Jaspierre's Last Chance (Jaspierre Trilogy Book 3) Page 9

  "Severina is in her office. I don't know if she'll want to be disturbed by you two." Liddy didn't comment on the large bloodstain growing on Chance's sleeve. Ignoring the problem was Liddy's special talent. She could seemingly ignore anything and everything. She ignored it when Mother hit her, or worse, when Mother hit Jaspierre. She ignored it when Chance bled or cried. It was like she lived inside her head.

  "Why are you making lunch? Where's Chef?" Jaspierre asked, staring at the bologna sandwiches.

  "He had a family emergency, so you're stuck with me today. I'm sure Severina won't be particularly pleased, but ah well, it can't be helped. He's not here." Liddy continued to fiddle with the plates, clearly nervous about bringing such plain fare to the lady of the house. Liddy didn't know how to make much besides boxed mac and cheese and sandwiches. She loitered in the kitchen. "Go on and tell her you are back."

  Even Jaspierre understood Liddy wanted her to say hello to Mother first. Perhaps while Mother slugged her in the stomach, Liddy could just set the plated sandwich and run. Jaspierre and Chance were going to be the distraction, even the bait. Jaspierre knew this, but she wasn't afraid of Mother.

  That was a lie; Mother was terrifying to everyone. But Jaspierre knew the worst it could get was a beating, and she could handle it. She rapped loudly on the door, and her knuckles cried in sharp pain as she cracked them across the wood. She didn't allow herself to wince. If Mother saw her cringing, that'd be the end of this adventure to get stitches. Besides, she had a question for Mother.

  What did she do with the bodies?

  Severina opened the door casually. She was in a floor-length black dress with a sheer slit that curled around her body like smoke from a cigarette. "Chance needs stitches. Would you mind helping him out?" Jaspierre stood as tall as she dared, holding her shoulders proudly in a perfect line. Mother would never tolerate a little girl who slouched.

  "Please, ma'am. If it's not too much trouble. Liddy ain't gonna take me in." He held out his arm, and the wound was deep and bloody.

  Severina stared curiously at it, then turned back to her only child. "What have we here?"

  "I found this in a man out by that tiny little stream of water. Chance plucked it out, and I'd like to keep it. See here? It's got my letter on it." Jaspierre proudly held up the blade. The tip was ragged and dulled by its long trek against the bricks. Severina looked at it for a moment, and then turned and grabbed a little mending kit from her desk drawer.

  "I will mend him." Jaspierre figured Mother liked to do stitches. Mother liked to do a great many things that most people would cringe at. Once, a few weeks ago, Jaspierre watched Mother carefully take a chunk of skin off a man's leg. He had been sitting in the living room and said something awful. Jaspierre couldn't, for the life of her, remember what it was he said. But she remembered Mother jumping up and shouting before she shoved the chloroform rag into the man's mouth. Jaspierre had run to her room and hid in her closet. It was best to be away when Mother was like this. But Mother told her later that peeling off that bit of skin was like ripping loose bark off a tree; not a big deal at all.

  Jaspierre watched as the dark blue thread slid through the tiny opening in the needle. Severina grabbed Chance's arm and shoved the needle in. No chloroform. Jaspierre wasn't even sure she had sterilized the wound. Chance gasped loudly, and tears trickled down both cheeks, but he didn't move. His mouth clenched into a tight white line, and the color drained from his face. She stitched him quickly, and in less than five minutes, he was done.

  "There now, go find out what's for lunch." The boy turned and promptly fainted. He could handle holding still and resisting the pain, but he couldn't get the blood flow back to his head.

  Jaspierre stared at her collapsed friend on the floor. "Mother, did you stitch him too slowly?" A hot slap burned across her cheek. Jaspierre winced, but turned to Mother and timidly asked, "Is he dead or not?"

  "He fainted, you fucking idiot. You'll never be smart like me if you don't learn to use your brain! What is wrong with you!" Severina scolded her, finger pointing in her face.

  Jaspierre held back a worried sob. Now or never. "Mother, I want to ask you something before you go back to work. Is that okay?" The right side of her face still burned from the slap, and the red handprint welted up.

