THE TORTURED (4 page)

“He grabbed me at the parking garage downtown. He’s got my purse, I think. I don’t know. Maybe he tossed it. I had it when he grabbed me. I paid three hundred and sixty dollars for that purse at the Coach store in the mall,” Dana said as she raised her head from the bench.

“This is too much. I can’t take this,” Meghan said as she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

As she pushed Elena’s hands from her shoulder she stood. She wanted Ryan to come back - talk to her - explain what he intended to do. She felt an odd comfort in his presence. When he was near her, talking to her, and looking at her, she felt as if other outside thoughts didn’t enter her mind. When he was present, her brain didn’t attempt to develop reason.

“Did anyone else talk to him very much?” Meghan asked.

“I talked to him for a minute or so before he put me in here,” Dana responded.

“Did you find his voice soothing? Like hypnotic?” Meghan asked.

“That’s creepy to even ask,” Shellie said as she paced the floor, staring at her feet.

“Yeah, I suppose. You know, when he spoke, I felt like I kinda
had
to listen. You know, like he was commanding me. But he really wasn’t commanding. I don’t know - it was just weird. I don’t know how to explain it,” Dana looked up at the ceiling as she spoke.

“He got me first. Probably why he talked to me for so fucking long,” Elena explained as she stood from the bench.

“He talked to me for a good ten minutes. Not really about anything, just told me he was going to lock me in this room. He went over his weird ass rules. He told me he was going to put more people in here. It was weird, I really wasn’t scared,” Elena chuckled as she finished speaking.

Meghan looked around the room.

Shellie stopped pacing and turned toward Elena and Meghan, both now standing at the edge of the room by the entrance.

“Yeah, I thought about what if he raped me. Or whatever. Actually, I was
convinced
he was going to rape me. When he was driving, I kept thinking, any minute, this weirdo is going to pull over and yank me out of this trunk and rape me. It’s weird, but I was sure
if
he did that, I could let him just do it – if he’d let me go. I had even decided if he
did
rape me, I wouldn’t even tell anyone. I’d just keep it to myself and act like it never happened,” Shellie began pacing after she completed her last spoken word.

Dana stood from the bench and spoke, “It’s funny. You spend your entire life thinking if someone tried to rape you, how you’d dig his eyes out or kick him in the nuts. Then, someone nabs you, and you really start to think about it. Or, well I don’t know. I didn’t ever really think,
hey I’d like this guy to fuck me
while I was in the trunk. But I don’t know, thinking about it
now
? Now I’m wishing he’d have fucked me and I would have run screaming into the woods or whatever. I’d trade that for this shit any day.”

Dana finished speaking and began walking toward the bathroom.

“Anyone want a bottle of water?” Dana asked as she opened the refrigerator door.

“There’s water?” Meghan asked as she alternated glances between Elena and Dana.

“Oh. Yeah. He keeps us stocked up on stuff. He’s just weird about the trash. We have to give him the trash,” Shellie stopped pacing and stared at her feet as she spoke. After she finished speaking, she began pacing again.

“I’ll have one, thank you,” Meghan said as she walked toward the refrigerator.

Dana handed Meghan a bottle of water, removed another, and closed the door of the refrigerator. Meghan removed the lid and tipped the bottle toward her lips. As she drank the water, she looked around the room at each of the women.

Megan sipped the water and recalled how she felt as she was secured with the hand cuffs in the trunk of the car. Being bound, the excitement of unknown, the stranger having all of the power over her had aroused her. Thinking of it made her feel excited again, but she was certain she shouldn’t divulge her fantasies to the other women.

“So what’s the deal with the sweats?” Meghan asked as she lowered the bottle of water from her lips.

“Oh, in the bathroom there’s a cabinet. It has sweats, shirts and panties. There’s electric razors, deodorant. There’s pretty much everything you need in there. He picks up the dirty laundry, fucking weirdo,” Elena responded.

“So, why do you suppose he chose us? Obviously, it wasn’t
random
. We look like quadruplets. It’s almost scary how much we look alike. And we’re all divorced, two without children, and two with one daughter. It just seems weird. There may be more to this, I don’t know. Probably just some weird kink of his. Where is everyone from?” Meghan asked.

“Wichita,” Elena responded.

“Augusta,” Shellie said as she continued to pace the floor.

Dana sat down, took a drink of her water and placed the bottle on the bench beside her. “I’m from El Dorado. Weird, we’re all about thirty miles from each other. I wonder if he wanted someone from each city or if there’s something else to it.”

“You’re fucking stupid, Dana. He just
nabbed
us. It was random,” Elena said.

