by Harvey, Red
Things were getting too heated too quickly for young Ashley. She tried to pull back. The boy’s hand cradled her head, insisting she continue. So they kissed some more. And more. Ashley was ready to breathe on her own. The kissing was too scary, too new. It got scarier when one of his hands shot up her skirt, and the other went up her blouse.
She moved his hands away, but they continued their excursions.
“Get off of me!”
When he didn't listen, she bit his arm. He yelped, slapped her, and went on. It took her a second to recover from the slap. She bit him a second time, clamping on and yanking with her teeth. A small chunk of skin tore away from his arm. The boy cried out and finally jumped off of her.
"Damn! Why'd you do that?"
Ashley spit out the piece of his arm stuck in her mouth. She felt like throwing up for days on end, but she held it in. She needed to be ready if he came at her again.
"Seriously?"
He was examining his wound, which was bleeding at a ridiculous rate. “Oh, c’mon, you want me. Not every girl gives it up in the first five seconds, you know.”
The gun. She had to take out the gun. Residual fear made her weak, and she found she couldn't move much.
"I've never done anything like that before."
“Guess you’re a virgin then. Don’t look like one, and you don’t kiss like one.”
He stood over a puddle of water, and the reflection caught Ashley’s eye. He didn’t look like the boy at all. In the pool of water, she saw not a boy, but a thing with black skin and yellow eyes. Its mouth moved, and its voice sounded like a young man’s, but the monster could not be human. Ashley blinked, and the reflection returned to a clear puddle.
“Goddamn cunt. You’re gonna get it anyway.” The boy said.
He reached for her. Something in her brain allowed her to react, and she shot the gun into the air.
“Holy fuck, are you crazy?”
“Leave me alone.”
Ashley imagined pointing the gun at him, but she didn’t want him to see how badly her hands shook, so she brought the gun down at her side, ready to lift and shoot if she had to.
The boy’s lips set into a sneer, similar to an animal. He wasn’t going to leave.
The squeak of the cab’s brakes saved Ashley’s life. When he heard them, the boy ran back into the shadows.
****
July 24th
Why I was hesitant to speak with the newbies, I’ll never know. They’re super nice, and the most normal people Erin and I have met in months.
The man’s name is Michael, and he’s a psychologist. His wife’s name is Louise (they’re not boyfriend and girlfriend, as I assumed), and she's a teacher. They said they’re both twenty-seven-years old. My sister laughed, touching Michael’s arm and saying she would have guessed he was nineteen. Louise gave Erin a weird look, and Michael shifted away from Erin’s hand.
I could tell they were older than nineteen. Don’t know what Erin meant, but I like the newbies. Being around them makes me feel happier, safer. In a way, they remind me of a younger version of Mom and Dad.
Me and Erin keeping to ourselves was a mistake. I think if we kept on that way, we would have gone insane. Sticking together with others better.
When our parents were still alive, they kept to themselves. They made sure Erin and I didn't talk to anyone down here. It didn't stop Him from dragging Dad into the kill room for torture sessions. Every time he came out, he seemed less and less sane. We could tell he was about to break.
The Man made Dad do terrible things, some I can’t name, and some I can. One thing I can say is…He forced my father to eat his own filth in front of mom and Erin. They told me about it later, even though they were crying so hard they could barely get out what they were trying to say. I never went in the room with them, and I never had to see anything He did to them. Not until the last day of my father’s life.
Dad, mom, and Erin were taken into the kill room together, like always. Nothing seemed normal (as if anything seemed normal back then, or now), and I was curious. I peeked through the crack in the door and saw….Him.
He was on top of Erin, heaving up and down. He urged Dad to have a go at my mother, who was bent over the bed, stoney-faced and naked. While I wondered what having a go meant, Dad cowered in a corner, hands over his eyes. Finally, The Man tried to force Dad to get on top of Erin. It seemed to me He wanted him to heave on her, the same way He had. Dad refused. Angrier than I‘ve ever seen him, my father struck Him, over and over again. I think he was trying to beat Him to death. The Man took his chance and ducked out of the next punch. The move put Dad on his behind, and He put him in a choke-hold till he passed out. When Dad came to, he was tied to a chair.
With plenty of tools at his disposal, He tortured my father to death. Saw, thumb tacks, blow torch, He has ‘em all. The Man has a collection of medieval tools, and those came out first. One of them he called a brank, a wicked looking spike. Erin held mom back while he branked dad, but she couldn’t hold her off for long. Mom slapped Erin full-on, forcing her to let go. Mom charged at The Man, and she got one good punch on His arm before He scraped her head with the brank. The tool grazed her face, dragging sharp daggers into her cheek. It left a deep wound, which never healed right, and which contributed to the decline in her food intake later. The only good thing to come out of her attack on Him was her disfigured face; she disgusted Him, and He never touched her again.
Mom’s branked face held me back from playing the role of hero. She was bigger, stronger, and braver than me, and if her attempts left her cheek hanging like torn sheets in the wind, what chance did I have against Him?
