The Devil's Mercy

Chapter 3

His heart was stone, his hands were wet with blood. The heat of the blaze as it spread through the remains of the dilapidated building shone on his sweat-soaked skin. The red in his blonde hair reflected in the flames. Mitch and Rave set the heavy ancient metal chest down at the rear of the van. Mercia's name was carved into it with what had to be a rock from the basement where it had been found.

"What do you think is in there?" Brock asked behind Oskar. Who was eyeing the combination lock with interest.

The commander shook his head in both admiration and bewilderment. Whatever was inside, she hadn't wanted anyone else to find. At least not without her.

He crouched and ran a finger over the letters. They weren't as deep as he thought. She hadn't been strong when she had done it. "A pair of bolt cutters will solve the mystery." He claimed and rose to his full height. "Put in the room with her. I want to know what's in it."

His body felt weary as he settled back in the front passenger seat of the van. Six of his against forty five crackheads, pimps, and low-level gangsters. The whole building had been a breeding ground of her misery.

His head fell back on the seat as he closed his eyes and tried to rid the stench of filth from his lungs. Longing for the scent of her skin. The feel of her soft flesh under his thumb. The weariness lifted slightly with a vision of her. It was unsettling.

The van shook as the rest of the team climbed in. Oskar opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Roy. The man had been right. The rage was assuaged. The guilt, however, still weighed heavily on his chest. The guilt that he should've known she was there. Gotten there sooner.

Roy caught Oskar's stare when he bent to fasten his seat belt. "We aren't remaining silent?"

Jessup James had been all Oskar's. Using the things taught to him by a sick father and others during his formative years. How to torture a man to death. Rave, Brock, and X had taken care of Haven.

Usually, Oskar had a strict rule about women and children. When neither parent had shown any remorse for what had happened to Mercia or even known that Hope was alive. That had sealed both fates.

The customer Haven had been with had been questioned before Oskar had driven his knife into the man's chest. The full force of his rage burned deep in his eyes as he removed the knife and turned his attention on Jessup, Mercia's father.

Without a word Oskar had grabbed Jessup by the throat and dragged him into the disgusting kitchen of rotting food on plates and overflowing trash to exact his revenge for what had been done to his Mercy.

Through the torture it became clear that Mercy knew. Knew all of it. That she had been born to die two nights ago. Her only purpose given to her was to be tortured and molested by the highest bidder. As her eldest sister, Patience.

He had paused in the torturing of the man when Hope's death was mentioned. The body of the baby was still in the closet in the bedroom of the parents. He had gone to find it. Leaving Roy to watch the man bleed from numerous lacerations and body part removals all over the floor.

Knocking on the door, the woman's screams were still coming from, Rave had answered the door a crack, took the information and returned with a shoebox. The scent of rotting flesh and decay didn't sting their noses as Oskar lifted the lid. A doll with the same hair as the sisters.

Rave had signed about the ingenuity of the young woman. Oskar had agreed taking the box and doll back to the kitchen to shove in Jessup's face. The brainless couple had been outsmarted by a preteen daughter.

"No. I want that box open as soon as we get back." Oskar barked. "Whatever is inside, it meant something."

He hadn't been wrong.

After a quick shower to wash off the blood. A change of clothes, and a snack from the kitchen of meat, cheese, and crackers with a bottle of water. Oskar returned to the room with Mercia. The chest had been opened and left in the room. Alice jumped up from the bed at his entrance.

He thanked her for staying with Mercia as she left. She had paused at the door to look at him. Relaxing a little before silently closing the door behind her with a nod of acknowledgement.

He rested his ass on the floor next to the trunk with his snack and water. Lifted the latch and removed a heavy binder from inside. The year written on it with a clear hand. He opened it and read the first entry. Her writing was beautiful. The loops and swirls spoke of high intelligence.

His hand paused with a cracker sandwich raised to his mouth, his eyes going from the first line in the page and then to the sleeping girl. The entry was at the start of this year:

New Years, 2006.

The pain is as usual; mind-numbing. On to business. Drug deal on the seventeenth, two hundred kilos of cocaine. Someone is angry but I didn't catch who. Another gun deal. Like they need more of those? That is later in February.

His hand fell to the plate next to him, the meat and cheese cool against his skin. She was keeping track of their dealings. They spoke of it in front of her and she wrote it all down. He continued to read:

I didn't see Catronia last night. She's supposed to turn eighteen soon. I know what that means. Heard it spoken of. A virgin sacrifice to a madman. That brings up the last time I had seen Patience. Not alive. Beaten, tortured, and r***d. Savagely. I had to ID her body at only ten-years-old. Jessup and Haven had been passed out from whatever vice or vices.

