Karma

by Maximino Vega

  Tom carefully set the fish in the skillet when the oil was hot. The fish sizzled from mouth to tail.

  ****

  An hour had passed since Tom finished his dinner. He sat in the small living room of the cabin drinking his third bottle of Coors Light. Nothing remained of the fish. Tom had fried it perfectly. He devoured every last bit of the flesh along with some of the head and tail that had been fried to a crisp.

  Tom drank the last of the Coors Light in one swig before he set the empty bottle on the coffee table. He sat back in the plush leather of the couch and closed his eyes. In just a few seconds Tom fell into a food induced slumber.

  ****

  Tom was asleep when the old mustard colored phone rang. It hung on the wall next to the fridge. Tom took his time opening his eyes thinking perhaps he was dreaming. Tom sat up from his reclined position as the phone continued to ring. He knew the phone had been disconnected years ago. His mother had forced his father to have it installed when Tom started accompanying his father to the cabin. The only way his mother could be sure her son was okay was to talk to him every day. Tom’s mother was a city girl. As far as Tom could remember, Ellie made the trip to the cabin once and only for a few days.

  Tom looked down at the coffee table that doubled as the dining table. All that remained of his dinner were empty plates and beer bottles.

  Tom scanned the inside of the cabin before he slowly stood up and walked to the kitchen. The phone continued to ring as he got closer. Tom stopped in front of the old phone; the sound of the bell louder as he stared at it. He knew it wasn’t his cellphone ringing, but, he went into his pocket anyway. The small screen on his flip phone was black from being in sleep mode. Tom put his phone away and picked up the old push button phone.

  “Hello?”

  “I hope you enjoyed your catch. I must say, it was a decent sized fish.”

  “Who is this?” Tom asked as he looked around.

  “I suggest you have a look at your basement.”

  “Basement? I don't have a basement.” Tom spoke with the assurance of knowing every inch of his cabin.

  “Look under the rug in the middle of the room.” The line went dead.

  Tom hung up the phone as he honed in on the coffee table. It was a thin wooden table that stood on four legs. It was light; easy to move.

  Tom’s heart dropped as he realized the caller knew the layout of the cabin and its contents. He was specific about the rug in the middle of the living room. There were two more. One in the bedroom and another in the bathroom.

  Tom walked over to where he had just a moment ago enjoyed the freshly caught Largemouth Bass. He looked at the rug with its brown, yellow and orange colors. He used his foot to step on the rug at different spots; trying to feel if the floor would give. He was looking for proof that there was some kind of trapdoor. He decided there was no trapdoor.

  Tom was about to sit down when he remembered Gunther’s words, ‘never take a coworkers word on anything, always check for yourself.’

  For some reason those words always stuck with him. Gunther was his supervisor when he worked in the Steward Department at The Metropolitan Museum of Art during his college days.

  Tom decided to have a better look. He easily lifted the table and placed it by the canoe. Tom was careful not to knock over any of the empty beer bottles.

  He looked at the rug with its mixed autumn colors and wondered if this was going to be something akin to Pandora's Box. He stopped wondering and bent at the waist.

  He grabbed a corner of the rug and waited a moment. Somehow he felt like he was going to find exactly what he didn't want to find. Tom held on to the corner of the rug as he thought about how everything had been perfect until the phone call.

  Tom pulled the rug up and away; flinging it to the side. The rug fell in a heap; leaving a cloud of dust. The sight of the trapdoor made Tom feel like his limbs were made of liquid rather than flesh and bone.

  Tom stared at the trapdoor. The cast iron handle had the space around the wood cut out to accommodate the ring without making a bulge. The wood that made up the trapdoor was new; it looked out of place alongside the older redwood floor; the wood of the trapdoor had been left raw. The trapdoor was built with the width of an average person.

  Tom took his time lifting the door. He jumped back as a faint glow of light came on in the space below, revealing cement steps. The cement looked and smelled new. Tom let the trapdoor fall all the way open.

