Got 'Em

by A. D. Spicer

  Jackson is captured by surprise as I have brought with me a plate of meat and vegetables. Placing the plate of food in front of Jackson, I insist him to eat. Looking at the plate, Jackson grovels as he rejects it. “No thanks,” taking a pause before he continues, “I’ll be fine,” he says apprehensively as he slides the plate of food to the right of him, at the edge of the table.

  “Hmm, it’s not my decision to make,” I impose calmly as I continue to suggest, “You should eat though.” I take a deep breath, before saying, “I mean, I went to all that effort to make a good meal for you,” I say passionately as I tilt my head to the left and place my rugged hands over the table, standing over Jackson. I continue, “And you want to fucking waste it!” I fight antagonistically raising my voice, with a grin from Satan.

  Raising my hand for obedience, I smack Jackson with the back of it, as if he were a child—whack! As the vicious sound erupts from my hand slapping him, taking a deep breath, Jackson shifts the plate back over to him. “Now eat it!” I say bluntly abrupt in a shallow voice. As Jackson uses both of his hands to grab the cooked mince and cooked vegetables, he begins nibbling at it. I continue frantically, “That’s right, make sure you eat every last crumb.”

  Smirking, as I put both of my hands down on my thighs, I get in uncomfortably close, “Yes, yes, eat it all,” I whisper in an abnormal, corrupted voice. As food drops from his mouth. Jackson picks up another handful of food and places it in his mouth. Then suddenly, he shoves it in my open mouth, just as I was about to comment. Spitting it out back onto Jackson’s plate of food. “You disgusting piece of maggot shit!” I scream angrily as I wipe the remaining food leftovers from my mouth. I turn to walk back up the stairs, as I punch the wall on my way up.

  Jackson, sitting there staring at the food, starts breathing heavily as he begins to reflux again and makes another move to throw up more and add to the already existing puddle of vomit on the ground next to him. The basement door slams aggressively as I exit the basement.

  I have left Jackson down there to suffer in his own filth, making my way back to the already existing project which I am feeling quite anxious to complete. In fact, I’m feeling quite anxious to have the whole show up on the road. However, I know that if any of the projects are rushed, they may not even work. In this case, or any for that matter, it’s good to take your time and make sure it’s all done properly.

  With the two projects I’m working on, one of them is a quick put together, but the second one has a little more complexity to it.

  First trolley project:

  A trolley, four vertical and one horizontal cage fixture, with a concrete slab for the base.

  Imagine, a two by four trolley with 4mm thick square shaped hollow steel frame, with a two by four concrete slab for the floor, and fixed two-metre-high caging from back to front like a car trailer. And a two by four caging also fixed for the roof.

  Second trolley project:

  Like the first trolley project, though there are three steel frames coming up vertically and across horizontally for the front of the trolley. And for the back, it is very similar. Though in the concrete slab there are three rails that run to the opposite impact frame and have a cable rail that goes up alongside the outer impact frame. Two concrete slabs with two by two width and 120mm thick on the inner side of the impact frames on both ends. These concrete slabs have half circle gouges coming out of them in the centre of the slap from top to bottom. Connected to the fully fixed slab and frame will be two strong winches. At the top of the frame on the left and the right side, will be 5mm thick inch points.

  The winch cable will run out from the bottom front of the trolley along the concrete floor to the rear concrete slab and impact frame. It will run up along the cable rail to the top of the rear impact frame and come freely along the top of the impact frame and slab to the front left and right winch points. So, as it starts reeling in, it will drag the impact frame and concrete slab with it to meet the opposite concrete slab compressing anything in between them.

  With the first one almost together, all I need to do is put the surrounding cage on. I can now make room for the second one to start. With all that described, you’ll be amazed how complicated it could get if anything isn’t completed thoroughly.

  Grabbing the first trolley and wheeling it over out of the way to the left of where I am working, I start measuring the pieces I already have there to see if I need anymore. Sorting through them one by one, and using a permanent marker, I mark out where to cut.

