Revenge

Jensyn called in sick the next two days and after making a couple of trips to various stores around the city, she was ready to put her plan in motion.

"Mistuh McEvoy? Mah name is Alice Fahnum. I live in Mobile, Alabama, and Ah run a textile cump'nee. We are lookin' to expand and Po-uht-lund seems like a pur'fuct locayshun." Her southern accent was a bit too thick but still reasonably convincing.

"We have a lot of business potential here in the Pacific Northwest, Ms. Farnham. I'd be happy to show you several locations zoned for one like yours. In fact, I even have a property that was once used for textiles."

Jensyn thanked him but said she particularly liked the location of a small group of buildings in a specific part of town.

"Ah, excellent choice. Yes, ma'am, that listing just became available a couple of weeks ago. It's been empty for a several years, but the building is structurally sound. It would need a refit for textiles, but I think it could work quite well for you."

Jensyn set up a meeting for late at night the following evening which was Friday. She apologized for the unusual hour explaining that it was the only time her schedule would permit a personal tour of the complex after arriving in town earlier in the afternoon.

"No problem," McEvoy told her. "I'll be there a few minutes early and get the lights turned on and meet you outside the south entrance right at 8pm."

That evening, Thursday, Jensyn borrowed Emma's car and drove around the building once to make sure no security guards were present. She then parked across the street and did a walk around and as she hoped, found a window on the north side. Using one of the many tools she'd recently purchased, she scored the window and tapped out a small circle of glass then reached in and unlatched it.

She slid in through the opening, turned on her Tac-Light flashlight, and fought off the urge to vomit as she made her way through the building finding the very room in which she'd been held. She'd never actually seen it, but the smell of the toilet gave it away. She also closed her eyes and sat on the floor and could feel the various chips on the floor she'd felt a thousand times. It was an old locker room evidently used by the building's former employees.

Once she was familiar with the layout, she went back and brought several items inside to include a large dolly, a roll of plastic, and a several very large, black plastic bags. After securing them in two of the old lockers in the room where she'd been kept, she left the building after very lightly gluing the circle of glass back in place. The last thing she staged were five, two-gallon cans of gasoline she purchased at three different gas stations after exiting the building.

When Friday evening came, she'd mentally run through her checklist several dozen times rehearsing and memorizing the details over and over before heading out.

Her hair was tightly wrapped in a plastic bag and kept under a black ball cap to avoid the possibility of any hair follicles being left behind. She also wore very thin gloves to avoid leaving and fresh prints knowing her old ones might possibly be on the floor, a place the police would be unlikely to ever check.

She once again removed the glass circle, opened the window and went back inside just after 7pm. She quickly found her place, checked her equipment, spread out a large, black plastic sheet near the door, and waited.

At 7:50pm, she heard the sound of a heavy door opening followed by a loud click and the main building being illuminated. She couldn't be absolutely sure he'd enter that room, but she was convinced he'd be unable to avoid doing so as a way of revisiting all of his past 'pleasant' memories.

She fought to control her breathing knowing she couldn't possibly control her heart rate. In her left hand she held a can of pepper spray and in her right a powerful stun gun. "This baby'll bring down a horse," the man who sold it to her had said. She didn't want guns involved for several reasons, not the least of which was the ability to easily trace a purchase directly back to her. On her belt was a pair of handcuffs and in a sheath on her leg was a knife. A very long, razor-sharp, serrated-edged knife used for scaling fish.

Jensyn felt like she would urinate on herself even though she'd peed just before leaving the house when she heard his footsteps approaching the room. She knew which way the door opened and where the light switch was as she crouched and waited.

The door slowly creaked open and bile rose in her throat when she saw his silhouette. The moment he turned his head to flip on the lights she moved. She took three quick, silent steps then waited for him to turn around and depressed the nozzle on the pepper spray. McEvoy screamed in pain as his hands instinctively reached for his eyes. As he did, she shoved the stun gun under his neck as hard as she could and pressed the button. His body went ridged then fell limp to the floor. She used the flashlight end of the stun gun to deliver a strong blow to the head knocking McEvoy out cold leaving him laying face down on the plastic sheet.

