DYING TO SURVIVE (Dark Erotica)

by Scott Hildreth

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  STOP. FUCKING. CRYING.

  SEVEN. Ryan picked up his bag and walked toward the stairs at the corner of the weight room. The daily exercise was something that he started as a late teen. The constant reassurance by his father that he would always be overweight, worthless, and unintelligent had driven him to alter his daily routine to include exercise and proper diet in his life.

  The result was a six foot frame of one hundred and ninety pounds, all of which, by any account, was muscle. Ryan carried the bag down the steps and recalled his many trips up and down the stairs of the basement at his mother’s home. The thought of his father made his jaw tighten as he hurried down the steps toward the exit of the gym. As he reached for the handle of the door, he drew a slow breath and thought of the day.

  “You’re a fat little fuck, look at yourself,” his father had told him.

  Eleven years old and naked, Ryan stood in front of the mirror that was fixed on the wall in the basement. As he looked into the mirror, he saw an overweight boy looking back at him. His mind filled with fear of what may be next regarding punishment, his legs began to shake.

  “Do you have any suggestions, you ridiculous pile of blubber?” his father asked.

  “None, sir,” he responded, trembling.

  “You realize I do this because I love you, correct?” his father asked as he circled Ryan’s body slowly.

  “Yes sir,” Ryan responded.

  “If I didn’t care what your fat little ass weighed, I’d let you turn yourself into a human fucking beach ball. You’re disgusting, Ryan. In fact, I can’t even decide what to do with your fat little ass next. Nothing seems to motivate you,” his father bellowed as he now stood in front of Ryan and stared at his slightly overweight frame.

  “Well, we have tried giving you enemas. That didn’t work. You remained disgusting. We tried starving you, and somehow you found food - so that’s out. I can’t force you to exercise, I haven’t got time,” his father paused and shook his head at the young boy.

  “Lessons. Life is about learning lessons. The earlier in life we learn them the quicker we are able to make corrections to our lives. Does that make sense?” his father asked.

  Ryan, now crying, nodded his head slowly.

  “And another thing. You’re always crying about something down here. Every damned time we come down here, you cry about something. It makes me damned near as sick to hear you cry as it does to look at your disgusting fat little ass. Stop. Fucking. Crying,” his father demanded as he stood before him with his hands on his hips.

  Ryan bit his lower lip with his teeth in an attempt to stop sobbing. The attempt made the crying much worse.

  His father held his left hand in the air and pointed up with his index finger. His hand was rock steady as he spoke. “Do you realize why I am as successful as I am?”

  “No…”

  “No sir,” Ryan blubbered.

  His father moved his index finger within inches of Ryan’s face. The tip of the finger was missing, making the finger square at the tip. It had been that way as long as Ryan could recall. Ryan focused on the finger and wondered the significance.

  “I can’t stand to even look at you any longer. I think I may need to go upstairs and vomit. You disgust me. Thirty days, Ryan. Thirty days. We’ll mark it on the calendar upstairs. You have thirty days to lose twenty pounds. If not, you’ll be taught a lesson the hard way. I’m going upstairs. I don’t want to see your fat little face again tonight. Sleep in the room down here. I’ll tell your mother you’re sick. Get dressed, you fat little bastard,” his father turned and walked to the stairs.

  As Ryan heard the basement door close, he picked up his clothes and got dressed. He spent the night as he spent many nights as a child. Alone and attempting to determine what he could do to earn his father’s praise and love. Regardless of his lack of ability to lose the weight his father had demanded, this day was the day he would turn his life around.

  As Ryan opened the trunk of the car and tossed in the gym bag he shook his head. The thought of his father made him tense. He had started his daily workout today a little earlier than normal - to relieve tension. As he got into the car he took another deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  He turned his left wrist and checked the time. The inexpensive digital Timex watch he wore to the gym confirmed he had forty-five minutes to drive home and prepare for the volunteer to forfeit her life.

