Ravaged By Passion

There, on the left, is a door that leads outside. I stride over to it and push it open.

The night’s quiet, only the chirp of insects and the slow rustle of wind. It’s cool, almost comfortable, with a full moon. There’s a pool and, beyond the edge of the lawn, the desert stretches into the far distance.

I walk out toward the pool. “If I were Benedict, where would I go?” Romano follows, staying close, but he doesn’t answer. My brain’s buzzing with possibilities as I try to imagine what Benedict must be thinking. Fear, yes, anger, yes, desperation, definitely. He’s on the run and he’s got Jeanie as his bargaining chip.

But does Benedict think he can get out of this alive?

“Gavino, look at this.” Romano strides forward to the edge of the lawn and picks up something from the ground.

A woman’s shoe.

“Jeanie,” I whisper.

He gives me a sharp look but I’m already moving. I walk past him, through the shrubs, and into the rocky landscape beyond. I keep my eyes peeled on the ground and there, another twenty yards again, the other shoe.

“She’s leaving a trail,” I say as Romano catches up. I look at him, heart racing with fear. “She’s this way.”

“We need backup. I can call—”

“No time.” I force my way forward, staring at the ground. Another twenty paces and there’s a glittering ring mixed in with the pebbles. I almost miss it, but moonlight glints on the metal.

Past that, a trail winds toward the rocks, heading up. I find a bracelet and a single earring as I climb, heading up and up. I slow as I reach the top and there’s nothing else. Romano’s at my back, breathing quiet, both of us staying low. I don’t know if Benedict’s got a weapon and plans on ambushing us or not, and I’d rather not get killed in the middle of the desert without rescuing Jeanie first.

Once I’ve got her, I’ll take a bullet if I have to.

I owe her that much at least.

This is my fault. I let my emotions get the best of me and I sent her away for no good damn reason. We could’ve talked about it, worked it out, figured something out—and instead, I sent her to her doom.

I got her caught. I got her locked up in that murder room. I sent her into hell, and for what? Because I’m broken, that’s why.

I won’t let Benedict hurt her. That motherfucker won’t hurt her, not while I’m here.

I keep going, barreling forward blindly, all fear shoved aside. I have no room for fear, not when Jeanie’s out there and needs me. Romano hustles at my back and we reach the summit, the path curving around toward a crack in the rock face.

“Don’t fucking move,” I hear a sound echo out from inside the shallow cave.

“Be quiet, you bitch.” I hold up a hand and Romano halts. I creep forward, gun ready.

Inside, the moonlight illuminates Benedict. He’s kneeling on Jeanie’s back and has a knife against her skull. He’s pressing the blade into her skin and it takes me one horrified moment to realize he’s trying to scalp her. He’s digging the skin off the top of her head in an attempt to rip her hair from her skull.

I raise my weapon and roar. Benedict turns and I squeeze off a round. Jeanie screams, and the bullet hits Benedict in the shoulder, knocking him sideways. I run forward, roaring like a bear, and slam my gun into his face. His knife slices up and catches my thigh and as I fire again, missing, he slams it down into my hip.

Pain flares like hell ripping into my body. I hit him again with the gun and he falls backwards. He tries to sweep my legs, but I tumble forward on top of him, press the gun against his gut, and shoot once, twice, three times.

He screams in agony. I slam my forehead into his nose twice, leaving his face a bloody mess, and roll off him. I’m bleeding and covered in his blood, and the ground’s sticky with the mess as he groans, half alive.

“Jeanie,” I whisper and crawl to her. She’s sobbing and I touch the back of her head where Benedict was trying to tear her to pieces, and find only a cut. It’s not too deep, and she’s not bleeding too much.

She throws her arms around me and I turn her away, pulling her from the cave.

Romano takes her and I turn back. Benedict crawls toward his knife, moaning. I shuffle to him, in so much pain I want to puke, but I manage to stomp down on his wounded stomach. He screams and writhes as I hold the gun, aiming at his face.

“I should’ve done this a long time ago,” I say and the spark of fear on his face gives me more pleasure than I would’ve guessed.

I pull the trigger and kill him.

The sound of the gunshot echoes out into the desert and rings in my ears. Benedict collapses onto the stones and I wonder if a quick death was more than he deserved.