Refraction

by Christopher Hinz

  The thought vaporized, overwhelmed by terror.

  If he got out of this.

  There was a possibility that wouldn’t happen, that he would die tonight, strapped to this bench.

  Panic gurgled up. He clenched his fists, fought off the fear. If he was to have any chance of surviving, he had to hold it together.

  Nobe continued with the call. “Yeah, he’s fine… just normal stress adjustin’ to his new digs.”

  Aiden didn’t sense deference in Nobe’s tone. Yet he had a hunch the person on the other end was the one in charge.

  “Uh-huh, got it. See you then.”

  Nobe hung up and nodded to Flat Chin. “Farlin, roll up his sleeves.”

  Farlin obediently peeled back Aiden’s shirt to the elbows. Nobe withdrew an eight-inch pewter cylinder from an inside jacket pocket. It resembled a narrow-profile flashlight. He flicked a switch, igniting a three-inch needle of blue-white flame at one end.

  “This is London,” Nobe said, touching the tip of the flame to a patch of bare skin a few inches above Aiden’s wrist.

  Aiden winced in pain at the touch of the hot needle. Nobe withdrew the cylinder. Aiden stared in horror at the result, a wicked red blister the diameter of a cigarette.

  Nobe aimed the needle at a fresh target three inches higher on Aiden’s forearm. “And this is Liverpool,” he said, creating another ugly burn. “Now, what’s say we link these wee little cities of the mighty British Empire.”

  Aiden had no time to contemplate the disdain expressed in those last three words. Nobe ran the fiery needle up his arm, incinerating the length of skin between the two burns. Curls of smoke wafted up from sizzling flesh. Aiden screamed in mad agony. The pain was unbearable.

  Nobe leaned over Aiden’s chest and inched the flame toward his other arm. Aiden felt his whole body tensing in expectation of fresh agony.

  “How about we go stateside, mate? What say we bring together New York and Boston?”

  FOURTEEN

  Even through Aiden’s shrieks, some analytic portion of his brain recognized that Nobe had skills as a torturer. The man created just enough pain to keep him screaming, but not so much that it took him past a threshold into what would have been blissful unconsciousness.

  Although Nobe smiled throughout the ordeal, Aiden didn’t get the sense the man was experiencing heightened pleasure. Nobe seemed too professional, too detached to be deemed a sadist. His smile didn’t reveal an emotional state. It was simply a mask, meant to cloak a deadened soul.

  When the torture finally ended, when Nobe killed the switch and sucked the hot needle back into its cylinder, Aiden’s forearms each bore three parallel gashes. It looked liked he’d been raked by a pair of fiery claws.

  Lost in an afterglow of throbbing pain, he could only lie there in torment as the minutes passed. The men had asked no questions, demanded no information. The reason for the torture remained a mystery. A part of Aiden wanted to ask why they were doing this. Conversation might help wrench his thoughts away from the agony of his sizzled flesh.

  He held back. They probably wouldn’t have answered his questions anyway. But fear was a more fundamental reason for keeping quiet. He didn’t want to upset the status quo. Engaging the men in discussion could lead to a reappearance of the fiery needle.

  A muffled whirring sound came from overhead, drew closer. A helicopter was approaching. Aiden heard it touch down nearby.

  The back door creaked open. He twisted around, caught a glimpse of a tall man in an overcoat before the newcomer slipped behind the tires and oil drums.

  The man’s voice was deep and self-assured. “Aiden Manchester, quiver kid extraordinaire. Naturally, the extraordinaire part is merely a guess. But by the time we’re through here, I can assure you, I’ll know your parameters.”

  “Who are you?” Aiden whispered.

  “Who am I?” The man chuckled. “Let’s pretend it is Christmas and go with a color of the season. Why don’t you call me Red.”

  “You’re a Tau Nine-One baby.”

  The man clapped his hands in a mocking manner. “Outstanding! And do you happen to know your own color?”

  Aiden saw no reason to lie. “Green. That’s the color I dream about.”

  “I, alas, do not suffer such simplistic dreams. Nevertheless, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Green. I’m truly honored that we can finally meet.”

