Got 'Em

by A. D. Spicer

  After chucking the last one in, hopping into the driver’s seat and turning the van on. Just at that moment a police vehicle comes down the street and drives really slow past the van then stops and winds down his window to say, “Hey, buddy! How are you tonight? Have you been drinking?”

  Covering my eyes as the police officer is shining a torch in them, I reply, “I am going good, thank you. And no, I haven’t, officer.”

  The police officer replies, “Okay, mate. Have a good night,” as he smiles and winds up his window, and then drives off.

  I look over to the passenger seat saying, “Phew,” and thought to myself, that was a close one. Pulling out from in front of the units, I make my way down the road, out of Sydney and back to Lithgow. There are a few times along the way, in which I thought they were going to wake up. But that didn’t happen, thank my demons.

  Reaching the driveway of the warehouse, I pull in and drive down the corrugated road and pull up next to an emergency exit door near the end of the warehouse. Jumping out, I pace to the door and go through almost every key I have on the key ring until I finally got to the three keys before the end of the set. Opening the door, I pull a latch over that’s on the door itself to lock the door open. I go back to the van and open the sliding door to half-dead people fucked up on drugs. One by one again, I holster them out of the van and drag them inside the warehouse and into the room I have made. All of them except Mrs Dezikie, Mrs Tealsey and Mr King.

  Mrs Dezikie, Mrs Tealsey and Mr Kings are being placed into the other room I have set up. In the room is a note in the middle of the floor instructing them on what to do. They will each be chained with a wire leading to a pin of a grenade each. The grenades are fixed to the floor, 50 centimetres from the rear wall facing the entry door to the room. When they wake up, they won’t know where they are, or how they got there. They will be in this room with each other and the instructions will tell them what to do. May the wisest survive.

  Chapter thirteen

  My Latest Inventions

  They say time flies when you’re having fun, or more so when you’re that high on drugs that time passes without a clue of where your night has gone!—on the cold hard floor. Mrs Tealsey, Mr Kings and Mrs Dezikie lie there, virtually where they were placed the night before.

  Waking up, blurry vision with not the slightest clue to where she could be, getting up with a stumble, Mrs Tealsey becomes holstered back by the chain around her chest and waist. Without hesitation, Mr Kings awakens and pursues with a yelp, “Brittney, stop!”

  Shying back, Mrs Tealsey looks back at what she is pulling at. She peers at the chain running through a brace on the wall, then down to a pin that is pushed into a live grenade, ready to rumble. Letting out a scream for mercy, Mrs Tealsey drops to the floor from where she stands, bringing her hands up to her face as tears fill her eyes.

  Mrs Dezikie, laying on the floor still unconscious, has no idea what to expect when she finally wakes up. Mr Kings musters his way along the floor towards Mrs Tealsey as she huddles in for sympathy. Mr Kings opens his arms and grabs her and whispers, “Everything is going to be okay,” he whispers in a calming voice, “I promise you!” he finishes as he rocks her back and forwards to comfort her.

  A little choke escapes, as Mr Kings is comforting Mrs Tealsey, from Mrs Dezikie waking up to the prosperity of her unfamiliar surroundings. Mr Kings looks back at Mrs Dezikie as she sits up, and whispers to her, “Don’t move, you are chained to a grenade,” he pauses. “The chain is wrapped around you and follows to the wall behind you and down to a pin of a grenade. Please don’t move,” he says as he looks at her with desperation.

  Obliterated by the shock of her being here, as she looks around to see what the heck is going on, and what Mr Kings is rambling on about, Mrs Dezikie passes out and falls back to the ground with a little thump. The noise of rustling keys approaches near the outside of where they are kept. Mrs Tealsey chokes up a scream, “HELP!” As the keys rustle a few times to unlock the door they are opposite from, Mr Kings places his hand over Mrs Tealsey’s mouth to quieten her down. She continues to make little squeaks of noises and starts continuously tapping on his shoulder then points towards the middle of the floor. Mr Kings removes his hand from her mouth and whispers, “What?”