“No, that’s impossible. He was watching us. He knew my name. He called me by my first name when he got me out of the trunk. If I remember correctly, he said he had been watching me. I don’t remember, he said
something
like that,” Meghan said as she sat down on the bench beside Elena.

“Well, there’s got to be something. I don’t know now that it will do any good to know, but there has to be some way that he found us, something that we all have done or have in common or something,” Meghan took another drink of her water and thought.

“Facebook?” Shellie stopped pacing and asked. Immediately after speaking, she started pacing again.

“I don’t have Facebook,” Meghan stated flatly.

“But yeah. Some form of social media maybe. Maybe he picked us all off of the internet or something. He’d have to look a long time to find us by just wandering around. I mean hell, look at us, it’s like looking in the mirror,” Elena explained.

A sharp metallic sound came from the entrance door. In unison, each person turned to face the door. Slowly, the door opened.

“Ladies. I
was
going to wait until morning - but I must admit - I’m overcome with excitement. I have an announcement to make. Shellie, stop pacing please,” Ryan said from the half open doorway.

Each of the women were now standing and facing the doorway. Without thinking, and using her free hand, Meghan pressed her fingertips to her scalp and ran her fingers through her hair, flipping it over her shoulders as it fell from her fingertips.

She stood filled with wonder and an ounce of desire. She wanted to know what the future held, what may happen, and whether or not she would be allowed to live through this degree of captivity. Ultimately, she stood and stared at Ryan with a mind full of lust. She wondered what the other women thought about him – if his mere presence caused them want, desire, or lust. As she watched him stand in the doorway, she felt herself begin to tingle. She was beginning to become aroused. Consciously she questioned if he had any way of knowing her desires.

“Meghan, are you paying attention?” the monotone note of Ryan’s voice caught her off guard and caused her to stand erect and respond.

“Yes. Yes sir,” Meghan responded as she clutched her bottle of water with both hands.

“Good, I need to make certain all participants are listening,” he stated.

Participants? We’re participants? In what?
Meghan thought.

“As I stated a moment ago, it was my intent to make this announcement tomorrow, but I am incapable of waiting. So, listen carefully,” Ryan demanded.

Ryan inhaled through his nose slowly and exhaled as he began to speak.

“Tomorrow at precisely zero eight hundred hours one of you is going to die.”

CHAPTER FIVE

LIKE FATHER LIKE SON.

FIVE.
“Glenfiddich eighteen, make it a double, neat.”

“You’ve got it Ryan, special occasion?” the bartender asked as he pulled the scotch from the top shelf.

A fixture at the bar, Pete had worked as a bartender at this establishment for twenty one years. He admired Ryan. It wasn’t often that someone ordered 18 year old Glenfiddich. At twenty dollars a shot, it wasn’t something most people would drink, especially someone as young as Ryan. Ryan had been patronizing the bar since his early twenties, frequently when he was home from college. After his completion of college, he generally stopped in nightly for one beer and simple conversation.

“Not so much, just a rewarding day,” Ryan responded with a smile.

Ryan sat at the bar with his hands on his thighs, waiting for his scotch. Proud of his efforts for the day, he was eager to go to the next step with the women. The thought of them going through the process to decide who must die excited him greatly. The thought of it, to him, was arousing in a non-sexual way. It was an affirmation of sorts to his mental competence. As the bartender poured, he wondered who would be first to relinquish their life.

“Investments go well for you today?” the bartender asked as he slid the scotch across the bar.

Admiringly, the bartender looked over Ryan’s choice of attire. Light wool slacks, a pressed light blue shirt, and the trademark Patek Philippe watch he generally wore were a testament to his hard work. The watch alone, the bartender knew, would cost $15,000.

“I’ll let you know tomorrow, I suspect really well. Here’s to being dedicated to our work,” Ryan responded as he raised his glass.

Ryan thought of the four years he spent in college, and the seven years he spent in graduate school in Arizona. Obtaining a degree to be a Criminal Psychologist was not an easy task. Having a doctorate was an accomplishment in itself. The decision by the police force to declare him mentally incapable of holding the position of his dreams was inaccurate, inconsistent with his behavioral patterns, and a crushing blow to his feeling of self-worth.

As Ryan tipped the glass to his mouth the aroma caused him to salivate. His mouth continued watering as he began to take a sip of the scotch; the distinct odor reminded him of his father.
Like father, like son.
He had always despised that saying, and every time it came to mind, his jaw tightened. Sharply, he shook his head, clearing his mind of thoughts of his father. He pressed the glass to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of the single malt scotch.