  Down under, as I am busy with my inventions, Jackson has managed to break off a piece of chipped wood from his chair. As before, when the three men were trapped down there and had made their sweet escape, I had approached the last one standing and moored him; the chair also copped some of the brawl. Therefore, it left Jackson at an advantage.

  A little more time went by as I near the end of my measurement and cuts for my second project. Grabbing an orange handled hammer with my left hand, I randomly throw it at the first trolley and laugh hysterically as I jump around with enjoyment turning to head towards the basement. Getting to the basement door, I ram myself into it, whilst turning the handle to open it.

  Downstairs, Jackson sits in distress. He hears the ‘thump’ against the door and it being forcibly shoved open as the missing steps of someone that’s in a rush comes scattering down the stairs following another thump of the presence of myself landing my feet on the level ground of the basement.

  Making my way over to Jackson, I again pull out the same chair and sit next to him. Jackson has his head bowed down, unwilling to acknowledge my presence. I start laughing wildly with excitement. Jackson, hearing my intent of minding something cruel, starts laughing with me to keep his little justice he has in will.

  With a sudden change in attitude, exempting my irritable excitement, I throw my right arm with an open hand straight at Jackson’s throat. Squeezing it as if I am strangling Jackson, I insist, “You will never see the light of day again,” in a dark tormenting voice as I throw Jackson back into his chair and start laughing with erotic excitement.

  Undermining me, Jackson had broken off that piece of wood and had it in his hand. Jackson swiftly brings that piece of wood up as I am in hysterics and jabs me straight in the right side of neck, “Take that! You worm!” he yells aggressively. With the sudden stop of laughter, in intense pain, I grab the piece of wood in the side of my neck as I choke. Jackson goes to make his sweet escape, as he slips over his own vomit and falls over backwards, headfirst, hitting the concrete which knocks him unconscious.

  I struggle but manage to pull the thick piece of wood millimetre by millimetre, pulling the skin out as it pulls out of my neck. Spitting out blood as I hold my neck trying to stop the blood as I get up and flaunter myself with choices as to what to do with the body lying on the floor before me. In immense pain, I try to giggle, but instead I gurgle up more blood. With spite and hatred in my eyes, I spit the blood onto Jackson before making my way up the stairs.

  Never spending more time then I had to in the basement as usual—but then again, I have been stabbed by a piece of wood—I make my way to the table near the front entrance to the warehouse as I grab a clean rag and wrap it around my neck. Gasping for air, as the blood isn’t clotting on the inside, I take a seat on the chair at the table and bend over as if I am tying my shoes. Only, I am allowing the blood to run up to my mouth and out. Well trying to at least.

  After about 20 minutes of heavily but slowly breathing, the blood dries up in my throat and clots. Thirsty for water, I thought to myself that if I am to have a glass of water now, the blood clot would more than likely undo itself, and I’d have to sit in that same position all over again.

  Thinking ahead, I decide to bear with the discomfort, gulping naturally, unable to talk or laugh at this stage as you could image the pain you would encounter from even trying to do so. Instead, I decide to grab a cigarette and have that for an exchange, to clear the head and do whatever more damage is
possible. Though at this point, would you even care?

  Enjoying every drag of the cigarette, I attempt standing up and making my way outside of the warehouse. Managing that, I make my way down to the little shed as I recall seeing a two by one plank of wood. Reaching the shed, I sift through all the useful junk that’s in there and see the plank of wood. Grabbing it, as it’s awkward to grab, as you would imagine I’m still holding my neck, I wreathe at it and tumble it out. Dropping just outside the shed, I hear movement inside the shed. Creeping up and taking a closer look, it’s another snake.

  Thinking to myself, It must be a warm spot in here for them to hibernate or something. Slithering out towards me, the red-bellied black comes out ready to strike. Irritated as I am, I lift up my right foot and stomp on its head, not once but three times. Seeing as it is not moving, I still don’t want to take the chance. So I grab the shovel from inside the shed, pulling my hand away from my neck, which isn’t seeping much blood anymore, I use the edge of it to cut off its head.

