The Bleeding Woman: The Girl on a Cross, #2

By Sailor Stone

Book Two of Sailor Stone's The Girl on the Cross trilogy continues where book one, The Jairus Man, left off. 
Benny is now in the midst of his obsession and he finds Russell and Holly to be different in all ways than how he'd imagined them. FBI agent, Cooper Latchet, begins his hunt for Maria's attackers and he soon finds his life turned upside down after he meets Tamera and her seductive ways. Smokey begins to tell Maria, as she slips ever deeper into her coma, about what happened to him in Vietnam. 
All of this as Maria's attackers lurk in the dark of night just outside of the bedroom where she sleeps in Russell's estate.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mystica Holdings LLC
• Release date: Jan 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386521662

Sailor Stone

Sailor Stone lives in the southern United States on the Atlantic coast where he stays busy writing novels and short stories in many genres, including Magical Realism, Coming of Age, Christian Literary, and Thrillers. His stories often feature protagonists that are trying to find their way in a cold and uncaring world, and where many times they get a slight - sometimes helpful, sometimes painful - nudge toward the truth from the supernatural.  Besides writing, he enjoys playing sports, photography, and studying the arts, philosophy, and religion. He likes discovering great books written by great authors, tasting new beers and wines, playing tennis, sitting in the back of a darkened nightclub and listening to a jazz trio take a long ride, being out on the open water in a boat, and worshiping quietly in the back of a church.  He considers the enjoyment of all the above to be multiplied exponentially by the accompaniment of his family and friends. For more about Sailor and his books go to www.sailorstone.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Benny Here (Again)

I don’t get people. I don’t get relationships either. At least I didn’t before all of this. I’m no expert on them now, but I do think I’ve figured out where the good ones start: Love for the well-being of the other.

I was never too good at that.

I was thirty-five years old when these events took place.

Back in my twenties, I would slip into some of the late-night bars in the cities where I found myself as I followed celebrities, camera in hand, stalking them, waiting for them to feel safe and alone. The night, late in the night, is when their sinful nature stepped into view and that is when my camera flashed. Once I had the shot, the scoop, I’d hit a bar to celebrate.

The women in the straight bars showed me no interest and I was too shy to approach them. But I watched them, they and their friends, until the sun would rise and the bar would close. Then alone, always alone, and usually drunk, I’d get a cab ride back to my hotel as the world began its new day.

The people in the gay bars, I found, were too nervous for me. Too nervous and excited. I’ve never seen so many cigarettes being lit, smoked, and tamped out. Smoke hanging like a thick China smog from the ceiling. Ashtrays full of buds at the end of the night. I saw night-prowlers with big hard-ons and bull-dykes with even bigger obsessions, chasing, chasing little queens and molly-dykes, until they got from them everything that they wanted.

I was offered a few blowjobs but I wasn’t sure I wanted one.

What people say they want (what they are looking for) and what they do (their actions) are too far apart to comprehend. I couldn’t get what they said they wanted and what they actually did inside my viewfinder—I could never frame that shot.

Such a connective act sex is. I thought, long ago in another life, that perhaps sex should mean something. It’s always surprised me just how much fucking is involved in being a sad person. They smile—smiles much too big for their faces—I see them—their smiles screaming desperate and quiet — I am alone—and no one wants to be alone. For death (we all know this) lurks so close-by sometimes.

Which gets me to Russell Tucker. I thought after Holly left him he’d be in every bar in every town of every pro tour event spending his evenings getting drunk and getting laid. It’s not like the guy can’t line’em up—both the drinks on the bar and the girls in his lap—just knock’em back and knock’em up. He surprised me though and upped and quit the games—quit tennis, quit girls, quit life—he was gone. He quit them all but the drinking.

I found him in Bermuda. I followed Marty and Dalton to the airport and watched them charter a plane to the island paradise. I took the next commercial flight over to the island and there was Russell, his ass planted on a bar stool, tilting back the Dark and Stormies. I figured I must have really gotten to him with my photo of Holly ditching him on the clubhouse steps.

I followed him around for a while, but he was so boring—he’d wake up, sit on the beach and watch everything around him—in a way he watched nothing though—then he’d go eat lunch and have a few beers, wander about the island, hit a couple bars, and go home late at night. Not much to sell the tabloids there. Drinking your cares away is good for one story at best.

I had to find some new sinners to photograph so I left him to drink himself to death (alone of course) on an island far at sea. I was almost able to forget about him. Except late at night sometimes when I was trying to fall asleep—I’d find myself thinking about him—wondering what he was up to—how he might be holding up.

