Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection Read online

  “I don’t know.” He tucked her hair behind her ear along with the flower, shaking his head. “My brother can be charming. He seduced you, didn’t he?”

  She didn’t have a response for that, didn’t want to think about it. Instead, she turned to look at Isabelle’s roses, wondering at their beauty in the midst of the devastation. There were no other plants growing, even after all this time, amidst the wreckage. The soil must have been completely drained after the fire. And then it occurred to her.

  “Silas, she’s here.” Jolee knelt in the soil, her hands turning over the dirt, knowing somehow that she was right. “She’s right here.”

  “I feel her here too.”

  “No.” She looked up and met his eyes. “He buried her right here. With her roses.”

  Silas’s eyes widened in realization. She saw the emotions passing, just in his eyes—the horror, the anger, the sorrow. And then he sank to the earth beside her with a howl of rage and pain so great it hurt her heart, tearing at the dirt with his bare hands. He’d dug down two feet, bleeding at his knuckles and fingernails, before Jolee located a shovel at the other end of the rubble. It was rusted through entirely at the handle, but the business-end still worked.

  He accepted it with a grunt when she handed it over, making quicker work of the soil under his feet. She sat with her arms curled around her knees and watched him until he found her, still eerily preserved and recognizable.

  Jolee knew Silas had forgotten about her sitting there. He was lost in his memory of Isabelle, the woman whose body he held and rocked, dead in his arms. I’m not a part of this, she thought.

  So she turned and headed for home. She knew he would come to her, when he was ready.

  * * * *

  He couldn’t have thought of a better resting place for her. He hated his brother for thinking of it, for burying her here. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it himself. All these years, she had been right here. How many times had he come back to walk this perimeter, reliving their life together? He could still see her pruning her roses, singing to herself. Now she was giving new life to the same roses she had so lovingly grown. Thanks to his brother.

  Carlos had always taken whatever he wanted. Had she refused him? Silas knew she would, although what had he done to her while she was drugged? Or worse, while she was awake, by force? That thought burned and he tore two roses off the bush, breaking off the stems, ignoring the rip of thorns against his bleeding palms.

  He had said his goodbyes, his final goodbyes, and buried her again under the roses. Now he stamped the dirt down under his feet and began tearing the roses apart, scattering the petals over her grave.

  He stood a long time, thinking about his past, about his future. He hadn’t realized, until he saw Isabelle’s body, how much he’d hoped she was still alive somewhere. Now he had closure, and knowing she was really gone changed everything. His brother had taken her, had probably raped her, and then, when she refused to bend to his will, had killed and buried her. He’d imagined the scenario so often it had become truth in his head, but now he knew it was true, or at least, a close approximation.

  He’d planned his revenge all along, sabotaging Carlos at every turn, but never going so far as to completely put him out of business. What had he been waiting for? Silas wondered. He could have gone to the police at any time, shown them where Carlos had buried other bodies—men like Jolee’s father, people who had gotten in his brother’s way.

  I’ve been waiting to find her, Silas realized, squatting down and sifting his fingers through the freshly packed dirt, spreading the rose petals. And now that he had?

  His plan to expose his brother, to sacrifice himself in the process, would hurt Jolee. She cared about him too, he was sure of it. Even if she could never really love him—who could love the monster he’d become?—his death would be a hard blow for her. She’d grown used to him, comfortable. He would be leaving her alone, unprotected, to fend for herself.

  He thought about Isabelle, but he also thought about Jolee, who had followed him, who had witnessed his unabashed pain and who had been the one to realize where his wife was buried. She had come to mean far more to him than he’d realized.

  There are other ways. Abe’s voice came back to him. He’d worked closely with the old man, once they’d realized what Carlos was planning to do at the old White Pine Mine—re-opening it to get what was left of the copper with sulfuric acid, most likely poisoning the aquifers in the process, which included not only Silas’s land, but the local Indian Reserve land next to it as well. Sabotaging the sulfide mine had set Carlos back, Silas was sure, but it wouldn’t stop him. Nothing would stop him, unless his brother was either dead or in prison.

