Jimmy

by William Malmborg

  He also couldn’t believe how uncomfortable carrying a gun could be, especially while riding a bike, and wondered why so many people across the country were pushing for open firearm carry laws? After all, who would want to carry something so heavy all over the place? Sure, it would be cool at first, but after a while it would become an annoying burden.

  * * *

  “It never even occurred to me that she could be down here,” Jimmy said. “I mean, I’ve known about this place for a long time.” He reached toward the ground while saying this, his fingers grabbing hold of something she couldn’t make out. “But kind of forgot about it until you mentioned this place and the possibility that she was attacked.” It was a ring he was holding, one that completely blended in with the dirt, and without warning a giant square of dirt lifted up.

  “What the hell,” Megan said.

  “It’s an old fallout shelter,” Jimmy said, one the Hoods built for something back in the eighties or nineties, maybe Y2K or just out of fear from watching Red Dawn too many times.”

  “Is there anything down there?” Megan asked while peeking down the stairs.

  “I don’t know, but you know what. You see that padlock right there, the one that someone forgot to close when leaving?” Jimmy pointed down with his free hand.

  “Yeah?”

  “That was never there the last time I looked down there and why would someone lock up that door from the outside?”

  “Oh my God, did you look inside?”

  “Not yet.”

  “We have to look inside,” Megan said. “What if she’s in there and she’s hurt?” With that Megan started toward the door, but then froze, her mind suddenly realizing that Jimmy would have looked himself earlier if what he said was true, and quickly turned around, fear suddenly gripping her.

  Jimmy was pointing a gun on her.

  * * *

  Jimmy’s heart was racing as he held the gun, which had actually snagged on his jeans while being pulled out and nearly fell to the floor while he fumbled with it. Thankfully her back had been turned to him during that and now that she was facing him he had nice firm grip.

  “Go on, open the door,” he said. “Your friend is waiting.”

  “You fucking bastard!” Megan shouted, spittle flying from her lips. “I should have known you were a sick twisted freak.”

  “Inside!” Jimmy snapped, his hand motioning with the gun.

  Megan reluctantly did as he ordered, her face red with anger, yet also hinting at fear.

  “The light is on the right,” Jimmy said. “Turn it on and walk into the middle of the room.”

  Megan did, her hand fumbling for a moment before it found the light. Once it was on she gasped. A second later she ran into the room.

  “Don’t touch her!” Jimmy shouted as he followed her inside, his left hand pushing shut the door behind him.

  Megan ignored his command and tried to console Samantha, her hands caressing her bruised face and then reaching up to try and untie the knots from around her wrists, which, of course, was a hopeless endeavor.

  Jimmy rushed forward and tried to pull her away.

  Megan spun around and before he even realized what had happened the gun was knocked from his hand.

  A second blow came toward his face, this one from the same forearm that had knocked the gun away.

  Jimmy deflected it with his elbow, hurting both of them, and looked toward where the gun had landed.

  Megan followed his gaze and dove for it.

  Jimmy was a second behind her, panic starting to overwhelm his senses.

  Megan grabbed the gun.

  At the same time Jimmy stepped onto her hand, hard, and heard what had to be a bone crunching, though he couldn’t be sure. A second later he kicked her in the chest, his foot actually recognizing the feel of her boob compressing despite the fact that Samantha’s breasts had been the first ones he ever touched.

  Megan grunted and tried to grab the gun again.

  Jimmy kicked her hand away and took hold of it himself and pointed it down at her.

  Megan still didn’t stop and grabbed his leg and tried digging her nails into it, but couldn’t get much of a grip thanks to the jean fabric.

  Jimmy kicked her again and screamed at her to stop, his mind wondering how the hell he would get her hands tied with her fighting so much.

  Megan didn’t listen.

  Heart racing, Jimmy kicked her again, hard, and then grabbed hold a chunk of her hair, which he used to lift half her body into the air, her hands digging her nails into his own hands.

  “Let go!” he demanded while pressing the gun into her temple. He didn’t want to pull the trigger, not when he knew he could have so much fun with her down here, but would if forced to. After all, it was better to shoot her in the head and kill her than to risk her escaping and bringing her dad here.

  Megan dug deeper.

  He hit her with the butt of the gun, not hard, but with enough force to hurt her.

  Megan’s fingers relaxed, but still didn’t release, and then started to tighten again once she regained her senses.

  He hit her again, harder and then pointed the gun at Samantha. “Let go or I’ll shoot your friend!”

  This time he received the compliance he was looking for, but it only lasted a second, because the moment he lowered the gun and looked at the damage done to his hand, one which still held her hair, she grabbed his testicles and twisted, a cry of fury echoing from her lips as one of pain echoed from his.

  Jimmy tried pulling away but couldn’t and had no choice but to hit her with some serious force.

  The hand released him as her eyes rolled backward.

  Hurt, but knowing he only had moments, Jimmy set the gun on the shelf, and began tying her wrists together, his hands making sure the rope was as tight as possible when he knotted it.

