by Gilmore, RM
“My body hurts like I’ve been run over,” I whispered. Not sure why. Whispering just seemed like the safest mode of communication. “I’ve got to try and roll over or something; my arm is dead.”
I felt like a turtle for the second time in one evening. Slowly, I shifted my legs around in the dirt, trying to turn onto my back. My one good arm pushed against the dirt, imbedding sand into my palm. After a few panicked moments, I was on my back. The diagnosis was much more grim than originally perceived. My arm, the one I could hardly feel for the pins and needles, wasn’t asleep; it appeared to be out of socket. The numbness from lying on it for God knew how long saved me from the pain that was now trickling up my fingertips and into my elbow.
“Umm, well, shit,” I murmured under my breath.
“What?” Mike asked, less reassuring and more rattled.
“I think I hurt my arm.” Think was an understatement. I knew my arm was hurt. I just didn’t know how badly.
“How?” He’d calmed himself it seemed. His voice had returned to its cop-like state.
“I don’t know, Mike. I was fucking unconscious.” My reply was rude and uncalled for, but my patience for stupid questions was verging on homicidal.
“No, I meant how is it hurt? Like a cut or something?”
“Umm…no. I think it’s been knocked out of its socket.” The pain that began in my fingertips made its way to my shoulder and panged through my chest.
“Fuck,” he whispered, but the stillness that surrounded us allowed me to hear it clearly. “Can you move your fingers?”
My finger wiggled without protest but the tendons high up in my bicep weren’t happy.
“Flying cock balls.” I gritted my teeth; my face contorted with pain. “Yes, but it hurts just a tiny bit.” Sarcasm to the bitter end. “It was numb from me lying on it, but the feeling is coming back, and it’s not a happy warm Christmas morning sort of feeling.”
I still couldn’t see where he was with respect to me, but I knew he had to be close. I could smell his sweat.
“Can you help me sit up?” I damn near pleaded; the pain was becoming intense.
“Well-“ He cleared his throat. He did that when he needed time to get his head in the game. “Dylan, I need you to try to sit up on your own. Are you able to move your arms and legs?” The hostage negotiator was back.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked. I could tell he was keeping something from me. Something that would likely toss us into a whole new bucket of fucked.
“I’m not able to get to you right now. I need you to sit up. Can you sit up?” he asked, his reassuring tone was there, but there was a sense of shifty-eyed bullshit wafting through it.
“You mean can I or will I?” It was rhetorical. I knew what he wanted and every cell in my body laughed and promptly flipped him off. I kicked my legs and used every last ounce of core strength I had to pull my hefty top half up from the dirt to sit on my butt. “Okay,” I huffed. “I’m up.” My lower back sent pings of pain down my legs. I forced my upper torso to lean forward and relieve the pressure. “Now what?” Exhaustion, hunger, fear, and now pain. Whatever chose to fuck with me next, had a world of pain coming to them, or most likely it.
“Can you get to me?” A half-whine half-grunt came from my end. “I know you’re hurting, babe, but I need you to be badass right now, okay?”
Fine.
I swiped my good arm around in the dark toward where I thought Mike was sitting. It didn’t take long to find his thick form.
“Good,” his deep voice whispered close to my ear. “Good. Can you feel for my arms?”
“Why? Mike, this hurts pretty damn bad here. Can you give me something to go on?”
“I need your help. I know it hurts, but you’re all I have.” His throat clearing rattled my eardrum. “My hands are cuffed.”
“Are you fucking with me?” Bound by his own handcuffs – that’s got to be some kind of flick to the dick for a guy like Mike.
He didn’t answer and it was probably for the best. I didn’t have it in me to banter playfully, or not so playfully. His arms were easy enough to find. They were still connected to his body so that made it easy. And lucky.
“Feel in my pocket for my wallet.”
Normally, I’d have assumed he was just trying to get me to cop a feel, but one would assume he wouldn’t in a situation like this one. I felt, no more vigorously than necessary, though our previous sex-capade left me a little frazzled and if the situation warranted, I would have totally taken advantage of a handcuffed Mike. But, there were more pressing matters at hand. Like figuring out where the fuck we’d been left to rot. After a thorough and completely appropriate search, there was no wallet to be found, front or back.