  As he started the car and backed out of the parking stall Ryan considered all of the options that may take place in the events of the morning. As he weighed each of the possibilities, he smiled. He was certain not many people on earth had ever put a plan in pace with such intricacies and potential rewards.

  Even his father would be proud.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  VOLUNTEERING TO DIE.

  EIGHT. Ryan took a deep breath and pressed his left ring finger to the pad beside the door. As the magnetic lock unlocked, he pushed the door open and exhaled. The level of tension he felt was much more than he expected it to be. Excitedly, he opened the steel door and peered inside.

  “Have we made a decision, I’ll allow sixty seconds for the response,” his voice echoed into the concrete room.

  As three women cried, Dana stood from the bench. Surprised, Ryan waited for someone to speak. Slowly and methodically, Dana walked toward the door.

  “Stop,” Ryan said as she reached a distance of a few feet from the door.

  “Is this the decision? Dana? You’re the volunteer?” Ryan asked with concern in his voice as he glared at the three ladies sitting on the respective benches opposite each other.

  Dana nodded without speaking.

  “Interesting. Please turn and place your hands behind your back, I am going to handcuff you, but I will attempt to make it as comfortable as I can, okay?” Ryan smiled as he spoke.

  Dana shuffled her feet in a circular motion and faced away from Ryan. As she placed her hands behind her back, Ryan affixed the handcuffs lightly to her wrists and pulled on the chain.

  “Step through the door, Dana,” Ryan said as he motioned to the doorway.

  As Dana walked through the door, Ryan placed his hand on her shoulder and looked into the room. The women, staring down at the floor, continued to cry. None faced the door or watched as Dana was handcuffed. As the women sobbed, Ryan interrupted.

  “Ladies,” Ryan paused and waited for them to look up. None did. “Ladies, your attention please.”

  As the women looked up and toward the door, Ryan spoke, “Tomorrow. Same time same rules. I need another volunteer. Have a fabulous day. Zero eight hundred. Let us not forget.”

  Ryan pulled the door closed. A soon as the metallic sound of the lock clicked, he checked the door to ensure it was locked. After confirming the security of the door, he placed his hand on Dana’s shoulder and escorted her to a room on the opposite side of the basement.

  Once in the room, Ryan assisted Dana to a table located in the center of the room, and pulled out a chair.

  “Please, have a seat,” Ryan said as he held the chair for her.

  “Be careful with your arms, I know that can be uncomfortable,” Ryan continued as he motioned toward the handcuffs.

  “Now, are you comfortable?” Ryan asked as he sat at a chair on the opposite side of the table.

  Quietly, Dana nodded her head and looked around the room.

  “Oh my. Your lips? What happened to your lips?” Ryan asked as he noticed Dana’s swollen lips.

  “I fell,” Dana lied, not wanting to potentially cause grief for any of the other women in the room.

  Ryan shook his head from side to side, “I doubt that, but fine. Stick to that story for now.”

  “First, I have a question,” Ryan paused, “up until this moment we have before us, what is one memory you wish you could remove from your memory bank? Only one.”

  Dana studied Ryan, took a slow breath and wondered. She contemplated her answer, and opted to be honest in her re
sponse.

  “The memory of these events - and more specifically - the memory of having chosen to die. At that moment, the feeling…the letting go, it was excruciating,” Dana began to cry as she spoke.

  “How did or does it feel? Explain in one sentence,” Ryan placed his chin in his hand and waited.

  Dana again thought, considered what to say, and responded.

  “I feel as though I am dead already,” Dana admitted as the tears ran down her cheeks.

  “Very interesting. Certainly what one would assume, I suppose. Very interesting to know for certain. Let’s get on with this, shall we?” Ryan asked as he reached for the remote control.

  “As you can see, there’s a camera on the tripod beside me. The light will come on just about now,” Ryan said as he pressed the button on a remote control that sat on top of the table.

