“Hmm,” Jimmy said, and got to his feet, reaching down for Paul’s flat hand, as Victor clamped his hands down on Paul’s shoulders. “That’s what I thought you’d say. So it’s time to teach Joel what happens to someone when they steal and then lie to me about it.”
With that, Jimmy raised the knife and swung it down with shocking force, ripping a scream from the teacher tied down—and the student standing opposite.
* * *
ROBBIE DIDN’T DARE move. Not to get more comfortable, not even to breathe, as he sat there in the bed with his eyes fixated on the silent and still man in the corner.
As Priest had been retelling his story, Julien had wrapped an arm around Robbie’s shoulders. Robbie wasn’t sure if it had been to comfort Julien or himself, but he appreciated the contact either way. Because while he couldn’t move, the reminder that he wasn’t by himself listening to one of the most horrific stories he’d ever heard made him feel slightly less alone.
He’d figured whatever had happened to Priest was something nightmares were made of, since the man never slept longer than a handful of minutes at a time. But to hear him relay the story in such detail, in a voice that was unrecognizable, was truly frightening.
It was as though Priest had left the condo, and in his place was a man watching a horror movie and adding subtitles for those who couldn’t hear what he did.
“I remember screaming at the same time Mr. Stevens did,” Priest continued in that detached voice. “And even though I wanted to run, my legs, they wouldn’t move. Jimmy had used me to get to Paul Stevens, and as I stood there, all I could see was the sunlight bouncing off that fucking watch he’d been wearing, where it had fallen on the floor along with his hand.”
Priest turned around and leaned on the desk in the corner of the bedroom. He gripped the wood until his knuckles looked as though they might crack, and then he raised his head and pinned Robbie with a look so direct that Robbie swore he felt it to the very depths of his soul.
“If you were to ever read about this online, or watch the documentaries, you’d hear how it only took minutes—nine, to be exact—for Jimmy to cut off Paul Stevens’s hand just above his watch, and then slit his throat after Paul spent a solid minute pleading for his life.”
Priest paused, his expression eerily calm as he stated these facts, but then he blinked, and his eyes filled with abject terror, as though he were hearing and seeing it all over again. “Nine minutes, I stood in that shoebox of a shack. And I heard and saw things that I will never be able to unhear or see again. It took eleven minutes for the police to bust down the door with their guns aimed at Jimmy’s and Victor’s heads while I stood in the same spot, my trousers soiled and Paul’s blood under my feet. They had been there all along, the police. They were who I’d heard when I was back in the boat, when I tripped and fell. They’d staked out my father’s place on the bayou after getting information he’d be meeting there with Victor that afternoon to handle a little ‘poaching’ problem. I had been a surprise they hadn’t counted on, which caused them to regroup and take longer to get in. It was probably what killed Paul—who, I found out later, did lie about those drugs he took. They had to work out how to deal with a kid they hadn’t counted on being present.”
And what that kid had seen… Robbie slowly brought a hand up to cover his mouth, but when he realized it was shaking, he quickly lowered it again to jam it under his legs. What Priest had just told him was horrendous. Yet he seemed so…calm about it all.
“Jimmy and Victor were arrested after that.” Priest swallowed then blinked, as though trying to erase that image and come back to the present. “And I learned that I had a grandmother on my mother’s side, who lived in Poulsbo, Washington. The police had tracked her down. She’d lived there for years, even though Jimmy had told me he was the only family I had.”
Robbie wasn’t sure what he should or shouldn’t say, but if ever there was a time to ask questions, he knew this was it. “So you lived with your grandmother since you were seven?”
“I did. Yes. I moved to Poulsbo. This picturesque little town where I knew no one, and no one knew me. She used to attend this beautiful church that sat up on the hill and overlooked Liberty Bay. She encouraged me to talk about what had happened when I was ready, and she and Father Daniels played an integral part in my turning out sane—for the most part. It was therapy of sorts, and it saved my life.”