Trouble in Hell (Hell Night Book 1) Read online

“Ready?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  I tap a couple of times on the door as a warning before pushing it open. Amelia Tanner, a woman in her late twenties, sits on the end of the bed with her hands placed in her lap and her socked feet crossed at the ankle. The paper gown she’s wearing on the top half of her body crinkles as she moves when Susan and I enter.

  I offer a smile. “How are you today, Mrs. Tanner?”

  “Just peachy.”

  “Are you ready?”

  She laughs nervously. “Is any woman ready to have her privates looked at clinically?”

  I chuckle and turn to the sink to wash my hands, throwing over my shoulder, “I guess not.” I grab a paper towel. “Do you have any concerns you need to discuss with me?”

  “Not today.”

  I nod, toss the paper towel in the trash, and walk over to her. “You know the drill. Why don’t you lie back, and we’ll get the breast exam out of the way first?”

  She does as I ask, and before I can prompt her, she lifts her arms over her head. I grab the opening of the gown and pull the pieces apart until her chest is in view. I wait for the usual tingle I get in the base of my spine from seeing a woman’s breasts, and it comes right on cue.

  “Sorry if my hands are cold.”

  She smiles then stares at the ceiling as I gently massage circles on each breast, ignoring the stirring in my body.

  “Are you doing self-exams every month?” I ask.

  She nods. “Yes.”

  I close the gown back over her chest. “Everything is good here. No lumps or malformations.”

  I step back as she sits up. She scoots her butt down to the end of the bed, knowing what’s coming next, and her feet move to the stirrups. I wash my hands again and slip on a pair of gloves.

  “A couple more inches, Amelia,” I tell her as I take a seat on a stool and roll closer to the end of the bed. There’s a sheet still covering her lower half. Susan pushes a small cart with the tools I need closer to me.

  I take the end of the sheet and push it up over her knees. The first sight of her spread out in front of me, her rosy cunt lips on display, has me wanting to lick my lips. I look past the deliciousness and check her labia for any lesions.

  My mind attempts to turn to dirty thoughts, like leaning forward and breathing in Amelia’s musky scent, but I’m able to change the direction of them by asking her, “How are you feeling since you started taking those vitamins I suggested at your last visit?”

  “Much better actually. Even Danny says my energy level has increased.”

  I grab the speculum and lubricant from the cart beside me. “There’s gonna to be a bit of pressure, Amelia. Just take a deep breath for me.”

  Inserting the speculum, I advance it so her inner walls widen enough for me to collect a sample against her cervix.

  “How is Danny, by the way?”

  She clears her throat before answering. “He’s good. Just got a raise at the bank.”

  “I bet that’ll come in handy. Almost done.”

  I set the cervical brush in the sample pot before gently pulling the speculum out. My eyes linger a fraction of a second longer than necessary before I pull the sheet down to cover Amelia. She immediately takes her feet from the stirrups and sits up. Her face is flushed. I get up and turn away to deposit my gloves in the trash, giving myself a minute for my body to wilt.

  “Doesn’t Sophia have a birthday coming up soon?” Susan asks as she secures the sample. “She’ll be five, right?”

  Amelia’s face lights up at the mention of her daughter. “Yes. Next week.”

  I hear the smile in Susan’s voice. “Seems like it was just yesterday I was helping Dr. Trayce deliver that precious baby.”

  Paper crinkles as Amelia moves. “They grow up way too fast.”

  “They certainly do. Make sure you bring her by the office next week sometime. We’ll have a little something for her here from all of us.”

  “Thanks, Susan. That’s very sweet of you.”

  I grab the file off the counter where I set it when I came into the room and turn back. “Alright, Amelia, you’re good to go. We’ll call if there’s any concerns. If not, we’ll see you back here in two months for your next birth control shot.”

  “Oh, well, actually, Danny and I were talking about maybe trying for another baby.”

  “In that case, change your appointment to three months from now and we’ll see how things are progressing from there.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Dr. Trayce.”

