He knew better than to try to hoist Ben higher. Just keep the damn head afloat. And it was. For now. But he couldn’t stay put forever. Ben’s weight would drag him back. He just had to fight it for…
…he glanced back at the timer. Ten minutes. Ten minutes to fight it. He could do that.
He started to slide.
• • •
Five minutes.
Domino grabbed at concrete and pushed off with both legs. He moved an inch.
He slid back two inches.
His fingers turned to claws as he dug uselessly into the cement. He slid back another inch, the fingernail on his index finger folding backwards before tearing from the cuticle.
He dug his toes into the ground and shot his body forward, the rope around his chest pulling him back like a bully.
Domino heard Kathy’s scream. He didn’t bother turning back to look at the movie. He knew Ben’s head was under water again.
Domino roared and lurched forward again. He managed an inch. He slapped his bloodied palms onto the cement floor and dug for anything, a crack, a bump, any sort of leverage. His left shoulder felt as if a poker was endlessly cauterizing the nerve endings.
Kathy kept screaming, calling Domino’s name, her son’s name.
Domino wanted to get to his feet, to try his hand at power-walking his way forward. Yet he feared if he rose from his all-fours, he would immediately be yanked backwards onto his back, losing his rope-belt in the process. Ben would be dead after that. No question.
But he was doing fuck all where he was now.
Domino got to his feet. Moved the belt from his chest to his right shoulder like a seatbelt. Leaned forward at nearly forty-five degrees, the weight of Ben supporting him. And from here he stomped forward, each heavy boot like a stake in the ground, each pull of the rope like a man with his one and only chance to pull his soul from hell.
He was doing it. Ben’s head was now above water. Domino knew this when he heard Kathy gasp and cry with relief.
Domino now felt certain he could sustain. He had less than five minutes. One arm or not, he knew he could sustain for less than five damn minutes.
The timer hit zero.
Kathy cried with relief again.
Monica restarted the timer.
61
“NO!!!” Kathy Lennox cried.
Domino glanced back over his shoulder. The timer was back to fifty-nine minutes and counting. He lost his balance. The rope flew from his shoulder and he fell hard onto his back.
She was cheating.
He’d won and she’d lost.
She’d resorted to cheating.
He told her so. He felt like a child in a schoolyard, but shouted it all the same. “Cheater! Fucking CHEATER!” The righteous child in him ranted on. “You fucking lost! You LOST!!!”
“Makes us square for the treadmill room,” Monica said. “Call it a life lesson on the consequences of quitting.”
Domino was immediately upright. He charged one of the walls, dislocated shoulder leading the way. The impact produced pain that was a flash of light, a warning to his body. He ignored the light and continued hammering his shoulder into the wall, each bang bringing him closer to connection, yet threatening blackout.
A final bang and his shoulder clicked home. He spun back to the rope, gripped it with both hands and pulled. Adrenaline and rage gave him strength exceeding the moment when Ben had plunged for the very first time.
Ben shot out of the tank like a merman, his body only stopping when it reached the limits of the rig fixed to the ceiling. His body swayed and spun in the harness, the cannon ball weight dangling from his ankles swinging side to side like a giant pendulum.
Domino’s shoulder popped again.
Adrenaline did its best to mask the pain, but it was a mere Band-Aid. The rope left his mangled hands, and Ben was plummeting once more.
No definitive splash this time though. A thunderous CRACK! instead.
Domino had turned away in agony when his shoulder popped, and hadn’t seen Ben’s descent.
He turned back now and saw why there had been no definitive splash, saw the culprit of the thunderous crack.
The cannon ball had hit the top side of the tank when Ben had fallen. The force of Domino’s pull had caused Ben and the cannon ball to sway. When his shoulder gave, and Ben fell, the boy must have fallen on an angle, the iron ball cracking the rim of the tank before rolling into the water with Ben.
And the crack was significant. It zigzagged its way down the length of the tank from where it had impacted on the rim. Water was already misting and leaking from the crack.
Domino didn’t hesitate.
Again to the wall. Banging with excruciating pain until the shoulder clicked home.
To the rope now. He needed this to be the one. If his shoulder left him again…
Domino grunted like a power-lifter attempting a personal best, pulled with a sudden explosiveness that inexplicably bested the monstrous pull from only moments ago.
Ben was the merman again, shooting out of the water towards the ceiling where he stopped suddenly and started to spin and sway, the iron ball spinning and swaying with him, and Domino watching the iron ball swinging and swaying, timing its rhythm, waiting for the precise moment.
The moment came, Domino let go, and Ben and the cannon ball dropped.
The iron ball smashed home in precisely the same spot. Multiple cracks joined the first, clicking and clacking as they did their zigzag run down the length of the tank.
A moment of pause as pressure built. More water shot from the cracks. Mists to sprays to blasts until everything finally gave. An explosion of glass and water took up the screen. Kelly yelped and jumped out of view.
When it cleared, Ben lay in the middle of water and broken glass, still bound in chains, coughing and shaking, but alive.