“Well?” the bartender asked as Ryan lowered the glass from his mouth.

Although more than ten years his senior, the bartender admired Ryan’s character, his manners, and his consistency. Years of bartending had exposed him to all walks of life – a good percentage of which were alcoholics. Ryan’s one drink a night pattern was something the bartender wished that more people could adhere to. As Ryan smiled, the bartender waited for his response.

“Aaaahhh. To describe this as calming would be a grotesque understatement. One drink is equal to two weeks of vacation,” Ryan said as he placed the glass of scotch on the bar.

“I admire your taste, Ryan. Shit, you could drink whatever you wanted wherever you wanted to. Hell, you come in here to my little shit-hole and drink. Been coming in here for a little bit, too. New watch?” the bartender said as he admired the watch Ryan was wearing.

Ryan smiled a prideful smile and raised his left hand from the bar, extending it slowly under the watchful eye of the bartender. Since his denial of the position as a Criminal Psychologist he had been extremely fortunate with a few post sub-prime lending financial decisions, netting him hundreds of thousands of dollars profit. This earned profit was reinvested into stocks and other investments that performed equally as well. Ryan knew that his compulsive personality and intelligence made him a natural investor.

“As a matter of fact it is. Do you like it?” Ryan asked as he turned his wrist toward the light that dangled over the bar.

“Do I like it? Shit, you know I
love
watches. You have a weakness for money, I have a weakness for watches. That damn thing is gorgeous. Patek Philippe, huh?” Pete asked as he admired the watch.

“Good eye, Pete. Yes it’s a Patek. I got this one last week. Today is the first day I’ve worn it. I purchased it twenty-three days ago,” Ryan stated, recalling the day that he abducted Elena.

“Don’t struggle,” he had told her as she began to kick her legs.

She continued to kick and attempt to free herself from his grasp. He shifted his right forearm in front of her neck, gripped his left wrist, and rolled his shoulder into the base of her skull, forcing her neck into his forearm. The process took less than five seconds, and she was unconscious.

He placed her limp body into the trunk, frustrated that she didn’t listen. Things could have been so simple, but she chose to fight. The other girls all complied, but Elena was a fighter.

When he removed the handcuffs, she attempted to flee, requiring him to use the Tazer to subdue her. As he had placed her into the room, he imagined she would be the last of the four victims to forfeit her life. Shellie, by his calculations, would be first.

Dana should be second, as she would be persuaded by the two stronger women – Elena and Meghan. Determining which of the remaining two would be next was a more difficult decision. Elena was more of a fighter, but Meghan had determination. As he lifted his scotch to his lips, he thought of what they may be discussing.

For a person to willfully give up living would be difficult if not close to impossible. Naturally, a person will try to survive under any or all circumstances – it is human nature. People with extremely low self-esteem, however, can be persuaded by a much stronger person to do what would normally be out of range for them to do – if left to their own devices.

He had no doubts, based on Shellie’s test results, that she would be the first. By his best means of understanding, Dana would be second. After the first two were gone, the remaining two participants would certainly provide the most rewarding of revelations.

“So, you say you don’t know if you did good or bad today?” Pete asked as he wiped the water spots from one of the beer glasses.

Pete’s voice brought Ryan from his deep thoughtful state. The aroma from the scotch widened his eyes. He blinked and looked up at the bartender.

“I’m just not certain yet, Pete. I suspect tomorrow will be the beginning of some very rewarding days,” he nodded his head and finished the scotch in his glass.

“Got something big in the works?” Pete asked as he placed the now spotless beer glass on the shelf behind him.

“Huge,” Ryan responded as he stood.

“Fuck yes. That’s what I’m talking about. Self-made millionaire in no time, I know you will,” Pete smiled as he turned around to face Ryan.

“Leaving, bud?” Pete asked as he placed his bar towel in the front of his apron.

“Tomorrow’s going to be a big day, I need my sleep,” Ryan smiled as he removed a fifty dollar bill and placed it under his empty scotch glass.

“Change?” Pete asked politely as he looked at the bill under the glass, already knowing the answer.

“You know better, but thanks for asking. I’m certain I’ll see you tomorrow. Be well, Pete.”

“Tomorrow,” Pete waved as Ryan began walking toward the door.

As Ryan stepped to the door, he drew a deep slow breath, filling his lungs with stale aroma of the bar. The smell of the bar reminded him of his mother’s basement. The smell of his mother’s basement reminded him of his father. The thought of his father provided him all of the fuel, desire, and determination he needed to succeed.

He took another deep breath, exhaled, and opened the door.