Bones of the Lost

palms rose to the level of his ears.
    “Turn around.”
    As the man rotated, another fragment of light caught him. For a second I saw his face with total clarity.
    The face in the mug shot.
    Ray Majerick.
    On spotting his foe, Majerick’s hands dipped slightly. Sensing he could see me better than I could see him, I squeezed further behind the pillar.
    “The fucking slut lives.”
    You’ll die, too, fucking slut.
    “Lose the gun.”
    Majerick didn’t move.
    “Now!” I racked back the slide on the Beretta.
    Majerick pulled the gun from his waistband and tossed it. I heard it hit somewhere near the loading-dock door.
    “Takes balls to send threats by e-mail.” My voice sounded much more confident than I felt. “To bully defenseless little girls.”
    “Debt to pay? You know the rules.”
    “Your debt-collecting days are over, you sick sonofabitch.”
    “Says who?”
    “Says a dozen cops racing here now.”
    Majerick cupped an upraised hand to one ear. “I don’t hear no sirens.”
    “Move away from the girl,” I ordered.
    He took a token step.
    “Move,” I snarled. Majerick’s fuck-you attitude was making me want to smash the Beretta across his skull.
    “Or what? You’re gonna shoot me?”
    “Yeah.” Cold steel. “I’m gonna shoot you.”
    Would I? I’d never fired at a human being.
    Where the hell was Slidell? I knew my bluff was being sustained by coffee and adrenaline. Knew both would eventually wear off.
    The girl groaned.
    In that split second I lost the advantage that might have allowed Majerick to live.
    I looked down.
    He lunged.
    Fresh adrenaline blasted through me.
    I raised the gun.
    Majerick closed in.
    I sited on the white triangle.
    Fired.
    The explosion echoed brutally loud. The concussion knocked my hands up, but I held position.
    Majerick dropped.
    In the dimness I saw the triangle go dark. Knew crimson was spreading across it. A perfect hit. The Triangle of Death.
    Silence, but for my own rasping breath.
    Then my higher centers caught up with my brain stem.
    I’d killed a man.
    My hands shook. Bile filled my throat.
    I swallowed. Steadied the gun and stole forward.
    The girl lay motionless. I squatted and placed trembling fingers on her throat. Felt a pulse, faint but steady.
    I swiveled. Gazed at Majerick’s mute, malevolent eyes. Did nothing.
    Suddenly I was exhausted. Revolted by what I’d just done.
    I wondered. In my state, could I make good decisions? Carry through? My phone was back at the house.
    I wanted to sit, hold my head in my hands, and let the tears flow.
    Instead I drew a few steadying breaths, rose, and crossed what seemed a thousand miles of darkness. Climbed the stairs on rubbery legs.
    A single passage cut right at the top. I followed it to the only closed door.
    Gun tight in one clammy hand, I reached out and turned the knob with the other.
    The door swung in.
    I stared into pure horror.

THE SCENE STILL haunts me. Will the rest of my life.
    The room held four girls. Their hair was tangled and dirty. One wore only a long dirty sweatshirt. The others weren’t dressed like pastors’ wives.
    Each had an ankle shackled to a pipe running the length of one wall. One was sitting with her arms up, wrists bound by a zip tie looping an overhead pipe. Her head hung between her upraised shoulders, snarled hair hiding her face.
    Three pairs of empty handcuffs dangled from the lower pipe. A discarded zip tie lay below.
    A half dozen filthy blankets were scattered across the floor. A bucket of urine and feces overflowed in one corner. The smell was unbelievable.
    The girls stared at me with the same eyes I’d seen in online images. Blank, devoid of hope. Perhaps high on heroin.
    I felt bile rise again. Fought it down.
    “It’s all right,” I whispered. “I won’t hurt you.”
    The zip-tied girl raised her head. Otherwise, no one moved or spoke.
    What to do? I couldn’t leave to call the cops. The girls might be taken while I was gone. I couldn’t chance that.
    Stupid! Stupid! How had I forgotten my phone?
    As I stood, undecided, one of the girls whispered to another. I didn’t understand the words, but the cadence seemed familiar.
    I was about to speak again when the hum of a car engine froze my lips. I darted down the hall, rose on my toes, and peeked over a windowsill.
    The glass was frosted and coated with grime. All I could see were twin beams slashing the darkness below.
    The engine cut off. The headlights. A door slammed. Boots rattled up the rusted