I raised the cleaver up. "You're wrong." I stayed frozen for one long moment. I couldn't make myself start the stroke. I couldn't do it. Daniel, Charlotte.
"Has Niley raped Daniel yet?" I asked it in a voice that was so empty, it was like I wasn't there.
Thompson stopped struggling. He lay very still. He rolled his eyes upward. "Please don't."
I stared into his eyes when I said the next, "Did you rape Charlotte Zeeman?" I saw the fear in his eyes. That flash that said he'd done it. It was enough. I could do it. God forgive me. I got the little finger and the tip of the next one, because he moved. But they got better at holding him down, and I got better at cutting. Thompson told us where they were keeping Daniel and Charlotte Zeeman. In less than fifteen minutes he would have told us the ingredients to the secret sauce or anything else. He'd have confessed to killing Hoffa, or dancing with the devil. Anything, anything to make it stop.
I threw up in the corner until there was nothing but bile, and my head felt like it was going to explode. And I knew that I'd finally done something that I wouldn't recover from. Somewhere in the first blow or the second, I'd broken something inside myself that would never heal. And I was content with it. If we got Daniel and Charlotte back, I was content with it. A hard, cold knot filled me. It was beyond hate. I would make them pay for what they'd done. I would kill them. I would kill them all.
I felt strangely light and empty, and I wondered if this was what it was like to be crazy. It didn't feel too bad. Later, when the shock wore off, I'd feel worse. Later, I'd wonder if there had been another way to get Thompson to talk. Later, I'd remember that I wanted to hurt him, wanted him to crawl and beg. That I wanted to take all the hurt that had happened to Charlotte and Daniel and carve it out of his flesh. Now we had to go rescue Daniel and Charlotte. Oh, one last thing. Thompson was screaming, high and piteously, like a wounded rabbit.
I shot him in the head. The screaming stopped.
43
I was driving the van down narrow gravel roads in the dark. I'd insisted on driving because I wanted something to do. I didn't want to just sit and stare out the window. But I was beginning to think I should have let someone else drive, because I didn't seem to be too real yet. I felt light and empty, shocky, but not guilty. Not yet. Thompson had earned his death. He'd raped Richard's mother. They'd tortured Richard's mother. They'd raped Daniel. They'd tortured Daniel. They all deserved to die.
Jamil and Nathaniel were in the back of the van with Roxanne and Ben. The lupa would not be left out of the fight, even though she'd had to be carried out to the van by her bodyguard. I didn't have time to fight with Roxanne, so she got to come.
Jason and Dr. Patrick got to ride up front with me. Zane and Cherry had been sent to the lupanar to get Richard and the rest. But we weren't waiting. I didn't trust Niley not to get creative. No, I didn't trust Linus and his master. How much control did Niley have over his pet psychopath? They'd already raped them. What else had happened to them by now? Niley had no rules. I knew that.
I was gripping the steering wheel so hard it hurt. The headlights cut a golden tunnel through the blackness. Trees crowded the road so close that they scraped at the van's roof with thick, clawing fingers. The trees seemed to squeeze down around us like a fist. The headlights glowed over the dirt road, but it wasn't enough light. It would never be enough light. There wasn't enough light in the world to chase away this darkness.
"I can't believe you did that," Patrick said. He was on the far side, pressed against the passenger-side door as if afraid to get too close to me.
Jason was in the middle. "Let it go, Patrick," he said.
"She chopped him up like an animal, then she shot him."
This was the third time he'd said pretty much the exact same thing.
"Shut up," Jason said.
"I will not. It was barbaric."
"I'm not having a good night, Patrick. Drop it," I said.
"The f**k you say," he said.
"Thompson was screaming, in pain," I said.
"And you killed him," Patrick said.
"Someone had to finish it," I said.
"What the hell are you talking about? Finish it!" His voice was rising, and I was beginning to debate how angry Roxanne would be if I shot him. After what I'd already done tonight, it didn't seem like such a big deal.
"How long have you been lukoi?" Jason asked.
The question gave us a moment of surprised silence, then, "Two years."
"And what's the rule about hunting?" Jason asked.
"Which one?"
"Don't be coy, Patrick," Jason said. "You know which one."
Patrick was silent long enough that the only sounds were the whir of the engine, the wheels on the road. The van rocked softly over the rutted road. Was it just my imagination or was there a sound underneath the engine's roar, a high, keening, scream? Naw, my imagination. My imagination was not going to be my friend for a while.
Patrick finally said, "Never begin a hunt unless you mean to kill."
"That's the one," Jason said.
"But this wasn't a hunt," Patrick said.
"Yes, it was," Jason said. "We just weren't hunting the deputy."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
I answered, "It means we're hunting the people in that house."
Patrick turned a pale face to me in the dark. "You can't mean that we are to kill all of them. Only one man cut off her finger. Only one man is guilty."
"They watched. They did nothing to prevent it. It's the same as doing it in the eyes of the law," I said.
"You are not the law," he said.
"Oh, yes, I am."
"No, you're not. Damn it, no, you are not!"
"Anyone who harms the pack without just cause is our enemy," I said.
"Don't quote pack law to me, human."
"How do we deal with our enemies?" I asked.
Jason answered, "Death."
"Most packs don't hold to the old laws anymore, and you both know it," Patrick said.
"Look, Patrick, I don't have time to explain it all, so here's the Reader's Digestversion. Niley and crew raped and tortured Richard's mother and brother. We are going to kill them for that. All of them."
"What about Sheriff Wilkes and his men?"
"If Thompson helped rape Richard's mom, then he wasn't the only one. Anyone who touched either of them is dead. Do you understand that, Patrick? Dead."
"I can't do it," he said.
"Then stay in the car," I said, "but shut the f**k up or I'm going to shoot you."
"See," he said, "see, your conscience is bothering you."
I glanced at him huddled in the dark. "No, my conscience isn't bothering me. Not yet. Maybe later. Maybe not. But now, tonight, I don't feel bad about what I did. I wanted Thompson to hurt. I wanted to punish him for what he did. And you know what, Patrick? It wasn't enough. It will never be enough, because I killed him too f**king quick." Tears were threatening at the back of my throat again. When the numbness and anger wore off, I was going to be in trouble. I had to hold onto the adrenaline, the rage. It would see me through the night. Tomorrow, well, we'd see.
"There had to be another way," Patrick said.
"I didn't hear you offering any suggestions at the time."
"What's bothering the good doctor," Jason said, "is that he didn't say anything. He didn't do anything to stop us."
I appreciated the "us."
"I didn't hold him down," Patrick said. "I didn't touch him."
"All you had to do was say, 'Stop, don't,' but you kept quiet. You let us chop him up. You let us kill him and didn't say a damn word," Jason said. "Your conscience wasn't working so hard while he was still alive."
Patrick didn't say anything for a long time. We bumped over the road, avoiding tree branches and dirt-filled holes. There was nothing but the darkness, the golden tunnel of headlights, and the engine-filled silence. I wasn't sure silence was my favorite thing right now, but it was better than listening to Patrick tell me what a monster I was. I agreed with him, which made it harder to hear.
Then something filled the silence that was even harder to hear. Patrick was crying. He huddled against the far door, as far from both of us as he could get, and cried softly. Finally, he said, "You're right. I did nothing, and that will haunt me for the rest of my days."