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  The windows were simply openings in the layers of brick. The crudely made wood shutters that hung in the window frame were sun-dried and rotting. Through the gaps in the shutters, the boy was able to peer into the one room shanty. He had to keep shifting his position to catch glimpses of the interior through the narrow slits. It was almost like looking at a puzzle that had small pieces missing. He so feared the consequences of getting caught that he stifled his gasp of horror and confusion before it had a chance to escape.

  There was a pile of dark material that looked like rags piled next to a lumpy mattress stuffed with cotton and thrown carelessly on the dirt floor. It was stained with filth and what looked like both fresh and dried blood. A large ring had been welded to a stake driven into the ground at each corner of the mattress. Through each ring was a short length of chain with an iron shackle attached. A few feet apart stood a woman and a man. Her back was turned to him, showing the visible bloody streaks cut into it. The boy didn’t recognize the naked man with the brown, leathery skin. Perhaps he was one of the homeless peasants who had taken up shelter in the shack. Jasmine drifted on a gentle breeze and he remembered the figure in the car. Was she the one in the car? But who was she?

  One thing was for sure. Both were naked and both had clearly been beaten with a whip like those used on the farming oxen. The woman, barely able to stand, was ordered to turn. Recognition reached the boy’s eyes and they turned stone cold. He hadn’t seen his mother in over a year. Fear kept him from asking his father where she’d gone. His father reminded him daily of how she disgraced his name. He took no pity on her now. It no longer mattered where she’d gone. His last memories of her were of betrayal, abandonment. She had left her own son in the care of a wicked man. Had his father caught her to punish her?

  It came as no surprise to see that the man with the whip was his father. Omar stood riveted to his position at the window as he watched the whip snap like the tail of a seething dragon. When the whip made contact with the man’s head, it ripped a wide gash open at his temple, and sent the man to his knees. The boy’s father pushed his mother onto the mattress and shackled her arms and legs to each corner so that she lay there, spread-eagled and vulnerable. The man’s begging matched the woman’s mewling and weakening pleas for mercy. The response was a crack that tore strips of skin from the bone across the woman’s legs. In another quick motion, smoothly and precisely delivered, the whip bit into the man’s back, bringing oozing ribbons of blood to the surface. The boy’s father paced back and forth with the frenzied intensity of a caged animal, hurling accusations and indicting the woman as a whore.

  Then the torturer ordered the man to crawl to the bed. The intensity of his arousal was like a wild predator, gaining momentum as he instructed the man to assault the woman in ways that the human mind could not fathom. The pain, the wounds, and the humiliation brought the woman to a trance-like stillness. The man above her was sobbing. Heavy footsteps crossed the dirt floor. Her eyes were swollen shut from the severe beating. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, the woman giving thanks in her mind to Allah that her husband’s cruel assault had finally come to an end.

  A clatter of metal and glass hit the bed near her, startling the woman from her prayer. Allah would not spare her. There was no escaping this time. The woman didn’t need to see what she knew was coming. Then, the body of the man straddling her began to shake uncontrollably above her. The intensity of it told her that something else was about to happen. The variety of crude instruments; broken glass, scissors, a razor blade, and a rusty tin can lid that had been thrown on the bed next to him indicated what he knew he’d be ordered to do next. Purification of the woman. It was an ancient and brutal custom no longer practiced except by a very few. The man begged. The woman screamed. His begging warned her of what was about to happen. The whip lashed out. The man could do no more, could take no more. Must end this.

  A bloody hand picked up the long shard of glass to begin the mutilation of her genitalia, as he was ordered. With all his strength, he plunged the glass into the woman’s femoral artery, severing it just as the whip made impact with his back. Blood sprayed from the slashed artery like a fire hose, across the man’s leathery torso and face. The woman lost consciousness immediately. In seconds, what life was left had pumped out of her. The other man threw his whip in anger and bent down low. “You fool,” he whispered in the man’s ear. “I did not get what I wanted and you did not give her what she deserved.” One heavy hand jerked the man’s head back by his hair while the other slid a cool blade deeply across the man’s throat. A welcomed release. An end to the torment.

  The boy stood motionless as he watched his father roll the dead man off his mother and onto the dirt floor. The blood was still pumping from the nameless man’s throat, soaking the ground around his head. He had seen animals slaughtered but never another human being. When the reality of what he’d just witnessed and the coppery smell of blood made its way through the slats of the shutters, the boy began to retch violently. His father spun around and was out the door before the boy had a chance to start running. Fear paralyzed his legs and his feet to the point that he couldn’t feel them. He was frozen to the ground where he stood. “Walid! Boy! Come here!” Here was an unpredictable man with a whip and a knife. A cold sweat broke out over the boy’s forehead and traveled to the rest of his body. His distress-turned panic rose from what he had just witnessed, and the fear of what was to come. He wasn’t even aware of the stream of warm liquid that ran down his leg as his father came toward him.