“Nope. Try again.” I shook my head unconsciously and a shock of pain shot through my neck and shoulder.
“Fuck. Check my socks.”
“I’m assuming I’m hunting for a key of some sort. If we live to see tomorrow, I want to know why it might be in your sock.” His feet were as easy to find in the dark as his hands were. “And why you have no shoes on.”
My left arm dangled at my side, useless and aching. I felt between his toes, around the band, in the arch, there was no key to be found.
“You’ve been cleaned out. What’s plan B? Tell me you have a plan B.” It’d be awesome if someone did.
He was quiet. Not even a sigh. His body was moving, looking around with his entire head and body. Checking for escape routes or something. Hopefully. My tolerance for anything other than sweatpants and ice cream was dwindling down to a tiny raw nub of ‘I don’t give a shit’. The pain in my arm pulsed between a throb and a pang.
A gurgling cough sputtered from my right. I jumped and puffed dirt from the floor through the air. What seemed to once be pitch-blackness, now revealed more tiny cracks in the walls, letting in tiny slivers of light that reflected off the millions of specs of dust in the air. Another cough. Mike was deadly still next to me.
“Blech…Dylan?” Cyrus whispered from his corner.
“Hairball?” Mike said with his award winning wit.
Cyrus muttered something inaudible and we all moved on. There was honestly no time for witty repartee. Shit had officially hit the fan when we were bamboozled by alien henchman and his illustrious French headcheese. So many players in such a damn confusing game. If only I’d just watched this unfold on the news like the rest of America instead of trying to get the scoop. What a tool I am.
“What’s your situation?” said the cop in the room.
“Not good,” Cyrus replied, much less reassuring than Mike had been, and even less informative.
Thanks for the intel, Mr. Atossa I’ll take that right to the president.
“I’ve been cuffed.” He left out the fact that they were his own handcuffs. I didn’t blame him. I’d be embarrassed too. “Dylan is injured. Are you free to move?”
Light rustling and a bit more dust later, and Cyrus answered, “No.”
“Fuck, Cyrus, can you please cooperate! Words, man. Use your words!” I screamed at him without regard to any possible listening ears.
“I’m bound.” He breathed and it sounded like he was talking into the ground. “And naked,” he said softly.
My eyes and mouth twitched. So many thoughts ran through my head. The situation had just moved from ridiculous and perilous to possibly hilarious and downright devious. I swallowed back sarcastic remarks and sexual innuendos. No time for that shit either. Damn.
“That’s great,” a grunting disgusted Mike muttered under his breath.
“I’ve been tied in a way I cannot help myself. I need Dylan to untie me.” Of course he did.
“I don’t have use of my left arm.” There was no need for me to be flighty or reassuring; there was no sugar to coat this turd. I was hurt; they were tied up in one way or another, and we were all together in the dark on the dirt somewhere in some space of time. At least I wasn’t running. Fuck running.
Mike cle
ared his throat and swallowed hard. “This is going to hurt,” he breathed. “You can’t scream and you can’t puss out. I need you to get up on your knees.”
Of course he does.
“I can’t.” I knew what he wanted me to do and I didn’t want to do it. I wanted to remain with the living and I sure as hell didn’t want to live out in the shed, but the idea of trying to shove my arm back into place by myself, made my empty stomach churn.
“You have to. You have to do what I say or we all die.” He didn’t know that for a fact. However, years of police work gave him the notion we’d all die if we stayed put, and that was undisputable. I followed his direction and waited on my knees within arm’s reach of course. “Put your arms in front of you like you’re going to get into a fight.” I did and it fucking hurt. “You’re going to open your arms out away from your body. Once you start you can’t stop.” He breathed in and out. “Now, lift your arms over your head. Breathe. Use your muscles to stretch and move until it slides back into place.” He breathed again. “It will hurt, but you won’t care. You won’t care because you are going to help me and Cyrus get free, and we are all getting the fuck out of here.”