  Echoes of sincerity seemed to reverberate from the man’s flamboyant style of speech. Considering Aiden’s predicament, the notion was jarring.

  “Green, I am greatly relieved you’re not of that dimwitted species, Moronosaurus rex. Now Blue, there was a most ignorant creature. Of course, Blue had spent much of his pathetic existence incinerating brain cells with illicit drugs and God knows what else. I trust you’re intelligent enough not to waste time attempting to penetrate the realm beyond the beasts.”

  Aiden didn’t understand the remark. He sensed it was rhetorical and required no response. Red rambled on.

  “So, to business then. Let’s talk about shadows.”

  “Shadows?”

  “Really? Must the two of us play cat-and-mouse games? Waste everybody’s time with a drawn-out Q-and-A? It’s getting close to dawn and I have a busy day ahead. Why don’t we cut to the chase.”

  “The chase?”

  “That’s right. Pedal to the metal! Balls out! Show and tell!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  An exaggerated sigh emanated from behind the barrels. “If you want to do this the hard way, we can oblige. But please be aware of the consequences. Nobe and Farlin have already given you a sampling. I’d hoped those burns would have put you in the right frame of mind. At the very least, they should cue you as to the seriousness of our intentions.”

  A shudder ran through Aiden. His ravaged arms still hurt. But it wasn’t close to the level of agony he’d experienced while the torture was being inflicted.

  He struggled to make sense of it all, comprehend what they expected of him. It was clear he had to say something. If not, the burning needle would return.

  “You want to know about my psychic abilities?”

  “Excellent! I knew you’d come around. Please continue.”

  Aiden babbled out his history, explained about his manifestations. He included the latest one, though he didn’t mention anything about his sister or niece. No way could he risk putting them in peril.

  When he finished, Red gave a dismissive chuckle.

  “Oh, Green, you’re priceless. I could almost begin to buy this nonsense.”

  “I swear to you, it’s the truth.”

  “Not even one little old shadow to your credit?”

  “I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Nobe took a menacing step toward him with the needle.

  “What possible reason would I have to lie?” Aiden blurted out.

  Red went quiet for a long moment, as if weighing Aiden’s response. When he spoke again, his voice carried an air of resignation.

  “As my dearly demented and departed father used to say, ‘Never underestimate the unconscious nature of your average citizen.’ Still, we must be certain. Would you gentlemen be so kind as to cut off Green’s right forefinger.”

  Nobe ignited the flame. Farlin gripped Aiden’s wrist with one hand and bent the forefinger away from the palm with his other hand. Like a surgeon undertaking a delicate operation, Nobe inched the blue-white needle toward the finger’s joint.

  Numbing terror rippled through Aiden. He tried yanking his hand away, but the bindings and Farlin’s iron grip made movement impossible. His head pounded.

  “Goddamn it, tell me what you want! Just tell me! I’ll cooperate, I swear!”

  The flame eased closer. It was less than an inch away. Aiden could feel its heat.

  He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. His head was pounding. It felt as if his brain was going to explode.

  But the pain of the needle
severing his finger never came. He opened his eyes.

  Red was standing over him. He was an imposing figure, at least six feet tall and movie-star handsome. Smooth blond hair was combed straight back. Pale blue eyes studied Aiden’s panic with glacial calm.

  “No need to prolong this,” Red said to his men. “If Mr Manchester had something to tell or show us, he’d have revealed it by now.”

  Nobe turned off the flame and retracted the cylinder. Farlin, disappointed, released Aiden’s finger.

  Aiden felt his tightened muscles unwind. His plight hadn’t changed. But for the moment, another round of unbearable torment had been averted.

  “Nobe, you’ll fly back with me,” Red ordered. “Tarantian is a go for Wednesday. We’ll rendezvous at the cabin that morning for final prep.”

  “Zero hour?” Farlin asked.

  “Late afternoon. Figure on somewhere around 1700, give or take.”

  Nobe frowned. “I’m telling you again, the op should happen after dark with NVGs.”

  “The timing can’t be helped. Deal with it.”