  The man’s adrenaline was pumping a mixture of calm anger and coherent delirium that fed into his lust. His eyes narrowed on the boy as he grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him back into the limestone hovel. He wrapped one huge hand behind the boy’s neck, preventing him from turning his head away from the bloody scene. The man fiercely spat out several questions. “Do you understand honor?” Fright gripped the young boy’s tongue and made it inaccessible for answering. He nodded as best as he could in spite of the man’s powerful thumb and forefinger digging in harder with each frenzied question. “Do you understand that we must rid the world of such filth? Unfortunately, she didn’t live long enough to get what she deserved. Do you understand?” The boy attempted the nod again. What she deserved? “You disobeyed me by coming here. There is punishment for that. Do you want to live, boy?”

  The boy kept swallowing to keep from heaving the empty contents of his stomach. He thought of the food he told his brothers he would bring back and tried to hold back the waves of nausea. The limited view he had through the tiny slits in the shutters had given but a mere glimpse of the butchery that lay inside.

  The man squeezed his son’s neck, inflicting just enough pain to summon obedience. His voice was coarse and threatening as he commanded, “Take off your pants.” The boy suddenly realized that he had wet himself again as the smell of urine, feces, and blood in the room fused itself to the hot humid air, hanging there with death. With his back still to his father, he obeyed, hoping that his obedience would allay his father’s anger toward him. But just as his pants reached the floor and puddled around his ankles, the heavy hand was back on his neck. It pushed him face down on the mattress beside the dead woman who was staring at him just inches away. Then came the weight down on him. His father’s strength and assault pushed him deeper into the mattress where his shallow breath dissolved his screams before they had a chance to escape. He looked one last time into his mother’s eyes. He forgave her. Right before he passed out.

  Another set of eyes had been quietly, intently observing the scene with calm fascination. In place of revulsion was pleasure. In place of horror was gratification. The switch had been flipped to evil before making its way back into the darkness.

  ***

  Light had already begun finding its way through any gap it could find. The boy opened his eyes, only to realize that he was naked on the dirt floor. His body was wracked with pain. He laid still while his eyes cautiously darted abou
t the room, what he could see of it. No one was staring back at him. No woman, no mattress. The man with the huge red smile sliced across his neck was gone. There was no sign of his father. Was last night all a dream? No, it was a very real nightmare. His body told him so. He saw his pants and shirt laying across an old weathered, splintered bench in the corner. They had been washed and were already dry.

  As he started to crawl toward them, his father’s form filled the doorway. An untethered malevolence smoldered in the small room. The boy quickly spun into a sitting position, dropped his head, and cowered where he sat. The man’s voice was deep and chilling when he spoke.

  “Get dressed and return to your brothers. Wait with them where you were left. Only this time you will stay until the car comes for you.”

  The boy nodded stiffly but still didn’t move or look up. There was an extended pause, increasing the fear that was already well-established within him.

  His father added, “Do I need to teach you again how to obey or do I kill you?” The man slightly tilted his head to the side as though he was thoughtfully considering both options, regardless of the answer. “I can and will do one or the other, or both if you ever –”

  The unfinished threat had the desired effect. The boy’s eyes widened as scenes from the night’s horror displayed themselves like snapshots in his mind. He was quick to shake his head from side to side as something warm saturated the ground and formed a puddle where he sat. Behind his thick beard, the man smiled with satisfaction.

  The boy stood up, wishing his nakedness could be hidden behind his shame and his father’s virulent glare. On the other hand, he was almost relieved that he hadn’t dressed before his father appeared. The punishment would have been severe for messing in the same clothes that had been cleaned. His father threw him a dirty rag so he could clean himself off before getting dressed. The urine and blood had been washed out of his clothes. There was nothing on them that would have revealed what happened the night before. There were no visible bruises on him that his clothes wouldn’t cover. Not that he would let them be seen. The other wounds he sustained would never be seen nor would they ever heal. They were wounds that would be savagely opened again and again until the faint flame of his childhood had been completely snuffed out.

  PART I

  CHAPTER 1

  Northern California, 1981

  IT WAS A little too cool to walk to the bus and his body ached anyway. He’d done enough walking. The terrain had tested his endurance. As much as he hated driving around the Bay Area this time of morning, it wasn’t nearly as bad as being sandwiched between some of the people who would ride that shuttle. He rolled up the windows on the rental car, closing out the salt air, rain, and the noise. It was starting to drizzle enough to turn on the wipers. These newer model cars were like operating a spaceship. He pressed the button for the radio, but before he could search for another station, he had to look for the defrosters. The windows were beginning to fog up horribly just as the station broke for the news.

  The body of a young coed was discovered today by hikers passing through a remote area along the American River northeast of Sacramento. The unidentified hikers stated that it appeared as though the young woman had been mauled by a bear. Rangers have been seeing an increase in brown bear activity and warning campers and hikers to be especially careful.

  Sources tell us that most of the injuries were inflicted to the lower extremities of the woman’s partially nude body which led some to speculate that this wasn’t a mauling by a four-legged creature but a brutal sexual attack by the two-legged kind. You may remember that several months ago, an eighteen year old runaway, identified as Carla Priest from Minnesota, was found in Discovery Park. She had been raped and her body mutilated. It was believed that the perpetrator may have been a drifter.

