by Keri Lake
His father had been locked up in Jackson prison, though I didn’t have a clue as to why. Equally baffling was why Eli looked up to a criminal, but I guess when a person’s world consisted of liars and thieves, it helped to blend in.
“What is the secret? In the car?”
“I can’t tell you.” His breaths arrived hasty and shaky between the nonsense. “You’ll tell my mom. I know you talk to my mom about me, and if you tell her my secret, it’ll ruin everything. It’ll ruin her. It’ll ruin me!” The bedsprings rattled with his excitement, and I would’ve given anything to see his face. To look at his eyes and see if they were as crazed as his words. “And then my dad will have to come after you, too.”
Though his babbling made little sense, it proved one thing—his mother was right. Something had happened to Eli in the last couple of months, and if it was bad enough to write a letter to his father in prison, then I probably didn’t want to know. I didn’t quite understand the connection with what we were suffering right then, or why he’d dwell on something else while stuck in a real-life nightmare, but I knew Eli well enough that asking him questions wouldn’t get me any of those answers. If he felt threatened, or backed into a corner, he’d shut right down, and I couldn’t risk that.
“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to,” I whispered.
The ache of lying on the metal grates and holding my knees bent up into my chest kept a steady cadence of misery, even if I could ignore the pain of their tortures. The suffocating heat weakened my muscles, begging me to sleep. I couldn’t sleep, though. It was a tug of war inside my body, with only one certainty—I would fight until the end.
The heavy clop of footsteps echoed, beating against my nerves, until they came to an abrupt halt.
Eli whimpered again, but I stayed quiet. Waiting.
A click led the long and tired creak of the door, and even the soft glow through the cracks blinded me, forcing me to shield my eyes.
More footsteps. Shadows slinked over the walls of the room beyond my cage, and the pantry door in front of me squealed open, letting in the rancid scent of rotted fish. Something landed on the bedsprings, spilling over the side, while a cold object smacked against my shins. I kicked back, peering at it in what little light bled through, before he closed my door and opened another.
“W-w-w-water and tuna, shitheads.” The stuttering kid hadn’t said much during our tortures. A few cheers from the sidelines, but mostly his presence seemed inconsequential. He was nothing more than the big dumb kid who lured in other kids and then turned his cheek. If I had to guess, our imprisonment meant less beatings for him.
I cracked open the bottle and guzzled the cool fluids. They soothed the burn, as they slid down my throat, trickling out of the corner of my mouth. Pausing for air, I lowered the bottle and wiped my wet lips across the back of my hand. Tuna had to be my least favorite food, but I half sat up, patting around for the bowl he’d left, and scooped handfuls of the slimy fish into my mouth. The sour flavor stung my jaw, but I clamped my eyes, forcing myself to swallow it.
“I’d rather be a shithead than a Pawn,” I muttered.
When I was ten, my father taught me how to play chess. He told me the pawn was the weakest piece—disposable. Used to advance the more important pieces in the game. That was how I felt about the stuttering kid. I couldn’t even remember his name, lost in the clutter and shock of the last few hours. In my head, he was Pawn, and that gave me perspective. He was weak. And if they could manipulate him so easily, maybe I could, too.
“I’m no p-p-pawn.”
“A pawn does what he’s told. Nobody really cares about him because he’s not the most important game piece. And in the end, he’ll take the fall to make sure the king survives.”
Through the hole, I watched his jaw shift with contemplation, as though literally chewing my words. “I’d be c-c-c-careful. The last kid didn’t m-m-m-make it through the week.”
Eli howled with a sob, and the Pawn disappeared. Seconds later, the low hum followed by rattling metal, elicited more cries from Eli’s box.
“Shut up! Sh-sh-sh-shut the fuck up!”
Sharp thuds from somewhere to the right of me told me we’d gotten under his skin. If I could pin him against the others, maybe I could make him see we were on the same side.
“They hurt him, just like they hurt you.”