I followed Holly next—took photos of her and Chase together—odd couple they were. The French business scene isn’t my scene—it’s more boring than watching Russell drink all the liquor in Bermuda. Although in fairness to Chase, I should have followed him around; turns out he had all kinds of tang on the side. I could have made Holly feel like shit with a couple of good photos of Chase getting his rocks off with some sixteen-year-old girl out on his yacht. Don’t think just because you’re out on the high seas I can’t get a picture of you in a compromising position, Chase, you two-timing mother-fucker.

So, back to Russell. Sorry for the wander there. All of a sudden, he one day up and enters a tennis tournament and says he’s making a comeback. He had that big giant guy, Smokey, and Marty and Dalton, at his side at the press conference. I missed the press conference if you can believe that, but I figured I’d make up for it soon enough. I got behind Russell’s ass and I stayed there, just out of his sight. Followed him for two years. Came up with nothing. He had quit drinking and rededicated himself to tennis. Bastard really came back too. It took a few months, but, as I knew it would happen, his game clicked back into gear and he started winning tournaments—again.

That’s another thing that always pissed me off about him (have I mentioned this already?)—winning is in his nature and he looks good doing it. People eat him up. He and Phillip Culler played matches that can only be described as all out wars. This one tournament—they got in a fight in the locker room before they could get out to the court—fans love that. The entire world watched when they played each other. Something about those two guys—the way they hate each other—that’s honesty. They don’t hide their dark side, their primitive lust for the kill, their lust for the best-looking girl (Have you seen Phillip’s wife, Natalie? She’s so much better looking than anything you ever dreamed of getting), for the big cup or the bigger trophy, for the biggest prize-money check, for the fame, for the spotlight; whatever it is, if it’s coveted by society, those two guys will get it. Their only obstacles, all these years, have been each other.

But I knew Russ would mess it all up—he can’t help it. He walks too close to the stars, gets burned every now and again, and I made sure to be there when a giant blue star let rip a solar flare and torched his ass.

I was right too. I found myself, to my utter amazement, inside his giant beach house with three scoops of a lifetime, and then I got a fourth when Holly went all holy on me (I love the way that sounds!) and she thought she was guilt-tripping me into not writing anything bad about Russell.

Right, Holly.

Chase raping her—what a story! She gave it to me. At that moment, I had the balls of every person on that beach estate in the greedy palm of my hand.

All I had to do was wait and let things play out…

But then…

Have you ever seen a young girl, a tube in her arm, another tube in her nose, go quiet and stop breathing? With no one else in the bedroom, just you and her, late, in the middle of the night? This, after she’s just been attacked again by the same two brutal bastards that got her the first time. Have you ever watched a girl’s diaphragm, waiting for it to kick back into gear and pull in some air? She’s grotesquely purple (it isn’t even a real color) and her face is about to explode she’s trying so hard to get some oxygen. Wake up and breathe you dear sweet girl! Have you ever wished you weren’t such a fucking loser so you could pray? So God might hear you—not for yourself—but for the little girl who is ruining everything you had planned by deciding she’d had enough of this sick world and those two even sicker monsters that had attacked her and she was checking out for good? The sound of monitors going off, loud and constant, nurses busting into the room, then Russell and Holly, then Tamera, sheer terror etched like hot-burn-scars on their faces, Russ hit the door so hard it came off the top hinge, sprinting to the bed, only all they can do is stand there and watch the nurses.

Have you ever had love for the other…to the point that…

CHAPTER TWO

October 1995 - Hard Sun, Cold Sea

Russell Tucker stood on his terrace steps, the sea and sun before him—both completely indifferent to what he’d just been through—and scanned the beach both north and south. He was looking for Holly.

What a terrifying night. What a day as well. How much longer could this keep up?

And then there was Benny. Where did he come from? His fat-ass had managed to save Maria and lift Holly.

Only Holly didn’t know she had been lifted yet. Russ needed to find her and tell her. She might do something stupid. Russ doubted she would, it wasn’t in her nature, but he couldn’t chance it. Her well-being, her life-force, was like a written note for help, a distress call, rolled and dropped inside a small bottle, cork in the stopper, floating, lost, adrift in a dying sea. He needed to find that bottle as it were, find Holly, and tell her she’d done well and to let go of all the guilt she was holding inside. Also, the forgiveness she’d been seeking had been given to her by himself and every one of her friends and she needed to know that. Russ searched back into the depths of his memory—he thought about Holly—then stepped down from his terrace, turned south, and made for the dunes of the point. Without seeing her, he already knew where she would be.

