by The Behrg
“Ah, gawd, my hand!”
More snarling. “Get her in the cage!”
The rattle of the latch snapping into place.
“Get some ice.” Joje.
“He bit through my hand!” Drew.
“I said get some ice!”
It’s a she, Blake thought. The dog is a she.
Conrad’s barking became desperate. She finally found her voice. From the angle Blake had landed, he couldn’t see past the counter wall. Blinking required effort.
And then the yelling began.
“You think this is a game?”
Thud.
“That I’m joking?”
Another thud. Blake heard Jenna gasping for air.
“That I won’t follow through on my promise?”
It came again, that muffled thump. And again.
Moisture pooled beneath Blake’s cheek on the kitchen floor, and he realized he was crying.
“Don’t you ever break a rule again!” Joje’s lisp was brought even more to the forefront than normal.
Thud.
“You break a rule? I break a rule!”
Thump. Jenna, choking on her gasps.
Blake tried to get up. His muscles rebelled. Like trying to command the body of a corpse.
“That’s enough!” Adam’s voice, shrill and higher than normal. “That’s enough.”
Silence. Even Conrad’s barking stopped. Blake had never heard his son talk like that before, with such authority.
A final thud. Blake shuddered.
“Now it’s enough,” Joje said. “Wrap your hand and get her upstairs. Cuff her to the bed. And you.” There was a pause. “That was brave. I’m proud of you, protecting your family. Now help me carry your old man.”
Blake passed back out before they had a chance to lift him.
Chapter Four
Day Three
1
“California Dreamin’” pulled Blake from a dreamless sleep—the alarm playing from his phone. He had always loved that song, though now that he was here, he wished he were anywhere else. Who knew, maybe that was the point of the song? The dream infinitely better than reality. He reached out to silence it but found he couldn’t move—or rather, he could move only so far.
His arm was restrained, handcuffed to the headboard behind him. Every muscle in his body groaned with the slightest of movements. His face colliding into the rushing airbag, a noose wrapping around his neck, his head smashing against the windshield, shoulder slamming into the car door. Memories resurfaced, reminding him how their California dream had become a prison. Two days they had survived, though by Joje’s count, they still had six to go.
Lying beside him, Jenna stared into his face with one eye. Her other was swollen shut, her face a blotched mask of purple and black. She blinked, the deranged wink of some villainous monster.
“It was nice . . .” Blake paused, trying to clear his throat, realizing there was nothing to clear. He swallowed glass. “Nice sleeping with you again.”
Jenna smiled, as much as her lips would rise. She wore an old nightgown. Blake wondered how she had changed into it or if she had been the one to make the change. Her cuffs were tighter than his, her wrists chaffed and reddened. The angle of the bonds kept her from lying flat against the bed, her spine arced. It had to have been a sleepless night.
“How do you feel? Sorry,” she said, turning her face from his. “Morning breath.”
“No, you smell good. And I feel great.” Two lies to start the day.
“You look like shit.” Jenna giggled.
“Probably make a good pair then, don’t we?”
“Always have,” she said.
“Not always,” he said.
Her eyes flitted around his face, exploring him as if it were their first night together, though maybe it was the bruises, cuts, and scrapes that held her attention.
“I’m sorry—” they both began at the same time, then laughed. Or at least Jenna did; Blake only croaked.
An energetic “Good mauwning!” sent the smiles into hiding. Joje crossed from the foot of the bed to Blake’s nightstand, pulling his phone from the charger. “Now just pretend I’m not here while you two do your thing. Morning routine, right?”
He buried a key into the cuff around Blake’s chained hand, then went around to the other side of the bed, releasing Jenna. “You should really consider makeup before seducing your husband. Just a little constructive feedback.”
Her clasps came undone, and Jenna collapsed against the headboard with a sigh of relief.
“And . . . action!” Joje stared at them as if watching magicians about to perform their final act.
Jenna began to laugh. Blake couldn’t help but join her, the ridiculousness of their situation moving past fear into a plane of utter insanity.
“Do not laugh at me!”
They only laughed harder, Joje’s lisp adding to the absurdity. It was like watching a child in the throes of their first tantrum.
“This was part of our deal—I will observe your sex life!”
“I can barely speak,” Blake said. “Or move.”
“Right back atcha.” Jenna buried her head in the pillow. “Ooh, though I could still sleep for days.”
“Guess I’ll have to demonstrate how it’s done myself,” Joje said.
Their laughter died. The veins in Joje’s neck were throbbing, his face flushed with anger.
“I’ve seen what happens when we break your rules,” Blake said, “and I’m not willing to break another. In this case, that means not having sex with my wife. We haven’t been . . . intimate in a long time.”
Joje was quiet. The lack of a smile was almost as disconcerting as the hideous jackal’s grin that normally adorned his face.
“We’ll follow your rules, but don’t expect to watch a live porno in here. This is real life. It’s not always as grand as it appears from the outside,” Jenna said.
“I want you to follow your routine, but that routine had better include patching up your relationship because this . . . excuse? It won’t work a second time.”