I was crying a little, quietly and stealthily, under my breath. It hurt so badly. Mike knew what to say to get me to go through with it. To man the fuck up. I lifted my arms up. I couldn’t help it, a cry jumped from my lips.
“Don’t stop,” he urged. “Breathe.”
I didn’t. I closed my eyes and let the pain do its thing. My bottom lip quivered, tears streamed down my cheeks, but not once did I scream. My arms stuck up in the air, blood rushing away from them and to my head, I thought I’d pass out. Through it all, I scooted my knees closer to Mike. If I fell, at least I’d have something to fall on.
Nothing was happening. I wriggled my spine a bit to get things moving. Popping and stretching caused my stomach to roil, but the socket hadn’t righted itself yet. My breaths were shaking. It was getting harder to stay upright. Harder to hold in the sobs. A whimper blubbered out before I could catch it.
It felt like I was on my knees for an hour, with my damn hands up in the air. I couldn’t do it anymore. I manned the fuck up and it didn’t work. Maybe it was time to woman the fuck up.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and let my body fall. I forced myself to keep my hands in the air as I slammed into Mike’s solid form. My shoulder popped and the sound hit me deep in the gut. I lay in his lap, not moving, not breathing, and just trying not to puke.
I listened to his heart pound in his chest. “That a girl,” he said quietly. His hands cuffed behind his back kept him from touching me, but I knew he wanted to. “Breathe.”
“I’m okay,” I lied through chattering teeth.
“What happened?” Cyrus asked, face in the dirt, muffled.
“Can we leave him here?” Mike whispered.
I laughed and it felt good. “No.” It hurt to sit up, but no matter how much I would have loved it, I couldn’t spend the night on Mike’s lap. Yeah, I said it. Fuck you.
“Dude, are you really naked?” Mike asked Cyrus while I scampered across the dirt to him.
“Would you like to check for yourself?” Cyrus teased. Mike laughed at his joke, but to me, Cyrus’s tone sounded less antagonistic and more latent homosexuality.
“Can you both shut the fuck up?” I found Cyrus. And yes, he was naked. Very, very naked.
I could practically feel the huge fucking grin I knew he had plastered on his face. Half was for me, and half for Mike who couldn’t actually see the damn thing either. He was on his stomach hog-tied. Feet and hands knotted up nicely with a splintering old rope. I tugged at his bindings and filled my hands with tiny shards of aging rope that stung my fingertips.
“Damn it,” I muttered as I fiddled with it.
“Does anyone have any idea where we are or how we got here?” Mike had just come back to the living before he was bonked on the head, so it was no wonder he didn’t have a good handle on his recent history.
“You,” I grunted, still stuck with the rope, “and this jackass, oh so gracefully, got yourselves knocked the fuck out. I kicked ass and you two slept.”
“Then how did you end up here too?” Mike probed, understandably not believing my tale of heroism.
“Well…I kicked ass at first.” I remembered the feel of the pretty guy’s lips on mine, and I touched them instinctively. “Then there was another man.”
“Where was the first man? Who was the first man?” Detective Petersen was back in the building. Handcuffed with his own damn cuffs, the jackass would never live that one down. I wouldn’t let that happen.
“Marienne’s henchman, skinny freako,” I talked and worked at the knot. “He came out of nowhere while I was looking at Malcolm’s phone.”
Shit. I left Cyrus to dig around in my pockets, check my boobs. I came up flat; there was nothing there but two big ol’ boobs that didn’t seem to be getting me out of my jam anytime soon. I closed my eyes and dropped my head to my chest with memory of the phone slipping from my fingers and crashing to the ground, after I’d slammed into a wall. Of course, I wouldn’t have ended up with a phone. It’d be too fucking easy.
“The bitch,” Mike sneered. “Did you know about this?”
“Of course not,” Cyrus talked into the dirt.