  I leave the ladies in the room and head to my office. Unbuttoning the sleeves to my dress shirt, I roll them to my elbows in anticipation of the Texas heat that’ll greet me as soon as I walk out of the building. Grabbing my cell phone, keys, and wallet out of my desk, I flip the light switch off and leave my office. Susan is closing room two’s door, having just left Amelia to redress.

  “I’m heading out. Is there anything you need before I leave?”

  “No. You go ahead. Everything is finished up for the day. As soon as Amelia’s done, I’ll clean the room and be out of here myself.”

  One of the many benefits of living in a town the size of Malus is not having to work full days if it’s not warranted. Amelia was the last patient for the day, and unless there’s an emergency, there’s no sense in staying open. Everyone in town has my number if anyone should need medical attention.

  Walking out through the front office door, I’m blasted with a wave of humidity. The sun is blaringly bright overhead, but thankfully there’s a small breeze that makes the heat almost bearable. I look across the street and see the Sheriff walking toward his cruiser. He spots me and changes directions.

  Most of the town refers to him as Sheriff Ward, but to my brothers and myself, he’s JW, short for John Wayne. It’s not his real name, but one we came up with when we were kids because John Wayne movies were his favorite. He’s seen them all, some so many times that he used to repeat them word for word. It used to bug the hell out of us, but we never said anything.

  “Where did you find the bastard?” I ask when he comes to a stop in front of me.

  The pulse in JW’s temple throbs. “Hiding out in Willard’s shed. The stupid fuck thought he could take me on.” He looks down at his hand and flexes his fingers. “He’ll be nursing bruised ribs for days.”

  “He give anything up?”

  It doesn’t matter if he does. The proof of his sick actions is in the file on my desk.

  “Not a thing, but I didn’t expect him to. He’s caught, and he knows it. The only thing he can do now is deny the accusations and hope by some divine miracle we’ll be stupid enough to believe him.”

  The notion is ludicrous. He knows how we do things here. He’s been a part of the change since the beginning. He was actually one of the few people left behind when Sweet Haven was taken down.

  “He’s a fucking moron.”

  “Agreed.” He scratches his beard. “Judge give you a ring?”

  “Yeah. I spoke with him earlier.”

  “That only leaves eight.”

  His phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket and checks the screen. “We’ll find the rest.”

  Fuck yes we will. I’m ready for this shit to be over with.

  “Gotta take this. Talk later.”

  He swipes his phone as he turns away. Instead of heading to his car, he walks back to the Sheriff’s office.

  As soon as my ass hits the seat of my Tahoe, I have my AC on full blast. The drive home is only a few minutes away. I normally walk, but I didn’t feel like sweating my balls off this morning.

  I toss my keys and wallet on the island. After pulling open both the fridge and freezer, I realize I should have stopped at The Hill before coming home. There’s not a damn thing in either. I decide to hunt something down later and go for a shower first. I’m halfway across the living room and pulling off my shirt, when something catches my eye. Or rather someone.

  I look over and spot Emo sitting on
my recliner. The man has jet black hair and piercing blue eyes. He’s quiet, watchful, and rarely lets his feelings show, unless it’s only just me and my brothers around. He’s the smallest of the four of us at just over six foot. When comparing him to me and my brothers, many underestimate him. That’s one mistake people make that always bites them in the ass later. Emo may be the smallest and the more quiet one of our group, but he’s the deadliest.

  I finish slipping off my shirt and toss it on the couch. “Judge said you weren’t due back until tomorrow.”

  “Something came up, and I needed to be back today.”

  I narrow my eyes and look behind the emotionless veneer Emo always portrays. A barely noticeable fine sheen of sweat covers his forehead, the pulse in his neck throbs a little too forcefully, the tic by his left eye, and the knuckles of his hand that’s resting on his thigh are white. It’s that hand that concerns me. I have no doubt the single key he always carries with him is gauging his flesh. When a dark spot appears on his jeans, my suspicions are confirmed.