  Carlos had paid off all the mining safety inspectors to get the White Pine Mine opened again and had received all the necessary permits. While Abe and others on the Bad River reservation had been trying to draw attention to the issue, Carlos had been seducing the media on his own, telling them, “At this strength, sulfuric acid is a very diluted solution. This stuff is safe as lemon juice!” And, as Silas as pointed out to Jolee, his brother could be very persuasive.

  But Abe had proof that the stuff was already leaching into the water. And Silas had dropped one of the dead rabbits he’d snared into a vat of the solution, watching the stuff eat away at its flesh, leaving it just a floating skeleton, in the space of a three minutes. The media wasn’t listening, the local mining safety commission wasn’t listening. The only way to get it all to stop was to use the media himself and get the EPA involved.

  This spring would mark five years since Isabelle had died. That meant, this year, Carlos could have Silas declared legally dead and inherit all the land. Silas’s plan of self-sacrifice, to martyr himself for the cause, to die like the rabbit in a vat of sulfuric acid on the day of the spring mine opening with cameras rolling, had seemed like a good one back before Jolee had been thrown into the mix.

  Before Jolee, life hadn’t been worth living. Silas had sacrificed far greater things than his own life, he realized, standing on his wife’s grave. And it was a good plan. It would work. With Carlos exposed, the media would run with the story, the EPA would get involved. Silas had already provided Abe with enough evidence to give them after Silas’ death to put his brother away for life—including plots of land where the bodies were buried and a long laundry list of detailed, illegal activity.

  But for the first time since his wife’s death, Silas had found something—someone—worth living for.

  “Goodbye, Isabelle.” He pulled his mask off and threw it aside, turning and walking into the forest, heading for home.

  * * * *

  Jolee should have known. Silas would have been on guard the moment he walked into the yard, she realized later as she bounced up and down, once again locked in her husband’s trunk, zip-tied and duct-taped. Right back where I started. Déjà-fucking-vu .

  But hindsight was 20/20, and she’d been distracted, worried about Silas. Should she have stayed with him? What was he going to do? Would he be okay alone? So she didn’t notice the muddy tracks, men’s shoes, not boots, on the wooden back steps. She hadn’t noticed the tire-tracks either—definitely made by a car, not a truck—running up the rain-softened driveway. She hadn’t even noticed that the back door was open. Because she’d probably left it open, in a hurry to run after Silas, hadn’t she?

  But she noticed all of those things on the way out, Carlos dragging her by the hair in a blind rage. She didn’t know how he’d found her and it didn’t matter. Silas was gone and couldn’t protect her, and while she’d fought as hard as she could, even managing to stab her husband in the upper arm with a meat fork—she’d been aiming for his jugular—hard enough to impale it three inches, it had all been in vain. She was still locked in his truck heading toward her death for the second time in a year.

  And she still regretted that she’d never really loved a man who truly loved her back. Carlos had never wanted or cared for her—to him, she’
d been a trophy, something to win and display. And Silas? Did he love her? The last time she’d done this, she’d been full of thoughts of escape. This time, the ride was shorter, and she didn’t have as much time to plan, but she thought about Silas almost exclusively.

  Would he believe she got lost? Or worse, would he think she left?

  Or would he realize what had happened and come for her?

  Even as the car bumped down the old familiar two-track and she flashbacked to that day last winter, her pants wet with fear, her heart hammering in her chest just as it was now, she couldn’t help hoping for the latter.

  * * * *

  Silas should have paid attention to his instincts. Miles from home, he thought he heard someone traveling on the old two-track. Too wet out there, he thought. Gonna get stuck. The rain had been heavy this spring, making everything soft and muddy. But he’d second-guessed himself as the sound faded.

  Besides, he was changed, everything was different, his eyes just adjusting to a new light. He felt off-balance and was trying to get his bearings. Or perhaps he needed new bearings.