Not out of the woods yet, Blake thought to himself. Not even close.
Blake showered. He wasn’t timid by nature or afraid of locker-room culture, but standing naked in their open rock shower while Joje watched a mere three feet away was one of the most awkward moments of his adult life. Still, the almost-scalding water was a welcome sensation and gave the false impression of washing away the aches and pains of the previous day.
Nothing seemed broken, at least noticeably. The left side of his face was a seared red from the airbag, and his neck looked like he had tried to hang himself and failed. Countless gashes and bruises, but above all, his body just ached, a deep, underlying pain he welcomed with every movement of joint and muscle.
It meant he was still alive.
He dressed, a light-gray Armani with a blue Italian shirt. Joje watched him in his walk-in closet—Jenna’s was twice the size of his—racks of suits, tuxedos, and dress shirts. Blake snapped his cufflinks on, slipped into a pair of leather shoes. Joje wore the same tan kakis as the past two days, though he had found a new wrinkled polo with brown and white stripes.
In the hall, Blake stopped in front of his son’s door, pushing it open. Adam was crashed out on the floor, his feet climbing vertically up the bed that had yet to be put together. One of the taped-up boxes had been split open, Lord of the Rings figurines with tiny plastic axes, swords, and shields spilling out onto the floor. The aftermath of a battle gone wrong.
Blake backed out of the room, bumping into Joje behind him. Shadow, indeed.
“You know, I never had a father?” Joje said.
“How tragic,” Blake said. “I’m sure no one can relate. It must be the cause of every misdeed you’ve ever committed in your life.”
Joje laughed. Blake wasn’t sure what reaction he had been hoping for, but that certainly hadn’t been it. They started down the stairs.
“We got an e-mai
l from JT this morning. He wants an update,” Joje said.
“And what would you tell him?”
“I wowee about your commitment to this pwoject.”
No longer talking about work, are we, Blake thought.
As they passed his office, Blake couldn’t stop from seeing the image of his beige safe hidden at the top of his closet. Thirty seconds alone, and Joje would quickly learn how serious Blake was taking his “pwoject.”
The unmistakable aroma of cooking bacon hit them as they walked into the family room. Drew stood shirtless in front of the stove wearing an apron with orange and purple flowers on it. The apron had been a gift, a joke since Jenna refused to cook. She had found it so amusing she had brought it with them; as unsentimental as she was, she occasionally clung to the most random things, things that had made her smile. Blake wondered if he hadn’t already been lumped into that category, Jenna keeping him around to remind her of better and happier times.
“How do you like your omelet?” Drew asked, attempting to flip runny eggs over in the pan. He was soaked in sweat as if he had just stepped from a steam room, his shoulder-length hair tangled and moist, droplets rolling from his face and thick arms and falling into the pan with an added sizzle.
“None for me,” Blake said. “Just coffee.” Preferably without Drew sweat. “How’s the hand?”
Drew brought his left hand close to his chest, thick gauze and tape making it three times the size of his other hand.
Good girl, Blake thought. He’d give Conrad as many treats as she wanted.
Drew stared back at him with his deadpan eyes. “You know, I don’t even feel sorry for you. Or your family.”
Joje crossed in front of Drew, grabbing a plate with a greasy omelet on it. Smoke rose from the one in the pan.
“Where’s Jenna?” Blake asked, realizing she wasn’t in the room. He moved to the back of the kitchen, the dog crate was also empty.
“Went for a run,” Drew said.
Blake glanced at Joje who seemed unconcerned as he took a monster bite out of his omelet. Cheese hung from his lip, connected to his fork.
“With the dog?” Blake asked. “By herself?”
Drew just stared back at Blake across the kitchen island. Joje shoveled another steaming bite into his mouth.
“Where is she?” Blake said, his throat burning from the increased force of his words.
“He told you,” Joje said. “She went for a run.”
“Might be her last,” Drew said.
“I swear if you’ve—”
“Consequences, Bwakey,” Joje said, mouth full, steam pouring from that gaping hole as if he were a devil. “Your wife is learning a valuable lesson.”
Blake strode to the counter, prepared to teach Joje a “valuable wesson,” but all the knives in the block had been removed. His thoughts were moving so slow he had no idea what to do next. “Please,” he found himself saying.
Drew sniffed loudly. “She’s out back. Better hurry.”
Blake pulled the slits open at the shuttered doors leading to the covered patio in the backyard. It took several seconds for his mind to make sense of what he was seeing. When he realized he was looking at his wife, no damage to his throat or vocal cords could have kept him from screaming.
2
Adam heard yelling. His room was almost directly above the kitchen, and in spite of the immensity of the house, he could hear almost everything.
He had been awake, thinking about last night, Jenna getting the crap kicked out of her. He had almost joined in; it was so hard just to watch, and then he had cried out for it to stop. He still wasn’t sure why. Had he actually wanted it to stop, or had he been testing his ability to influence Joje? He wasn’t sure. People were complicated, he knew, their decisions rarely set against a backdrop of one color or tone.