  “Fuck me.” Tom put his hands on his head.

  This was the familiar odor he couldn’t put his finger on when he first arrived at the cabin.

  Tom leaned over to have a better look at the stairs. It was a spiral staircase that went left after about five steps. Dumbfounded by what he was looking at, Tom didn’t notice the stench of urine and feces, at least not right away, the smell creeped up on him.

  Tom put his hand over his mouth and nose. He took a step back and smoothed back his hair. He had seen enough horror films to know this was bad. Tom took a look around trying to figure out what was going on.

  He walked to one of the windows alongside the entrance door to see if he could see something outside that could give him a clue. Night had fallen with nothing to see except for the outline of the natural world as illuminated by the light of the Moon.

  He went back to the top of the trapdoor entrance and looked at the stairs; knowing he had to take the walk to wherever they led.

  Tom took to the stairs one step at a time. The smell of human waste getting stronger the farther down he went. He didn't know what to expect. He had no idea what he would find in the basement except that it would be human; judging by the smell.

  Tom took the bend in the staircase taking a moment to look at the dimly lit space at the bottom. He walked to the landing and studied the cement room. He figured the square space measured 12x12. The low watt bare bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling cast the edges of the room in shadow.

  Tom snapped his head to the left upon hearing the rattle of metal followed by whimpering.

  Tom walked forward in a crouch. Even with the low light he could see the familiar glow of a pair of Nike sneakers in orange and green.

  “It can’t be.” Tom whispered to himself. His eyes adjusted to the semidarkness as the faces of Megan and Ian became visible.

  Tom rushed to their side. He slumped to his knees so he could be at eye level with them. They had been chained low on the wall, forcing them to sit on the cement floor. Tom made a futile attempt of pulling at the chains around their wrists. He looked at their faces streaked with dirt, no doubt from the tears they had cried. The smell coming from their bodies was indicative of not having bathed in several days. Tom wondered how long they’d been down here.

  About a foot from where they sat chained to the wall there was a white bucket. Tom didn’t bother looking inside. He knew what it contained by the smell; it was stronger now.

  Tom looked behind him as the phone started ringing again.

  “I'll be right back.” Tom turned back to his family. “I'm going to get my axe to set you guys free.”

  Megan cried out, her voice muffled by the duct tape covering her mouth.

  Megan turned her head to her left then back at Tom and to the left again. Her eyes pleading that he understand what she was trying to tell him as she mumbled.

  Tom followed her eyes to the other corner of the space. It was dark enough that he couldn’t see what Megan was trying to show him. Tom wondered who else could be in the concrete space. Tom took his time walking to the darkened corner.

  A woman shot forward, her face straining with the effort of pulling on the chains that held her to the wall. Tom flinched as he brought his hands up to his face to protect himself.

  “Help me.” The woman cried out. It was like the wail of an animal caught in a metal trap. The woman’s long hair was matted and dirty from months without washing. Noticing her teeth as she cried out, Tom saw they were caked with plaque. The woman wore cut o
ff shorts that had long ago gone black with grime. The tank top she wore hung on her torso just as it would on a clothes hanger. Her body looked void of flesh; as if only the skin of her body covered her bones. Tom could easily make out her skeletal frame.

  The woman tired of pulling on the chains. Her body hung forward. She was hardly able to keep her head up as she looked Tom in the eyes.

  The delicate state of the woman didn’t allow Tom to recognize her right away. It took him a moment to realize who he was looking at.

  “Sheila?” Tom croaked. His mouth had gone dry.

  Sheila started wailing. The sound that came from her was haunting. Tom’s flesh broke out in goosebumps.

  Tom turned to look at Megan. Not only did her eyes show fear, but, reproach.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll make this right.” Tom couldn’t help speak in his defense. He’d exhausted his tolerance when it came to Megan’s repeated references of what he had done to her, their marriage and their lives.

  Tom turned away from Megan and ran up the concrete stairs. Now was the time to make things right. Saving his family was his chance at redemption.