He remembered what had just happened the night before as he walked…

Maria’s attackers had come at her. Again. They had entered the house an hour before dawn. They must have figured everyone was asleep. And everyone was asleep—including Benny who had fallen asleep in his chair in Maria’s room, his writing chair, as Russ was thinking of a name for it—Benny’s writing chair.

Benny had finally tilted over, instantly asleep, after Russ and Holly had finished telling Maria about the beach party, the fight, and the marriage proposal in the dunes—the same dunes to where Russ was now walking down the beach in search of Holly. Maria had fallen into herself, deep soft breaths and lots of talking, mumble jumble, as she, Russ hoped, dreamed herself awake.

Holly and Russ had let Benny sleep. They exited the room and made for a quiet and comfortable place for an extended nap before the coming day. They had settled into the deep leather of the couch in the theater room and both were gone, deep asleep, in just moments.

The sounds, distant and constant, were unnatural and they pulled Russell from his dark, dreamless sleep. Then the pounding sound of feet running down the hallway, the voices—the nurses’ voices—and Russ had all it figured out—black, bad, and instantaneous in his mind. Holly had been even quicker in putting it together and Russell had to step around her in his race down the hall. The door to Maria’s room was partially ajar and he put his shoulder to it on his way in and to the bed.

Then he felt Holly’s hand on his shoulder and saw the shadow of Benny, camera in his hands, standing in the corner of the room by his chair. Both nurses were working frantically. Maria wasn’t breathing and all he and Holly could do was stand back and wait. He felt a presence to his other side, knew it was Tamera without looking, and he felt her hand on his other shoulder.

The moments became timeless and Maria went from dark red to purple.

I got it! a nurse screamed. The nurse stepped back. To the other nurse, she said, The poor girl swallowed this. I got it. She held up what looked like a small wet cloth with a string attached. Russ recognized it. It was a tampon.

Swallowed? A tampon? How did that happen? Where did it come from? The other nurse asked.

The nurses left the question unanswered and went back to working on Maria. Maria got her color back within seconds and Russ felt himself take a breath. He realized he was soaking wet with sweat and then moments later, after a nurse had looked at him and nodded her head—she’ll be okay—he found himself hugging Tamera and Holly. Both were sobbing and convulsing, their breaths coming in gasps, and their words more animal sounds than anything coherent to his hyper-charged mind.

A few minutes later—with Maria breathing, not strong, but even and rhythmic—the nurse’s questions were still hanging in the air—unanswered.

At first, Russell’s inclination was to blame Benny, to accuse Benny, but that was idiotic, Benny had no reason to hurt Maria. She was his story, and even if Benny didn’t find himself attracted to her recovery and well-being, he still needed her situation to play out. And Benny had been quick with a horrifying answer to where the tampon had come from. An answer that Benny didn’t get the full implication of yet, nor Holly or Tamera, but Russell was getting it and it scared him in his bones.

It made him weak in the knees, and with it he realized that Maria’s terror had come back at her. Her attackers had tried plugging her up for good—and they were revealing themselves to be sicker and more demented than Russell could even fathom with their choice of a weapon. A tampon? Russ wondered if her attackers were ever human to begin with.

I heard something odd. It woke me and I found myself on the outer edge of photoflashes. I heard the sound of voices. Quiet voices, two men, and once I was aware, conscious and fully awake, I saw them, silhouetted, standing over Maria in her bed, Benny said. He looked back at Russell, straight in the eyes, not concerned with his own shortcomings.

Russ could see that Benny was figuring out who the men were also.

I had thought they were like me—paparazzi, dog-teamers—trying to steal my scoop. They must have come through the French doors to the terrace, Benny pointed to the partially open doors. "They were standing over her. The beeping on one of Maria’s machines began to go faster, and then one of them began to take more pictures as the other one bent over Maria. The guy leaned down hard on her. I heard him say, kind of in an idiot’s voice, like he was simple-minded, Where is it? like he was talking to her or something. They never saw me. I took a picture of them and they failed to notice my camera’s flash from among the many flashes of their own camera."

You got their picture? Russ asked.

Holly understood it now, who the men were, and so did Tamera.

You think they were her attackers? Tamera asked, leaving her mouth open—like she was waiting to swallow the answer that was to come.

