Serial Killer Eyes 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Dead Silence. Before just a ‘yuh right’ concept, but now a reality. Around the massive dining room table, which was actually three large tables put together to seat the entire Sinclair clan, sat eight barely breathing adults and seven teens. The younger children had already been in bed when Dakota and Cheyenne, hauling their most treasured belongings, knocked on the door looking for their sister, Santee Smith. Each breath taken seemed to suck the walls inward and each exhalation bulged them back into place.

Santee’s icy hands had already cooled the mug of honest-to-goodness hot chocolate, made with fresh Sinclair-cow-produced milk and Hershey’s syrup. The marshmallow topping crinkled as it congealed. A total shame because she loved real hot chocolate.

The Sinclair clan’s progenitors, Robert and Regina (Sir Rob and Mrs. Reggie), usually sat at opposite ends, but now they huddled together, eyes mirroring their concern. Their son, Ruarke, Santee’s faux fiancé, former GQ cover—Sexiest man, Gold glove winner, and World Series and American League MVP, sat across from her making her desperate to disappear into a shell like a scared turtle. Beside Ruarke sat Joe, former Ranger now head of security; Pete, former Ranger now bodyguard and pilot; Rosarita, Pete’s flamboyantly beautiful wife, mother of Pete Jr. and Sophia and head of household management; and Ahmed, tasked with her safety by the man whose wife had kidnapped Santee and gifted her to the jaded Arab. Beside Santee was Bobby John, former football lineman, her best friend, and new partner in a ranching endeavor.

The wide-eyed teenagers, who maybe should have been sent to bed; Ruarke’s fourteen-year-old twins Shaynee and Shawnee, tall like their father and blonde and blossoming like their mother; Jamie, the son of Ruarke’s second wife’s husband; Deacon, a local juvenile delinquent-wanna-be who’d ended up on their doorstep beaten by his father and soaked in an ice storm; Hannah, a local girl whose parents couldn’t be bothered and whose brother was taking bets from his buddies on who would be the first to ‘pop her cherry’.

And then there were the two girls, one on either side of Santee; her supposed sisters, Dakota and Cheyenne, blonde and blue-eyed so totally opposite of Santee’s raven hair and pale as glacier-ice eyes.

They had seemed familiar when Santee had confronted them earlier in the family room. But wasn’t one blue-eyed blonde teen very much like another? And what was in the water producing all these blue-eyed blondes? If it weren’t for the tattoos, Santee could have dismissed their claim, but the 7 ☆ and 8 ☆ on their respective shoulder blades were too coincidental to her own 4 ★★★☆.

Santee felt like a tire with a slow leak. And the nagging discomfort in her stitched back was making her head pound.

She looked at the older girl, Dakota, and for just a second; superimposed over the long blonde hair was a slightly wavy mass of raven locks, over her gentle blue orbs were a pair of cobalt ‘back off or else’ eyes, over the soft planes of her face, were sharp cheekbones, a strong ‘never back down’ jaw, and a lifted ‘don’t f**k with me sucker’ chin…all in a face that, though much younger, could have been looking back at her from a mirror. Then it vanished as if it had never been.

Santee shook the vestiges away and cleared her throat. “You need to go back home.”

“Home?” Dakota, the spokesperson, said. “After what they did to you? What HE did to me…to you and me? We won’t.”

Santee stiffened. “You have no idea what—“

“I know everything.”

“You can’t.” Her heart shrunk at the mere thought of Dakota remembering. “You were two. No one has memories that far back.”

“I was having terrible nightmares,” Dakota said with Cheyenne nodding corroboration. “SHE wouldn’t do anything, so I finally went to a teen suicide prevention—“

Santee jerked around toward her.

Dakota held up her hand. “I’m not suicidal, but I hoped they would hook me up with someone who could help me. But the cause was so buried and so far back that nothing worked until…”

“Dr. Ruth hypnotized her,“ Cheyenne said. “And it all came out.”

Santee snorted to cover the horror that the kid might actually remember. “And put a bunch of false memories into your head.”

Dakota’s golden ponytail swung with a firm shake of her head. “I remember you at age six or eight and your name was 4, a number, not a name.”

