camera.  “I have to document all of this.” 

Laney had known it was coming, but it still felt like a violation.  “Okay.”

“I’ll make it quick.”

Ten minutes later, Rocky handed her a workout bag from her locker and ge
stured to the back of the room. “The showers are back there.  There’s a change of clothes, shampoo, soap in the bag.  When you’ve stripped out of those clothes, put them all in here.”  She pulled a large evidence bag out of her locker.

Laney peered into the locker.  “You keep evidence bags in your locker?”

Rocky smiled.  “Well, you never know when you’ll need them.”  She turned Laney, pushing her gently towards the showers.  “Make it quick.”

Laney did as requested, not wanting to be alone for long with her thoughts.  But the images flooded her mind.  How had the man been standing after the shotgun blasts?  Drugs, maybe?  He hadn’t seemed high, but what o
ther explanation could there be

By the time she’d showered and changed, she’d convinced herself that she’d imagined the man’s skill.  She’d been in fights before, but never with such high stakes.  She must have blown his abilities out of proportion due to the adrenaline. 

As for his injuries, well, maybe she hadn't gotten him as good as she thought.  Maybe the stab wound had been more of a slice and maybe the shotgun blasts had been off point.  Sure, he’d need a doctor, but he could survive.  After all, how else could he have made that last run for her? 

And how did he run so fast?  She shook her head.  Imagination.  It wasn't fast.  At least, not abnormally fast.  Maybe I even passed out for a moment and it only looked like he made it across the floor in such an incredibly short time. 

Ten minutes later, she was sitting in an interrogation room with damp hair, wearing Rocky’s work-out clothes, which made her feel like a giant.   And she had convinced herself that she’d imagined her attacker’s skill and recuperative properties…almost.

Rocky walked in carrying two cups of coffee and kicked the door shut behind her.  She placed one in front of Laney before taking a seat next to her.  She gave Laney’s shoulder a comforting squeeze, but otherwise s
tayed completely professional.

Laney was thankful for it.  If Rocky had showed her any compassion, she was pretty sure she’d be a crying mess on the floor.  Professional was better.

“The Dewitt police are letting us take the lead on this.  But you’re going to have to speak with them as well.”

“Okay.  What do you need?”

“I need you to take me through step by step what happened.”  Rocky took out her pen and pulled over the legal pad on the steel table in front of her.  “Start when you got up this morning.”

Laney went through all the events of the morning.  By the end of her recitation, her shoulders had drooped and she was tracing an invisible figure eight on the table top.  “And then I called you and came straight here.” 

Rocky flipped though her notes.   “He told you his name?”

“His first name.  Although I’m pretty sure he didn’t think I’d be sharing that information with anyone.”

Rocky nodded.  “Okay.  So if I’ve got this down correctly, you shot him twice at close range, stabbed him, and used his skull for batting practice.  That about right?”

Laney looked up and saw the smile playing around Rocky’s lips.  She returned the smile.  “Yup.  That’s about right.”

“Well then, off the record: good.  Back on the record, thank you for your statement, Dr. McPhearson.”

A knock at the door pulled the women’s attention.  A tall, black, good-looking detective in his late twenties strode into the room.  Detective Mike Chapman, Rocky’s partner.

Mike nodded at her. “Hey, Laney.  You okay?”

“Yeah.  I’m good, Mike.”

He pulled up a chair.  “Just heard back from Dewitt.  They said your house definitely looks like a fight took place. We sent over our crime techs and they’re all over the place.  They found plenty of blood, but no body.”

Laney straightened up.  “Did they check the neighborhood?  The hospitals?  I mean, that guy was really hurting.  He couldn’t have gotten far.”

“They’ve checked.  And they’ll keep on checking, but so far nothing. They’re canvassing the neighborhood right now.  There was a blood trail leading out the back door.  It disappears just beyond your property line.”  Mike hesitated.  “And there’s one other thing.”

Laney pictured the man’s face and had a feeling she didn't want to hear what this last thing was.   “What?”

At Rocky's nod, Mike continued.  “There was a note for left for you.”

“A note?”  She tried to envision the bloodied man sitting down and penning a quick message to her.  “As in paper and pen?”

Mike shook his head.  “No.  As in blood and your kitchen island.”

Laney’s stomach dropped.  “What did it say?”

Mike’s eyes were full of compassion, but he looked her straight on.  “See you soon.”