The Man’s anger made him impatient to finish with Dad, when usually He spun the hurt out for hours. He brought back the classics, saw, thumb tacks, blow torch, and my father’s death came quickly, though definitely not painlessly. Whenever I see The Man with the same tools in his hand, I have to turn away because all I can think about is how he used them on my father. Saw, thumb tacks, blow torch.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.
Do you understand?
I wanted to look away.
* * * *
July 27th
Michael and Louise told Erin and me about the world Outside.
In the five months we’ve been trapped down here, crime escalated. Escalated. It was already bad by the time He brought us down here months ago. Disappearances and murders have become things to shrug about.
Michael described a mugging he and his wife witnessed from their apartment. Since they lived in the city, muggings weren’t a rare occurrence for them, but they merely heard about muggings, never seeing one first-hand. When Michael saw two men beat a woman for the money in her purse, he wanted to run downstairs and help before she got hurt. He stopped when Louise cautioned him to stay inside. She pointed to the window.
The muggers repeatedly stabbed the woman, while another woman got dragged into an alley. The two incidents were unthinkable, but then another person ran past that craziness, blood all over their face.
“What did you do?” Gabriella had been listening in on the story.
The guy she came here with, Marc, looked at her like she was crazy for chiming in, but she didn’t care. Michael’s story was more interesting than all the television we weren’t allowed to watch.
“Nothing. I stayed inside.”
Marc scoffed.
“If I had gone downstairs--,” Michael continued.
“You would have died.” Erin finished his sentence for him.
She was as caught up in his story as Gabriella. Michael nodded at her.
“Yes, I would have died.”
“Then there would have been no one to protect your woman.” Marc said.
Gabriella glared at him.
“I would’ve missed Michael, but I would’ve had myself to protect me.” Louise said.
It was the one thing she contributed.
* * * *
6
She loved cheap cab rides. To take her to the Coach Inn, the fare totaled $181.20. Ashley gave the driver eleven twenty-dollar bills and got out of the cab. While the driver took her bags out of the trunk, she surveyed the Coach Inn.
For such an infamous landmark, it wasn’t bad. Ashley expected thugs and prostitutes to be having a party in the parking lot, but found one bald man smoking a cigarette by his car. The L-Shaped building had red doors and concrete walls. The neon sign by the roadway was red too. Underneath the large “COACH INN” letters, it read vacancy. Although, the "v" was out, so it read "acancy". Ashley felt safer than she had being on the street.
Bags in hand, she approached the plexiglas office. There was no one inside. She rang the service bell.
Dun dun dun.
After a minute, a greasy-haired man appeared from a separate room. He neared the window, and Ashley saw his glasses were as greasy as his hair.
“Welcome to the Coach Inn, you’re last stop from home. How may I help you.” He droned.
“I’d, uh,” Ashley cleared her throat, “like to get a room, please, sir.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you alone, girl?”
She thought about lying, but decided it didn’t really matter at a place like Coach Inn.
“Yes.”
Grease-ball looked her over. He stayed quiet (like a mouse in church), and she was afraid the next thing to come out of his mouth might be, “Get out of here, before I call the cops!”
“Hmm.” Another moment of staring before he said, “Room’s $85 a night.”
Ashley fumbled in her bag. Getting four twenties and a five took longer than it should have. There was no organization to her satchel, and the money had been stuffed inside, along with all of her other important personal items. When she handed the bills over, he checked her twenties under the glare of the light. Satisfied with their validity, he turned to a wall of keys hooks, some empty, but most of them not.
“22C. Checkout’s at noon.”
He looked as if he wanted to say more, but didn’t.
“Thank you.” Ashley took the key.
She turned around, ready to find room 22C. Grease-ball slipped out of his plexiglas office. When she went to pick up her bags, he was already trundling down the sidewalk with them.
“What are you doing?”
“My job. Not gonna let you walk there alone.” Grease-ball was grumpy in his chivalry.
“Thanks.”
His kindness was unexpected. Two small tears fell down her cheeks, and she allowed them, but just the two.
Why are you being nice to me? She wanted to ask. The ugliest man in the ugliest establishment, and he treated her decently. She couldn’t figure it. The boy from before had hid secrets beneath his beauty, uglier secrets than the dandruff flakes on Grease-ball’s shoulders.
The kind, gruff man walked on, with Ashley following. They walked to the second to the last door at the end of the L-shaped structure.
“Don’t use the water ‘til you let it run for a minute. And don’t hang around outside. This place is full of bad people looking for someone like you.”
“Like me?”
“Innocent. Corruptible.”
He smiled. Two front teeth were missing from the equation and Ashley grimaced. Her disgust didn’t faze him. Grease-ball put her bags down and offered more of his holey smile before walking away.
“Wow.” Ashley said.
Maybe she needed to worry about Grease-ball after all.
****
July 29th
Might be calling it too soon, but I‘d say Louise is my friend. We talk about most anything, and she doesn’t treat me like a kid. No, I'm not crushing on her, calm down. Maybe a little. From what I've seen of Erin and Michael, they're friends too.
Both Michael and Louise asked me why He ignores me. I keep telling them, I don’t know why He doesn’t hurt me.
Instead of hurting me, he lures others.