  The thought didn’t occur to Tom that the person who had chained his family to the wall could still be around. Tom stopped at the entrance door. The phone was still ringing. He thought it had to be the same person who told him about the basement.

  Tom walked over to the phone; roughly picking up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Do I have your attention, now?” It was the voice from before.

  “Who the hell is this?” Tom looked around the cabin. The bathroom door was open and the curtain to the bedroom was drawn.

  “You should open the entrance door now.” The line went dead.

  Tom turned fast as he looked toward the entrance door. He thought things couldn't get any worse.

  Tom hung up the phone and walked over to the door. He put his hand on the door knob and held it for a moment. He turned the knob as slow as possible before opening the door fast and hard. As soon as the door cleared his body a gloved fist came at his face. His boxing training took over as he tried to evade the punch, but, his attacker’s fist still caught him flush. The blow was hard enough to snap his head back and drop him on his ass.

  Tom sprung to his feet keeping his legs bent with his hands up guarding his face and ribs. He was ready for a fight. He didn't move as he found himself staring at a revolver the size like nothing he'd ever seen.

  “In case you don’t know, this is the Ruger Redhawk Alaskan. You don't want to get shot by this bad boy. I suggest you have a seat on one of your couches over there.”

  Tom kept to his stance even though he couldn’t see his attacker who was dressed in black. He was wearing a black cap and black shades despite the fact that it was dark outside. Tom looked at the man’s beard, it was bushy and unkempt. He was at least 6’2 with caramel colored skin.

  The stranger cocked back the hammer on the revolver. It was so massive it looked cartoonish.

  Tom stood to his full height and back pedaled to the nearest couch. He moved slow as he sat down. Tom wanted to keep his eyes on the unwelcome visitor, but, the couch faced the bedroom. Tom didn’t dare look back. He was sure getting smacked over the head with the massive gun was next. He tried to prepare himself for the assault.

  Tom flinched when the door to the cabin slammed shut. He heard the shuffle of the man’s shoes on the wooden floor before all went quiet.

  He could feel the man standing behind him. Tom started to turn his head around.

  “Keep looking forward. I’ll tell you what to do from here on in.”

  The man put the cold tip of the gun against Tom’s head.

  “If you don’t do as I say you’ll suffer pain like you’ve never suffered before. Nod you’re head to show you understand.”

  Tom nodded his head slow. Tom had to work hard to stifle the anger that was brewing inside.

  The man walked around the couch on the far side away from Tom. He looked at Tom as he did. Knowing that Tom could fight, he wanted to keep him in his field of vision and at a safe distance.

  Tom watched the mystery man. He moved his lean frame with an ease that was apparent in all of his limbs. It was obvious that he could take care of himself, gun or no gun.

  Tom tried to look at him as neutral as possible. He didn’t want the man to figure out he was already thinking about how to escape.

  The dark man sat down across from him on the other loveseat. He took off the dark shades with one hand and put them on the inside of the light jacket he was wearing. The man bore into Tom with his dark eyes.

  Tom watched the stranger look at the trapdoor with approval in his eyes.

  “It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you’re determined. Having money helps too.” The dark man smiled as he looked up at Tom.

  Tom wasn’t concerned with how or when the basement with the trapdoor access was built. He was worried about his family. Tom wanted to get them out.

  The trapdoor was open in front of them. The smell of feces and urine that came from the improvised basement filled the air.

  The man took in a deep breath before he let it out with a smile. “You smell that?”

  “I smell it.” Tom answered. “It stinks, yet, you seem to like it.”

  “What man doesn’t enjoy his handy work? I know I do. What I’ve done is poetry.”

  “I wouldn’t call it poetry.” Tom said.

  “Don’t think about it with your grade school teacher mind.”

  Tom couldn’t hide his surprise. “You know about me, but, I don’t know about you, how about we get to know each other.”

  Tom tried to smile. He gave it up when one corner of his mouth started to tremble. He didn’t want to come off as a phony.

