Jaspierre's Last Chance (Jaspierre Trilogy Book 3) Page 8

  She'd probably end up back in prison. But damn, she just walked in and took them. He tried to hide his grin with his hand. This is the wrong reaction, he thought. But he ended up giggling. She was so cool. He picked up the phone to call her, but he imagined she wouldn't pick up. She had her hands full of those servals. But wouldn't it be awesome if she could march in and get Lucille back like that?

  Was he supposed to charge down there and make her give them back? He wasn't sure she'd ever be willing to do that. But he got in his car anyway. An hour or so later, he was standing on her marble steps, still grinning like a fool. Who just walks in and takes a whole pen of wild animals from a zoo? Sure, her servals were probably moderately well behaved, but were the others? Sheesh, Jaspierre, what is wrong with you?

  The heat of laughter burned his cheeks. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He had to be stern so he could coax her to return the wild cats she had stolen. He let out his last giggling laugh and knocked on the door, trying to rein in his merriment. She was the most impossible creature he had ever met. Gorgeous, rich, wild, and daring. She was dangerous and perfect. He used to feel like everything was so black and white. People were good or bad with very little room for in between. But she wasn't a monster. She was a survivor and a fighter and just breathtakingly delicious.

  He knocked again, trying to harden himself against her beautiful eyes. "Give them back, you silly girl." That was what he'd say.

  The door creaked open and a tall, thin man with grey hair stood nervously. His eye was swollen shut. He was flicking his fingers to his thumb, back and forth in a frantic pace. His lips were moving, but he wasn't making any sounds. "Where is Jaspierre?" Edward said, concerned that there seemed to be a new man in the house.

  Arnold's nervous tic froze for a moment, and he stared into Edward's eyes. "Chance." He flicked his fingers again quickly and Edward suddenly realized this man's arm was dislocated.

  "He took her. Canada, I think." Then Arnold whimpered, "One-two-three-four-four-three-two-one. You should hurry: he's gonna kill her."

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Three hours later, she was in the car with Chance. They were driving back to Canada. He wasn't taking the most direct routes, and she wasn't sure if that was to extend their hours in the car together or if that was to avoid something specific on the highway.

  "Do you remember when we were kids, and we found that knife? Sheesh, we had to have been five or six."

  "I remember."

  26 Years Earlier

  Chance pressed his lips together again and tried to whistle. Spit flew from his lips and onto Jaspierre's face. "Ew stop! You gotta blow gentler."

  He blew again, softer, and said, "I don't think I'm ever gonna learn."

  "You will. Practice makes perfect. Mother's been teaching me to stitch straight stitches. She says if I keep at it, I'll be able to do them quickly and correctly," Jaspierre lied. She spent many hours lying about what went on with her and Mother. Even at five years of age, she knew to keep secrets. She had, in fact, been practicing stitches, and Mother did say she should keep at it, sort of. Mother beat her and said try again, over and over, until finally she had a straight line done in ten minutes. Mother said people would still die from her shitty stitches, but at least they'd die slower.

  They had been practicing on a bit of leather, but the idea of stabbing a person over and over with a needle made her stomach flip.

  Jaspierre learned to excel at eliminating the details that made people uncomfortable. Even though everyone killed, or stitched people in the basement or whatever, it wasn't exactly kosher to talk about it. Those were private things.

  "Do you wanna go walk in the field by the barn? I think I saw some frogs out there," Jaspierre said.

  "Toads. Frogs live in water, toads live in fields. I read a book about 'em," Chance replied.

  "Fine, a toad then." They skipped together down the brick path and the three brick steps. The path turned to the right, to the barn, but they stepped off it and ran left. Jaspierre stopped at a small oak tree. It was just barely big enough to climb. "I think he lives near this tree."

  They started searching, never very far from each other, Chance still spitting as he discreetly tried to learn to whistle. Just as Chance shouted that he found a big ol' toad, Jaspierre saw the sparkling glint of something metal.