  Sources tell us that while there have been no new leads in that case, it is still under investigation. Police are not saying if there is any connection between the woman found this morning and the case involving the Priest girl. They were able to obtain a DNA profile in the Discovery Park case but don’t have a match for that profile – meaning that unless the perpetrator is eventually made to surrender a DNA sample for some unrelated crime, he may never be caught. Police are reserving comment on this new case pending an autopsy. They are asking the public for any information that will help their investigation. We’ll bring you more on this developing story as soon as we have it. Up next, the traffic report. Right after this. Stay with us…

  The airport always seems more crowded when it’s raining. I wonder why that is? The killer didn’t particularly like the cold. Drizzly weather was annoying. Cold and drizzly was an especially intolerable combination. He was so happy that he had planned a few days in sunny Venezuela.

  Beach, bikinis, booze… and…not necessarily in that order. He’d heard about a remote beach, located within miles of the Columbian border, in a small fishing village. The town was made up of a few local fisherman and surfers. He hated fishing. Surfer type? Hardly. His skin wasn’t naturally dark but he could pass for having a light tan. New hair color products made it easy to wash in blonde when you wanted it, wash it out when you didn’t. Might even be taken for a surfer. Note to self – pick up a boogie board.

  He’d reserved a room at a hotel in Caracas, far enough but not too many miles from the fishing village. The vehicle he rented was perfect for the terrain. Given the fact that they were as common as the bugs in those parts was something that appealed to him. No point in renting a car that screamed for attention. Everything was perfect for a quiet weekend away. One very promising weekend. This could well be the start of a tradition. For a while, anyway.

  Night was closing in fast when his plane landed. He’d check into the hotel a little later. He was still in a pair of jeans, flip flops, and a dark gray T-shirt. There was no need to dress up to ride around and find a place to get a drink. Dinner could be saved for later. Maybe he’d get lucky enough to have company, or maybe, he’d just get lucky and skip dinner.

  He drove along the coastal road far out of the city. On one side of the road was the Caribbean. On the other side, a rain forest ecosystem where scattered homes, and shanties, were swallowed up by the jungle-like vegetation. This must be suburbia. He laughed to himself.

  The bar was more like a shack situated near some run-down abandoned warehouses by the water. Nothing but a few neon lights on the windows lit up the place. He could hear music escaping to the outside. The street was deserted except for cars parked around the building like soldiers guarding a fort. There were no houses nearby that he could see even though he knew they were there. Apparently, these people like to commute. He parked near one of the darkened warehouses where shadows made his ride virtually invisible. The man grabbed his plain dark blue ball cap off the seat and pulled it down snugly on his head so that the broad bill shadowed most of his face.

  What he expected was a local sleazy bar with a bunch of local sleazy drunks. Inside was dark and quite loud. American rock music was cranked up. The place was poorly lit and since there was no light outside, it couldn’t follow him in. Good. There were a few tables in the corner of the room where the occupants were riveted to a soccer game on a small television. The backs of the men were to the entrance. No one even bothered to look his way when he stepped through the door. Even better. He let his eyes take a slow survey of the inside before walking over to a booth where the curtains were tied to the side of the doorway. The man slipped in quietly and sat on the long padded bench. The barkeep hadn’t looked up yet, but he knew the stranger was there.

  Except for those few tables surrounding the television and room for about ten stools at the bar, the rest of the interior looked like it invited activities other than drinking. Against the walls were large rectangular wooden booths. There were about ten in all. The walls of the booths went up to a higher-than-average ceiling. Thick, deep red privacy curtains hung from the ceiling to the floor of each booth. Available booths had the curtain tied back to o
ne side. A long bench ran the length of the rear wall. A large square table took up nearly the rest of the booth. After he slid into the booth and sat down, he wondered if he should have gone up to the bar to order his drink. The place had been designed to accommodate its patrons’ anonymity. Just as he was ready to stand up, a young woman appeared inside the booth. She didn’t say anything at first. Each sized up the other. There was just enough light coming from a candle by the doorway to see that her sheer blouse scantily covered her ample breasts. Luscious, dark hair hung in waves over her shoulders to her waist. The girl’s short skirt hugged her slim hips and opened at the side to reveal a toned thigh.

  There was a protocol. First, the booth’s candles would be lit to let the “house” know that she had a customer. Next, the waitress would collect advance payment and take it to the bartender. When she returned to the booth with her customer’s drink, then and only then, would the heavy velvet drapes be released from their tether to afford privacy. The booths were all but dark with candle sconces on opposite walls. He was sure she wasn’t able to make a good appraisal of him sitting in the dark corner. Neither had spoken a word until she moved toward a sconce to light the candle inside. The man’s hand shot up, gesturing for her not to do so. Confused, she asked him something in Spanish. His dark hair, darker skin – he could have passed for Latin.

  His failure to respond puzzled her more. Normally, customers were ready to get down to business. It cued her to repeat the question in broken but understandable English. He rose quite suddenly and pushed past her. The girl stood stunned for a moment before following him. With his head low, he reached the door in long, brisk strides. The man’s large frame filled the doorway for an instant and then he was gone. They might haggle over price but they never walked out like that. She turned to the bartender and he shrugged.