  She whispers back to him, “What’s that piece of paper on the floor?”

  He looks at her, then looks over to the middle of the floor where this piece of paper lies. “I’m not sure,” as he leans over and struggles to reach for it as tension starts to gain on the wire connected to him.

  “Be careful!” she says as the tension building up on the wire doesn’t look too inviting from him leaning over. Managing to grab the piece of paper off the floor, he backs up slowly to avoid any tugging on the wire as he brings himself back to sit next to Mrs Tealsey. With them both glancing at the letter, Mr Kings begins to read out in a whisper:

  Hi there… welcome to my ‘fun room’. I would like to demonstrate my explosives, and you guys are my examples. Each of you has a chain-chest harness, you have probably discovered already prior to you reading this. Attached to the harness is a thin cable that runs to the back wall then down to a set of three grenades. One for each of you—how special. Be cautious though, even the slightest bit of tension on the cable can release the pin. But to play fair, I’ve placed only one ‘inactive’ explosive, inside of that one, is a key… I honestly can’t wait to see the end results.

  Have FUN!

  Taking a deep breath, Mr Kings places the letter into his pocket and looks worried at Mrs Tealsey, as a hooded man opens the first door to the room and looks in desperately, then places a small set of pliers just inside of the room.

  Watching the man place the pliers, Mr Kings keeps peering as the man leaves the short corridor and closes the first door. With a screech and a clank of the latch, the door closes. Ambitious to somehow get over to the pliers and set himself and his mates free, Mr Kings tries to force himself to conjure up a plan to bring mercy to himself and them. By doing this respectively, he’d have to pull the pin on the grenade he is harnessed to and make his way to the pliers, grabbing them, then rushing back to set his friends free and making a run through both doors keeping them in, both of which are locked, all before the grenade sets to explode? Would he consider doing this under immense pressure of knowingly putting himself and the others at great risk of being in harm’s way? Not that it really matters; considering either option he put himself in, is immediately endangering them all.

  With a cut open moment, and little time to spare, Mr Kings calls out, “Pss? I’m going to try something, but we all have to have a little tension on the lines running from our harness, yeah?” he stutters with impatience. “We ha-have to get out of here!” he continues with desperation. Both the ladies pull a little bit of tension, but not too much, as they just might pull the pins out, as Mr Kings does the same.

  Sitting, laying, even squatting against the walls in their separate cages, they begin to awaken and stretch out as if they are still in a place of comfort. In the first cage on the left, sitting but leaning up against the wall, is young Michelle Lefringe in her dedicated red button up, half jumper, with half shirt and black tights. Her dirty blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She is about 5’9", with dark brown eyes, but with the black 3-inch heels on, she’s much taller.

  Mrs Lefringe begins to turn and twitch pretty much like the rest of them are doing, coming back to reality not quite as they know it. Who knows, they may even think it’s a dream. Two cages down on the left is Jamie Haimz. It runs through my mind how he even knows any of these other people. I mean, he grew up in a totally different area and era to them all. Though I guess the same question would probably go through their heads as well. Then there’s Mr English and Johnathan Tallot, in cages two and three to the right. I always knew they were inseparable, ever since high school.

  Walking in, swaying side to side as if I am drunk, tapping on the cages of which these people are in to disturb their
piece and awaken them into what seems to reveal itself as a torture chamber. Needless to say, it is what it is. Dressed in baggy black trackies, a dark blue hooded jumper with a dirty stubble lining my ‘used to be’ good-looking features, I begin dragging my steel toe boots along the concrete, giggling at my actions I make obnoxiously, making my way to the first cage door, having a little play with the latch that has a padlock on it. I slam myself with a ‘thud’ against the cage, tangling my fingers through the gaps of the cage and hissing loudly as Mrs Lefringe reacts instinctively with a yelp of screams, as she pushes herself up against the brick wall curling at the sound of its intensity.

  I let go of the cage as I back up and make my way out of the segregated room. Pulsing myself back to the front of the warehouse, locking all fences and gates along the way. As I get there, I rustle through the paperwork on my little table set up and come across another contraption set up I’ve been wanting to get a start on. ‘The Raiser.’