  Raging with adrenaline, I grab the plank of wood and make my way back, dragging it in my right hand as I use my left to place back on my neck, just in case, as I continue back to the warehouse. Dragging it along, I sit it up against the wall beside the basement entry and open the basement door to make my way down to Jackson. Reaching the bottom, I grab Jackson by the arms with both hands and drag him to the door, leading into the second part of the basement, which is practically a small second part to the warehouse.

  Opening the door, I continue dragging him, leaving him near the railing. I proceed to go back up to where I left the plank of wood and grab it. Hauling it down the basement stairs, just as I go to walk through the open door to the second part, I notice and old rotating cement mixer without the bowl. Sitting the plank of wood against the wall next to the open door, I check to see if it has petrol. Seemingly it does so, like anybody, I decide to turn it over to see if it still works. Surprised by its age, after a few goes, it chugs over and starts.

  Bobbing up and down, trying to keep myself at a calm level, I nod my head and turn the beast off. Backing towards the plank of wood and doing a swift turn around, I grab it and continue through the door with it.

  Going back into the other room, just on top of the shelf, I find an old drill still in its case. Grabbing the extension lead beside the bench, I plug it into the wall closest to the door, as I lead it out the room. Bringing the drill with me, I plug it in. The drill already has 1/4 drill piece in it, so I didn’t have to worry.

  Setting the board down on the floor, I begin drilling a few holes out for wire to feed through and lapse over an object; four groups of two holes on the top and the bottom of the plank of wood, grabbing wire from my back pocket. I feed it through the first holes of each group. Then I lift the board and place it against the railing so it’ll be easier to feed the wire through once the body is on. After doing so, with a struggle, I grab Jackson and place him on the board, feeling my neck stretch out, which got me worried a little, but no excess bleeding is coming from it. Feeding the wire from each group around his arms and legs and into the neighbouring hole, going around and feeding it through a few times, I tie the wires off with each other in their groups.

  Leaving the room, I conjure up another fun idea. Getting up to where I am currently building my second contraption, I get out a nail gun. Fixing it to an old computer chair that is sitting in the basement, I manage to stabilise the chair so it can only move a fraction left or right.

  Doing a few other little extras on it that alter the chair to move up or down and a touch to either side from the little jolt of the nail gun, I also create a way to make the nail gun go off every 15 seconds via a timer. Putting it altogether, I test trial it. It works a treat.

  Moving my little setup down to where I have left Jackson, lo and behold, Jackson is becoming conscious, and doesn’t have a clue what’s being set up for him, and to be frank, doesn’t even have an idea of where he is.

  As I come through the door with my setup, approaching Jackson, I go to drag the board to a more convenient spot. With spite, Jackson instinctively spits in my face, “Fuck you! You sick fuck!” He spits out in a tormented aggravated tone, as he tries to shuffle off the board.

  I look at him. “No, no, no, you’re my toy now, you’re my experiment,” I say in a grungy low toned voice.

  Jackson continues, “Let me the fuck out of here! You filthy fucking dog!” he exclaims drastically, “You won’t get away with this! There will be a missing person’s report!” He screams frustratingly, “You will go down, ya dog!”

  Admiring Jackson’s bravery, slightly tilting my head to the left, I begin shaking my head. “I don’t think Mumma would care if some little faggot like you and your boyfriends didn’t come home, hmm?” I state shallowly as I take a closer step towards Jackson. “Eh, in fact, I believe I’m doing them a favour, ha-ha, ha-ha,” I erupt, choking on my own laugher.

  Dragging the chair in front of Jackson, I turn the timer on after making sure everything is how I want it to be. Leaving the room, I hear the first shot fire. Missing Jackson’s upper right thigh by a few centimetres as he jolts to try and dodge it, “You freak! Get back here and untie me! You sick fuck!” he cries out. As I peer back in for a brief second, in disappointment that it has missed him, but I giggle along with it anyway as I continue through to head back up the stairs.

  The gun fires again as another 15 seconds go past, nicking the skin of his lower hip, upper thigh on his right side. “Ahh! Fuck you! You dog!” he cries out in pain. Taking deep breaths, he prepares himself for the next blow and ‘bang’ the gun goes off again. Striking Jackson right in the groin, or to be more exact, his right testicle.