Domino’s shoulder had popped yet again during the final drop. The pain now caused him to fall to his knees, then roll onto his back where he lay like man collapsing at the finish line. His body was broken, but Ben was alive.
Eyes on the ceiling, he said, “Wanna know my life lesson to you?”
“If you tell me cheaters never win, I’ll fucking puke.”
Domino closed his eyes, smiled, and shook his head no. He said: “Semper Fi, bitch.”
Monica groaned, the panel in the ceiling opened, and the canvas sack with the smiley face fell.
62
Monica was leaning back in her chair, feet on the control panel of the observation deck, and placed a cigarette between her lips. She brought her lighter to the tip of the cigarette and stopped the second Kelly Blaine entered.
“What?” she said, the flame of the lighter still tall and ready in her hand, waiting.
“What happened down there?” Kelly asked.
Monica took her thumb off the lighter’s lip and the flame died. She took the unlit cigarette from her mouth, sat up and placed it on the control panel as if it now disgusted her.
“Who told you to come up here?” she asked.
Kelly frowned. “Huh?”
“You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on the kid.”
Kelly snorted. “He’s still chained. He’s half-drowned and terrified. Where’s he going?”
“Irrelevant. I told you to stay down there with him until further notice.”
“I just wanna know what’s going on.”
“He’s got two rooms left before he can see Ben. His body’s a mess. His mind is on its way. Everything’s fine.”
“But it could be better.”
Monica raised an eyebrow, swiveled in her chair and faced Kelly. “Could it?”
Kelly took a step back. “Well, yeah. You let him win that room. And you let him quit the treadmill room.”
Monica stood and took a step towards Kelly. “He quit the treadmill room; I did not let him. And he knows he quit. Nothing I had planned for that room could have done more damage than the guilt he’ll endure for that.”
&n
bsp; Kelly went to speak and Monica stepped forward again, quieting her. “As for the drowning room, I had every intention of making him fail. I suppose I underestimated his ingenuity.”
“See that’s just it,” Kelly said. “This isn’t the first time you’ve…underestimated things.”
Monica took another step. They were inches apart. Monica placed a hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “What are you trying to say?”
Kelly dropped her head. “Forget it.”
Monica started massaging Kelly’s shoulder. “Are you unhappy with our arrangement?”
Kelly shook her head, eyes still on the floor. Monica’s hand left Kelly’s shoulder and started caressing the girl’s face. Two delicate fingers lifted Kelly’s chin so their eyes could meet.
“Then would you mind going back down and keeping an eye on Ben? Domino is about to enter the next room. He’ll have some downtime in that one; I’ll be able to join you soon.”
Kelly nodded quickly, turned and left without a word.
Monica returned to the control panel, sat and plucked her cigarette back up. She began twirling it between her thumb and index finger, staring at the cigarette, replaying the conversation with Kelly.
(“This isn’t the first time you’ve…underestimated things.)
Monica snapped the cigarette in half and tossed it to the floor.
63
Domino opened the canvas bag. The water and keys were there.
He wanted the water. Needed the water. He recalled Monica’s earlier words about how poisoning him would be no fun. Strange as it was, he believed that. She would not poison him. It was too easy. All this elaborate bullshit would go to waste if he was to sip the water and die after the first room.
But maybe that was just it. The first bottle wasn’t poison. Nor the second. No the third. He had a set of keys in his hand. That meant at least one more room. Would she poison him before she got to see him suffer further in that room? No.
So drink the water, he thought. What was the point of surviving this ordeal if he died of dehydration?
No. The water had become symbolic. A mark of his will. Monica was only providing it to keep him alive for further punishment, and while he had no intentions of dying of thirst, he was certainly not going to accommodate her. He would win. Somehow, he would win. He would get Ben. He would kill her. Then he would drink her fucking water.
“Still not thirsty?” Monica asked.
Domino glanced up at the ceiling, opened the bottle, and poured the contents on the floor. “I’m good.”
“So resolute. I assume you have your reasons. Would be a shame for you to croak of thirst before we’re done though. Remember, three days.”
“It’s only been one.”
“But a demanding one, no? Maybe that knocks some time off the three day rule.”
“I won’t be in here three days.”
“You won’t? Guess I didn’t get that memo.”
Domino looked at the next door. “So what’s in there?”
“Kathy?” Monica said. “Can you tell us what’s behind door number four? Kathy? I think we lost her, Domino.”
Domino’s back stiffened.
Monica laughed. “I meant we lost her connection, loverboy. You think I could be here and in upstate New York at the same time? Though I may just pay her a visit after I’m done here…just for shits and gigs.”
“That would be quite a trick,” Domino said.
“Why? Because I’d be—wait for it—dead?” She laughed. “That hard-boiled wit is getting more and more predictable. And we won’t be needing the lovely Miss Lennox on the line for the next room anyway, Mr. Taylor.”
Domino glanced towards the next room. “And what might Mr. Taylor expect in there?”
With what was assuredly a smile, Monica said: “A slumber party.”