  A green light on the face of the camera illuminated. The camera was facing Dana’s seat. As Ryan finished speaking, Dana looked up at the camera and back down toward Ryan. Ryan smiled, placed his elbows on the table, and his chin on his clenched fists.

  “Alright, let’s get down to the brass tacks as they say. This, as you may or may not have imagined - this is being recorded. I am going to give you several options. With each option, should you accept it, there will be other potential options associated with the decision you make. I am not trying to confuse you, and I realize you probably didn’t sleep well - but I have taken that into account. Let’s get started, shall we?” Ryan raised his chin from his hands and waved over the items spread out on the table.

  On one side of the table, a small stack of cotton towels lay beside a surgical scalpel, gauze, rubbing alcohol, and medical tape. On the other side of the table, a large amount of cash was stacked in four piles of identical height. In the center of the table sat a purse and a wallet.

  Ryan reached for the wallet and opened it slowly. He removed the driver’s license, held it close to his face, and studied it. Satisfied, he held it in front of the camera for a few seconds before speaking.

  “Can you state your name, please?” he asked.

  “Dana,” Dana coughed and cleared her throat.

  “Dana Mitchell,” she stated clearly and calmly.

  “Very well. Thank you,” Ryan placed the driver’s license back into the wallet, and dropped the wallet into the purse.

  “You have volunteered your life on this day, have you not?” Ryan paused, shook his head, and continued, “Well, let me rephrase that. Strike the last question. You were advised last evening that someone had to die today, and you volunteered to be that person, is that correct?”

  Dana nodded her head.

  “Verbally acknowledge the question, please,” Ryan stated calmly.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Very well,” Ryan said.

  “I am going to explain some things to you today. They may or may not make sense, but I think you are owed some form of an explanation. Are you paying attention, Dana?” Ryan asked as he placed his elbows back on the table.

  “Yes I am,” Dana responded as she shifted her weight in the chair.

  “Lessons. Life is about learning lessons. The earlier in life we learn them, the quicker we are able to make corrections to our lives. Does that make sense?” Ryan asked.

  With a confused look on her face, Dana nodded her head. She had anticipated coming out of the room as a volunteer, being shot, and her body being thrown in a ditch in the rural area surrounding the city. This question and answer session was troubling to her. She began to wonder if Ryan knew this, and was trying to cause her more grief than he already had. Mentally, she was losing touch with her willingness to die. As Ryan spoke, she began to pray.

  “Very well. Alright,” Ryan spread his hands out and motioned at the contents on the table.

  “As you can see, we have quite an arrangement on the table in front of us. Let me explain, and please do not interrupt. Is that clear?”

  “Yes it is,” Dana said flatly.

  “Very well. I am going to explain a few things first,” Ryan inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “Plenty of Fish. The dating website. You have or shall I say had an account there. You filled out a questionnaire on that site for your profile. It had a few hundred questions. The responses to those questions placed you in several categories that allowed me to carefully pick you from a list of tens of thousands of potential candidates. I was able to separate you by height, hair color, and even your personality and income level. It made the selection of you four candidates very easy. All of you, in physical resemblance, were identical. In personality and level of wealth and upbringing, all so very different,” Ryan took another breath and exhaled.

  Dana sighed, became somewhat embarrassed, and slumped a little into her seat. She wasn’t sure why at this juncture, and for what reason, but she felt guilt from Ryan finding her on the dating web site. She sat and watched him speaking, realizing that something about him caused her to admire him. She wasn’t able to decide if it was his handsome looks, his means of dress, his expressed wealth, or his very matter of fact personality. As Ryan began to speak again, she shook her head lightly and dismissed it as a form of attachment to her abductor she had no conscious control over.

  “You know, I wonder what people think when they fill out those questionnaires. It reveals a considerable amount about a person. It lets people like me hand pick a candidate to fit into a certain slot. I could have told you that either you or Shellie would be the first volunteers. Let me guess, you decided to volunteer because of your closeness to God. Am I right?” Ryan smiled as he finished speaking.