  Severina simply stared, not bothering to answer. Jaspierre was on her own. If she asked and Mother didn't approve, another slap or a one-two punch in the kisser. Or stomach. Jaspierre braced her stomach as much as she could. "What do you do with the bodies? Is it a crime to kill them? Are you going to go to jail?" As terrifying as Mother was, being alone scared Jaspierre more. What would happen to her if Mother was gone?

  Severina let out a bright, beautiful, and genuine laugh. Jaspierre had only heard her truly laugh a few times. "It's only a little bit illegal. It's like shoplifting a candy bar, or speeding down a road. Everyone does it. You only do the time if you get caught. Why would I get caught? I'm too smart for that, and you are too. Besides, if they ever even got a scent on me, I'd set them sniffing on someone else. As far as the bodies go, haven't you been paying attention? They get disposed, or burned, or shredded, or used as parts. There are no leftovers. I'll show you how to burn a body tomorrow, then you'll see. Then you'll know."

  "Thank you, Mother." Jaspierre bent down and grabbed Chance's hands and slowly dragged him out of the room. Liddy stood on the other side of the doorway with a plate in her hands.

  "Is she in a good mood today?" Liddy said, ignoring her unconscious nephew. He was already starting to stir a little anyway.

  "I think maybe. She wants her lunch," Jaspierre whispered back.

  The door swung shut behind Liddy, and a moment later, a loud slapping sound. Mother must have been in a good mood.

  Chapter

  Twenty

  Chance's nose found itself running up her neck, sniffing her intensely. He was already panting with the effort to hold back. He'd love to fuck her and kill her now. His teeth dug into his tongue and he stepped away from her. He did not want to kill her!

  He stepped tightly against the counter, refusing to let his eyes linger in her direction. Her smell was intense and perfect. Do not kill her. Just fuck her. Fuck her and fuck her and fuck her.

  Control was not a skill he had mastered. He raised the gun in his right hand, pointing it at the skinny grey-haired man. She placed her hand on his arm. He turned and looked at her. Her eyes were clear as a bell. She could control herself whenever she wanted. His fingers twitched to turn the gun toward her. Would her face be as pretty splattered on the floor? Somehow, he thought it would be even better than ever.

  But then it would be over, and he desperately wanted her to linger. His lips sucked at hers and right as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, the bullet leapt from the gun and exploded the skull of the thin, grey man.

  Chance was so aroused he started tearing her grey dress up, frantic for release with his empty left hand. The right hand still held the gun. She was calm and did nothing. Both of her hands slowly started to raise into the air. He couldn't get her pants unbuttoned with just his left hand and started to use his teeth. His right hand still held the gun. She was so calm. He stopped and glanced up at her, and then he realized he was holding the gun at her face. Shit.

  "Sorry, old habits." He lowered the gun and fumbled at her pants again, but it was too late. Angry crawled over his arousal. She didn't want him. Here he thought she was into it, but he was waving that fucking gun at her face. How the fuck could he have messed that up so much?

  She hadn't moved. Jaspierre's hands were still in the air. She looked calm but unhappy. Hell if he was going to fuck her while she was unhappy. Not like this.

  He grabbed his energy drink and a bag of chips. "Get your shit. Let's go." Jaspierre seemed frozen in time, still unwavering. He turned and his fury grew. Why couldn't she just be eager to screw like a normal woman? What had fucked her up so much to make her such a close-legged nun?

  His feet grew heavy a
s he stomped towards the door. She didn't move.

  He looked back at her, and she had a wild, dreamy look on her face. His heart was pounding harder. Like she wasn't even there. Anger was building inside him. Her hands were still in the air.

  Everything in his hands crashed to the ground as he charged at her. She crumpled into a shelf of chips and the two of them and the shelf crashed to the ground. His teeth clenched into her neck and she let out a cry. He could feel her muscles moving in his mouth, writhing in his teeth. Salty blood burst into his mouth. She squirmed underneath him, her body making full contact with his.

  He released her neck with his teeth and held his face over hers. He saw little drops of blood dripping from his teeth onto her face. Do not kill her! His body was trembling with desire. Her eyes suddenly snapped tightly to his. For the barest breath of a second, he grew afraid. Deep inside him flashed a warning. Stop or die.

