Thicker Than Blood - the Complete Andrew Z. Thomas Trilogy - Blake Crouch [176]
Rufus grabbed one of the four-foot copper wires and hammered its other end so that it had enough surface area to accept a screw. He drilled a hole through it, then took both the wire and the skullcap and sat down in the chair.
Unscrewing the bolt that fastened the electrode to the cap, he slipped the copper wire onto the brass screw, tightened the bolt back into place, and grinned.
He now had his own personal electric chair, and though he had doubts about whether it could actually deliver a lethal jolt, it would certainly be fun to try.
Rufus came to his feet.
His side was hurting again.
He walked upstairs to tell Maxine that everything was ready and see if Luther had come home.
Charlie Tatum was sobering up fast. He set the broken creature down on the soft leather sofa where he’d been drifting in and out of sleep for the last two hours, and called out to his wife down the dark hallway:
"Margaret! Come out here!"
The woman was still unconscious.
Charlie knelt down on the carpet and straightened the lingerie so her nipples didn’t show. He lifted her satin chemise to see where all the blood was coming from.
The wound was located just above her hipbone, like a small black mouth, open with surprise, blood oozing from its corner, down the woman’s side, and onto the leather sofa.
"What in the world are you yelling about, baby?"
Margaret emerged from the hallway and stood in her flannel nightgown, a woman with heft, her dyed red hair in turmoil, sleeplines down the right side of her face.
"Are you drunk?" she asked, pointing at the empty tumbler and the half-empty bottle of Tanqueray sitting on the driftwood coffee table between the sofa and the television.
"Just put your glasses on, Mag," he said.
Margaret pulled a pair of thick-lensed frames from the patch pocket on her nightgown, slipped them on, and gasped.
"My God. What in the world happened to her?"
"You tell me. She just knocked on the door. When I opened it she said ‘help me’ and fainted right into my arms."
Margaret moved a step closer across the carpet. She turned on a stained glass lamp sitting on an end table.
"Is that blood?" she asked.
"Yeah. She’s got a bad cut right here. And her arms and legs are all torn up."
"I’ll call nine-one-one. Or should we just take her to the medical center? I’ll drive."
Charlie lay his ear against the woman’s heart, her mouth.
"No, she’s breathing. Just tell them to send an ambulance."
While Margaret called 911 from the adjacent kitchen, Charlie leaned in close to the woman on his sofa and spoke in a low and calming voice into her ear.
"You’re safe now. An ambulance is coming and they’re gonna take good care of you." Charlie felt her burning forehead, then held her swollen shattered hand. "Just hang in there, okay? Everything’s gonna be fine now. You came to the right house."
Margaret walked in from the kitchen, sat down on the end of the sofa.
"Ambulance is on the way and they’re also sending a police car since I told them she might’ve been attacked. What do you think happened to her?"
Charlie shook his head.
He stared at the television for a moment, then reached for the remote control and turned it off.
The woman stirred.
Eyes opening.
Wide with fear.
"Remember me?" Charlie asked.
A nod.
"You’re safe now. The ambulance is coming."
There was a knock at the front door.
"That was fast," Margaret said, rising from the sofa.
"See, there they are," Charlie whispered. "Lightning quick."
As Margaret reached to open the front door she said, "Wonder why they didn’t use the siren or the lights?"
Charlie was staring into the woman’s glazed eyes when Margaret opened the door.
He said, "We’ll come see you in the hospital tomorrow, maybe bring you some—"
Margaret emitted a strange gurgling sound.
Charlie glanced over his shoulder at his wife.
She turned slowly.
Faced him.
Standing in the open doorway, stunned, face gone pale as sand, sheets of blood flooding out of