The Devil's Whisper

by T. H. Moore

  Charles remained silent as the warden stood and crossed the room to a collection of batons, chains, brass knuckles, and whips displayed on a metal table. He caressed the weapons one by one.

  “I didn’t kill your savage,” Charles said. “I would have, but someone beat me to it. If it had been me, you would’ve woken to his head mounted on a stake outside your headquarters.”

  The warden selected a spiked rod from the table and nodded at the sergeant guarding Charles. The sergeant took out his keys and removed all of Charles’s restraints except the handcuffs.

  “You’re turning out to be even more trouble than I anticipated,” the warden said. He twirled the weapon, turned, and placed it back on the table.

  Charles took the opportunity to elbow the sergeant in the throat. The sergeant doubled over, and Charles delivered a snapping kick to the side of the sergeant’s knee crippling him, one knee on the floor. Charles grabbed two handfuls of the toppled sergeant’s greasy hair and drove his knee with enough force to push the bridge of the sergeant’s nose into his frontal lobe.

  A swarm of officers tackled Charles and started hitting him. The sergeant lay motionless on the floor.

  “Sarge!” A junior officer broke away from the beating and rushed to the side of his colleague. “He fucking killed him!” the officer yelled out.

  This ignited a blood lust from the remaining correctional officers, who took to beating Charles with a rejuvenated flurry of fists, boots, Taser wands, and nightsticks. The first to lose wind retreated from the beating to drag the dead sergeant away from the scene while the others continued to beat Charles until they were breathing hard and sweating.

  Charles remained in the fetal position for several minutes before he was able to unfold himself. Shaking on the floor and in a state of delirious agony, he lay spread-eagle with his back against the cold floor and his eyes focused on the ceiling, a bright smile shining towards the heavens.

  “I didn’t mean to kill him,” Charles mumbled through split lips. “That was just plain good luck.”

  A quiet came over the men. Charles rolled over onto his side and grinned at the warden. Johnston’s face was blood red with rage.

  “In the twenty-one years I’ve been warden of this prison,” the warden said, his voice strung with tension, “I’ve never lost a correctional officer. In the last forty-eight hours, you’ve killed two people you didn’t have authority to. You remind me of the misguided Ugandan Idi Amin Dada. He once curled up here in the middle of my floor, just like you. He, just like you, thought he could challenge my authority. So I had him extracted from K-City just like you were this morning. I ordered my men to strip him naked and suspend him by the wrists outside the prison walls, twenty feet above the ground, and that’s where I left him.” A smile of pride crossed the warden’s face. “It took a few hours under the sun before the insects started in on his sweaty body. Then the buzzards came. He agonized for days before he died.”

  The warden went on to brag about his management of Arnfinn Nesset, the most prolific serial killer in Scandinavian history. His crimes remained unsolved until his desire for recognition inspired him to feed clues about his murderous habits to reporters. An ego that large didn’t fit on the warden’s island.

  The warden rolled his eyes. “To give him the audience he desired so badly, I placed him in one of the few solitary confinement rooms we have in our command center. We strapped him to an apparatus that released single drops of water onto his forehead, over and over again. Drip, drip, drip. A drop every seven seconds without fail. We put him under twenty-four-hour surveillance cameras and transmitted the signal to a large television screen with audio so K-City could witness his final performance.” The warden was smiling, lost in reverie. “Initially he laughed at our—oh, what did he call it?—yes, our, ‘weak attempt to teach him a lesson.’ The water continued, little drop after little drop. Soon the laughter stopped. Then exhaustion set in after he made so many futile attempts to free himself from his restraints. His exhaustion was replaced by rants, curses, and the screams of a madman, all from tiny little drops of nature’s most precious resource. It took twenty-six hours to break him. The next morning, when we released him back into K-City, his mind was so gone that he died of dehydration three days later, too impaired to remember to drink.” The warden chuckled.

  Charles rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling lights. He felt vulnerable, lying open to the heavens. He would accept his torture, but how could he protect Elaina?

  “These are kiddie games compared to what I have planned for you.”

  The warden gestured to the guard nearest Elaina. He lifted her from her chair. Her face remained expressionless. She avoided eye contact with Charles. Another guard stepped to her side and awaited orders.

  “Take her to the showers and get her cleaned up. You have thirty minutes to do what you want with her. Two of you will remain with me to tend to this prisoner.”

  “I’ll stay, sir,” a younger, keen officer volunteered.

  “Hamilton has the least seniority,” another officer declared. “He should keep Jordy company.”

  The singled-out officer stepped away from Elaina and said nothing. The others pushed Elaina into the next room and shut the door. Her protests carried through the walls.

  “What are you doing? No! Stop it!” Elaina shouted. More screams and the sounds of clothes tearing and beating came from the room.

  “Leave something for us!” Officer Hamilton shouted. He elbowed Officer Jordy, who stepped out of Hamilton’s reach.

  “What the fuck, Jordy? You like little kids like this sick fuck right here?” Hamilton kicked Charles in the chest.

