The Guardian

it around Jack’s head to hold the rag in place. He didn’t have anyway to plug his iron in to heat it up so he did the next best thing.
    Pulling the needle and small vile from his bag, Jack watching, his eyes bugged out the whole time, the Guardian gave him the shot. Quickly Jack was out for the count and the Guardian set to work. He didn’t have much time so he had to hurry. He would make sure that this pervert wouldn’t do anything like this again, ever. He had lost all faith in the judicial system, so he couldn’t count on them to put him away forever. He’d just do what he did best.
    When he was done, he looked down at the man who lay before him. He felt sick to his stomach because, truth was, he hated what he had to do. However, someday, some how, the message would get out and things would be as they should be.
    He pulled the phone out of his pocket, dialed a number, and waited.
    “Halloway”
    After he had hung up, he tossed the phone in the corner next to Jack. “Here, you might need this.”
    Picking up his bag, checking to insure he’d left nothing, he walked out. He paused. He could hear sirens off in the distance. He looked back at the bloody, broken heap of vile, human waste that sat on the floor in front of him. He shook his head, turned, and ran to the gate in the front of the compound. Making sure that there were no cars or sirens he would need to avoid, he ran out through the gate, around the side to the wall where he’d left his bike. He quickly threw the bag into the trunk, fired up the bike, not taking the time to bother with his helmet. He tore off across the desert avoiding the roads. He’d give his buddy Halloway a call later on to fill him in and answer any of his questions.
    As he sped away, he could hear the sirens in the background getting closer. He had gotten out just in time. For some reason, the only thing that he felt good about was the fact that he had gotten the girls out safely. They would have to deal with the mistreatment they had to endure. He was sure there would be permanent damage. However, they were alive and they were young enough that with the right counseling and treatment they would be able to lead a stable life.
    That part bothered him the most. The aftermath left behind. It wasn’t a simple matter of catching the bad guy and making him pay. Those poor girls would be paying for the rest of their lives for what he had done to them. It would never end.
    When he was far enough away, he pulled over, got off the bike and looked back towards the horizon. After a few moments, he put his helmet on. He sat looking back at the glow from the red and blue flashing lights as they lit up the sky. The girls would be okay now. They were going to be with their parents. Straddling his bike, it fired back to life and he headed for home.
    Chapter 89
    One of the officers came out of the large mound where the girls had been held and found Halloway and Griffin. “Excuse me Lieutenant, we found our suspect. You should come take a look at this.” He said.
    John and Laura followed the officer to the front of the mound. John scanned the outside of the area, shaking his head. “Jesus, if the Guardian hadn’t stumbled upon this thing we probably would never have found them.”
    They went inside and Laura stood there with her mouth agape. John was just speechless. “Holy Mother of God” is all she could say. Before them were the six rooms. The doors were wide open exposing what had at one time been the prison for the three young girls. Walking down the short aisle that separated the rooms, three on each side, they peered in. The stench from the rooms was overwhelming. It was just amazing to them what people were capable of.
    The crime scene guys were busy doing photos, taking notes and lifting prints. It was like a scene from CSI. As they finished visually examining each room, they walked over to the front of the Cellar. Sitting there, trussed up like a Christmas turkey. Was their suspect, Jack.
    “Yep, our boy was definitely here. This is most assuredly his handy work.” John said.
    Standing there, they took inventory of what they saw. Instead of the usual branding into the forehead, he had carved the words into his head with his knife and rubbed indelible ink into the wounds. The ink and blood were running down his face. It made him look like a distorted Halloween mask. The sign, quoting John, 8:28 hung around his neck. It was becoming a calling card. His thumbs had been broken