But his father’s cry broke his concentration. He heard the back door of the kitchen slam, and the walls of his room shuddered with the vibrations from below. He scrambled to his feet, picking up the headboard he had been cuffed to last night.
In his closet, he zipped open a camping backpack, grabbing the handheld camcorder he kept hidden beneath the other junk. Boy Scouts served some purpose. He regretted not having the time to fast-forward past where the video was paused—Jenna, in one of her better performances, trying on shirt after shirt. There was something about the act of a woman removing her shirt that appealed to Adam so much more than just seeing her topless.
He flipped the camera on, changing the mode to record. The headboard dragged across the carpet, hitting into boxes behind him. He had to catch whatever was happening outside on film.
At the window, he angled the camera and zoomed in. His breath caught. Was he really seeing what he thought he was?
An uncontrolled shiver ran through his body like a premature orgasm. He no longer regretted losing the other footage—this would be something he’d be able to watch over and over and over and over.
3
Blake threw the patio door open in a full sprint toward the pool. The peaceful oasis of their backyard had become a horror so unspeakable it couldn’t be real.
Jenna hung over the pool, strung up and tethered to the volleyball net, her body directly over the fire pit. A fire pit whose flames were dancing. Her arms were separated, tied or cuffed to the top of the net, her legs kicking wildly, swinging over the open flames as if she were running in midair.
She went for a run.
Might be her last.
Blake was going to kill Drew.
He leapt into the pool, not giving his suit pants and silk shirt a second thought, and swam the few feet to the island. The key for the gas to the pit had been removed.
Without thinking, Blake climbed from the pool, standing on the ring around the pit. The heat of the flames pressed against him like a physical presence. That’s when he noticed Conrad. Or what was left of her.
The beautiful Lab he had so recently scolded was literally burning alive, staked to the fire pit. The flames licking Jenna’s legs sprang off of Conrad’s back. Her hair was gone, her face melting like a snowman, eyes oozing, snout running, and yet Blake could still see the fast thump of her struggling heart.
A thousand competing thoughts screamed through Blake’s brain, not one carrying a solution. His hands rose to his mouth of their own accord. He could hear Conrad whining, the slow leak of a tire, barely more than a whisper.
“I’m so sorry,” Jenna said, tears rolling down her face. Blisters floated up her feet and calves. The intensity of the heat was already beginning to dry Blake’s sopping suit. He couldn’t think, he just had to act.
He leapt over the dying dog, on top of Jenna, gripping the top of the net and bearing his whole weight down on it, on her. The net shifted, bending forward and backward at once. Blake lost his balance, almost went head over and back into the pool, but Jenna brought up her legs, wrapping them around him and pulling him close. He could feel the heat emanating from them, singeing his back. She cried out but held firm. The combined weight had the effect Blake had hoped for, the net tearing at one end and then plunging them into the water.
Blake was tangled, caught in the netting and limbs of his wife—she kicked out and connected with his groin. Air left in a flurry of bubbles, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, he was drowning, only this time he was actually beneath water. Jenna’s face was suddenly next to his, pulling him up by his shirt. Blake kicked, and the surface moved toward him.
“Hunnnhhh!” Blake gasped for air, the net still wrapped around his legs and torso. He glanced about frantically for his wife. Her head surfaced and then sank back beneath the water. Blake pulled her up, then swam to the edge of the pool, holding her tight.
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he said. He thrust her toward the side, and she grabbed on, the net still attached to her reddened wrists. She was bleeding out, the gashes in her wrists wrapped tightly to the net with fishing line. The blood spread, pool water carrying it outward.
Blake heard clapping.
Joje stood just outside the patio door. “Bravo! What a performance!”
“I am going to kill you!” Blake shouted, voice cracking.
“You’re under a little duress, so I’ll let that slide,” Joje said. He turned, looking up toward the house. “Good mauwning, Adam!”
Blake glanced up in time to see Adam’s shutters slide closed. Joje threw something toward him. A towel opened up, falling short on the stamped colored concrete.
Blake set Jenna gently on the ground, running to snatch it, then hurried back to her. He wrapped both her hands in the towel, applying pressure to her wrists. He went to lift her, but she refused.
“I’m okay. I need to watch.”
She lay in his arms as they silently observed the flames consume the rest of their dog. In the end, she never howled, never barked, and eventually, her extinguishing whine was no more. The fire crackled, both over the pool and inside Blake, a white-hot fury the likes of which he had never before known.
4
Blake laid Jenna on the couch, her body so limp and lifeless he couldn’t tear his eyes from the rise and fall of her chest, the only proof she was still alive. Joje too stared at her chest, though for other obvious reasons—the wet nightgown clung to her body, as see-through as plastic wrap.
“Get a blanket. Linen closet’s upstairs next to the bathroom.” To Blake’s surprise, Joje immediately left.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he said, combing back Jenna’s hair from her face. “We’re gonna be okay.”
Oh, God, let her be okay . . .
Blake went to the kitchen, tearing through the bottom cupboard where Jenna had found the Band-Aids the other day. That seemed a lifetime ago. He grabbed a roll of gauze, what was left of it, searching through bottles of tanning lotion.