  He paid it no mind and licked her cheek, pausing to pant, his lips a hair from hers. She smiled.

  26 Years Earlier

  Jaspierre rattled the little sword behind her as she walked up the stairs. She rattled it across the floor while she walked to the little playroom. It was a delicious sound. Scratchity scratch. Vibrations rumbling up her fingertips. Mother said that this year, she'd go to kindergarten. She wasn't sure what kindergarten would be like, but probably wouldn't be worse than those board meetings Mother dragged her to.

  She set up a few pillows and swung the long blade into them. It bounced off. She could barely get it moving without twirling her entire body. She wondered, half-heartedly, if someone could teach her to use it. Chance refused to play swords with her, declaring it unsafe, and he didn't want more stitches. The stitches had grown infected, despite his and Jaspierre's efforts to clean the wound daily. Eventually, he got so sick that he had to stay in bed. Today, Jaspierre was alone with her blade, Chance was lying half-dead in his bed, and she was trying to dice a pillow.

  She rattled the blade behind her on the floor. It tickled her insides somehow. She could feel the tiny clatter all the way up into her shoulder. It made her teeth feel like they could sing almost. Maybe the sword wasn't sharp anymore. She looked at the edge and it was pitted and worn. The tip was dented and dinged. She couldn't cut a pillow with it like this. Probably it couldn't even cut a piece of paper.

  She let it clack across the floor as she wandered to the kitchen. Chef was there. They had many chefs; some were tall or fat or thin, but Jaspierre learned that they were just called Chef. Mother did not like it if you used their regular names. She said something about separation of Church and State. Jaspierre didn't really know what that meant. But she did know what Mother meant.

  Chef--whichever one he was--could not be trusted. Chef was not someone to tell secrets to, or to talk about private matters. Like murders or corpse burning. Mother had certainly taught Jaspierre a lesson about roasting a human. She didn't know who he was, just that he smelled terrible when he burned. Jaspierre had to haul a lot of wood to burn that body for Mother. Mother made her stay up all night, sleeping in half hour increments, before rousing her with a slap to put more wood on. Staying out of prison was not a task for the weak or the lazy.

  It took preparations and a lot of wood. A lot of wood.

  Chef couldn't be trusted with those private matters. Jaspierre thought that Severina's normal hiring site, Viscardine, was not a good place to hire chefs because anyone they hired from there could talk about private matters. The maids, Liddy, or the gardeners, or the barn helpers. They would see a body, clean it up, and all day long, they'd have good luck. That was what Mother said.

  Perhaps it was true and lucky. Jaspierre hadn't felt particularly lucky the day the body had been fully seared in the fireplace. She hoped that perhaps she'd find something marvelous outside. Like a baby toad--all day long, she was supposed to be lucky! But despite her mother's promises, she hadn't been lucky at all.

  Until dinnertime. Chef had made her the most marvelous apple pie. Jaspierre loved apples. So perhaps Mother was right, and cleaning up corpses did make her lucky. This Chef seemed particularly nice, and maybe he would know about swords.

  "Can you show me how to make this sharper?" Jaspierre spun in a circle so she could get the blade up on the counter. She missed, and it bounced against the edge of the counter, knocking her backwards. "Sorry, it's heavy."

  Chef stared at the little girl. "Does Severina..." He paused for a long time. "Okay. I can show you how to sharpen that sword."

  He carefully showed Jaspierre how to sharpen the sword with his knife block. "You carefully slide it down the blade, and all these little nicks smooth right out. Look, you'll have to be very careful. It's going to be very sharp when we are done. It's not a toy. It's a blade. Treat it with respect."

  Jaspierre lay on the floor next to the long blade and slowly slid the block from one end to the other. "Do you know of anyone who can teach me to swing it? I want to learn."

  Chef was busy chopping carrots. His knife went thump thump thump hard and fast.

  "Hey, do you know or not?" she said again, shouting over his knife skills. Liddy walked into the kitchen with her broom.

  "What have you done!" she shouted at Chef. "What have you done!"

  He looked up, concern sliding across his face. "What?" His face grew flushed red.