  “Or is it that you don’t approve of my decision regarding that female inmate?” the warden asked.

  “It’s not my place to question, sir,” Jordy said. “My place is to follow orders.”

  In the other room, Elaina screamed.

  Charles sighed. “I’m going to enjoy killing all of you.”

  Hamilton pulled a wand from his belt and shocked Charles until he lost consciousness.

  Chapter 15

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, SIX HEAVILY armed guards sandwiched Charles and Elaina on a small prison bus. Elaina hadn’t said a word during the day-long travel, and Charles left her to her thoughts. Unlike the blackened glass on the bus that had brought them into K-City, the windows on this bus were clear. The freedom to watch dust, rock, and sky seemed an ominous gift.

  Charles had accepted long ago that he was something of a control freak. He saw it as a strength, not a weakness. He had made a career, despite its deprave nature, out of being sure of his every step, knowing how to react to each moment. But now he rued how he couldn’t be sure of anything, and had no idea about what fate awaited him. His stomach churned, not from hunger, but from regret. He had lost control, something he hadn’t allowed to happen since he was a child.

  He ground his teeth in frustration. How could he, the mastermind behind the most powerful criminal organization in the world, not know whether he would survive the next few days? He had mastered how to control and manipulate masses of people for his benefit. He had gone to great lengths to secure insurance policies and plan contingencies to optimize his likelihood of survival. He had orchestrated the kidnapping of the governor’s son to ensure his safety. All the stakeholders responsible for his capture and prosecution were aware that if anything happened to him, the boy would suffer the consequences of his wrath.

  But none of his planning and strategizing seemed to have the slightest impact on what was happening to him. For the first time in his life, he had lost control of the situation.

  Charles looked into his lap, roiling with anger. Had Duenno betrayed him? Or maybe the governor had given up hope and written off his son as dead. As smart as Charles had become, he couldn’t make sense of his situation. All he knew in this moment while speeding through the outb
ack on this bus was that his destiny would be determined once they arrived at wherever they were headed.

  “Over there, see that tree?” Officer Jordy said. “Pull up to it.” New sergeant stripes gleamed bright and stiff on the sleeve of his uniform. “If we hustle, we can get back before lunch.”

  Will Elaina and I be dead by then? Charles wondered. Dead before lunch?

  The remaining five officers stood ready to go through the cage door that separated them from the prisoners. Jordy held up his hand for them to pause. He opened the control panel in the dashboard of the bus, set the dial to maximum, and flipped the switch that sent electric shocks to Charles and Elaina, who had been docile and quiet the entire ride. Their bodies stiffened and shuddered with the high voltage.

  The group of officers looked back at their sergeant, but said nothing.

  “Am I the only one who remembers how easily he killed Sergeant Williams?” Jordy said. “Would any of you like to take the chance of having the warden call your family with some bullshit story of how you had an accident and fell down the tower steps?”

  As the men shrugged in agreement, he continued to hold the switch another moment before flipping it off. The two prisoners slumped over in the back.

  “That’ll soften them up.” Jordy nodded, and the other officers unlocked the door and went in. Sergeant Jordy pressed the button that unlocked the shackles that kept them chained to the floor of the bus. “Hurry up,” he ordered.

  Four officers each grabbed an arm while the last one remained behind them to cover the rear. The prisoners were too weak to walk on their own. The guards dragged both prisoners through the aisle of the bus, out the door, and onto the smoldering ground of Katingal’s outback. The sergeant exited carrying a twelve-gauge shotgun and a black duffle bag whose contents clanked with each step.

  Officer Hamilton reached for keys on his belt that would unlock the prisoners’ wrist-, waist-, and ankle-shackles. As he approached Charles’s slumped figure from behind, he noticed that Charles was watching him from the corner of his eye. Hamilton stopped dead in his tracks.

  “He’s up to something!” he shouted in a panic.

  Two officers stepped in instantly to restrain Charles and Elaina, taking them both facedown to the ground.

  “What’s the problem?” Sergeant Jordy questioned, his shotgun pointed at Charles.

  “He was playing possum, Jordy—I mean, Sarge,” Hamilton said, his broad face quivering. “I saw him eyeing my keys. He was going to make a move.”

  “Make a move? We’re armed to the teeth. How could he make a move?” The sergeant shook his head at Hamilton. “You’re a real pussy, Hamilton. Now, remove their chains.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hamilton approached Elaina, still face down on the ground, to unlock her shackles first. He placed his knee into her back and took his time, making sure his hands grazed every part of her body.

  “He’s right. You are a pussy.” Elaina shouted.

  The other officers began to laugh.

  “Aww, what’s the matter, Hamilton?” one of them said. “You still disappointed you didn’t get your turn?” He minced around, gyrating his pelvis at the large man.

  “Fuck you and your seniority,” Hamilton whined before leaving Elaina and moving on to unlock Charles. “I didn’t want your sloppy seconds, anyway. No telling what diseases I might’ve picked up.”