She pulled the handcuffs out and snapped them on tight enough to cut off circulation before rolling him over on his back with her foot. She then quickly grabbed the roll of duct tape she'd stashed in the locker and bound his feet, as well. She ran to the main building, turned off the lights, ran back, then pulled up an old metal chair and waited for him to regain consciousness.

When he began to groan, she flipped on the lights in the windowless room and said, "Remember me?"

"What the fuck?" he said, his head pounding, unable to see yet.

She stepped around in front of him and said, "Hello there...Dennis."

"You!" he spat. "How did you...."

"Oh, it wasn't hard," she told him. "Once I saw you and that pretty little scar of yours on TV, the rest was simple." She grinned and said, "Why is it you can be so nice to some people and so...unfriendly...to others?"

"Fuck you, bitch!" he spat again. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but I can promise you...."

She slugged him as hard as she could directly in the nose and heard it break. McEvoy screamed in pain as blood ran down his lip and chin.

"You're in no position to promise anything, Denny boy," she said as she went behind him and lifted his upper torso, turning him so he was supported by the wall.

"You see, I'm in charge this time and you are at my mercy. And there'll be no mercy unless you tell me what I want to know."

He spat blood and hollered, "I'm not telling you SHIT, bitch!"

She pulled out the knife and ran it under his left eye and said, "Really? Are you sure about that, Den?" In one quick motion, she opened his left cheek the way she had his right and he screamed out in pain.

Jensyn knew he had a daughter from a previous marriage who was seven years old. She also knew he had no way of knowing she'd never hurt her for any reason as she said, "You see, Dennis, your ability to live beyond tonight is contingent on you telling me things. So while you still feel brave enough to say you'll never talk, you won't be when you learn what I'll do your daughter if you don't." She paused then added, "Or if you lie to me."

She ran the back edge of the knife along his neck then said, "So are you willing to risk her life along with yours, you piece of shit?"

His nose was still dripping blood as was the cut she'd made on his face. "I'm going to take an ear next, Dennis. If that doesn't work, it'll cost you an eye." She touched each part of his body as she said their name. Then she ran the knife over his crotch and said, "If that still doesn't work, I'm going to make sure you never have sex again."

"Okay, okay! Look, I've got money. You can have it. All of it. Just name your price."

"Dignity."

"What? What the hell does that mean?"

"That's my price, Dennis. And you can't buy dignity." She ran the knife around his crotch then said, "You stole mine. You took my life from me. My simple, happy life. You took it. Along with it you took my dignity. Since you can't give that back to me or buy it, money is meaningless."

"Then what? What the fuck do you want?" he said trying to pull away from the knife circling his junk.

"Two things," she said as she cut a whole in his pants very close to his package causing him to scream in fear. "First. I want you to say my name out loud," she said quietly. "Tell me what my name is."

"What? Why the hell does that even matter?" he tried saying just as Jensyn stuck the knife into his thigh about two inches deep causing McEvoy to scream louder than before.

"You know what I learned about this place, Dennis? No one can hear you. Nope. No matter how loud you yell, no one can hear a thing. Now, I'll ask you one more time to say my name."

"Jesus! You're fucking crazy!" he said.

She shoved the knife in another inch until it hit bone. McEvoy passed out briefly then awoke to see the bloody knife under his nose. "Last chance, Dennis."

"It's...Jensyn," he groaned. "Jensyn Taylor."

"Now see how easy that was?" she taunted. "You could have avoided so much pain had you just cooperated the first time. Now, I want names. All of them."

"I can't. They'll kill me!" he said on the verge of breaking down.

"No. You see, they won't have a chance to kill you, Den, because I'm going to do that right here tonight unless you give me those names. And if they're the wrong names, that poor, sweet baby girl of yours is going to go through worse things than you can possibly imagine ever doing to me or some other girl."

"No! No. Don't hurt her. Please!"

"Dennis? Are you begging? Do you want mercy? You didn't show me any. Why should I show it to you?" she said running the knife along his left ear.

"I'll give you the names. Just promise you'll let me go."

"I see. So it's not your daughter you're most worried about. It's little old you, isn't it, Den? What a strong, brave man you are to put yourself ahead of your own daughter."