  She curiously walked closer, sliding down a sharp hill. At the bottom of the little hill was a thin stream of water. She wondered if that was what she saw sparkling, but she thought for sure it had been a piece of metal. She turned to climb back up the hill, when she saw him. He was a thin man, he wasn't moving, and his eyes were wide open.

  A bright shiny blade stuck out of his belly into the sun. It sparkled hard into her eyes, and she shifted position so she could look at it. The handle was gold, with a smooth spot right in the middle. Carved deeply into the smooth golden color was the letter J.

  Jaspierre was mesmerized. Completely ignoring the man, she leaned forward to examine the handle more carefully.

  There was a hand guard to prevent the hand from sliding forward into the blade. The blade was very thin, long, and very slightly curved. It was absolutely beautiful. Hadn't she read a book about this sort of thing? The sword in the stone! Only the true hero could pull it.

  It had her letter on it, carved perfectly in a fancy script on the handle of that blade. Was this hers?

  She glanced around. There wasn't anyone else here. In fact, Chance seemed to be just out of earshot. On the steep incline, she reached out as far as she could. She did not want to step on the man when she carefully pulled the blade. Her fingertips strained, and the metal felt cold against her touch. It rumbled slightly, it seemed. Her fingertip held it and she closed her eyes. It wasn't rumbling. It was thumping. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

  She opened her eyes and turned her head, certain it was Chance's big footsteps crashing down the hill, but she didn't see him. Her fingertips gently rolled around the blade and she grasped it again. She closed her eyes, straining her ears. What was it? Thump thump. Thump thump.

  There was a raspy whoosh of air, and Jaspierre turned and shouted, "Chance! I know you are here. Come out and see what I found."

  But he didn't step from behind a bush or a tree. He didn't shout Geronimo! like he sometimes did. The little wooded area was quiet. She turned back and looked at the sword. This time, her finger gently traced the perfect carving of her letter J.

  A tickle on her leg made her mindlessly reach down to scratch it while she stared at the letter. But her hand bumped something. A bug, or snake or something. Something bad. And she screamed and leapt backwards. Fingers were grasping at her pant leg.

  Fingers connected to a hand, connected to the arm of the man, who was staring at her with big eyes. He gasped a loud whistling airy sound and his mouth opened and closed like a doll without a voice box. His mouth moved up and down. He was talking, he was trying to talk, but he couldn't. Not with that sword in him, holding down his body. It was stopping him from talking.

  Crashing down the hill in a sliding, smashing motion, Chance was suddenly by her side. "I heard you scream! What happened?" His eyes grew wide with fright as he saw the man with the wild terrified eyes wheezing on the ground. His mouth was moving up and down, but nothing more than air came out of his throat.

  "He can't talk because of the sword." Jaspierre said, matter-of-fact. "I think it's pinning his voice down."

  "Okay." Chance nodded. "Do you think we should pull it out and then he can tell us why your Mother did this to him? Or do you think we should leave him?"

  She held his hand and they looked at each other. Mother did not like it when children interfered. Jaspierre looked back at the man, with his frantic, terrified eyes. "If you pull it, do you think you could stab it back in if you have to? If he says it was Mother, you're right, we should leave him."

  "I'm sure I can. He's barely able to move." And with that load of shit in his head, his little six-year-old hand pulled
on the blade stuck in the man the same way a butterfly is pinned to a frame.

  He convulsed immediately, spurting out blood from his chest in a little bubbling geyser. Jaspierre covered her eyes. Chance watched, mouth open, reaching forward to touch the little red gurgles. His hand came back coated in red slime. "Well, that didn't work," he said with a calm disinterest in human suffering.

  Jaspierre had a sudden welling up of tears. "I wish I could have stitched him. Maybe if I was quicker."

  "Do you think we need to hide him now?"

  "Why?" she asked.

  "Because we killed him, and that's a crime, so we gotta hide him so we don't go to prison," Chance said very calmly. "We'll need shovels and stuff."

  "Are you sure? I've never seen Mother hide any dead people before. Are you sure it's a crime?"

  "Of course I'm sure. I'm gonna be a cop, so I need to know the rules."