  “Come,” I demand then turn on my heel, not bothering to see if he’ll follow.

  Walking into the kitchen, I reach beneath the sink where I keep a first aid kit and set it on the counter. Emo appears beside me as I turn the water on and pull out the things I need from the kit.

  “How did it go?” I ask.

  I grab his hand, and sure enough, when he opens his fingers, I find an old silver key covered in blood resting in his palm. I pluck it up from his hand and set it on the counter. He immediately grabs it and pushes it into his pocket. That key is never far from him, going so far as putting it on a shelf in the shower when he baths. He even sleeps with it under his pillow.

  “He squealed like a stuck pig, and then I gutted him like one,” he replies in a monotonous tone.

  I look at Emo and see him concentrating on the blood seeping from his hand. His eyes hold a mesmerized look, completely captivated by the bright color.

  Placing his hand underneath the running water, the blood washes away, leaving behind the vision of his mangled palm. It’s not just his palm that carries the deep scars, but his fingers as well. His other hand looks just as bad. The key is always the weapon.

  When I pour alcohol on the open gashes to clean them, he neither jerks, flinches, or makes a sound. Pain is Emo’s solace. It calms him and is the only way he can ever find peace.

  “Do you want me to call Grace?”

  It takes him a minute to answer. “Yes.”

  “Expect her there by nine.” I wrap his hand with some gauze. “Watters was brought in today.”

  This news gets a reaction out of him. The pulse in his wrists thumps harder against my fingers.

  “When?” he growls.

  “Thursday.”

  He closes his eyes for a brief second, and I know he wishes the key was back in his hand. I grip his wrist and rub the erratic pulse with my thumb, soothing him with a gentle touch. A few seconds later, his eyes open and the demons normally lurking in the black orbs have gone dormant for the time being. They’ll be back. They always are.

  “I’ll warn Grace to be prepared,” I say quietly.

  He jerks his chin in acknowledgement. Gripping the back of his neck, I wait for him to look at me.

  “You good?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go home and get some rest before Grace shows up.” I squeeze his neck before letting him go.

  Without a word, he turns and leaves the kitchen. A moment later, the front door slams.

  After cleaning the mess in the kitchen, I call Grace and let her know Emo needs her tonight. The town of Malus is small, so the pickings of women are slim. It’s made even slimmer with Emo’s dark sexual needs. He’s not the type to sweet talk or cuddle. He only fucks in the dark and never wants to see the women’s face or let them see him. He’s not gentle and kind, but rather rough and unforgiving. He doesn’t hurt the woman, and they always know what their getting from him. With his preferences and his bleak social etiquette, it’s hard for him to find women willing to give him what he needs. Since sex is another outlet for the darkness that resides in Emo, my brothers and I find them for him.

  Walking to the bedroom, I kick off my shoes and finish getting undressed. My mind wanders to what will happen on Thursday, and an excited shiver races through me.

  Justice will be served, and the monster will be extinguished.

  REMI

  DO YOU EVER GET A sudden, outrageous urge to do something completely insane? Like you’re standing on the edge of a tall cliff looking down at the jagged rocks below and all of a sudden, you have the impulse to just… jump. Not because you’re suicidal and want to end your life. The deadly impact never enters your mind. You just want to experience the rush of not being tethered to anything, to simply free fall into air. Or maybe the impact does come to mind. Maybe you wonder if time would slow like it often does in adrenaline inducing situations. Would the fall feel like it takes ten minutes, rather than the few seconds it would actually take? Would the millimeter of a second that you’re still alive once you hit the ground seem more like minutes? Would you feel pain before death? Would you die before you even hit the ground?

  What if you’re standing in the subway station watching the approaching train when you get the impulse to shove the person beside you onto the tracks? You don’t know the person and they’ve done nothing wrong, but you still want to push them just because it’s wrong and you want to see what happens. Would they be slung to the side back on the platform, or would they fall on the tracks and be cut in half by the train rail wheels?