I know it was, Russell answered.

I realized they weren’t here to steal my story when Maria’s machines all went off at the same time. I took another picture and they noticed my camera flash this time. One pulled a gun. I could see it shinning in the moonlight from the open door. I thought he was going to shoot me for a second but it just made an odd, high pitched zip sound, like it jammed or something, and then they turned and ran back through the French doors. They were carrying a bag too, I noticed. Benny stopped talking and looked at everyone.

Russ asked, Where were you standing?

Right here. By the chair.

Russ walked to the spot and looked at the wall behind the chair. Then he examined the chair. He did shoot at you, Benny. Right here is the bullet hole—in the top of this chair, Russ pulled the chair away from the wall. And here is where it went into the wall. You got lucky, Benny. The guy just missed. I don’t think he could see you in the dark. He must have just pointed to the flash of your camera and shot in the general direction. He had a silencer on the gun. That’s why you didn’t hear it.

Benny came to the chair and the wall. He took a look at the holes in the chair, front and back, and the hole in the wall. He put his hand to his head and sat in the chair. He started shaking, Those were the men who attacked her? The first time? He dropped his hands to his face and began shaking harder and harder, then uncontrollably.

You’re sweating more than me, Benny, and I know you’re a chicken-shit, but listen to this, you just saved Maria’s life and you might have done something good with that camera of yours too finally—whoever is after her is on film now—your film Benny.

Walking steady and fast, Russ approached the first line of dunes. He didn’t see Holly but he knew where she’d be. He took a look back to the ocean and the bright sun, hanging yellow and high over the waves. His mind, again, found the chaos that had descended on his home in the aftermath of the second attack and entered he back into it.

Russell should have kept his eye on Tamera. He didn’t notice her going for the phone. By lunch her calls had filled his house with people. Coach, Dalton, Marty, and Clark were all in the kitchen now with Tamera, Holly, and himself. Both of Maria’s doctors had come to the house and one was still in the room with her.

Smokey slept like a bear in hibernation, always had, and he’d missed everything that happened in Maria’s room with her attackers just before the dawn. Now he was furious with himself.

Earlier, he was pacing in and out of the Maria’s room—on the terrace, in the room, on the terrace, in the room—and it was driving Russ crazy. Russell told him to go look for clues or something, maybe fix the hinge on Maria’s bedroom door from when Russ had smashed into it earlier that morning and Smokey was grateful for the suggestions, for being given a sense of purpose. He left for the beach, making Russ promise not to leave Maria’s room until he had returned. Russ had no intention of leaving her alone anyway. Not for a minute. It wasn’t a hard promise to keep.

Now—with everyone in the kitchen except for Smokey, who, having just returned from his search outside, had planted himself in Maria’s room—Russ was trying to form a plan. He didn’t call the cops—he didn’t trust them to do anything. He had Benny in a darkroom, a bathroom turned darkroom, developing his film.

Russ wanted to see who he was dealing with. He knew that once he saw their faces he could handle them. Right now, they were just sick, evil monsters and they had him psychologically. He couldn’t see his opponents across the net as it were and without seeing into their eyes he had no way to attack them, to attack their weakness. But he’d find their weakness—he had them on film, and once he saw them, like Sampras on a sitting-duck overhead, he could take aim and slam them out of existence. They would pay—dearly—he couldn’t wait to see the photos.

Benny became—not necessarily liked—but accepted by everyone who had walked out on Russ the day before—after Russell had told them how Benny had just saved Maria’s life. They didn’t know what to think of Benny but they had to accept him now. So did he himself as well Russell thought.

Russ was exhausted and needed to think. He was going to get away, make an excuse about needing a nap, and go see Maria and then make a plan. Too much was happening and he needed to step back—take a walk along the back edge of the tennis court inside his mind and regroup for the next set. It was a best of five set match and he’d lost the first two sets. Now he needed to win three straight sets if Maria was to have a chance at living again.

He hadn’t been giving Holly much thought, assumed she was fine, and he was standing from his chair to leave the kitchen when she went off on everybody.

Russ turned from the ocean’s edge and stepped toward the dune line. It occurred to him then, he had no idea where the thought came from, that the Department of Natural Resources had never taken photos and video of the dunes on the point of the inlet before. That special assignment team he’d seen earlier in the week lurking in the dunes next to his home wasn’t there at the request of Natural Resources.