  Jaspierre rolled this around in her head. What did Mother do with bodies? She'd have to ask. "I want that sword; it's mine. It's got my letter on it."

  Chance rubbed the sword carefully on the dead man's pants. "That's as clean as I can get it. It's a pretty cool sword." He carefully handed it to her. It was longer than her leg, and she could barely carry it without it dragging on the ground behind her. They walked away from the dead man and Chance rinsed off his red hand in the tiny stream of water. She said, "Stand back. I'm gonna swing it."

  Chance stepped backwards and she spun in a circle, twirling her skirt open and the blade smacked into a tree, catching it hard. Jaspierre grabbed her arm. "Ouch! That hurt." She shook her hand, the blade still sitting in the tree. When she put her hand back on, she couldn't pull it loose. "Hey, I can't get it. Will you help me, Chance?"

  He wrapped his arms around her and they both pulled hard. The blade suddenly popped loose and immediately sliced into Chance's bicep. Tears welled up in his eyes and they poured over. Jaspierre checked his gaping wound and said, "This is bad. We're going to have to show Mother."

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  "Do you remember Mother being married?" Jaspierre asked Chance. He was sitting in the driver's seat with thick black sunglasses. He had a grin still plastered on his face, even though it had been hours.

  They had been riding silently, Jaspierre still too overwhelmed to make conversation. Not only was Lucille alive, but she hadn't been destroyed by Chance. This seemed remarkable, and shone Chance in a new light in her eyes. Yes, he was bad. But deep down, wasn't everyone?

  She wondered briefly if Arnold would feed Dru and the other miscreants in the basement. It didn't really matter to her much either way, but it would be awfully nice if Dru survived long enough to answer her next round of questions.

  Chance glanced at her briefly, grinned again, and then his eyes lingered on the road. "Are you saying you don't remember if she was married?"

  Jaspierre sighed with irritation. They felt like kids again, friendly, annoyed banter already falling into its old rhythms."If I remembered, would I ask you about it?"

  Chance smirked and stared at road kill they were driving up to. It was a raccoon, and its body was inflated and large. Chance thwacked over the top of it and the squishy pop of its body could be felt throughout the car. A hot smell of decomposing flesh abruptly rushed into the air. Jaspierre cringed.

  "God, why did you have to do that?" she grumbled and crossed her arms, trying not to breathe.

  Completely ignoring her, he was all smiles and cotton candy. "I just can't believe you'd forget. It seems like he was around a lot. Dru. Don't you remember him?"

  She shook her head. Her lungs burned with the effort to keep them from doing their job. Wait just a few more seconds and maybe that awful rotting coon will have whooshed right on by.

  "Well, actually, I guess he left when we were pretty young." Chance seemed completely unaffected by the rancid stench. "Remember Liddy? Yeah, well, she hadn't even..." He paused but then laughed. "I almost said left, but that seems ridiculous. I might as well say 'died.'" He shook his head, grinning. "Died. She hadn't even died, and Dru had already come and gone. Maybe you don't remember him because you always tried to avoid him. Don't you remember?"

  "I don't remember him at all." In fact, all Jaspierre could remember was that he was familiar. That wasn't particularly notable, though. Many people seemed familiar, or were familiar. Jaspierre didn't have time to worry about those kinds of details. "What do you remember about him?"

  "I remember being mad at him." Chance didn't say why, but Jaspierre guessed it had something to do with Liddy. She was wrong, though. It had something to do with her. Everything about Chance always came back to her. Liddy's inevitable murder, Dru's leaving; it was all about Jaspierre, as everything would always be.

  "Do you think Mother loved him?" Jaspierre trembled a little. Wouldn't it be just awful if Mother did love someone? A man, instead of her own flesh and blood?

  "Your mother? God no. I don't think she loved anything."

  And there it was. Jaspierre had a sharp ping of annoyance. Why did he have to say it like that? Jaspierre let out a frustrated sigh. "How could she have been married?" It wasn't a question, but more like a depressed resolution. She'd never understand Mother, and she'd never get to ask her questions to figure her out. She'd never make her proud. Mother was the most unsatisfying person, and yet, one of the few people that consumed Jaspierre's thoughts.