  Maybe you’re in the middle of a dark theater. Everyone around you is quiet and focused on the big screen, when you have a strong need to stand up and start screaming for no apparent reason, only because you can.

  As I drive down the quiet two-lane highway in central Texas, the thought of yanking the wheel to the left flashes in my mind. There’s a small ditch on the side of the road, and I wonder if I drive into it, would I come to a complete and sudden stop by hitting the other side of the ditch? Or would my car shoot up the other side and into the air before crashing back down? Would my car explode? Would it roll, and if so, how many times?

  I’ve had these types of thoughts many times over the years. I’ve never attempted any of those scenarios, of course. I don’t have a death wish, a secret need to harm someone, or want to draw unnecessary attention to myself. They’re just random thoughts that pop into my head out of the blue.

  I used to wonder if there was something wrong with me. I mean, why in the world would I think about jumping off a cliff, let alone have the urge to do so when it means sudden death, or at the very least a bunch of pain and a full-body cast?

  I asked my doctor about it once, and apparently, it’s very common. Edgar Allen Poe called it “The Imp of the Perverse”. It’s a phenomenon when a person thinks about doing something they know is wrong just because they can do it.

  I grip my hands tighter around the steering wheel and lock my elbows in place. I may have never actually jerked the wheel, but even the thought scares me, and I don’t want to take any chances. I crank up the volume on the stereo and let Jon Bon Jovi take my thoughts somewhere else.

  Twenty minutes later, I grab a t-shirt from the passenger side and wipe the sweat away from my forehead, the back of my neck, and dip it down the front of my tank top to get between my boobs. The air conditioner went out in my car about a hundred miles back, and I haven’t come across any open service stations to have it looked at yet. The heat is stifling, and it does nothing to improve my already tired eyes. I’ve been on the road going on eight hours. Two hours ago was two hours too long, but there’s been no decent looking places to rest.

  I stiffen when a small twinge hits my lower back. Resting my hand on my hard stomach, I gently rub where my belly button is starting to become an outie.

  “I know Bubba,” I say to the little man in my stomach. “There’s got to be some place soon where we can rest a
nd get something to eat.”

  I smile to myself when I feel a kick against my hand. Almost eight months pregnant and having felt the baby for the last two, I still get a thrill every single time I feel him move.

  Another pinch of pain hits my back, and I wince. I’ve been having them the last couple of hours and accounted them as hunger pains. I haven’t eaten since seven this morning except for a granola bar several hours ago.

  I grab my water bottle, and then remember I’ve already finished it off. Looking at my gas gauge, I notice I’m at a quarter of a tank.

  “Damn it,” I mutter. “Why did I think driving through Texas was a good idea?”

  Sweat dribbles down my temple onto my cheek, tickling the fine hairs. Swiping it away aggravatedly, I lean toward the steering wheel as much as my belly will allow, and look ahead, hoping to see a sign or something that’ll indicate a gas station or nearby town.

  The road blurs in the distance, giving off a deceptive mirage of a sheet of water.

  My foot jerks on the gas petal, pressing down, when another wave of discomfort slices through me, this one more painful than the others. I let up on the gas and panic starts to set in.

  What if I don’t find a place to stop? What if I run out of gas and get stuck on the side of the road? I’ve only passed one car in the last two hours. What if something is wrong with the baby?

  I squeeze my eyes shut then jerk them back open to watch the road. My palms are sweaty on the steering wheel, my legs stick to the leather seat, and the pain in my back is getting worse. I take a calming breath and try to push down the anxiety. The last thing I need to do is panic. It’ll distress the baby and muddle my mind.

  I try my best to concentrate on the road and not think about the pain. Something off in the distance catches my eye, and I squint to get a better look. I drive for another two minutes before I realize it’s a sign.

  Relief leaves my arms feeling heavy and my body sags against the seat. A cross road to the left claims that Malus is twenty miles away. I blow out a long breath as I take the turn then rest my hand back on my stomach.

  “We’re going to be okay, Bubba. We’re almost there.”