  Chapter Eight

  Samantha was broken and didn’t even realize Jimmy had returned to the room with another girl until the hand touched her face. Even then she couldn’t really register what was going on, the pain being the only thing her mind understood, though even that was fading and turning into nothing more than a noticeable ache.

  Sounds echoed from her left.

  Samantha eased her eyes toward the source of the struggle, but didn’t really see what was going on, nor did she care because it didn’t seem to have an immediate affect upon her. The idea that one of them could free the rope didn’t enter her mind because the very idea of being free no longer seemed real. Instead she just watched what was happening without any emotion or opinion, the way a dog might watch a little league sport match outside the window.

  * * *

  Megan drifted in and out of consciousness the way a person on a twilight drug during a medical operation would come and go, her mind seeing and registering things, but not really processing them, at least not at that point in time. Even the tug of the rope above that secured her hands wasn’t fully understood, yet the discomfort was. She also made several attempts to stand up even though her body couldn’t balance itself, her feet always trying to find a firm spot on what seemed to be a wobbly floor. All of these attempts failed and caused the tug of the ropes to be more intense, though the association between the two wasn’t understood.

  * * *

  “What happened to you?” Alan asked as Jimmy walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

  “I fell off my bike into a thorny weedy mess on the side of the road,” Jimmy said.

  “My God, are you okay?”

  Jimmy looked at his left hand and wrist which had suffered the worse of Megan’s nails, huge gouges marking where the flesh had been peeled away, and said, “Yeah, I think so, though these hurt like hell.”

  “Was it Brett?”

  “No, though it might as well have been him because I was looking back to make sure it wasn’t him coming up behind me when I hit a broken patch of road and went right into the brush.” He winced as he ran his arm under the water. “But I gu
ess I should be thankful nothing is broken and that I didn’t hit the bump and fall right in front of the car.”

  “Yeah really.”

  He added soap to his arm, his mind not even wanting to consider trying the peroxide on this, and squeezed his lips together for a second before saying, “Fuck!”

  “You know, on Mythbusters they found out that swearing helps you manage pain.”

  “You’re shitting me!”

  “Honest.”

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he shouted while rubbing the soap in. “It still hurts!”

  “But maybe it doesn’t hurt as much. Cut up the other arm and try it without the swears so we have a base line to compare it to.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Did it hurt less during that microsecond?”

  Jimmy rinsed off the soap and then toweled off his arm with a disposable sheet.

  “Better?”

  “I hope so. The last thing I need is an infection from her.” He tossed the paper towel away.

  “Who?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You said get an infection from her?”

  Jimmy froze, but then quickly said, “The bush. Her. Get it?

  Alan stared at him.

  “Bush as in pussy. STD. It was a joke.”

  “Okay, yeah, a real Jimmy original — all the greatness of a professional joke, minus the annoying need to laugh afterward.”

  “Fuck you,” Jimmy said though with a smile.

  “Okay, on a scale between one and ten how was your pain while swearing?”

  Jimmy shook his head.

  “Did you at least get measured for your tux?” Alan asked.

  “No, I didn’t make it to the place before falling and then came right home. You want to go with me later on once Mom is home with the car?”

  “Sure, or we could just walk there.”

  “Let’s drive. I’m sure they will still be open after five.”

  “Probably. Battle?”

  “Battle!” Jimmy confirmed one arm raised up in the air as if wielding a sword and commanding a charge.

  * * *

  Megan’s understanding of the situation returned slowly and wasn’t pleasant, especially when she vomited all over herself. With the vomit came a kind of clarity, one which allowed her to focus on the situation, though some parts of it still took a few moments to register.

  Her hands being tied was one of them.

  A part of her knew they were tied, and that the constant pull from above against her wrists was a result of it. The understanding of the ropes, however, wasn’t fully realized until she tried to touch the back of her head, her fingers wanting to assess the pain. The ropes would not allow this.

  She looked up at the bindings, her head moving slowly due to the dizzy spells that threatened.

  The knots seemed tight and very far away.

  A nasty tickle hit the back of her throat, one which she recognized as a precursor to throwing up. Thankfully nothing did venture toward her mouth, and everything settled once she lowered her head back through her arms.

  I want to show you something.

  The words echoed in her mind, but without reason, the memory fuzzy.

  She pushed it away and carefully tried to take in her surroundings. Earlier, while only semi-conscious, she had thought she was inside a small boat, one that was rocking in the waves. The idea now seemed ridiculous due to the concrete floor and walls. Plus the events from that afternoon were starting to fade in again.

  I want to show you something.

  She could see Jimmy Hawthorn talking to her, but it didn’t make sense. Weariness about his presence, or supposed presence, did appear, however.

  She saw herself trying to grab the gun and then felt the pain of his foot coming down on her fingers.

  Megan looked up again, slowly.

  Though slightly shadowed due to the light being behind her she could tell her right hand was busted up.

  Pain followed, though because of the ropes, it wasn’t as bad as it should have been, the numbness working to her advantage.