  What would Mother think of her now? Still incapable of murdering the one man who deserved it more than anyone. Worse than simply unsuccessful slaughter, she was riding with him. Hell, she had kissed him, but Mother wouldn't have given a rat's ass about that. Kissing was just another weapon in the tool belt. Jaspierre hadn't kissed him to hurt him, though.

  She kissed him because he let Lucille live. He kept her safe and let her live. She wouldn't have even thought it was possible for Chance to do such a thing. He struggled with carnal desires more than anyone else she knew. The desire to maim, kill, fuck, and who the hell knew what else he'd been up to. But somehow, he protected the tiny blond curly-haired baby.

  It was a miracle.

  "How long until we see her?"

  "Shit, it's a long fucking drive. Tomorrow." Jaspierre wondered if she would have to fuck him or if he would give her back Lucille before he expected so much from her. But, once Lucille was hers, Chance would go back to being the first person on her list to eliminate.

  Until then, when in Rome.

  They stopped at a ratty old gas station. There was a lean, grey-haired man at the counter. Chance grabbed a bag of chips and an energy drink. The man stared nervously at Chance's scarred, tattooed face. He looked like he had been mauled. The dark tattooed shadows in the grooves of his gnarled flesh made them more prominent than ever.

  Jaspierre wondered if the skinny old man was reaching for his gun. He was certainly shifting back and forth from foot to foot in a nervous way. "You want anything?" Chance said, and suddenly was standing close. He was standing fucking close. "Fuck me" close.

  His warm hand pressed on the middle of her back, and her skin started to crawl. It was screaming to run, run the fuck away from Chance--he's going to hurt you. Jaspierre knew he would. Hell, Chance knew he would too. But they couldn't stop themselves. She needed Lucille. Chance wanted Jaspierre. They were both moments away from the thing they wanted more than life itself. So if he hurt her, so be it.

  And they both knew it.

  Chapter

  Nineteen

  Edward found himself frantically driving down the road. What the hell was his plan? He was on the main highway, flying towards Canada as though he could find her, as though he would find her. What the fuck was his plan!

  How long ago was her head start? Fuck. She was gonna get killed, he just knew it. He should have been staying with her. They knew, they both fucking knew that Chance was going to show up. He should have stayed with her!

  His blood was swishing around his body like an overloaded washing machine. There was no focus left, the
yellow dotted lines flying past the cop's car far faster than they should. Too fast.

  He turned the radio dial until he synced with the cops in this area. He was too far behind; he'd never catch them. He didn't even know where they were going!

  The radio cackled with news of a gas station attendant shot by a man and a woman. Edward pulled over and quickly looked up the location. They were going the same direction as he was, but they were on the side roads, the quiet ones. At least an hour or more ahead of him. He pulled back on the main highway. Chance couldn't keep his fucking gun put away and he would leave a trail of bodies to follow. Where the fuck could they be going? If Jaspierre helped kill the man at the gas station, then why the fuck was she helping him?

  Lucille.

  26 years earlier

  The walk home seemed extraordinarily long, with Chance sniffling and holding his bleeding arm, and Jaspierre trying to drag the long blade behind her. It rattled on the rocks as she walked. If Jaspierre thought she could, she would have stitched Chance up herself, but she didn't want him to die. Mother said she was too slow and people would die.

  She couldn't risk killing Chance from her crappy inability to stitch. That would be terrible. It was one thing to leave a dead man in the woods, it was completely different to kill your only friend. They finally made it to the brick path near the barn and stepped up the three brick steps. As they walked down the path, the sword rattled on the bricks behind her. It was a glorious sound, like one she'd never heard before. Sharp, deadly metal rattling against blood red bricks. When they stepped inside, Liddy was making lunch in the kitchen.

  Liddy was Chance's aunt, and she seemed to have her hands full with him most of the time. "Hey, Liddy, where is Mother?"