The slamming stopped, and I could hear his forced breaths.
“They don’t h-h-h-hurt me like that no m-m-m-more.”
“They will. Once we’re gone. They’ll hurt you.” I curled my fingers around the metal grates to settle my nerves. “We’ll help you.”
“H-h-h-help me how? You’re s-s-stuck in a cage.”
“No. He’s right,” Eli chimed in, as if part of his brain had connected back to reality for a minute. “My dad has connections. He’ll hurt them.” And then it disconnected again. “He’s coming for everyone.”
“Y-y-you don’t have a dad.”
The Pawn’s words chilled my blood. Of course Eli had a dad, but he wasn’t around. He hadn’t been for years. But how did the kid know he wasn’t in the picture?
“Fuck you! My dad is the most dangerous criminal at Jackson prison! You’re all going to die!”
“What do you know about his dad?” I asked, clambering toward the hole to see more of his face.
“I kn-kn-kn-know he’s lying. So d-d-d-does he.”
“Listen, let us out. We can all leave this place.” The calm I forced into my voice made the words sound like a plea, curling my stomach at the thought of begging the kid for anything.
“The J-J-J-John’s coming t-t-t-today.” The kid scratched at his arm, his nails digging into his flesh. “M-m-m-Fox says he-he-he’s got plans for you.”
“Who’s John?” I inched closer still, trying to get a better lay of the room beyond, searching for something that might facilitate escape, but all that stood in view was the box in the center of the room, still covered in the black drape.
“You’ll see. Soon.” Lights flicked off, and I caught the Pawn’s silhouette as he backed himself out of the room, and the door clicked shut behind him.
* * *
The cold metal of a gun’s barrel pressed into my temple. “You try anything tricky, I will put bullets in all his limbs and then his skull.” Fox’s breath reeked like stale menthol cigarettes and the bitter burn of alcohol, as it wafted from beside me.
I kept my eyes on Eli, who stood with his back to me, naked and trembling in the sprays of a hose, with soap bubbles streaming down his spine. Alongside him, the Pawn scrubbed at his body with a scouring brush, splashing water all over the cement floor of some room down the hall from where we’d been kept.
Eli’s screams bounced off the walls as the brush scraped across his burns, coloring them a blistering red beneath what had to be ice-cold jets of water.
Pounding on his ear, the Pawn paused a moment, as if the sounds bothered him. “Stop! Shut up!”
Averting my eyes was the only privacy and dignity I could offer Eli, while I waited in the hallway for my turn.
“See, I got you figured out, kid. You’re the compassionate friend. The one who looks out for Boy over there. Even when you don’t wanna be, right? I mean, if you didn’t have such a shithead for a friend, I’m guessing you wouldn’t even be here.” Tugging out a cigarette from the pack stuffed into his greasy work shirt, he held the gun steady at my temple, making me wonder how much he’d have to squeeze the trigger to set it off. “You’d be out doing good things in the world,” he said around his smoke. “But that’s what makes you so important. You wouldn’t dare piss me off and risk getting your friend killed, would you?”
I ground my teeth together, eyes scanning for one flaw in the scenery, one glimmer of hope for escape. Not easy with a gun pointed at my head, but the cracked swing-out window set below the room’s ceiling presented a possible opportunity. I’d have to come up with a way to separate them from us. Maybe fight him off just long
enough to lock the door to the room. My blood hummed as the plan took root inside my head. One of us would undoubtedly get shot, but perhaps nothing fatal. Then there’d be the issue of what would happen on the other side, once we’d crawled out.
We’d have to be fast.
The water flipped off, and I stood momentarily dumbfounded, certain up until that point that they’d have me jump in after Eli. Not that I wanted to be washed by the fucktarded kid. I didn’t want any of the assholes touching me, but escape was slipping out of my grasp with every day we remained trapped there.
“I’m not showering?”
“Nope. Only Boy needs a shower ‘cause he smells like shit.” He leaned in, sniffing at me, until I curled my fist. “You smell like a goddamn rose.”
