Collin
Collin McAllister sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Mollie, who sat shivering in the corner of The Vault. He’d feel sorry for her if he had a conscience. Unfortunately for this young girl, Collin was born without one. Whether it was genetics or environment was anybody’s guess. It was the age-old debate of nature versus nurture. If nature was the determining factor, a lot could be explained about his lack of empathy for other people. He knew what his father had been, that he was a ruthless, vicious man with no moral compass and no capacity for human emotions. Julian McAllister had been the worst of the worst. He’d been a collector of girls and a killer. It wasn’t such a leap to say the apple didn’t fall far from the proverbial tree.
But if it was nurture, well, then the explanation was more elusive. His mother, God rest her soul, had been a saint. Saint Martha McAllister. A strict Catholic, his mother had done her best to raise Collin in the church and instill in him the morals and values of her faith. Perhaps she overcompensated because she knew what Julian was. Perhaps she even saw a flicker of Julian in her son’s eyes at an early age. Either way, she’d done her best with curfews, chores, and rules, but it was all for naught. Her son had turned out to be just like her late husband. She’d prayed and prayed for him all the way up until the bitter end when she’d died of cancer in her bed. In fact, her last words to her son were, “It’s never too late, son.”
It was too late for Collin, of course. Even if Collin had been less resistant to his mother’s efforts to reform him, he still had to honor his posthumous promise to Julian that he would find a way to avenge his death and punish Franklin Cartwright for stealing his father away from him. He’d dreamed of ways to get back at Franklin since he was thirty years old and his mother had finally told him the truth about his father’s last days. Back then, when he’d figured out who had killed his father, the fantasies always centered around Franklin’s death. Collin had conceived of every way possible to kill him, but it wasn’t until around the age of thirty-five he realized the best way to get revenge on his father’s killer was not to take his life. No, that would be too quick and too easy. He deserved a fate worse than death. And what could be worse for a man than death itself than to lose a child?
At first, Collin had planned to kill one of Franklin’s sons, or better yet, his only daughter, Katherine. But by the time he’d come up with this plan, the boys were grown men bigger than himself, and Katherine was a woman with a small child. He’d been watching Franklin one day at the park and saw the love the old man had for the little girl, and that was when it hit him. It would destroy Franklin to lose his granddaughter as much or more than if he lost his daughter, so, he formulated a plan to snatch Mollie right out from under the old man’s nose.
It wouldn’t be easy, he knew, so he decided to practice first. It took six tries to get it right. Collin had some fun with the first six girls. Why not? He already had them right there in The Vault, and they were so pretty. No girls had ever given him the time of day growing up, despite his striking good looks, probably because he was admittedly shy and a bit reclusive. So, when he had these girls’ undivided attention, well, he thought there would be no harm in satisfying his male needs and his fantasies all at the same time. Besides, he was going to kill them either way. It seemed like a complete waste to just keep them for a few days then dispose of them without getting what he wanted—no, needed—from them.
Mollie was different.
Mollie served a higher purpose. Though he could take his pleasures with her if he wanted, he didn’t see her the same way he saw the first six girls. She was almost like…family, in a twisted sort of way. Even though they’d never met, they shared a common history, which made her seem like a cousin, or even a sister. Collin may have been a lot of things, but he was not incestuous. Instead, he would keep her chained to the wall of The Vault for as long as it took for her grandfather to see the error of his ways and show some honest to goodness contrition. It wouldn’t be enough to say he was sorry. Collin wanted to bring Franklin Cartwright to his knees and make him beg for Mollie’s life. To truly repent of his sins the way Raskolnikov had in Crime and Punishment.
Not that Collin planned on forgiving the old man, or returning his granddaughter to him. There was no way he could let her live, not if he wanted to survive himself. No amount of begging and pleading and atonement from Franklin was going to save his granddaughter. But Collin wanted his father’s killer to be there and watch as the life drained from Mollie’s face, the way Franklin had watched Julian die, slowly and painfully.
Collin had to put up with Mollie’s sniveling, crying, begging, and pleading as he waited for Franklin to realize the error of his ways and repent on bended knee. What he would do with her in the meantime, Collin wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to have his way with her; that would be wrong on so many levels. But he had to do something to motivate the old man and show him how serious he was. It was as he sat there thinking that it occurred to him he needed to up the ante. Light a fire under the man’s ass, so to speak. So, what could he do? He’d already called Franklin and told him what was required of him. But the stubborn old sonofabitch didn’t sound like he fully understood what he needed to do.
“Please,” Mollie whimpered, breaking his concentration. “Please, let me go. Whatever my grandfather did to you, I’m sure he’s very sorry. And he has money. Lots of money. He’d pay anything to get me home unharmed. I know he would. Just call him again. I know he’ll—”
“Shut up,” Collin said in a quiet, monotonous voice.
Mollie’s mouth snapped shut, and tears poured down her cheeks.
“No amount of money is going to get you out of this. Your pops needs to know exactly why I took you. I dropped him a little hint, but I’m not sure he’s figured it out. I think it’s time we sent him another message, don’t you?”
The girl shook her head slowly. “Please. Don’t hurt me. I’m begging you. I’ll do whatever you want. Anything. Just don’t hurt me.”
Collin could see the fear in her pretty sapphire eyes. Eyes just like her grandfather. He didn’t want to hurt her, but Franklin had forced his hand. And if hurting Mollie meant getting the old bastard to fully understand the situation, then that was what had to happen. He could cut off one of her fingers and send it to Franklin, but Collin didn’t want to ruin her beauty in any way. No, it had to be something that would keep her beauty intact but also sufficiently motivate his rival and make him truly regret what he’d done.
It came to him like an unexpected electric shock. He stood from the edge of the bed and walked over to the little kitchenette his own grandfather had installed during the Second World War. He grabbed the large knife lying on the countertop, the one he’d used to threaten her into submission when she’d tried to escape earlier, and turned to face her.
She must have seen what was in his hand, because she shook her head again, vehemently now. Her bottom lip was quivering, and more tears spilled down her face. “No, please, n-n-no. I’ll d-do anything you want. P-please, no.”
Collin regretted that he had to do this, but he reminded himself it wasn’t his fault. Franklin Cartwright had brought this upon himself and upon his favorite grandchild when he killed Collin’s father. He’d been the one to pull the first thread and unraveled the tapestry of Collin’s life. The man had forced his hand.
He walked deliberately across the floor of The Vault to where Mollie was cowering in the corner, trying to get as far away from him as she could. The knife felt heavy in his hand, but he gripped it tightly and crouched before the frightened girl, who was now squeezing her eyes shut and mumbling something under her breath. A prayer, perhaps?
It was pointless, he told her. This had to be done. He had to send a message.
He raised the knife and held the blade to Mollie’s neck.