He brought a new person down the stairs today, a trembling stick of man. His hair was matted and he was missing most of his teeth. The guy was confused, but he knew enough of his situation to be afraid. Heck, I began to be afraid for him as soon as The Man strapped him to a chair. Rarely has He tortured someone center stage, except for
(saw, thumb tacks, blow torch)
(Couldn’t save you)
Dad. He takes his victims to the privacy of the kill room. Not today. Today was the last day of Stick Man’s life.
Certain parts of his life I’m glad I didn’t witness. Erin told me to go to sleep, and pull my covers up all the way. It wasn’t time for sleep, but I knew what she meant. I tried to sleep, really I did, but I couldn’t do much sleeping with the new guy dying in the background. Gabriella and Louise cried, begged Him to stop, to let the man live.
“You want this over?” The Man’s voice wobbled, like my dad’s used to during New Years Eve parties.
“Yes, please.” Louise said.
When He cranked up the sandblaster, I knew Louise had her answer, just not the right one.
The screams stopped first, and then the sandblaster. I got up, one hand in front of me to shield the mangled dead from my view. It nearly worked, but I did see splatters of blood on the floor, along with chunks, and I didn’t wanna think too hard on where they came from. The Man had blood thrown on half of his body, like a painting.
He spoke, promising to be a tamer monster than the ones running loose outside. As if we could believe anything a man covered in another man’s blood told us.
We were safer with Him, He said.
His eyes were crazier than usual.
* * * *
August 1st
While I helped a Waster to the bathroom, Louise decided to help me. She asked me why I bother when no one else does. I didn’t know what to say, so I shrugged. It would have been too much too soon to explain to her why I feel the need to help the Wasters (even as I feel disgust for ‘em). Best to let her go on thinking I’m a good person, and that’s all there is too it.
After our talk, Louise went into the kill room with Him. They stayed busy for about an hour before she stumbled out, sobbing in big gasps. Michael rushed over, trying to console her. It was like trying to console a toddler throwin' a tantrum; wudn't gonna happen, as my dad used to say.
Erin tapped Michael on the shoulder, saying she would talk to Louise. The two women didn’t do much talking. Erin looked at her, and Louise looked back, and they hugged. No, not hugged. They held one another, crying quietly. It was weird.
* * * *
August 2nd
I knew it was coming, and I wondered what took Michael so long to ask. He wanted to know why no one ever tried to escape through the window on the far wall. People sure have tried to escape, and one person almost succeeded.
A young girl with purple hair used to live in the corner when my family was first got down here. She was defiant to The Man (something I haven’t seen since), always spitting in His face, calling Him names. He kept saying Oh, I’m gonna break you. Not sure what he meant, but I’d say He broke her alright.
Two weeks into our capture, she stacked chairs and furniture up to reach the window. Using her hands, she broke the pane of glass and scrambled out. I was asleep for a good portion of it, but Erin told me later she heard the girl laughing all crazy-like, thinking she was free. Then a thump, which was probably The Man hitting her over the head with His baton.
He forced her back down into the basement.
On the floor, he placed two metal-slats. I think they were cheese graters.
“Kneel.” He said.
“Hell no.”
He pointed a gun at her and she knelt on the graters, whimpering as her tender knees came into contact with the harsh metal. He called her a baby, bragging about how His father had given him the same punishment as a child, and He had taken it like a champ. The statement seemed real, an insight into the deranged Man’s past.
After her knees were ready to give way, He gave her a knife. She
asked Him what the knife was for.
“It’s for you, dummy. Now, cut off your ear.”
Something about his request struck her as funny, and she laughed, a nervous guffaw cut short by the bullet He fired into her thigh. Purple Hair slipped on the graters, cutting deeper into her knees. She fell over.
“Let’s see you try to run away now, stupid cow. I think you’re done for the day.”
She didn’t seem to be listening; she was in too much pain to hear Him.
Before she could beg for the end, The Man turned around and went upstairs. Purple Hair tried joining the Wasters, but didn't last long. Her wounds became green and puss-filled, and she died a week later.
* * * *
7
August 5th
I’ve noticed a difference about Him.
All of our spirits are getting lower, but not His. As days go by, He gets happier and happier. Out of nowhere, He asked Michael to go on a hunting trip. We all knew The Man scavenged around for scraps of food to feed us and Himself, but we were unaware He actually hunted to get our food supply, since most of it came to us in gruel form.
What else could Michael do but go, so go he did. Hours later when they got back, Michael was as white as a nun’s bed sheet. He didn’t want to talk about what happened, even though it was clear he had seen things.
Gabriella, Louise, and Marc crowded around Michael, lodging question after question at him.
“What did you see?”
“Where did he take you?”
“What did you do?”
His wife only had one question for him:
“Why didn’t you try to escape?”
The questions were overwhelming him. I could see all he wanted to do was fall out on his bedroll and sleep. Sleep to forget. I did it all the time, so I knew the look.
“It would’ve been pointless.” He put his hands out as if to say, that's all I got.
All he had wasn't enough for Louise.
“What does that mean?”
“We weren’t exactly hunting deer. But I’ll tell you this, that bastard is so jolly lately because now he’s not the only monster running around.”