“Then, what was the point of making me stand here?”
“Whelp, aside from the fact that you two are kind of a checks and balances, keeping each other in line, I like to … take ya out of the box every so often. Give you a little bit a freedom. Like a …. Ah, hell, what’s that Greek box that held all the shit in it?” He circled the gun at my head, gesturing as he spoke. “Pandy … Panda … Pandora’s box. Ever heard of it?”
I shook my head, watching him light up the cigarette still sticking out from his lips. “Ancient story about some box that contained all the evils of mankind. And some stupid bitch opened that box and unleashed ‘em on the world. Always a woman, right?” He nudged my arm as he chuckled. “Anywho, the last thing to come out of it was hope. So when that shit-storm hit, and things seemed bad, all the world remained hopeful.” He rolled his eyes, waving his cigarette in the air, then pointed somewhere past Eli. “I seen you eyein’ that window, but I’m here to tell you, you will not make it out of this house alive. Unless you play by my rules. Hope’s a cruel bitch sometimes. A fuckin’ tease with her legs spread wide open, and the moment you set your lips to her pretty little pussy …” The hard crack of his hands slapping together drew my attention to the gun caught between them. “Those thighs smack shut before you get the first taste.”
“Are you saying you’ll let us go?”
“You behave? Hell, yes. Ain’t that what you want?”
“Not like him.” I nodded toward the Pawn. “I mean, let us go home.”
“You think he’s here because I made him stay?”
“Why’s he here?”
His lips curved to a smile, but instead of answering, he jerked the gun, motioning me back down the hallway to the small room where they kept us.
Naked and shivering, Eli followed after the Pawn ahead of me, dripping water across the floor.
With a quick glance over my shoulder, I caught Fox’s wicked smile, as he prodded me along with the barrel of his pistol. “Why are you keeping us?” It didn’t make sense that they would kidnap us and then just let us go. No. Something wasn’t right.
“In due time.”
“Or you could just tell me now.”
He snorted a laugh and sighed, coming to a stop where Eli had already rounded the corner into the dark room. “I like you kid, I do. Y’got balls. Big ones.”
I’d had a good look on the way out, at the space where we’d been kept, what it really was. A room devoid of all furniture, except for the large box set in the middle of it, about the size of a large dog crate, draped in the black curtain. The two closets stood off to the side, adjacent to one another—pantries that must’ve been used for storage at one time.
Looking past me, Fox took a drag of his cigarette and blew it off to the side. “Make sure you secure those headphones to his ears,” he said to the Pawn. “Strap that sumbitch tight and put that Megadeth song I like on loop. Bullet To The Brain.”
The Pawn flipped up the curtain, revealing that the box beneath was a cage, with a hole carved into the barriers of wood and steel. He guided Eli inside, and I turned to see Fox staring at me in a way that felt more leering than before. The kind of stare that made every hair on my skin bristle.
“You got a pretty face, son. Lucky for you, I’m not in the business of selling pretty faces. That was my brother’s gig, and he ain’t here right now.”
“What’s happening? Why’s he in there?”
Fox’s cheeks caved in with another drag. “In due time.”
16
Sera
Present day …
Books tucked beneath my arm, I stared down at the number the librarian had written down, for where I’d find the reference book checked out of every other campus library, forcing me to venture off campus. Not that the city’s public library was much of a hike. In fact, it sat just across Cass Avenue.
The Criminal Justice collection made up a small section on the second floor, nothing as extensive as the campus library, but when every other CJ major happened to be after the same books and articles, it was a miracle I found the one I’d been looking for.
I made my way down the aisle, until I reached the only copy of the book left on the shelf. Stacking it onto the ones already in hand, I shuffled toward the long desks set off from the aisles of books. A number of students sat scattered at various tables, but one in particular caught my eye.