  Red returned his attention to Aiden. “I must admit I’m feeling rather invigorated. Do you ever get that warm and tingly sensation when things seem to be going exactly the way you want them to?”

  Aiden didn’t answer. Red’s expression changed to faux sympathy. “But I suppose it’s in poor taste for me to be gloating at a time like this. After all, as good as I feel, your world at the moment is rather… well, let’s just say you don’t have much to be optimistic about.”

  He turned to Farlin. “You’ll take care of cleanup.”

  Farlin nodded. Red turned and walked away without another word. Nobe followed. Aiden heard the back door open and the two men exit. A few moments later came the sounds of the helicopter taking off.

  A new wave of terror washed over Aiden. You’ll take care of cleanup.

  Farlin exited through the front door. Aiden heard a vehicle trunk opening and closing. Farlin returned with two five-gallon plastic containers. Unscrewing the caps, he poured a clear liquid from the first container in a circle around the bench on which Aiden was strapped. The garage’s musty odor was overwhelmed by the rich stink of gasoline.

  “Oh, Jesus!” Aiden screamed. “Don’t do this! Please!”

  He may as well have pleaded with a rock. Farlin was going to burn down the garage and everything in it.

  I’m going to die.

  As the fumes wafted through the garage, the man who was about to terminate the existence of Aiden Manchester backed toward the door with the second gas can, spilling a liquid trail to serve as a fuse. Stopping just inside the door, Farlin lowered the can and drew a matchbook from his pocket.

  FIFTEEN

  Farlin tore off a match. He made a move to draw it across the striking surface but froze at the last instant. A cold smile came over him. Unlike Red and Nobe with their professional iciness, Farlin enjoyed cruelty.

  The second time, Farlin didn’t hesitate. The match lit. He held the glittering spike aloft until the flame stabilized.

  A figure holding a closed laptop in two hands lunged into the garage behind Farlin. The figure swung the laptop at the side of Farlin’s head.

  Keyboard met sadist with an explosive crack. Farlin stumbled forward. The lit match flew from his fingers. The flame puffed out before it touched the gas-soaked floor.

  The force of the blow would have dropped a normal man. But Farlin recovered fast, whipped a handgun from under his jacket.

  Aiden recognized the attacker. It was the craggy-faced man from the motel.

  The attacker swung the laptop again, slammed it down across Farlin’s wrist. The blow dislodged the gun. The weapon clattered across the floor, slid to the edge of the inspection pit.

  Farlin lowered his head and charged. The craggy-faced man raised the laptop for strike three. But he wasn’t quick enough.

  His opponent slammed into his midsection. The laptop took flight. It splattered across the floor, shedding plastic.

  Farlin got a choking grip around his opponent’s neck. Aiden’s hopes sank. His potential savior looked badly outmatched. Farlin was taller and beefier, and a good quarter century younger.

  But there was a quality on the face of the craggy-faced man, a smoldering intensity that suggested defeat wasn’t in his nature. He grabbed hold of Farlin’s wrist, the one that had taken the blow from the laptop, and squeezed. Farlin grunted in pain and released his stranglehold.

  That was all the craggy-faced man needed. He twisted free and spun away.

  The combatants warily circled one another. Farlin glanced toward the gun at the edge of the pit. But the craggy-faced man was closer. However, he made no attempt to retrieve the weapon. Instead, he took a step away from the gun, as if taunting Farlin to go for it.

  Farlin took the bait and scrambled toward the gun. The craggy-faced man waited. Just as Farlin retrieved the weapon, he danced forward. Spinning like a shot-putter, he lifted his right leg.

  His boot caught his enemy’s left temple. Stunned, Farlin dropped the gun into the inspection pit and collapsed to his knees. The craggy-faced man grabbed Farlin’s head and slammed it down against the wheel ramp. A sickening crack of flesh and bone meeting hardened steel echoed through the garage.

  The craggy-faced man repeated the brutal action five more times. When he lifted Farlin’s head it was soaked in blood, the nose smashed, the eyes jellied.

