“Wouldn’t surprise me,” he grunts with a strained voice. “They had to have had a filing system of some sort to keep records of the citizens. Bring them by the office in the morning. I’d like to take a look at them.”
“Got it.” I drop the folder back in the box on top of the tapes. “Now, get off the fuckin’ phone and go satisfy your girl.”
The line goes dead, and I chuckle. An image of Eden and me earlier by the lake filters through my mind. My phone went off four times while I was exploring her delectable body. Not once was I tempted to check it before I was done. I sure as hell wouldn’t have answered had I been in Judge’s shoes, and I was fucking Eden. There’s not a damn thing on earth that’ll pull me away from her tight heat once I have her beneath me.
Tipping my beer to my lips, I chug the rest before dumping the bottle in the trash. I make a quick sandwich, inhale it, then go for the shower, where I’ll spend another night beneath the spray, rubbing one out to images of Eden.
THE NEXT DAY, AFTER DROPPING the birth certificates off with Judge at his office, I pull to a stop in front of Emo’s house. He’s the only one of us four who lives on the outskirts of town versus closer to the middle. The location fits Emo. If he’s not in the company of one of my brother’s or me, he’d rather be alone. His house is set off the road with no other houses around it.
Grabbing the box with the tapes, I get out of my truck. The door is already open when I walk up the steps. I find Emo in his office sitting behind his desk. There are three monitors in front of him with another two on a second desk beside him. I set the box down on the floor beside his chair.
“Beer?” I ask, making my way to the kitchen.
“Yes.”
Grabbing Emo a beer and a water for myself, I carry both back to the office and sit in a chair in a corner.
“How long will it take you to put them on a thumb drive?” I twist the cap off my water and take a swallow.
Emo grabs one of the tapes and slides it inside the VHS adapter. “Depends on how much footage is on the tapes. I basically have to play every one and record it on my computer before transferring them to a thumb drive.” He walks over to a closet and pulls out an old VHS player from the top shelf. Setting it on the desk, he connects a couple of wires to the back of the player before connecting them to the back of his CPU. “If
the recorder used the SP mode then the tapes will hold thirty minutes max if they used the full tape. If they used the SLP or EP mode, they could be up to two to three hours in length. That’s not including the transfer time.”
“Shit,” I mutter. That could take anywhere from ten to sixty hours or more.
Emo retakes his seat and puts the adapter in the VHS player. His dark eyes move to me. “We can view one right now so you at least have an idea of what you’ve got here.”
Nodding, I get up and move behind his chair.
“Where did you find these?” he asks, his fingers flying over his keyboard. A window pops up on the screen.
“Behind the drywall in my closet. They have to be my parents.”
Saying the words has a lead ball forming in my stomach. There’s no fucking telling what’s on these tapes, but I have an idea. I just hope I’m wrong. Seeing the muscle jump in Emo’s cheek alerts me that his thoughts aren’t far off from mine.
Without another word, he presses the spacebar on his computer and the video starts playing. At first, it’s just a black screen. The sound comes first. Moans, grunts, and the soft wails of children. Seconds later, it looks like someone removes a cover from the lens, and what comes across the screen has bile churning in my stomach at the same time violent anger fills my blood stream. My knuckles protest as I ball my hands into fists so tight it’s a damn near miracle I don’t crush the bones.
Children of all ages are lying on various different surfaces as men and women surround them. Putting their dirty hands on them and creating a hell so dark there’s no hope of escaping. Some children just lie there, tears soaking their cheeks and their expressions appearing dead. Some are crying and begging to be let go. Some are putting up a fight. A fight they have no chance of winning. Even if they were to get free of their tormentor, the other adults in the room would stop them from leaving.
A phantom feeling of my brother’s hairy chest pressed to my back as he did the same thing these evil people are doing rushes through me. The pain of being raped repeatedly while my parents sat and watched and even had their pick of children to abuse.
My hand reaches for the back of Emo’s chair, the disturbing video making me lightheaded. I briefly realize I recognize none of the children, which means this video must have been before my brothers and I were born. However, I do know some of the adults. Especially the ones lying on a bed with a little boy between them. The picture is grainy, but they’re close enough to the camera for me to know they’re my parents.
“Turn that fuckin’ shit off,” I snarl at Emo.
The video screen disappears, but I still hear the cries and see the images in my head. I turn away and hit the closest thing my eyes land on. A bookshelf. The books fall to the floor at my feet and the shelf beneath them is now in two pieces. The skin on my knuckles is torn, but I ignore the bloody mess as I roughly run my hands over the back of my head, trying and failing to calm my temper. Thoughts of my past always tempts me to fly into a rage, but seeing the evidence makes me blind with it.
It takes me a few minutes and several deep breaths before I manage to gain control. It’s no surprise when I turn and find the same intense anger reddening Emo’s face. He’s facing the computer monitor, one hand still on the mouse with the other balled into a fist beside the keyboard. Smears of blood under his palm coats the surface of the desk, the key he’s holding the weapon digging into his skin.
I thought the adults in Sweet Haven were sick before, but to know they actually recorded Hell Night, no doubt for the purpose to watch again later, makes me wish each and every person who willingly participated in the once a month ritual stood in front of me so I could shoot them point blank between the eyes. The action isn’t nearly enough punishment for them, but it would do knowing they were headed straight to Hell to become the devil’s bitch.
I put a hand on Emo’s stiff shoulder. He tenses at the touch, but eventually settles. I unlock my jaw and force the words out between clenched teeth and a raw throat. “You gonna be able to handle recording these?”
No one in their right mind would enjoy what I’m asking of Emo. He’s struggling just as much as I am, probably even more. My childhood, along with Judge and Trouble’s, was horrific. Emo’s was worse because he lived his hell day to day, whereas the rest of us only lived it once a month. I hate that I’m putting him in this situation, but he’s the best man for the job and will get it done the quickest.
He gives me a tight nod.
“Take as much time as you need. I’m sure the other tapes are pretty much the same. And for God’s sake, walk away if it gets to be too much.”