“Malcolm’s phone was under the dirt in the cemetery. I found it right before you two were bonked. I beat the shit out of the skinny guy, and all hell broke loose.” I went back to work. “You two were waking up when I left you. I ended up being chased by this guy who looked like he could be Azelie’s larger, tanner brother. He…knocked me out. I woke up here with the two of you. Who, I’m sure, were also taken by the same assholes.” The knots finally loosened. “Good thing is, I’m certain this is exactly where Tatum is, so we’re in the right spot,” I talked absently.
“Can you fuck off with Tatum shit right now, please? She’s the reason we’re all here in the first fucking place.” Poor Mike still didn’t grasp the world right in front of his face.
“No. I am the reason. I made the first move. I’ll make the last.” The rope came free and I began unraveling it.
“We have to get out of here. We don’t have time or energy to fight now. We have to accept this situation and get out alive. We can get the police and they can-“ Mike’s fallacies rolled off his tongue and flared the rage that had been brewing for days deep in my gut.
“Police? Seriously? After all this, you think a badge and a gun can stop it?” The ropes came loose from Cyrus’s limbs and he was free.
“So far you’ve taken one out, and the other had to knock us all unconscious before they could take us in. I think a gun will do the trick.”
“You’ve hardly scratched the surface. Scarcely been witness to the flesh and blood responsible for this disaster. Darling, you haven’t even come close to seeing what really waits behind the veil. You haven’t aimed a gun at it and fired until your nose filled with gun powder and still watched it come closer. You haven’t heard their shuffling dead limbs slide toward you. You haven’t cried out to God to take them away. Yet you sit idly by and talk of guns and cops, and arrogantly assume they will keep you safe. You are dangerously mistaken.”
My heart pounded. I felt my hands shaking; I was so close to cracking. He still didn’t get it. He wouldn’t until it came around and lopped his fucking head off. He’d have to see it for himself. He’d have to cry out to God before he put his fucking gun down and started fighting with his soul.
I felt my chest heave up and down, up and down. I drew in deep, harsh breaths. My teeth clenched, and each breath stung as it dragged sharply through my gums. My hands, set into fists clutched at my chest, still shook violently. One hand squeezed tightly around the piece of tin at my throat. My one saving grace, maybe.
Something dead would have to come for him. Something rotting, and shambling, and so long dead they bled a murky shade of green instead of red. When he sent a man to his death t
o save his own soul that would be when he’d learn.
I rocked back and forth breathing – just breathing. My heart pumped and oxygen filled my lungs, but I wasn’t there. I was lost in my own head. Lost in my thoughts of death.
I closed my eyes and I was sitting in the backseat of a car. The engine ran at a low idle. I breathed a shaky breath and it puffed out of my lips in a white fog. The heater whirred and blew intermittent hot air toward the back seat. A bright flash lit up my vision. I closed my eyes tightly to avoid it. A moment later, warm liquid slid down my face.
A short cry came from my throat and I was back in the shed. “What is that?” I cried.
“What is what?” Naked Cyrus was suddenly holding my arms in his warm hands.
I took my hands to my face and wiped wet spots from it that were no longer there. “Oh, Goddammit, I can’t take this,” I cried. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t have it in me to hold it in.
I looked up and tried to see Cyrus’s green eyes. I knew where they should be, but I couldn’t actually see them. The lighting in the shed had shifted just enough, only rough shadows could be made out. The moon must have been feeling friendly.
Movement caught my eye above Cyrus. Something slid across the high corner of the square space. I sniffed and calmed myself while I watched the slight shift in light. I blinked teary eyes.
“What?” Cyrus whispered close to my face.
The shadow moved and seemed to stand as tall as a man behind Cyrus. My breath caught and I leaned back, trying to scoot away from the shadowy figure.
“What do you see?” His hands tightened around my arms, kneading and prodding, practically begging for my return to planet Earth.
“Why would she be seeing something?” Mike asked, scooting closer to our huddle.
I couldn’t handle another dead thing. Not now. I was barely holding on to sanity just sitting on the dirt floor of my cell, trying to untie a naked guy. I couldn’t do it. I closed my eyes and focused all my energy into making whatever was haunting me go away.
Please. Please stop. I begged. Just stop. My inner voice sobbed. I don’t want you here.