  She thought about her failure to fire the gun. Just a simple pull of the trigger would have been enough, even when the gun had been on the floor and his foot on her hand, her mind thinking he would jump away from the blast, but her finger hadn’t been able to make the necessary movement.

  Frustration swelled.

  She looked down at the floor.

  Small bits of vomit decorated her shoes.

  A moan echoed.

  Megan slowly twisted to her right.

  Someone was sitting on the floor next to her. No, not sitting, hanging, only low enough that she could have been kneeling on the ground, her hands raised over her head. Instead her body just lifelessly dangled there, her legs making no move to support her weight.

  Samantha!

  Everything flooded back to her.

  “Samantha,” she said, voice barely audible.

  Nothing.

  Megan moistened her lips, the taste of vomit being activated again.

  Once a good glob of spit was ready she hacked it onto the floor. Some of the vomit taste went with it, most stayed behind.

  “Samantha,” she said again. This time her voice was able to fill the room. “Can you hear me?”

  Her friend didn’t respond.

  Silence settled.

  Megan screamed while pulling at the ropes, but this didn’t help the situation, and after a few seconds she gave up.

  Samantha shifted, moaned, and then peed herself.

  Megan watched with dismay as the urine pooled on the floor beneath her, its journey hindered only by the thin pair of panties her friend wore.

  Fear followed, not of the waste, but of the fact that her friend was so badly hurt that she couldn’t even control herself — so badly hurt that she didn’t even seem to realize what was going on, nor cared.

  How could this happen?

  She examined her friend, her eyes taking in the colorless hands that jutted out above the knotted ropes, and then looked at her own hands, ones which were starting to turn purple as the blood pooled in them. What would they look like tomorrow or the next day?

  Two days.

  Samantha has only been here for two days.

  This frightened her even worse than the fact that she had peed herself because she wondered what Jimmy could have done during those two days to make her like this. Worse, would he do the same thing to her?

  Yes!

  Megan pulled at the ropes again, her mind thinking that with enough force she might be able to snap the pipe or the rope, or both. All she managed to do was hurt her hands.

  At the same time the smell of the room hit her. Of course it had been there the entire time, but just hadn’t fully registered. Now it did, and made her gag. Nothing came up, her stomach already empty.

  Will there be anything to come up ever again?

  Her eyes settled on the shelves of food and wondered if she would be fed, a thought which caused her stomach to shrivel. Later she knew this wouldn’t be the case. Once the hunger really began to set in she wouldn’t care about the smell or even the condition of the food and would eat it all.

  I won’t be here that long.

  Not if I focus and find a way to get free.

  She looked around again, her mind envisioning her seeing something long and sharp and slowly but surely working it toward her feet, which then would carefully lift it into the air and cut the rope.

  On TV things like this happened all the time when someone was caught in a situation like this.

  Unfortunately nothing but her purse was within reach, and even if something sharp had been she doubted she would have actually been able to use it the way a TV or movie character would. Still, it would have given her some hope.

  Samantha stirred and cried out, the sound startling Megan.

  Nothing followed.

  “Samantha?”

  Her friend twisted a bit and looked at her with lifel
ess eyes.

  “Samantha, it’s me, Megan.”

  Samantha just starred at her, eyes completely vacant.

  * * *

  Tina hesitated for a while once she was home, a debate on whether or not Rebecca would even leave the prom ticket at home or keep it on her while at work raging within her mind.

  And even if you find it she could still call the school.

  The question was would the school really listen to her, especially if Tina went to the office and explained the situation? Furthermore, would the people at the door checking tickets actually inspect the name to see if she was on some sort of ‘Her mother doesn’t want her attending’ list?

  Tina didn’t really have an answer for this, but did know one thing, having her prom ticket would be better than not having it, because without it she couldn’t get in — especially if Rebecca called them too.

  Tina got a glass of juice while thinking about this and decided she had to look. If the prom ticket wasn’t there, then it wasn’t there, but if it was and she found it, things would be much better.

  Unless Rebecca really flips out.

  Tina thought about this while heading up to Rebecca’s bedroom, one which apparently had been her mother’s bedroom before the old woman had died from colon cancer a few years earlier — that’s gotta be a pain in the ass, Tina had said when Rebecca had explained this the day she had moved in, which wasn’t received very well — and pictured Rebecca trying to punish her. Last night Rebecca had said her mother used to take her over her knee while also putting a bar of soap in her mouth, her gasps from the spanking causing the soap to hit the back of her throat. It sounded absolutely horrible, and she felt sorry for Rebecca’s younger self for suffering at the hands of such a bitch. At the same time she knew if Rebecca tried something like that with her she would just find herself suffering even more, because Tina would kick her ass. It was one thing to raise a kid to fear you, something which often seemed to follow the kid up through adulthood. It was another to expect a grown woman of seventeen who was the same size who you’ve never spent any real time with to fear such things. Nope. The minute Rebecca touched her Tina would split her lip and break her nose, no questions asked, no apologies given.