Maria’s attackers were some smart guys. They were cold, calculating, meticulous, sick-of-mind, and vicious, yet somehow, Maria had them by the balls. They could have just killed her. Twice now they’d had the chance. But instead, they tried to torture her the first time they attacked her—and what were they doing to her early this morning—what were they doing to her before Benny flashed them with his camera? Benny said that the guy that leaned down on Maria had said, Where is it? Was he talking to his partner or to Maria? Why would he ask Maria a question while she was in a coma? Was he that desperate? They could have been in and out, leaving Maria dead in just seconds if they wanted too.

An idea flashed through Russell’s mind. Then he saw Holly, lying fetal in the sand, in the valley between three dunes.

Russ remembered that Holly had been on the phone in the study earlier that morning, talking to her manager.

She had come into the kitchen and sat. Then she stood quickly, saying to everyone in the kitchen, her voice wavering, Hey guys—

That was as far as she’d gotten with it. She broke down. She beat her fists against her head and started screaming at herself. Then she started screaming at them.

I’m not here to hurt anyone. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you, Russell, she had her eyes on Russell but she wasn’t seeing him. Benny says I’m here to win Russ back and I’m not, I have nowhere else to go.

She picked a vase up from a small side table and slammed it at her feet, the pieces shattering across the tile floor, and she screamed, I ruin lives. I never tried to, but I did and I’m so sorry. I absolutely hate myself! She bent to the floor and began to pick up the shattered pieces of the vase, I’m so sorry for this. Everything I touch breaks. Believe me, I know exactly how that little girl feels.

Tamera was the first to her and for a moment Holly let her pull her in, then she pulled her head from Tamera’s chest and screamed, I don’t deserve this! I’m so sorry. I was raped by my own husband and I can’t hold it in any longer. I’m so sorry for this. Her face was dark red and her cheeks were vibrating, in and back out, with her violent breaths. She noticed everyone in the room taking a step toward her and she stepped to the door to the pool deck outside, Stay away. Take care of Maria! She took a deep breath, looked at Russell and shook her head, then ran from the house. She ran around the pool, down the steps and to the beach beyond where she disappeared from their view.

I think we’ve made Holly pay for leaving us long enough. You want me to go get her or do you, Russ? Tamera asked.

I’ll go, it was Coach. He stood from his chair at the kitchen table.

I’ve got her. Let’s put her front and center when I get back with her, Russ said.

That fucker raped her? Marty said—in anger—not as a question.

He did and I knew it. I feel so bad for making small of it. I’ve let my friend down, Tamera said. She moved to the door to the pool-deck and put her hand to her eyes. She began to cry.

Russ put his hand to her shoulder, I’ll go get her. Let’s bring her in. Then we take care of her. I will first, you second, then everyone else. He made to leave, but then Benny, camera in hand, came running into the room.

Where are the pictures? Russ heard himself asking Benny. This isn’t your do, get us some pictures of these guys, Benny.

Drying. Might have us something. What just happened?

Nobody said anything.

Benny took a look around, Was that Holly?

Russ nodded.

Benny became still and nothing further was offered to him. He said he’d be back and left the kitchen. He returned a minute later with his notebook in his hand, his camera now hanging from his neck.

He opened the notebook and tore several pages from it. He put them on the kitchen table, Do you know what they are? What’s written?

No, Benny. No one has any idea, Russ answered. He’d never seen Benny look so confident. Benny was staring him straight in the eyes.

I almost got killed last night. Shot. The thought of dying has always horrified me. I almost lost it when Russ showed me the bullet hole…

You did lose it, Benny, Russ interrupted.

Benny nodded his head, I did lose it, you’re right. But when that little girl stopped breathing I would have done anything to make her breathe again. You said it, Russ, not me, my camera flash saved Maria.

Yes, it did, Russ said. He knew he was looking at a transformed Benny Gluman. He wanted to hear where he was going with this.

I was just in the dark room. Developing the pictures, getting my emotions figured out. I would have been okay with taking that bullet if it was the only way Maria could breathe again.

Good for you, Benny, It was Clark.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been so happy standing here, alive, but I can’t stick it to that little girl when this is over. Not after feeling like that for her.

Benny stopped talking.

To Russ it looked like he had more to say, Is that it then?

Benny looked around the room, he met the gaze of everyone, then said, No, it isn’t. I want to give this to you. He picked back up the notebook pages from the table and handed them to Russell.

Russ looked at them, there were only five pages—Benny’s writing—Russell couldn’t read the script, What do they say, Benny?

"They are the beginning of a giant story for me. Holly gave it