Santee hadn’t known she’d had a real name until the legal proceedings hit the fan after she’d killed HIM.

“I know that you were the only mother that I ever had. You bathed me, fed me, changed me, and cuddled me. And tried so desperately to keep me from crying. And when I wouldn’t be quiet, HE punished you, not me.”

There had been a choice. HE either punished a baby for crying as babies did. Or HE punished the one who couldn’t keep the brat silent. Santee knew what punishments involved. There’d really been no choice at all.

“I know,” Dakota continued, “you came back, barely able to walk with blood flowing down your legs or out your behind after those punishments.”

A heavy wooden chair slammed to the floor accompanied by horrified gasps. Ruarke kicked the chair away, his normally gentle blue eyes burning with murderous rage. Hands fisted at his sides as he stalked the length of the room and back and forth and back…

“I know that you tried so hard to potty train me at an impossibly young age because if I messed my panties, HE’d wrap your ponytail in his fist and shove your face into the mess and make you lick me clean.”

Santee had almost managed to forget that. The cloying stench that clogged her sinuses and the taste…her tongue worked against it even now.

“I remember the day it happened…my second birthday.”

“Dakota. Don’t.” Sunny, Santee’s dog who made it her mission to assuage all of Santee’s stress, shoved her head onto Santee’s lap, and when that failed to help, she hopped her front end onto Santee’s lap and laid her fire-damaged head against Santee’s chest; Sunny’s one remaining eye so gentle, and empathetic and worried.

“It was a great day. We had a party with cake and ice cream. But you didn’t eat much. You kept watching HIM. Silently begging HIM, but HE was laughing, holding me on HIS lap, and smiling right at you even though HE was playing with me.”

Santee felt electrified. Her hands vibrated, as she pressed them hard to the wooden tabletop.

“When HE carried me off, you followed. “Please don’t. I’ll do anything!” Over and over you begged HIM. Until we went into the den and HE slammed the door behind the three of us. No one else even tried to intercede, not HER and not one of our four other sisters. HE laughed so loudly when HE made you bark like a dog. Crow like a rooster. Slither across the floor on your belly like a snake. And even lick HIS boots.”

And she’d have done, even more, anything if only—

“Then, still laughing, HE kicked you in the chest and continued to kick you until you were outside of the door and closed it behind you.”

Santee barely remembered the pain of the broken ribs. She'd banged on the door, begging and crying as her baby screamed, “Four! Four! Four!” over and over. And then the ultimate shriek of agony.

“HE- HE laughed the whole time,” Dakota said her voice breaking. “I thought I was being ripped apart. And still, I screamed, ‘Four! Four!’”

“And then, just like a miracle, the door burst open and you walked in and closed the door behind you. With a shotgun almost as long as you were tall in your hands, you faced HIM.”

“A double barrel shotgun.”

“HE laughed and said, ‘I didn’t think my little mouse had the guts.’ HE dangled me by one arm.“ Dakota rubbed her left shoulder as if that arm still ached. “HE whipped me across the room where I hit the wall and plopped on the floor.”

“Give me that, little mouse,” HE said as HE tromped toward you, “before you hurt someone.”

“I saw you raise that shotgun, stagger at its weight before leveling it at HIM. And still, HE just kept smiling and slowly advancing.”

Santee’s right forefinger flexed at the phantom memory. She’d been slammed backward into the doorjamb by the recoil of both barrels.

HIS smile froze as HE looked down at the massive crater where HIS chest had been. “You little cunt!” He touched the gore as HIS knees buckled. Blood spouted as HE coughed. “Trouble from day one, but—“ Hack. Hack. The floor trembled as HE landed. “Had to show—“ Hack! Hack! “Don’t f**k with—“ HE face planted and was motionless.

Behind her, the door shoved open, shoving her out of the way.

“Nooooo!” SHE scream-moaned as SHE raced to HIM and gathered the limp, bloody body into HER arms. HER eyes blazed murder as the other four girls edged into the room. “You b***h!” SHE scrambled to HER feet and descended on you. Kicking and screaming, and soon, the other sisters joined in.

