Captives and Captors

by Jon Athan

  Julia asked, “What if she heard him? What if she calls the cops?”

  “She won't. I'll handle this.”

  Frank inhaled deeply as he rubbed his hands together, mentally preparing for the inevitable confrontation. He was a man of strategy, but he found he worked better on his feet. He didn't want to over-think the encounter. A simple conversation, he thought, that's all she wants.

  As he stood behind Sylvia, Frank asked, “What's going on out here?” Sylvia stepped aside, making room for the supreme commander. Upon spotting the young woman on the porch, Frank said, “I'm sorry, young lady, this is private property. We usually welcome guests with open arms around here, but we're busy–”

  “Grieving?” Robin interrupted.

  Frank scowled at Robin, flustered by the veiled insult. He said, “You should watch your mouth. We're going through a situation here. We're not seeking media attention or movie deals. We're not asking for donations or calling for volunteers. We're waiting for our daughter to come home. Please, leave us in peace and go about your day.”

  “I'm sorry. That was a bit nasty, wasn't it? I'm not trying to insult you or your family. No, I'm just here looking for Bruce. I know he's here. I'm not leaving until I see him.”

  Frank furrowed his brow and said, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  Robin sternly responded, “I know he's here. I've been through this with your little bait-and-switch girl here. You can drop the act 'cause I'm not buying it.”

  Frank glanced over at Sylvia with narrowed eyes. He went into the conversation blind and deaf, unaware of the details Sylvia might have leaked. Yet, it did not bother him. The vessel had gone astray, but the operation was still floating.

  Frank asked, “Who's this 'Bruce' fella to you? Hmm? What do you want from him?”

  Robin twirled her right foot on the ground, pondering her next excuse. Like Frank, she hurtled into the situation with little preparation. She worked well on the spot, but she enjoyed the adrenaline rush more. Being a cornered animal was horrifying in nature, but she found it exciting. As a bulb materialized above her dome, the visitor gazed at the homeowner with an impish smile.

  Robin explained, “I'm here for Bruce. He owes me money for a few 'favors' I performed for him. I'd rather not run my mouth about pillow talk, but I will if you think it's necessary. Otherwise, I'd really appreciate it if you could bring him out here so I can get paid.”

  Frank whispered, “Favors?” He asked, “Are you over 18, ma'am?”

  Robin smirked and said, “Jessica. Call me Jessica. 'Ma'am' is my mom's name.” She giggled, then she said, “And, of course I'm over 18. What kind of girl do you think I am? Or... what kind of man do you think Bruce is?”

  “I know where Bruce is, but he's busy. You understand? He's not going to be able to come to the door because he's not around. He's doing me a little 'favor.' How much does he owe you? I'll cover his tab and you can go about your business.”

  Robin stared at Frank with a deadpan expression, reading him like a book. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and shaking her head. She could see Frank's deception, she could sense his trickery. The man had Bruce and she wouldn't allow him to get off easy.

  Robin said, “$2,000.”

  Frank clenched his jaw, then he said, “Okay, okay. I'll write you a check and–”

  “No. I want cash. I get paid in cash. Your piece of paper is worth nothing to me. I mean, it's 2016, who the hell writes a check to pay off a debt? You don't hand your drug dealer a check, do you? You don't pay a prostitute with a credit card, do you? The answer is 'no,' by the way.”

  Frank nervously chuckled as he stared down at his boots. The woman was facetious, apathetic to the matter at hand. He wagged his index finger at Robin and nodded – wait one second. Robin returned the nod with a devious smirk.

  Frank approached his wife and said, “Listen, Julia. I need you to go to the bank with this young woman and buy some time. Take the card, withdraw as much as you can, offer her a drink... Buy some time. Okay?”

  Julia stuttered, “I–I don't think I can. What if–”

  “You can. Okay? You have to do this. I'm getting closer, sweetheart, I know it. I can find Katherine, I can bring her home. We just need a little more time. Please, do this for her. Do this for our baby.”

  Teary-eyed, Julia gave an uncertain nod. She agreed with Frank, but she couldn't trounce her fear. She would have to cope with it on the way. Julia grabbed her bag from the kitchen counter. She sniffled as she riffled through the interior of her bag and strolled towards the doorway.