  “Yes, I guess so,” she responded.

  “Exceptional. This is such fun,” he smiled and placed his palms on either side of his face.

  “Well, let’s get to the meat of this lesson. Do you understand the risks associated with the use of such websites, and the things that you divulge when you fill out such questionnaires?” he asked.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Dana responded as she looked down at the table.

  “You’re extremely calm, this is easier than I expected. You must have a great relationship with God, but I am not going to get into that right now. Options. Let’s go over options. Are you paying attention?” Ryan snapped his fingers sharply as he finished speaking.

  “Yes. Yes, I am paying attention,” Dana responded

  “To live or to die. Choices and lessons. Alright. Here’s the biggie as they say. I will allow you to choose to live; but if you do, I must disfigure you. I will take the scalpel and remove a portion of your body, and I will not tell you in advance what portion it will be. It will, however, be limited to one portion of your body, not multiple pieces. And, as I have no anesthetic, it will be painful. You will, I am quite certain, remember the event if you so choose this option, and learn a valuable lesson. Oh my, that sounded bad, didn’t it?” Ryan slowly shook his head side-to-side as he finished speaking.

  As Dana sat and thought of what Ryan had offered, she began to think of being cut with the scalpel, and the pain associated with the procedure. First, she imagined him cutting off her nose, and what she would look like for the rest of her life without a nose. She imagined her foot being removed and the pain that would develop as he slowly attempted to cut the skin and flesh around her foot. She contemplated the amount of time it may take, and how much blood loss there would be as he cut around the circumference of her ankle. She wondered for a moment what he would do to sever the bone after he removed her foot. She imagined that she may bleed to death if he tried to remove an entire limb. Slowly, she looked over the table for sutures and a needle, and saw none.

  Dana felt her stomach convulse and swallowed slowly.

  “Oh please, don’t vomit. Let’s not start that. The floor is concrete, but still, let’s just not,” Ryan pleaded as he sat back in his chair and covered his mouth.

  “Well, think on that for a moment. The other option is this. You will die an almost painless death, and I will d
onate the stack of money on my left to whichever family member you choose to be the recipient. I assure you as a man of my word, should you choose the latter option - the money will be donated without reservation,” Ryan paused and waved in the direction of the pile of money.

  Dana coughed, swallowed, and looked at the pile of money. She contemplated what type of life her family could live with the money, and how they may evolve differently without having her as a family member. The money certainly wouldn’t solve all problems, but it would prevent many. She blinked her eyes, looked down at the table, and thought of living without a nose, hand, or possibly an arm.

  She blinked again and thought of her cancer. What if she were fated, in God’s eyes, to die anyway? She didn’t know the answer, and never would. She stared at the pile of money and tried to remember her days as a teller at the bank when she was 21 years old. Her best recollection was that there was a thousand dollars in a banded stack of one hundred dollar bills. She attempted to calculate the amount of money stacked on the table. She blinked her eyes again and lost track of the stacks she had counted. Frustrated and confused, she looked up and toward Ryan.

  “How much money is there?” she asked softly as she nodded her head in the direction of the money.

  “Five hundred thousand dollars,” Ryan responded sharply.

  Dana shifted her weight in the seat and rotated her shoulders in an effort to get comfortable. She looked at the money, turned and looked at the scalpel, and then at Ryan. Calmly, she looked down at her lap, closed her eyes, and began to pray.

  “I’ll allow you to disfigure me,” she said quietly as she opened her eyes.

  “Interesting. Are you certain?” Ryan asked as he rubbed his hands together.

  “Quite,” she responded without emotion.

  “Outstanding,” Ryan said as he stood from his chair and reached for the stack of towels.

  He picked a towel from the stack, unfolded it, and placed it in the center of the table. Slowly, he walked around the table and stood behind the chair that Dana sat in. he reached into his right pants pocket and removed the handcuff key from his pocket.