  “Okay.” The dark man said. “I’ll go first. Your name is Tom Devlin, father of one good looking kid. The one chained to the wall down in the basement and soon to be dead.”

  “You motherfucker.” Tom shot up to his feet.

  “Sit down.” The man pointed the Redhawk at Tom. “You and your family are mine to do with as I please.”

  Despite the anger he felt, Tom sat down, allowing his body to sink into the broken in leather of the couch.

  “Where was I? Oh right, your name is Tom Devlin and you’re a decent boxer, although, trying to fight your way out is not in your best interest.” The man pointed the big, almost comical looking gun at Tom. “I’d just blow a big hole in your chest. Continuing; you teach English to sixth graders, although, it’s now known as English Language Arts. You seem to like your job, that is, you don’t miss any days…”

  “What’s your name?” Tom interrupted.

  Taking his time to answer, the dark man lifted one corner of his mouth in a smirk.

  “I’m Karma.”

  “Karma?” Tom looked sideways at the man. Judging from your accent I’d place you somewhere in the Caribbean.

  “You have a good ear. I’m Karma, as in what you do will come back to you, the good as well as the bad.” The man looked at Tom with anger in his eyes.

  Tom didn’t know what to make of the man’s words.

  “My real name is Concepcion. Do you know what that means?”

  “I believe it means conception?” Even though, he was right Tom wasn’t confident in his answer.

  “That’s right, the beginning. Today, right now, is the beginning of my redemption, making right your wrong against me. So for the duration of our brief interaction you can call me Karma.”

  “I’ve never seen you before today. How can you say I’ve wronged you?” Tom asked.

  “You’re seeing me for the first time, but, we’re well acquainted you and I. You see, we were taking the same woman to bed. Only difference is that I had true feelings for her and you didn’t. She was pregnant before she slept with you. The child was mine, but, I was a poor illegal immigrant working 16 hour shifts in a warehouse in Brooklyn. My future didn’t look very bright. Sh
e didn’t think about that when she decided to have a relationship with me – the tall, dark and exotic man from the Caribbean.” Karma laughed. “I was in love. I fell for her hard. Maybe there was a little of my own agenda in the mix; thinking Sheila would help me get naturalized in this country. Life in the states is not all roses when you’re an illegal, but, I would’ve done anything for her. I truly loved her.” Karma paused at his last words.

  Tom was learning the hard way that a cheater needed to have boundaries. Protocols so to speak. Who, when, and where all mattered. Tom had broken all the rules by choosing to take Sheila to bed. The one time affair had cost him his family and now it was coming for his life.

  Karma picked up where he left off. “Sheila wouldn’t allow me to be a father to my child. She got it into her head that picking you as the father was the better choice. Only you didn’t want another child, especially while still being married. Imagine telling your wife you would again be a father and the mother of the child was your wife’s younger sister. Sheila didn’t count on your ruthlessness. She kept up the lie that the baby she carried was yours even as she drank the abortion pill you paid for. The one you made her drink while you watched.”

  Tom tensed his body before he spoke. “How do you know the child was yours?”

  “She was pregnant before she fucked you, Tom. I was with her when she did the home pregnancy test. I bought the damned kit myself.”

  The fear that Tom felt was like nothing he ever experienced as Karma pointed the gun at him. All Tom could focus on was the black hole of the Redhawk.

  Karma rested the gun on his lap. “I was willing to work my fingers to the bone to care for my child. However, I wasn’t good enough for that in Sheila’s eyes.”

  Tom noticed the glaze that came over Karma’s eyes. He thought he could use this.

  “I know how you feel.” Tom said.

  “You do?” Karma seemed surprised.

  “I mean, I would do anything for my child.” Tom put a hand on his chest.

  “So you understand that you must pay for what you did to me.” Karma pointed the Redhawk at Tom.

  “I would do anything for my son, but, he’s alive.” Tom said the last words with trepidation.