His heart dropped as his head snapped up to look at the sleeping girl. How was she not insane? Perhaps she was? Recalling her taunts that night. She had wanted death. Welcomed it. His dropped back to the binder to finish the rest of the entry.

If I make it out of this alive, no man will ever touch me again. Not that he would want to. Perhaps I should just turn Hope over to an orphanage and meet my fate? Death would be a relief. A relief from the hate and anger, the pain and suffering. Everything I have known for fifteen years.

That wasn't wholly accurate. A man who sees her resilience and intelligence would see her as a treasure. The scars of her body a tapestry to how strong she was. He saw all of that and more. A young woman who had never known love, but still had the capability for it. Understood what it was. Continuing on:

Hope, I need to stay my course and protect her as Patience didn't protect me. She wasn't strong. Broken and weak before I was born. I won't go down like that. I refuse to give them that satisfaction. They have taken to calling me 'Little Cub." I fight and claw until I can't anymore. But I never give up. I can't give up. Hope needs me.

That's right, honey. Get back up. Keep pushing through. Everything will be better now. I'll take care of you and your sister.

Its four in the morning. I will sleep here with the rats then go to Mrs. Cagney's to shower and get ready for work. The bleeding has stopped. The pain, the pain reminds me that I'm alive. Fueling my hate and want for revenge. I've heard whispers of a man who hates these kind as much as I do. In New York. Perhaps I could appeal to him? No. That's not the way the world works. Not my world. No man is be trusted.

His reputation had preceded him even further than he had thought. The last sentence sent heat and cold through his bloodstream. She knew of him, but had been afraid to come to him. It had him questioning how she will react when she wakes up. Emotions he hadn't felt in years stirred in his chest at the thought. The thought of her rejecting him out of hand.

He turned the page to a new entry a few days later. This one was more horrific. She had an artistic talent. A drawing attached to the written words by a dog ear at the top. He lifted it and then slapped it back down fast. Catching enough to understand that he didn't want to look at it again.

The last entry in the journal was dated two weeks ago. Her last in her memoirs of evil and cruelty. She had been plotting her escape. A week shy of the money she needed to leave the city and the state. Her destination, New York.

I've been accepted to a college in New York. All paid for by a scholarship I applied for. Free. Finally. It won't be easy. Nothing is. Not for us. But I'm confident that I will succeed in making a better life for Hope. A life with a home, a puppy, good schools, opportunities for her that I never got. She will have choices. She will be happy. She will be loved. Know everyday that she is loved and matters to me. All the things I never had. Everything I will never have. This concludes the sick tale of my hell. If someone finds this....

In large letters

NO ONE CARES!!!!

He closed the binder with more force than necessary. She had tried everything and still ended up in that room. The sacrificial lamb for sick perversion. He started to rise reaching for his phone in his pocket to start making calls. Ensuring that her position in the school would be held. That she didn't lose her scholarship.

The glowing face of the phone told him it was nearly five in the morning. His ass landed hard back on the floor. Nothing to be done now. Perhaps Melanie knew what school Mercia had applied to. That would give him a starting point. It was early June. She should be healed enough to make the trip to New York. If he had to fund it himself, she would have all those things she mentioned in her journal. Hope would have all those things.

His gaze settled her in the bed. He knew what she meant. For years he had the love of his mother. Her support and trust. Then he had left for the military. She had become cold and distant with him. Probably had thought he had abandoned her. Maybe he had. Running from his fate. A fate he didn't want as the eldest son of a mafia king.

His father had tried to raise Oskar in his image. The harder the bastard had pushed, the more Oskar had resisted. Instead of being broken, Oskar had become stronger. Immune to the pain. Immune to anything. Anything but the fire of hate that burned to an inferno inside him between raids.

He sat until the grey light of dawn lit the wall and ceiling of windows. Contemplating how he would earn the trust of this young woman. At least enough to let him help her accomplish her goals.

Ideas and plans started forming in his mind. Relaxing his back against the wall behind him, he let the possibilities unfold. He had funds to put forth to help her accomplish her dreams. Connections to assist in acquiring a home for her and the little girl.

As he saw her future of comfort and success unfold, his position in the pictures changed. In the foreground next to her. In the background watching from one of his SUVs. His eyes closed to remove the images. A wave of exhaustion washed through him with the action. A few hours would do him good.