  "Did you do this to the floors? Are you trying to make her kill me? Look at these scratches! Look at them!" Her voice grew higher and higher pitched, more and more frantic.

  Chef looked puzzled and turned to see what she meant. As he turned, somehow, he stepped on Jaspierre's little foot. He yelped and jumped backwards, trying to avoid falling on the child, and he slipped; no, he slid. He slid face first, hands down, over Jaspierre and onto the blade. It pierced right through him, the knife sticking out his back unexpectedly quick. Liddy let out a shout. "She's going to kill me!" Liddy frantically left the kitchen. Back to scrubbing at the floors on her hands and knees. Liddy was perfectly inside herself- ignoring.

  Jaspierre watched Chef as his face twitched and flickered and he gagged hard, shaking all over before he quit. A deep sadness sank into her belly, followed by a rush of guilt. Immediately, she was overcome with anger. "How dare you die! How dare you? Why would you do that to me! You make apple pies!" Her throat grew raw from the angry cries of terror. Her body trembled. He slowly died on top of her. It took all her effort to push him off of her. She took his arms and helplessly tried to tug him to the fireplace. "Where's my good luck now? Where is it now? How could you do this to me!"

  Find a body, clean it up, all day long...

  Chapter

  Twenty-One

  Chance's bloody face was too fucking close to hers. It seemed like she lost herself for a moment and now she was crumpled in a pile of shelves and chips with a horny as fuck monster humping on her legs. He was holding back, and she liked that. She didn't have any reason to hold back.

  Lucille.

  Well, okay, one reason. But that didn't mean she was going to fuck him or be fucked by him. Well, actually, maybe she would, because she was gonna get her baby back and she didn't give a shit what she had to do.

  But she wasn't going to do it unless it was the absolutely last option.

  And then she smiled.

  Her left arm had been pinned underneath her when she fell. But her right arm was positioned just perfectly. She gently wrapped it around his most prized possession. He let out a happy sound. She pressed her lips into his ear. "I will rip this off your body."

  He shuddered. His every tremble crawled through her like a tapeworm. He started to grind into her hand and she squeezed so hard, he let out a scream. "I will fucking rip this off your body." Her tone grew low and intense.

  He finally got the message and froze. Almost certainly he was debating whether he should snap her like a twig or let her up. "Chance," she said with a soft, warm tone. "I want Lucille."

  "You owe me!" he shrieked.

  "You. Owe. Me!" she said back in a
loud growl, clenching her hand tight. Tears formed on his eyes. She twisted and crushed with all her might. "You fucking owe me!"

  He let out a scream and punched the shelf next to her face repeatedly. As soon as she released him, he leapt backwards, doubled over. "You fucking bitch."

  She grabbed a new set of energy drinks and an armful of chips. "Ready yet or do you want ice for your balls?"

  "Fucking bitch." He hobbled to the truck and climbed in, cursing repeatedly. They sat for a few minutes, her furious and silent, him shouting and punching the steering wheel before Chance finally started the truck. "We'll see her in a few more hours, and you better be fucking grateful."

  Jaspierre nodded and they pulled out of the gas station.

  A red car pulled in to the pump, and Jaspierre heard their door shut. She wondered if there would be a cop on their tails soon. "Well, if you don't want to talk about Dru, you wanna tell me what you've been up to while I was rotting away in there?" She didn't turn her head to look at him, still staring out the passenger window. He was silent. A few minutes later, Jaspierre heard the first squeals of a siren.

  Chance didn't seem to notice. He was clenching his teeth, his fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. When she looked over, she found herself staring at his gnarled, scarred face. Chance never particularly struck her as handsome, but now he was downright gruesome looking. Burning him alive might not have killed him, but it took its toll. The skin had wrinkled into stiff patterns, hills, and valleys like strings had been snaked in and out of his flesh. He had tattooed these peaks and valleys in black and white colors so they were impossible to avoid looking at.

  "I built us a house, you know? I built it real nice in the woods. Just for you, Jaspierre, then you had to go get caught up with the cops." The heat of his anger was strong. "Right before I got these tattoos. I didn't even get to show you the best one." He pulled his shirt down with his left hand. She could see the part that said "pier" in red slit lines.