  Following his wife to the porch, Frank said, “My wife will take you to the bank. She'll withdraw the money, then you can move on with your life. Sound good?”

  Robin pouted and glanced at the floor, pondering. She sighed, then she said, “Okay, but we're going to go in my car. I don't want you to try anything funny. I know you're going through something, but I really don't trust you.”

  Before Frank could counter the suggestion, Julia said, “That's fine. It's okay. Let's get going. I want to be back home as soon as possible in case my daughter returns.” As Robin walked off the porch, strutting with proud strides, Julia turned towards Frank and said, “Find her. I'll be fine, sweetie. Just find her. I love you.”

  Frank nodded and said, “I love you, too.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Interrogation IV

  Frank walked towards the anchored chair, contemplating the disappearance of his daughter and Robin's unexpected visit. The combination pricked at his fragile psyche. He rubbed his right hand, gently massaging his bruised knuckles. The torture he inflicted on his captive was taking a toll on him – physically and mentally.

  Frank stopped in front of Bruce. He asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

  Bruce huffed and shook his head, insulted by the simple question. Blood dripped from his lips, plunging towards Frank's boots. The man would have cooperated if the results would be different, but he knew Frank was hardheaded. Despite his attempts to help, he could not get through to him.

  Bruce said, “No.”

  Frank crouched, matching his prisoner's eye level. He examined the damage, running his eyes over Bruce's wounds. His face was swollen, bruised, and bloodied. His fingers and toes were sliced and smeared with his blood. His simple bar outfit was stained with sweat and blood. Yet, the man would not confess. He sat in a lethargic state, numb to the world.

  Frank licked his lips, then he said, “Okay. Let me show you something, Bruce. Let's have a man-to-man chat. No more pain, no more bullshit.”

  Bruce glanced up at Frank and said, “Untie me.”

  “No. I want you to listen to me first. I won't hurt you now, but I need your attention. I need leverage to keep your ears.”

  Frank dug into his pocket, then he retrieved his touchscreen cellphone. He showed the phone to Bruce, shaking the device in front of his eyes – it's just a phone. Flicking his finger up-and-down, he scrolled through his files. His eyes widened as he stumbled upon an image.

  On any other day, the image would be a simple memory. Under the horrible circumstances, the picture stood as a remnant of life and love. With a teardrop clinging to his eyelid, Frank held the phone to Bruce's face. Bruce sniffled and groaned as he gazed at the picture.

  The high-quality image depicted Frank, Julia, and Katherine at a park during a party. Other party-goers stood around a grill in the background, chattering and eating. Frank and Julia appeared happy, smiling with their arms wrapped around their daughter. Katherine, however, was the focal point of the photo.

  The young girl glowed like a star on a clear night. She was short and delicate – a gust of wind could knock her over. Her straight black hair protruded from beneath her white fedora hat. She wore a white dress down to her knees and white sandals. She smiled without showing her teeth and she clasped her hands behind her back. She was bashful, she was innocent.

  Frank said, “You recognize her, don't you? That's my b
aby girl, that's my Katherine. This... This picture is about a year old. It was at a barbecue last summer. I know it was summer because we always had a summer barbecue. She always loved them, too. Running around the park with her friends, playing on the swings, going down the slides, giggling like a child should. So beautiful... I suppose that doesn't matter to you, though. But, you–you recognize her, don't you? You've seen her before, right?”

  Bruce slowly nodded and said, “I might have seen her on TV.”

  “Come on, Bruce, don't act that way. You saw her before she was on TV, right? I mean, you spoke to her before her disappearance. You knew her before the TV reports. The proof is undeniable. You know, this girl, this innocent girl, she never hurt anyone. I know for a fact that she didn't hurt you. No, a child could never hurt you enough to deserve something like this.”

  “You're right, sir. She didn't hurt me. I didn't hurt her, either. You have the wrong man. I'm innocent.”