  He’d buried Isabelle and now he was going to see Jolee. And he was anxious to be home. Even if she walked away after she saw his scars, he thought, stepping over a log and running a hand over the rough skin of his cheek—and some part of him was sure she would—he wanted to see her again, to tell her that he loved her, to give her that much, at least.

  He saw the tracks in the driveway in the dappled afternoon sunlight as soon he stepped out of the woods, his senses immediately awake, telling himself it was a trick of the light and already knowing it wasn’t. The man’s footprints through the driveway, up the steps and down again—a second set of smaller tracks beside it on the way out—had his hunting knife unsheathed and ready as Silas slipped silently into the house. She wasn’t in there, he was sure of it, but he had to be ready just in case.

  Silas’s assessment had been correct. The note on the kitchen table, written in his brother’s handwriting, confirmed that much. It was simple and wouldn’t implicate his brother in anything, of course, but it was clear enough.

  Meet me at the White Pine. Bring the deeds.

  And Jolee was gone. Her knitting was still on the table, another mask, this one black with a white skeleton face—for Halloween, she’d said with a grin, although he’d watched her making it and realized it would probably be his death shroud instead, because he didn’t plan on being around in October.

  Excerpt now he very much wanted to be here, and he wanted Jolee here beside him.

  Silas worked quickly, not knowing how much of a head start his brother had. He would take the four-wheeler most of the way and then do the rest on foot, he decided. And he took several things with him—but the one thing he didn’t take was a deed to any of his land.

  * * * *

  Kicking her way out hadn’t worked this time. Jolee couldn’t get the latch to pop and it did nothing except making Carlos even more pissed when he opened his now very dented trunk to drag her out. By the hair. She swore, if she got out of this, she was going to get it cut off so no one could pull her around by the stuff ever again.

  “Fucking bitch! Look what you did to my car!” Carlos threw her to the ground and she sprang up almost instantly—the idiot had forgotten to zip tie her feet together—heading into a full-out run. He swore again and took off after her—he’d always been good about going to the gym and he was fast—catching hold of her hair and yanking her backward. She fell onto her back, hitting her head hard enough on the ground to make her see blackness and bright stars instead of blue sky and sun.

  She was cursing the length of her hair again as he grabbed another handful and stalked off, forcing her to follow, bent over and panting, still struggling in spite of the pain and searching the ground for a weapon. There had been no jack or even a tire iron in the trunk, but her hands were zip-tied in front, not the back, and she could grab something if she could find it. She wondered, considering how sloppy he’d been, if her husband had ever really done this by himself, or if he’d always gotten one of his guys to do it for him.

  “Carlos, please,” she begged, trying to appeal to the part of him she knew must be in there. “Don’t do this.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” He shoved her through a door and threw her to the floor, kicking her in the ribs to leave her breathless and deter her from running. It worked—her side exploded, a bloom of pain, and she clutched it, groaning. “You don’t tell me what to do. Nobody tells me what to do.”

  She looked up at him, seeing a gun in his hand, and she had a moment of panic, thinking of Silas, wishing he was here, at the very least so he could be the last thing she saw before her husband pulled the trigger. But when Carlos just stood there, her eyes skipped away from his hand, around the room, taking in her surroundings. A factory? There was a heavy, metallic smell in the air and it hung around them. It smelled like blood. A slaughterhouse?

  She looked for an exit but the only one she found was between her and Carlos. He’d even left the door propped open and the light called to her like a beacon. The place was huge, full of strange looking machines with thick ductwork, heavy steel. She could get lost amongst them. That would be a start. She struggled to rise and he kicked her again, the other side this time, making her scream in pain.

  “You were always way more trouble than you were worth,” he snarled, unslinging a bag from his shoulder and dropping it down by her head. She saw the blood seeping out of it and screamed again, backpedaling from the sight.