  The craggy-faced man rifled Farlin’s pockets and lifted two wallets. He transferred car keys and a phone to his own jacket then went through one of the wallets. Finding nothing of interest, he cast it aside.

  Shoving Farlin into the inspection pit, he glared down at his vanquished foe before turning to Aiden.

  “Pretty rough time, huh,” he said, unstrapping Aiden from the bench. “Well, hang in there. I’ll have you out of here in a jiffy.”

  The voice was mild, the tone paternal. Aiden had a difficulty connecting the calm words with the explosion of violence he’d just witnessed.

  “Who are you?”

  The craggy-faced man undid the last strap and helped him off the bench, being careful not to touch Aiden’s burned forearms. Aiden, wobbly from the ordeal, immediately fell to his knees.

  “Deke Keats,” the man said, helping him to his feet.

  The name meant nothing to Aiden. A burly arm swept across his back, supported him until they reached the front door. By then, he was able to stand on his own.

  Keats retrieved the broken laptop and Farlin’s matchbook. Striking a match, he set the whole book aflame and hurled it onto the liquid fuse.

  The garage interior exploded into flames as Deke Keats, savior extraordinaire, hustled Aiden out the door.

  SIXTEEN

  In the murky darkness, Keats used the procured keys to start Farlin’s SUV, a Cadillac Escalade. Aiden eased himself into the passenger seat and gazed back at the garage.

  His torture chamber squatted under pristine night skies amid forested hills. By the time Keats wheeled them onto the adjacent two-lane road, tongues of flame were licking through the roof.

  The road looked long-abandoned. Headlights revealed trees and underbrush encroaching onto the shoulders. Weeds sprouted from cracks in the macadam. Potholes were ubiquitous. Keats drove slow to dodge the worst of them. Even so, the Escalade bottomed out several times.

  The bouncy ride agitated Aiden’s burns. On top of the renewed pain came the realization of how narrowly he’d escaped death. A shudder went through him. He gripped the dashboard to stop his hands from shaking.

  Keats took note. “That’s normal post-traumatic reaction. It’ll pass. But we need to get those arms looked at.”

  Aiden had a thousand questions. But the one demanding priority concerned Keats’ savagery when taking down Farlin.

  “Think he was still alive after you…?”

  “Doubt it. In any case, he’s a crispy critter by now.”

  “I know what he tried to do to me so don’t take this wr
ong. But the way you pounded his head into that wheel ramp…”

  “Yeah, got carried away. Shouldn’t have gone full-tilt on his ass. Might have squeezed some intel out of him before he croaked.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

  Keats shrugged. “Humanity’s like a sports team, not everybody makes the cut.” The pockmarked face morphed into a scowl. “What’s the matter, don’t approve of having your butt saved?”

  Aiden hesitated, confused by his own feelings. “Better him than me.”

  “Damn straight. And whatever guilt you’re feeling, you should know that Rufus Farlin was walking scum. He took part in at least two massacres of non-combatants that included the rape and torture of women and children. Trust me, Mother Nature’s waking up in a better mood this morning knowing Farlin’s no longer pissing on her garden.”

  Ahead of them, a faint tinge of purplish light above a mountain range signaled dawn.

  “Where are we?”

  “West Virginia, about a hundred miles from Baltimore. This road and everything on it was bypassed by a new highway decades ago. Do you remember how they snatched you?”

  Aiden related what he could recall of the attack at the motel.

  “Sounds like they knocked you out with that aerosol. Probably a psychogenic anesthetic. Numbs the brain but leaves the body awake. You would have looked drunk. They probably kept their faces averted from the security cameras and walked you right out of the motel without arousing suspicion.”

  “Why bring me all the way out here?”

  “Privacy. I doubt if there’s an occupied building within miles. Fits their MO.”

  “They’ve done this before?”

  “At least once. Victim was tortured in a similar way then burned alive.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Jesus doesn’t run within a thousand klicks of this crowd.”

  Keats removed a hand from the wheel and turned on Farlin’s phone. He scowled.

  “Shit! Triggered a memory wipe. Personal data is gone, including address book and call history. Careful bastards.”