  Frank gripped the nape of Bruce's neck as he leaned closer. He said, “Katherine is innocent. She didn't do anything to deserve this. She's probably scared out there, waiting for us to rescue her. She's scared and alone, waiting for her dad and her mother to come get her. But, we're not coming... We're sitting here wasting our time. Please, Bruce, talk to me. Tell me something. I'm dying here.”

  Bruce did not respond. Frank sighed in utter disappointment as he returned the phone to his pocket. The guilt trip led him to failure. Words and images could not persuade the prisoner. To his dismay, reminiscing about his daughter only caused him more pain. Violence did not bring answers, but at least it offered an outlet for Frank's uncontrollable rage and frustration.

  Violence was the answer, violence solved everything.

  Frank wagged his index finger at Bruce and said, “I didn't want to keep going, Bruce. I don't want to be like this. I won't be able to explain myself to my daughter, but you're not giving me any options. You're not helping me or my sweet Katherine.”

  Bruce coughed, then he said, “You said you were going to let me leave. You said you'd untie me if I listened.”

  “If you told the truth about my daughter, I would untie you at this very second. I would not hesitate to let you go. I would drive you to the hospital, I would pay you restitution, then I'd turn myself in. But, you decided to keep your mouth shut. You already know what you get when you play games. It's going to hurt, boy.”

  Bruce tapped the ground with his feet, kicking like a student in need of a bathroom pass. With tears gushing from his eyes, he shouted, “Please! Please, don't do this! I don't know anything! I don't know anything about your daughter! Shit!”

  Frank shook his head and said, “Quiet down, boy. We're done with that.”

  ***

  Sorrowful sobs echoed through the room, filling the dungeon with melancholy. Croaky and weak, the pitiful cries were ineffective. Words could not convince Bruce to confess, so tears could not convince Frank to retreat.

  Frank said, “They're heading to your other apartment now. They're going to search every nook and cranny. If they don't find anything, I'm going to suspect the worst. When I suspect the worst... Well, you don't want that. You don't want me to imagine the worst possible scenario 'cause that would just make me angry. You understand?”

  Bruce furrowed his brow, blatantly baffled. He asked, “What are you talking about? 'Other apartment?' What the hell does that mean?”

  “Don't play stupid, Bruce. You know exactly what I'm talking about. The apartment you took that young high school girl to. The apartment where your ass was beaten by another father. You remember that, don't you? Or are you just such a sick bastard that you wipe that crap out of your mind and move on to the next one when you're done? Is that how you work? Is that why you can't tell me about my daughter? Huh? Did you forget about her?”

  Bruce nervously chuckled, then he responded, “There's been a misunderstanding. I... I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know anything about that apartment, I swear. You can check my keys, you can... I don't know, man, but you've got some wrong information. You're wrong about this and you know it.”

  Exhaling loudly through his nose, Frank rushed to the table on his left. He browsed through the tools on the table and on the wall. An assortment of home improvement instruments waited for Frank's inspection. Bruce squirmed on the chair – a last-second attempt at escaping. Unfortunately, he was already enfeebled by the torture.

  Frank returned with a slotted screwdriver in hand. He wagged the tool at Bruce and said, “Whatever that man did to you, it wasn't enough. That man didn't hurt you enough. I'm going to show you pain, I'm going to do much worse than him.”

  Bruce responded, “Please, please, please. Don't do this. I'm begging you. I'm innocent, sir.”

  Frank tapped the screwdriver on Bruce's forehead and said, “We're done playing this game. We're done repeating the same damn lines. 'I'm innocent.' It's bullshit.”

  “I–I'll tell you anything. Please.”

  “Where is Katherine? Is... Is she still alive?”

  Bruce's eyelids twitched as he grimaced. He responded, “I don't know.”

  Frank stepped in reverse, disappointed by the response. He couldn't tell if his prisoner was telling a lie to buy time or if he was confessing. He tightly gripped the black handle of the screwdriver, trembling as he glared at Bruce. He didn't want to proceed with the torture – the violence was taking a toll on his psyche – but he could not stop. The annual barbecue flashed in his mind.

  He remembered watching his daughter caper about in the sandbox, playing and chattering with her friends. He thought about her favorite food at the barbecue – plain burgers with ketchup. The memories were sweet. Contemplating the future was debilitating, though. Burgers with ketchup would make him sob. A father without a child was like a man without a purpose.