  “Ahhh! Fuck, it hurts! It hurts! Ahhhh!!’ he says in excruciating pain,”Please come back! I’ll learn your ways and help you! I swear, bruh!" he cries out, “Just get me off this thing!” Then ‘bang’ again, shooting him in his right leg. Hissing, puffing and panting, Jackson chokes on his words and starts to become delusional, then he passes out. With every shot fired afterwards, it hits in the same spot just two centimetres away from his right leg.

  About ten minutes go by. I make my way back to see what the aftermath would be like. Unsurprised and a bit disgusted with how it went, “Hmm,” I say as I bring my right hand to my chin, scrounging up my face. Turning around, I pull out a chair from the basement and place it beside the chair where the nail gun is, turning everything off that is associated with the gun. I sit there and contemplate.

  Getting a torch out that I had brought down with me, I begin examining where the nails did get Jackson. Seeing the two that got him in the right leg, wondering to myself, “That wouldn’t be enough to make him unconscious,” I ponder to myself in a whisper. As I catch a glimpse of where the third nail went, “Ah, now I see what happened,” I giggle to myself as I step back and take a seat on the chair I brought with me.

  Sitting myself down, I stare at Jackson, smirking away. Waiting in the chair until Jackson eventually awakens from his unconsciousness. What could I possibly have planned for Jackson next?

  Chapter Eleven

  Insightful Compliments

  A slight wind casts away fallen leaves from outside the warehouse, as silence falls with all other noises, as I continue to sit on the chair as Jackson awakens with a gasp for air and a pang of pain. Sitting there just watching him as the tension builds up in my eyes, “You know what,” I smirk with joy, “I’m glad you’re still alive.” As I anticipate what I want to do, with my hands together in my lap, I perch, “I’ve always agreed to, that if you do the crime, you do the time.” Taking a breath, I continue, “Though in this case, if you want to deceive your compliance to me, you will receive a bitter punishment,” I start off with frustration and end with sarcasm.

  Standing up, as I go to exit the lower warehouse, I lean up against the door as I smile, “Again, I’m glad you’re awake,” I state in a rather sarcastic but serious voice, As I exit the room to head back up the stai
rs of the basement in laughter.

  Jackson knows there is no getting out of this one, and that he is probably in it for the long haul. With whatever I have planned for him in the unknown, it is consistent with uncertainty for young Jackson. It’s only until the curtains draw that the real show will begin, and that uncertainty will become crystal clear with a cherry on top.

  Upstairs, sitting at the same table in the same position, as it was when I was last at it, I scatter through my architectural designs I have scattered around the table, finding a little something I have been missing for quite a while, without knowledge of what’s been missed. I pick up this object and glance at it with surprise.

  Yes, it’s my mobile phone. Holding down the power button, I try turning it on. Having grisly patients, I grunt and remember that I have a charger out in my car. So I make my way out the front to where my car is parked, unlocking it and opening the driver’s door, with the sound of old metal, it swings open. I partly launch myself into the car, scrambling through all the miscellaneous items and paperwork I have.

  I pull myself into the car fully, seating myself upright as I throw my right leg up in the gap between the door and pillar, getting myself a little comfortable as I continue to scramble through the paperwork consciously forgetting the main reason why I have made my way out to my car. Smirking at all the hassles and endless paperwork my grandfather has left me with, it came back to my mind what I intentionally came out to the car for.

  Reaching over to the passenger side of the car and opening the glove box, I reach in and pull out the charger for my mobile phone. Dumping the paperwork on the passenger front seat, I reach into the back of my car to grab a jumper that’s lying on the back seat. After grabbing it, I hop out of the car with the charger and my teal coloured Adidas hoodie and slam the door closed.

  Placing my charger on the roof of the car, I give my hoodie a quick shake before placing it over my head and fitting it to myself. After that, I grab my charger and proceed back into the warehouse, as I pull my hood over my head. Finding a power-outlet near where the table is, a tad away from the ground, on the wall, I plug the charger in and place my phone on charge after turning the power on, of course. I grab myself a cigarette and notice it’s nearly empty.