  Grabbing my laptop, which I grabbed from my house earlier on in the week, I turn it on, then log in. Grabbing out my phone, I turn on my hotspot so I can connect the laptop to my phone for Wi-Fi. Opening the internet up, I jump onto Google and search for the product I want to order. Quite a few thousand dollars later, I manage to get what I want with an expected delivery for Thursday this week coming.

  Taking the measurements in mind from what I had ordered, I grab another piece of chalk from the chalk box, began walking back to the other end of the warehouse. Drawing on the ground a blueprint of where I want to situate my contraption. From the height, width and length to the climb, distance and constitution, all of this will add to the lead point of where I want what.

  As I start getting down with my 3D vivid imagination of architecture, there’s a raise of concern between the three grenade gamers. Pulling and tugging with strings attached to a deadly weapon isn’t the type of game anyone would think of playing. Especially being submitted to a place where you’d instinctively throw away the invitation, not knowing of its venture.

  As the three lines tighten, Mrs Dezikie gets a gut feeling of bad intention. As she releases the slight tension, she has Mr Kings and Mrs Tealsey release tension on the lines too as Mr Kings asks Mrs Dezikie, “Are you okay?”

  Mrs Dezikie replies, “I can’t do this, what if we blow up?”

  He suggests, “I know it’s risky babe, but how else are we to get out of this?” Breathing immensely, the three of them sit back, releasing full tension of the lines.

  Mrs Tealsey thinks it would be a good idea to lighten the mood a little. “Hey, do you guys remember when we were sitting on the couch at Amy’s?”

  Both Mr Kings and Mrs Dezikie sigh, “Yes.”

  “How it climbed up onto the head rest of the couch and jumped on my lap then took my piece of chicken and ran off me?” The three of them giggled, remembering the look on the cat’s face as it had turned to look at them with a cheeky look.

  Mr Kings replies with a little giggle, “Yeah, that kittie is cute!”

  They continue to chat in small talk, making classic jokes and wishing they had some type of electronic device to play some music and call out for help. They tire themselves out to where they start to pass out, one by one.

  Nights and days go by; as I enter each room with vultures of hatred, I throw down food for them to eat. It isn’t bad food either, some nights there is Chinese, Kentucky Fried Chicken and other nights, other fast food. Throughout the day, they got sandwiches, sometimes cheap sausages. Not too much effort just enough to keep them alive.

  Deciding to make things look a little more, let’s say, lively. I purchase a few tall garden beds and the extras along with flowers and nice-looking ferns; I place them in pots, then set the garden beds just out the front of the warehouse.

  Finally, the day has come where my order is due for delivery. I start the day off in nice work zone shorts and a Conner blue T-shirt, with my steal caps and bed hair. The Thursday couldn’t have started better as the delivery arrives and the load becomes unloaded. As the men start laying it all down at the side loading door, where everything else basically gets unloaded, one of the men by the name of Matt, asks, “So what are you keeping in there to be needing all of this?”

  I look at Matt with a smirk on my face, “What’s my business, is my business.”

  Matt smirks back, “Fair enough bro,” as he continues to help unload the truck.

  With a whole bunch of steel dumped at the door, the three men close up the truck and go to hop back into the truck. As Matt approaches me again and suggests, “If you need help putting all of this together, this is my number.”

  Looking down at the piece of paper with this guy’s number handwritten on it, I reply, “I’ll let you know,” as I give him a twisted look.

  One of the men in the truck yells out, “Oi Matt! Come on mate! We got a big day brother!”

  Matt nods at me and follows up with, “Comin’,” as he jumps into the passenger side of the truck. The driver takes off, yelling some kind of mumble jumble. As he skids off a little, giving him a look in his passenger mirror, like he is just another fuckwit.

  Returning back inside the warehouse, I grab the trolley I’ve been using to transport equipment and units to the destination upon where I’m working, moving each piece of steel and framing to where I want it. While drawing out a plan to where I want it all to be placed, I fix the way I want this piece of art designed. It will be configured to ample my point to stop any unnecessary faults and make it much easier to define where I can put the rest of my callus designs.