  Frank said, “I told you about the fingertips and forehead. You remember? Those are the most painful parts of the human body. The lips, the teeth, the testicles... Yeah, you get the gist. The body has plenty of vulnerable areas, but the mind can only endure so much pain. We're going to see just how much pain you can endure, Bruce. I'm going to make you crack.”

  As Frank approached, Bruce frantically wiggled and shouted, “No! No! Please!”

  Disregarding the shrill pleas, Frank pushed Bruce's head back at the forehead. He avoided all eye contact, focusing solely on his target – Bruce's right ear. He slowly shoved the screwdriver into his ear canal. As the blade stopped, he placed more pressure on the handle. With each millimeter of penetration, Frank jiggled and twisted the tool, drilling into his ear and amplifying the pain.

  Bruce helplessly cried, bellowing from the insufferable agony. Over the sharp twinge, his ear felt clogged and moist. The ruckus became muffled in his right ear. He was deafened by the stabbing. Blood oozed from the ear canal. The blood streamed down his cheek and throat, coursing from his earlobe to his shoulder.

  Frank yanked the screwdriver from Bruce's ear and tossed it on the floor. He dug his hands into his damp hair as he stepped back and witnessed the madness. He listened to the weeping, absorbing the agony he had orchestrated. He watched as Bruce shuddered and twitched.

  Breathing heavily, Frank said, “I won't do the other ear, Bruce. It's not because I'm weak. Don't you dare believe that. It's because I need you to listen. I need you to listen and I need you to talk. So, talk to me.” Bruce tightly shut his eyes and sniveled. Frank shouted, “Tell me something, you stubborn bastard! Talk to me!”

  Bruce did not respond. Frank marched away, stomping with ferocious strides. He glanced at his arsenal of torture tools, then he grabbed a claw hammer from the table. Bruce refused to acknowledge his captor. He refused to open his eyes.

  Frank demanded, “Open your mouth and look at me.” Bruce shook his head and clenched his jaw. Frustrated by the refusal, Frank barked, “Look at me!”

  Bruce refused the order. Frank shoved Bruce's head back, then he forced his mouth open. With the adrenaline pum
ping through his veins, the man's strength and endurance were amplified tenfold. Before Bruce could chomp and chew on his fingers, Frank shoved the steel hammer into his mouth.

  With the claw settled on a canine, Frank pulled the hammer back. The sound of the captive's gums ripping and his tooth cracking reverberated over Bruce's cries. With a final tug, the tooth was yanked out of Bruce's mouth. The tooth clicked and clanked on the concrete floor.

  As he spat out blood, sputtering like a decrepit car engine, Bruce stuttered, “Pl–Please...”

  Without another word, Frank seized the opportunity and jammed the hammer's head into Bruce's mouth. His loose lips and helpless pleas only caused him more pain. Frank gripped the neighboring tooth with the claw, then he tugged back with all of his might. He held his breath and leveraged all of his weight away from the anchored chair. The tooth was ripped from Bruce's bloodied gums, plucked like a dandelion.

  As he dropped the hammer and caught his breath, Frank said, “I won't... I won't be cutting your tongue out. If I don't get my daughter back, I might cut it out, but I'll give you another chance. You understand me, don't you? You understand what I'm doing, right? No, I won't cut out your tongue. I need to know about my daughter, I need you to talk to me, but you don't have to see me. At least, you don't need two eyes to see me...”

  Bruce surrendered to Frank. He slumped his head back against the wall and smirked. The pain rattled his psyche, sending him into a delirious state. He vehemently denied the scathing accusations, but he knew he could not win. He had better chances in a North Korean court than in Frank's basement. The captive decided to welcome the abuse with open arms.

  With his middle knuckle protruded forward, Frank jabbed at Bruce's right eye. He aimed directly at the soft eyeball, striking with brutish force. Bruce grunted and groaned with each hit, convulsing on the chair. After ten consecutive hits, Frank was sure he had crushed the eyeball in the socket. His eyelids were bloodied and mushy.