64
Domino entered the next room. The metal door slammed behind him followed by the metal clanks of the locks.
The room was bare. But this knowledge came second to the first thing he’d noticed: the floor was soft. Not bed-soft, but certainly not like the concrete bastards that had taken his fingernail. He knelt and pushed the fist of his good arm into it. It gave about an inch. Like a gym mat, he thought.
What was it she’d said? Slumber party?
“Feel good?” Monica asked.
“Explain,” Domino said.
Monica sighed. “You know, a little foreplay now and then can make a girl very happy.”
Domino said nothing.
She sighed again. “Fine. Tell me what you know about the SERE program for our U.S. Military. I know you know, so don’t waste time.”
Domino frowned. “It’s a program designed to give soldiers the skills to deal with enemy imprisonment and interrogation.”
“Survival-evasion-resistance-escape…SERE,” she said.
“Good for you. You got a point?”
“I was getting to that. You really are the pump, jump, and roll type, aren’t you?”
Domino looked around as if bored.
“Did you know,” Monica said, “that a number of shrinks experienced in SERE techniques started instructing interrogators at Guantanamo Bay and other such places?”
Domino was interested again, but stayed quiet.
“Problem was,” Monica said, “they put their own little spin on it. All the stuff used to save the good guys was now used to fuck with the bad guys.”
“Unsubstantiated,” Domino said.
“Of course. My favorite was Operation Sandman, also known as the ‘frequent flyer’ program. That was a procedure based on sleep deprivation, Domino. They would move a prisoner from cell to cell every hour or so. This would last for days, weeks even. A guy would get comfy, his eyes would get heavy, and then BOOM! Get up! Time to move!”
She paused there before continuing.
“It sounds harmless compared to other torture. Sleep deprivation. How bad can it be? I mean just stay awake, right?” She paused again. “Thing is, there are countless confessions from POWs all over the world who claim it is easily the most horrific torture they’d ever endured. Death was preferable.”
Domino looked bored again. “So is that it? You’re gonna keep me awake in here?”
“Yes.”
“You gonna come down and wake me? Please come down and wake me.”
“I won’t need to. I don’t have the luxury of being able to keep you for weeks; I have to make do with days. So I streamlined things a little bit. Do you see where you’re standing?”
Domino looked down. He saw nothing but the dark mat floor. “Yeah?”
“By my count, twenty more seconds and you should consider moving.”
“Huh?”
“Are you sensitive to noise and light? Never mind, it’s irrelevant. Even if you weren’t…”
Domino frowned.
The blast came.
A piercing screech unlike anything he’d ever heard in all his forty-plus years. An alarm on steroids on meth.
And the light. Closing your eyes was just punishing the lids; the white light would only sear through them.
Domino dropped to his knees and clasped both hands over…everything. His whole body was vibrating, his senses screaming, begging for sweet silence.
Then silence did happen. Not that he knew it right away; his ears and eyes were still playing tricks, still echoing madness. When that settled, he stood, a powerful man who’d been through hell, one shoulder hanging out of place, a posture that begged rest.
All he could do was stand and wait for…
“Beneath your feet are sensors. If you stand or lie in one spot for a second more than ten minutes, what you’ve just experienced will happen again. I’m guessing you’ve been awake about twelve-plus hours thus far today. I’m giving you thirty-six more before the water and keys drop. I think that’s fair. Nighty night.”
The lights dimmed.
65
Domino’s ears still rang. His eyes still complained with periodic fl
ashes that dug deep into the center of his forehead like a migraine.
Thirty-six hours. Forty-eight total when you tacked on the twelve he’d already been awake. And those twelve, how to say, had fucking sucked.
Monica was right. Sleep deprivation was brutal. It was the most common hurdle in weeding out potential candidates for Special Forces. Hard men, who’d survived the most grueling of tests prior, would eventually succumb to sleep out in the field when their mission was simply to stay awake and alert.
Domino could do forty-eight hours. Even with the physical demands already placed on his body, he could do it. He’d done it before in the Corps, multiple times. Sometimes longer.
But you had water then, he thought. And you weren’t as
(what?)
…worn out.
(it’s not that, and you know it)
So what is it?
(afraid of failing again)
Fuck you, I ain’t failing shit.
(then keep your shit together)
I will…
(and I don’t mean your body)
I will…
(I’m talkin’ about your mind)
I will…
(’cause that’s what the sandman really wants ya know)
I WILL.
(Operation Sandman…)
“I WILL!”
“You will what?” Monica said.
Domino shook his head vigorously and mumbled, “Fuck you.”
Monica laughed. “Courtesy call: ten minutes are almost up.”
Domino walked towards the other end of the room. Waited. No blinding lights; no deafening alarms.
Good.
Now he just had to keep moving every ten minutes for the next thirty-six hours—without water.
66
Tear up the flooring. The sensors are beneath the mat-flooring, so tear it up and destroy the sensors.
Domino dropped to his knees and used his good arm to start digging his fingers into a corner.
Bad Games- The Complete Series Page 70