Even with his back turned to me, hat spun around on his head and nose buried in the book in front of him, I recognized him from across the room. His size gave him almost a celebrity appearance, like catching a glimpse of a Lions, or Pistons, athlete out in the wild. He looked out of place at a public library, his face even more so, better suited for a billboard somewhere in New York.
I hugged my books and approached him slowly, looking over his shoulder to catch a peek of his reading.
“Interesting,” I said.
If I’d startled him, he certainly didn’t act like it, as he closed the book and swiveled around in his chair, in the same fluid movement as though he’d been expecting me.
“Techniques of Crime Scene Investigation? Is this what you do when you’re not climbing cranes?”
Lips kicked up to a half smile, his blue eyes stalked me as I rounded the table. “You’re definitely following me now.”
“So … should I be scared? You’re not a serial killer, are you?” I set my books down across from him and plopped into the empty seat, taking in the way he looked damn near edible, all sprawled out casual in his chair.
“I’m merely studying for our date. Hoping to impress you.”
“Ambitious, this one. If you really want to impress me, study these.” I pushed the stack of art books I’d gathered up from the opposite side of the library. Not that I needed to study. I just happened to like perusing the works.
He flipped the first book open on a woman slicing a blade across a man’s throat. “Wow. That’s macabre. Not much different from what I was reading.”
“Judith Beheading Holofernes. She saved her people by seducing and beheading the Assyrian general. This one was done by Caravaggio during the Baroque period. It’s one of a few versions. Not so macabre when you look at her through the eyes of a heroic woman, no?”
Leaning to the side, he stroked his chin—a distraction I found painfully sexy. “You think she was justified in killing him, then?”
“She embodies power. Taking back what was to be taken from her people.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
I scanned the room, noting the proximity of the other students, whose heads remained buried in their books. “I believe in killing when there’s purpose behind it,” I said, turning back to him. “Not for one’s own amusement.”
He slid the next hardcover out of the stack and opened it. “Erotic Illustration and Literature.”
The first image showed a woman lying naked, blindfolded, her panties pulled down to mid-thigh.
Ty cocked a brow and flipped to another page, where another woman lay on the floor with her legs spread, as if peering into a mirror while she touched herself.
Clearing my throat, I sat back, tapping my finger on the table as I watched him peruse the book with pointed interest. “Yarek Godfrey. I find t
he images inspiring.”
Yet another page revealed a woman twisted with pleasure, a dark figure hovering over her with its hand up her asshole.
“For art, or sex?” he asked with a roguish grin.
I let my gaze fall from his, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “Art is sex for me.”
He dragged his attention up from the page. “Then, why study Criminal Justice?”
With a sigh, I shrugged. “I dreamed of going to CCS and Cranbrook Academy. Wouldn’t even feel like school, ya know? It’d be like … I don’t know. Amazing.”
“So, what happened? Why’d you end up here?”
“Life.”
“Life, or parents?” Tipping his head, he smirked, luring my eyes to the delicious curve of his neck, the perfect angles of his jaw I imagined sketching, veins popping out with his tension and exertion, my eyes feasting on every peak and shadow of his body. “Sera?”
I blinked out of my musings. “Parent. My mother passed away when I was about nine.” Rubbing my hands together brought forth a flash memory, of messy paint spatters and my small handprint stamped in blue across her face as she laughed. “She would’ve told me to go after my dream.”
“You must miss her a lot.”
“Everyday.” I offered a slight smile, focusing on his hands to keep from tearing up. Though his fingers were long, they were masculine and dotted with scars I imagined he’d acquired through his line of work.
The next page showed a man holding a woman, her head tipped back as he devoured her neck in a passionate kiss.
“This is my favorite.” I sat forward, resting my elbows on the table, and eyes glued to the page, I studied the way the couple melded into each other.
“What makes it your favorite?”
“The way she surrenders to him. She trusts him and loses herself to him. There’s so much passion and heat. Some people go their whole lives and never feel that. It’s beautiful.” I ran my finger over the page, tracing the curves where their bodies came together perfectly in the painting.