McEvoy's face screwed up in fear as he burst into tears. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I hurt you! Please, I'm begging you. For God's sake, don't kill me! I'll tell you anything. I swear!"

"Good boy, Dennis. I need names. All of them. Don't leave anyone out. Understand?"

He was nodding furiously and he said, "I won't. I'll tell you everything."

Two minutes later, Jensyn had three names, three occupations, and McEvoy's cell phone with their contact information. They were all listed under a group he'd called 'The Tribunal.'

"I told you everything you asked me for. Now let me go. Please. I won't go the police. I swear to God! Just let me go. Please?" His voice softened as he said, "Please, Jensyn?"

"So now I'm a person to you, huh? Let me ask you a question, Den. Why? Why did you do that to me and why did you choose me and that other girl? Why not someone else?"

His leg was still bleeding heavily and Jensyn needed him not to pass out. She tore his belt off and used it as a tourniquet to stem the flow of blood. "So why me?"

"We...we chose you," he said. He was fading fast and Jensyn needed answers.

"Why did you choose me?"

"Because you're...beautiful. Pretty face...nice body. You were our...ideal."

"Ideal? Ideal for what? What the hell was this all about?"

"The ritual," he said barely able to speak. "A pagan...ritual. Sexual...sacrifice. We had to have the...perfect...sacrificial...woman."

"How many others were their been before me?" she asked him.

McEvoy shook his head as it slowly began hanging down. "No one...before you. You were the first."

"I see. And what about the other girl. Where is she? Right this very second, where do I find her?"

"We moved her to...."

"Moved her where?" she screamed lifting his head up by his hair. "Where is she!?" Jensyn screamed.

"Two...buildings...west. Back room next to...."

His head fell like a rag doll as his body went limp. Jensyn checked for a pulse and found one but it was very weak. She broke out a capsule of smelling salts and cracked it under his nose. McEvoy's head snapped back.

"There's one more thing I need from you, Denny," she said reaching into his pants.

"No! Jesus Christ, Jensyn. I told you everything you asked. For God's sake, please don't...."

One quick movement severed his manhood. Jensyn had stepped to the side knowing it would shoot blood. She didn't even look at it. She just forced open his mouth and shoved it inside as he bled out.

She looked around and saw that all of his blood was on the plastic sheet just as she'd planned. She pushed him over then began the arduous process of cleaning up as she left him there to die. Just over an hour later, she was wheeling the body bag out to his vehicle and with the aid of the dolly, managed to load it in back along with everything she'd brought to the 'party' and wouldn't need again.

The last thing she did was bring around the gas cans and drench the car and the body with three of the cans' contents. She ran a long trail of gas to about 50 feet away then sat the remaining cans underneath the vehicle's gas tank.

Once everything was secured and staged for pickup the following morning at a nearby building in the opposite direction from where this other girl was being held, she returned to the SUV, pulled off her gloves which had gotten soaked with gas, then lit a match and tossed it onto the still-wet trail of gas and watched it burn for a second before turning and running in the opposite direction.The explosion reverberated throughout the old buildings and lit up the night sky as Jensyn made her way out of the industrial complex and back toward her place.

Along the way, she used McEvoy's cell phone to call Detective Dawson's number. Using her southern drawl she told him where he could find another kidnapped girl then hung up.

The following day, Jensyn managed to retrieve the items she'd left while avoiding the taped off areas around the burned-out vehicle. Later that afternoon, she got a call from the handsome detective. "Ms. Taylor? Detective Dawson. I have some very good news."

He told her about the anonymous tip, the raid on the building where they found the other girl, and the burning vehicle with the unrecognizably-charred body inside.

After reminding him he could call her by her first name she said, "That's...wonderful. Did you catch the man or men who kidnapped her? Was this burned-out vehicle somehow related to our abductions?"

"No, no one was there," he told her. "We have no reason to believe the man incinerated in the vehicle was connected in any way, but we did find traces of DNA in the form of hair follicles where the other girl was being held."

"Well, that's good news, right? I mean, won't this help you find them so you can arrest them?"

"Maybe," he replied. "If they're in a DNA database, then yes, it will help prove they were there, but it won't necessarily prove a crime was committed. But it's the best lead we've had since you went missing." He paused then said, "I hope this helps you sleep better at night."