  Bolt to nut, steel to joiner, a few weeks of feeding and watering my endorsements that have given me the ambition to continue creating a playground that will be safe in every aspect—for myself, that is. I find myself completing my extraordinary masterpiece off, if you can picture. Inside of some warehouses or factories they have large, raised platforms, called mezzanines; it’s a two-person wide mezzanine that runs 100 metres in all around, basically to form a square with a square opening in the middle with only the right side of it operational as I have blocked off the rest from being used, just in case. Then running from near the loading door, is a large four-metre tall double-braced colour-bond fence that runs 50 metres to it.

  Under the mezzanine, where the fence meets its structure, is a thick steel work fence cemented into the ground and braced into the structures framing. Running from that, continues the fence from that point to the other side of the platform. I am going to continue the fence from the outside of the other end of the platform out another 100 metres, then close it off to the rear of the warehouse, about another 150 metres.

  These weeks of preparation and constructing were brutal to my congregated allies. Sitting in their own faeces, wondering what the hell is going on. I want to bring my mind full of walls open to realise that the stench is that strong now. Not only will I be compensating walks of life to be on the probability of nearly dying without my say so, but the smell has exhausted out of the keeper’s suite into the open warehouse. Making my way to the fire hydrant that is closest to the area I am keeping these somewhat innocent people, as they call themselves. I open the doors to them yelling and screaming, “You sick fuck! How could lay so low and let innocent people like us suffer in filth? H-h-how are you even human!” one voices in a degrading, upset voice, as another continues, “Let. Me. The fuck. Out of here,” then barks out with aggression, “You Sick Dog!”

  Holding the hose towards Mr Tallot, I release the nozzles to disperse the high flow water onto him and the ground around him to wash away the faeces. And so I do for the rest of them. I empower my aim of the water towards them watching them squirm, scream and try to fight it. It really gives me a good laugh!

  Soaking wet, one of them calls out, “You sick excuse for a human,” as his face turns in disgust, smirking with enjoyment as I reel the hose with me to exit the complex and return into the warehouse. The profanities continue as I close each door soullessly.

  Each of them tu
rns to each other in grievance. As Mrs Lefringe breaks into tears, holding her left hand up to her face just covering her nose and mouth, little snorts break her barrier of silence as the rest of them stare at her and remind her, “Everything is going to be okay, we will get out of this.”

  Mrs Lefringe replies, “No! It’s not going to be fucking okay Johnny! We’re fucked! No one can save us! Not even my mother and father know where I am.”

  “Urrrgghh!!” Mr Haimz pipes in, “She’s right you know,” as he takes a breath. He continues shivering out, “They probably think we have done a one second split and taken off overseas dude, they have no fucking idea where we are!” he cries out.

  “Okay, let’s all just take a minute and think,” Mr Tallot expresses. “How long can this go on for before someone notices, even like, Mark? Every Saturday, without fail, I chill with him watching Netflix, having a few beers.”

  “Dude he will just think you’re piking it! He’s a stoner!” the quiet and innocent Lori Pacer steps in and speaks up.

  “Lori, he is like a brother, no matter how stoned he gets! He knows!” Mr Tallot exclaims.

  As they bicker with no resolution, Mrs Tealsey, Mrs Dezikie and Mr Kings wither themselves with anxiety. As they get tireless to their efforts of being on a short string, but the upside for them is that they get royal treatment from me. Two buckets get brought to them first thing in the morning so they can go to the toilet. Yes, one of them has to share. Until today, as I walk in with only one bucket. Silently smiling with pleasure, I make my way in, as Mr Kings, kneels on his hands and knees, snarls at me with an empty but evil look in his eyes.

  Breathing heavily in and out, as prior to this, Mr Kings and the girls have an arrangement. They got deep into a conversation, continuing from the mood lightening cat story. Mrs Dezikie suggests, “Umm, I have an idea… My idea is,” she takes a breath, “if Jacob, umm, well you’re a good fighter—”