  “On your feet, both of you,” the sergeant ordered. “Prison uniforms off.”

  “The next man who touches me dies.” Elaina looked up, her expression bitter.

  The sergeant blasted a load of pellets over their heads from his shotgun. Both inmates crouched and covered their ears.

  “Shut your mouth,” he barked. “No one here wants your diseased twat. Uniforms off.” He kept his gun pointed at them.

  Charles underwent the difficult process of removing his clothes, his body screaming in pain at every movement. Elaina followed suit until they both stood in front of the officers in their underclothes.

  The sergeant gestured with the shotgun. “See that big tree over there? Let’s go.”

  With Charles and Elaina staggering over the hot, uneven terrain in their bare feet, the group made its way to the tree the sergeant had indicated. In the shade, the sergeant placed his shotgun on the ground while the other officers maintained their aim. From his duffle bag, he dumped out a length of rope, some twelve-inch camping spikes, two hammers, and a large container with a twist-off cap.

  “Lay on your backs,” the sergeant ordered.

  Though the hot, uneven ground burned their exposed skin, they complied.

  “Get the rope and tie their hands and feet how the warden instructed,” the sergeant ordered.

  While the other officers advanced with their weapons fixed on the two prisoners, poised to shoot, two of them holstered their weapons, forced the prisoners to spread their arms out, and tied them up. After knotting the rope around the inmate’s ankles and leaving two feet of slack, they tied the rest to a spike, which they drove into the ground until the head disappeared into the red earth. They then did the same to their wrists.

  Charles saw buzzards already circling overhead, dark shadows against the brilliant blue sky.

  The sergeant tossed the large bottle at one of the officers. “Spread half the bottle on each prisoner,” he commanded. “The warden wants every inch of skin covered.” He walked around Charles and knelt at each spike. He pulled at the center of the ropes, testing their tension.

  Despite the glare of the unforgiving sun, Charles saw how eager Officer Hamilton was to apply the lotion to Elaina’s exposed skin.

  “Look at Hamilton getting off rubbing on the Brazilian,” one of the others teased.

  “Please, Sergeant,” Elaina said. “Don’t leave me here.”

  “Open your mouth,” the sergeant instructed. He barked at his officers, and one of them tossed him a twenty-ounce bottle of water. He twisted off the cap and poured water into her mouth until it was full. She swallowed and opened her mouth for another. Charles watched the sergeant until he noticed. He stood, stepped over Elaina, and crouched down next to Charles’s head and wiggled the bottle.

  “I can’t free you,” he explained, gesturing with the bottle. “But if you tell me where the governor’s son is, I can promise you a quick death instead of the death you’ll face from whatever’s out here in the wasteland.”

  “Either way I’ll be dead,” Charles said. “So what the fuck do I care if the little boy dies from a bullet to the head or my comrades auction him off to be ass-raped until he’s old enough to realize he’d rather slit his own wrists than have another train of men push his colon into his throat?”

  The sergeant raised the water bottle to his own mouth, drank the rest of its contents, and belched. “And here, for a moment, I toyed with the idea of treating you like a human. But you’ve proven unworthy. So, fuck you, too. Enjoy the shade while it lasts. Eventually the earth will rotate out of your favor, and the sun will cook you. With the evening comes the chill. By then, you’ll pray the cold finishes you. Hypothermia is a much better death than dehydration or heatstroke.”

  “Sarge, what about their uniforms and shackles?” Officer Hamilton asked, glancing back for one more look at Elaina.

  The dirty clothes were tangled up with the handcuffs, chains, and shackles in a pile.

  “Leave them here in case they get cold.” The sergeant chuckled as he walked away. The rest fell in line.

  When Charles twisted his neck to look, the correctional officers were already climbing into the small prison bus. They were chatting among themselves, obviously pleased with the job well done. None of them looked back.

  Chapter 16

  AS SOON AS THE BUS was out of sight, Elaina and Charles started testing their restraints. Minutes became hours, and the struggle left them exhausted, panicked, and raw from
rubbing against the coarse ropes. Overhead, the buzzards wheeled patiently.

  “I’d actually thought myself lucky when you rescued me from Kristoff’s bedroom,” Elaina said, her voice thick with angry tears. “Now I’m not so sure.”

  “I can understand your doubt,” Charles said, “but it’s still a bit early to give up hope.”

  “Hope?” she spat. “Hope has no place here!”

  “Those buzzards above will not feast on me,” Charles snapped, squinting into the sky. “Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.” He tried again to tug his wrist sideways through the rope.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? God?”

  “Good, go ahead,” Charles replied in a simpering voice. “Maybe a little tantrum will make the pampered princess feel better.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Nobody is coming to save us,” Charles said. “Get used to the idea. We have to save ourselves.”

  “Listen here, pedophile,” Elaina said. “There’s no ‘we’ here. You deserved what Kristoff did to you. All the families you destroyed? I pray you die before me so I can get some satisfaction before I leave this world.” She turned her head away and shut her eyes.