"It will, detective," she told him. What she didn't tell him was last night was the best night's sleep she'd had since being taken captive.

"How are things otherwise with you, Ms.... Jensyn?" he asked.

"They're...looking up," she said almost cheerfully. "Thanks to you, that is."

"Well, thank you, but we really owe most of this to whoever made the anonymous phone call. You know, it's funny. She had a very heavy southern accent. So heavy it made me think it might not be genuine. After all, how many people who live here in Portland would have a strong southern accent like that, right? Who would call in something like that?" he asked rhetorically.

"I'm sure I don't know," Jensyn replied. "I'm just grateful they did."

"Yeah, me too," he told her. "Take care, Jensyn."

"Thank you. You too, detective."

"Oh. Um...my name is Drew. I'd prefer that to detective, but that's up to you."

"I like that better, too," she said. "Well, thank you for the information...Drew. I hope maybe we might see one another again sometime. Just not under these circumstances."

"I'd like that, Jensyn. I'd like that a lot."

The following day, knowing she couldn't make a call from McEvoy's phone after his death, Jensyn purchased a burner phone. At home later that night she made the first of three calls to the numbers. She went from cautious and frightened to angry when all three of them ended in the same recording: 'The number you have dialed is either not in service or has been disconnected.'

Furious, she slammed the phone down and opened a bottle of wine and drank until she fell asleep.

On Wednesday afternoon, Jensyn looked up from her desk at work to see none other than Detective Dawson standing in front of her.

"Well, hi there," he said with a smile. "They told me I could come on back."

"Hello, detective. Please have a seat," she said pointing to the chair by her desk. "So what brings you to my place of business, Detective Drew? Business or pleasure?"

"Business," he said. "Okay, maybe a little of both."

Emma was right. He wasn't just cute. He was gorgeous.

"What's the business part?" she asked with a smile. Her cheeks were still thin but no longer looked hollow and her normal color was finally back, too.

"We found a match for one of the hair follicles we found," he told her.

Jensyn sat up straight as the smile faded from her face.

"You're kidding," she said excitedly wanting to hear more.

"No joke. This guy was in the Army for a few years and that's why his DNA is in the database. It's only supposed to be used for identifying remains, but we convinced a judge to give us a warrant then did a rush job on the match."

"So...how does this concern me?" she asked.

"Well, the other girl is too traumatized to help and that's certainly understandable. We need someone who can identify him."

"But I never saw anyone's face," she told him.

"You must have at least heard voices, right? We can't hold this guy more than two days without corroboration. Can you possibly come to the station with me and see if you recognize him at least by voice?"

He saw the look on her face and assured her the suspect would never see her unless it went to trial and even then she might be able to testify anonymously.

"Okay. Sure. I'll be happy to help out," she told him. "Let me just finish one quick thing here and we can go."

An hour later, Jensyn was looking at five me in a lineup. "I told you I can't recognize them by face."

"Viewing them is mandatory. Next we'll have each of them read the same thing from a 3x5 card. Just close your eyes and listen, okay? Can you do that?"

Jensyn wasn't about to tell him she not only could do that, but that she couldn't wait to hear them speak.

Each time a guy in the lineup spoke, she held her breath. First number one, then number two. Nothing. Number three. No match. But as soon as number four began to speak, Jensyn sucked in air and her skin turned hard with goose bumps.

"Is that him?" Drew asked. "Is #4 our guy?"

"I'm not sure," she said, angry at herself for reacting like that. "Let me hear the last one, okay?"

She didn't hear a word #5 said as she bored holes into #4 who was behind the one-way glass. He was an average-looking guy with a fairly heavily pocked-marked face. His hair was thinning and he was maybe 10-15 pounds overweight and shabbily dressed. Just the thought of him lying on top of her grunting and forcing himself on her made sick to her stomach. She now had a face to go with the voice. What she needed was a name.

"Jensyn? Which one is it? It's #4, right?" Dawson asked again.

"Maybe. I'm...I'm just not sure. The voice sounds...different."

"Different? Different how?" Drew asked growing exasperated. "It's either him or it isn't. Do you need them to read their lines again? Will that help?"