Dakota continued, “We’ve got your medical records. It’s a miracle you survived.”

Cheyenne said, “Left arm broken in two places, both legs broken, one at the femur. Ribs broken on both sides. Cracked vertebrae. Lungs, spleen, liver, and kidney contusions. Broken jaw. Cheekbones. Nose. And a skull fracture that had to be bored out to relieve the pressure.”

No wonder she had a few screws loose, Santee thought.

“And none of our beloved sisters testified in your defense.”

Mrs. Reggie said, “There would have been physical evidence.”

Santee shrugged. “Apparently, I was very sexually precocious. Constantly shoving stuff up me…broom handles, hair brushes. Stuff like that.”

“Goddamn it!” Ruarke growled. His fists shook impotently. If the son of a b***h weren’t already dead—!

“So why did you supposedly break that day?” Bobby John asked.

“Jealousy,” Santee said. “Apparently, I’d always been his favorite, but that day he’d been overly attentive to the birthday girl.”

Sir Rob said, “You were only eight. Did they try you as an adult?”

Dakota answered, “No. But the strangest thing happened while the proceedings awaited Santee’s healing. The judge’s wife died in a mysterious car accident. Four months later our beloved mother married him, and when his grown children raised a fuss, strange things happened to them; one of their dogs was butchered and left on the front lawn, and one of their children was snatched from the yard and later found wandering beside the road miles from home, their houses were vandalized, insinuations of p********a and s****l perversion were painted on garage doors, all three had their homes broken into, burglarized, and trashed. They quit objecting real fast after that.”

Cheyenne said, “We suspect SHE was commiserating with him…one lonely widow to another…long before the trial.”

“Son of a b***h,” Bobby John snarled.

“So you went to prison,” Joe stated between clenched teeth.

“Juvie prison,” Santee said.

Even there she’d been targeted; by the older ‘girls’ and by the predominately male guards. She’d fought the girls, losing a lot of battles, until she got bigger and stronger. Spending a lot of time in ‘solitary’ was actually a relief, giving her a vacation from constantly watching her back. There’d only been the guards to deal with in solitary…when they came visiting, but she could just ‘go away’ until they were done and gone. Not so different from life at home.

“As soon as we could,” Dakota said, “we began filtering money out of the old man’s accounts. We found an eager beaver young lawyer to take on your appeals financed by the man who put you there in the first place.”

Cheyenne said, “When we knew you were getting out, we got you a South Dakota driver’s license, credit cards, a bank account, and a saving account, paying off the credit cards from that account and topping off the account from him every month.”

“We found the truck camper and trailer online. It seemed perfect because we didn’t think you’d want to live around other people. This way you could move around and have your own house.”

“I don’t think I want to know how you managed all those highly illegal maneuvers.”

“Probably not,” they agreed with big grins.

“And you found me by—?”

“Tracking the credit card charges.”

“You tracked me here. To these nice people, whose only mistake was taking me in. And now you’ve put a huge target on them.”

Cheyenne and Dakota’s eyes widened as they looked at each other. “We found you by—“

Santee shoved to her feet. “I know how you found me. And they’ll be right behind.”

Both shook their heads. “We were very careful. And they don’t have access to—“

Santee loomed over them, making them cringe together. “You think they’re just going to say ‘good riddance’ and forget about it? Think again, little sisters. They’ll turn over every rock, look under every boulder till they find us. And then all hell’ll break loose.”

“What would you expect them to do?” Joe asked. “I know some guys who’d give their left ah-pinkie to come out here to the quiet, empty countryside and do protection duties. The government had no more use for and cut them loose…many unemployable by normal standards.”

“To get at me, they would kill anything and anyone. They’d shoot the cattle and horses, poison waterholes, and burn the hay piles. But the best would be to wait for a good wind and start a wildfire that’d sweep down on the ranch and level it…buildings, animals, and people.”

Joe looked at Pete and nodded.

“But you won’t have to worry too much because we won’t be here.”

Dakota and Cheyenne looked up expectantly.

“I will lay a trail that a blind man could see and lead them away.”

“Dakota and Cheyenne are going to go back.”