  He snorted, squatting down beside her and opening it up. “You think my brother’s the only one who knows how to hunt?”

  He pulled out a muskrat by the tail, its head half-gone from the shot that had killed it, and Jolee rolled away, shuddering. It wasn’t the animal that made her sick, it was Carlos, the sneering smile on his face, the glint in his eyes.

  “Wanna see something cool, chickie?” He grabbed her upper arm, still holding the muskrat with the other, and dragged her to her feet. She was doubled over in pain, looking around with blurry eyes for another exit, but she was forced to follow around the huge machine in front of them, down an aisle way.

  It was dark back here, although the light coming from the doorway reflected against the ceiling, giving her some ability to see. Could she crawl under? Get into a small space and hide? But Carlos had a gun. He’d slipped it into his belt, but it was still there. Could she reach it? It was worth a shot. She took a step toward him, knocking him off balance, reaching for the butt of the gun, but he turned, shoving her backward onto the floor. She sprawled, hands thrown over her head behind her, hitting her head again, the other side this time, leaving a lump she could practically feel.

  “Whoa!” He slammed his foot down on the zip tie across her wrists, making her howl in pain. He’d just broken her finger, at least one of them, maybe more. It hurt so bad she thought she might pass out, the world fading to gray. “Careful. Wouldn’t want to fall in there. That would be nasty.”

  He squatted, turning her chin toward him and looking down at her. His face filled her vision, upside down, like a storm cloud. She tried to move her fingers under his foot and it brought more bursts of pain so she held still, letting the tears roll down her temples. Carlos was still holding the half-headless muskrat by the tail and she could smell its decomposing body. It made her gag, but not as much as what he did next.

  Using his other hand, he yanked her t-shirt up, exposing her bra, his gaze burning over her flesh. Then he yanked her bra down too, his teeth showing in a sneering smile as he squeezed and kneaded her flesh. She turned her head away again, more in reaction to his mauling than to the smell of the dead animal, wanting to scream, knowing it would do her no good.

  “I forgot how beautiful you are.” Carlos tweaked her nipple and then twisted it, making her wince, but she didn’t cry out. “And we’ve got time for lots of fun before we get down to the dirty work.”

  He had to stretch to reach her crotch, cupping and grind
ing his hand there. “I’m gonna fuck you so good.”

  “That would be new,” she gasped, trying to twist away, the pain in her hands increasing enough to make her still. “Besides, your brother’s been doing the job much better than you ever could.”

  He growled, bringing his fist down on her pubic bone, making her scream and curl up, turning fetal in spite of the pain in her hands. The hurt between her legs far outweighed that of her fingers. They were going numb, but her pelvis was on fire all the way to her bones.

  “Cunt!” He stood, yanking her up again, dragging her by her mangled hands, keeping his grip on the zip tie between them. “Want to see what I’m gonna do to you?”

  He let the muskrat drop, and Jolee heard a splash. In spite of the pain radiating through every part of her body, she turned her head to look. There was a vat sunk deep into the floor beside them, the liquid a good ten feet down. She saw something—a lid?—on the floor next to the hole, like huge manhole cover, that had been taken off.

  Carlos sighed, looking down at the hole. "Would have been more effective if it had still been alive I guess.”

  “What?” Jolee glanced down again, still dazed and in pain, seeing something white floating in the liquid. She could hear a hissing noise, like steam escaping.

  “Sulfuric acid.” He grinned, meeting her eyes. “Gonna eat you right down to your bones.”

  She looked down again at the muskrat skeleton floating in acid and the realization rolled through her like thunder. She struggled, trying to get away from him, she didn’t care how much pain she was in. She finally understood that he was going to put a world of hurt on her that she could never have even imagined—and that was all going to be before her sulfuric acid bath.

  “Stupid bitch.” He grabbed her, crushing her mangled hands between them as he tried to kiss her. She turned away and his lips mashed against her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and she tasted Wintergreen Lifesavers. “Why did you have to find out? I would have given you everything.”