Shackled

by Ray Garton

  When he finally stopped, she heard the bar of soap in the sock drop to the floor with a thunk.

  "On your knees," he growled. "Ass in the air."

  She did, her body screaming silently in pain, in agony as she looked over her shoulder and saw him standing before her with an erection.

  "From now on, maybe you'll learn to do as you're told and speak only when I say you can," he growled quietly, specks of saliva glistening at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe you'll leam to keep your mouth shut!" He plunged into her rectum and she swallowed her scream with a gurgle. "Maybe you'll realize that you're with me now ... and I'm going to make you a star whether you like it or not!"

  With his lips pulled back over clenched teeth, he began to pound against her violently, painfully, as he snarled, "Do you understand?" When she remained frozen, her mouth yawning open, eyes shut, throat working hard to swallow her pain silently as if it were swallowing feathers, he repeated himself, louder: "I said, do you understand, you fucking cunt?"

  Her eyes snapped open wide, and although she could not speak, her mouth worked and she nodded frantically as Rex stabbed himself into her again and again, hard and with growling noises, shooting long and icy slivers of pain through her back each and every time ...

  2

  "I feel like Moses," Ethan murmured.

  "What'd you say?" Garner asked.

  The two of them sat in the dingy, dimly lighted living room. Rob was in the next room, eagerly monitoring phone calls.

  "I said I feel like Moses," Ethan repeated. "Not that I think I'm a prophet, or anything like that, no — no." He chuckled as he added, "I couldn't part my hair, let alone the Red Sea. I just feel like he must've felt when he was standing there at that rock."

  "Rock?" Garner asked, leaning forward in his chair. He was munching on a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich. "What rock?"

  "The rock that he struck."

  "Huh? I mean, uh ... well, it wasn't in that movie. You know, The Ten Commandments! Beyond the DeMille epics, I'm a biblical bonehead."

  "It was the reason Moses wasn't allowed into the Promised Land after all those years of leading the people of Israel through the desert. They were in the wilderness of Zin. There was no water. The people began to complain. But they'd been complaining ever since they'd left Egypt, even though they'd seen god's miracles right before their very eyes. So naturally, Moses was a little upset by the time they got to Zin. With no water around, god told him to take a stick from in front of the Ark of the Covenant, hold it over a certain rock, and speak to that rock, and water would gush out. But Moses was so angry, so fed up with all the bickering and complaining, so tired of having to deal with all of it, that he disobeyed. He used the stick to strike the rock angrily rather than just speaking to it as god had told him."

  After a pause, Garner asked, "What's that got to do with you?"

  They spoke quietly, their faces darkened by shadows.

  "Anger and frustration have outweighed my faith, I'm afraid. Just as they outweighed Moses'."

  "But, hey, that was Charlton Heston!" Garner chuckled. "Look, maybe god expected a little more from the man he chose to lead his people out of slavery and into the Promised Land, but you're just like all the rest of us. A pastor, sure ... but you're under a lot of pressure, a lot of stress. I think maybe you're being too hard on yourself."

  Ethan shook his head slightly. "Maybe so, I don't know. But my faith is the core of my whole life and now ... well, I feel it slipping away, right through my fingers."

  "Hey, maybe you're forgetting something! Your little boy has been taken! Most people don't exactly hold together well under circumstances like this, okay? That is, unless they're completely without feeling, dead inside, or something."

  Ethan stood with a weary sigh and said, "I should call Loraina and see how she — "

  "Ha-hah!" Rob bellowed in the other room.

  They froze, staring at each other.

  "How long has it been?" Garner muttered.

  Looking at his watch, Ethan said, "Oh, about seven hours, a little more."

  Garner spun his chair around, smiling. "Damn, that kid is good!

  The two went into the next room to find out what Rob had learned ...

  DOUGLAS: "I know it was a little out of the ordinary to put in a call to you, but I'd already called two of my contacts here in the Bay Area, and I wasn't so sure they'd get the information to you right away. At first, I figured it wasn't such a big deal, just another newshound, that sorta thing. But when Chief Cotchell said that he might, just might be interested in looking into that guy's story ... I figured I'd better call you."

  MAN: "You know perfectly well that wasn't reason enough for you to call here. Word would have gotten back to me anyway, and you know it."

  DOUGLAS: "Look, all I'm saying is that — "

  MAN: "All I am saying is that you should concentrate on your job. Pass information on to your contacts when necessary. Call this number only in the most extreme emergency. We've gone over this before. Now, do you understand?"

  DOUGLAS: "Yeah. I understand, yeah."

  MAN: "Besides, the reporter and his friend are taken care of. We already know about him and are taking the proper measures. That's why you should only call this number in life or death situations — because we are way ahead of you. As for the chief ... that's your job. Steer him clear. Blow smoke in his direction. Distract him. And do not bother us with anything like this again."

  DOUGLAS: "Yes. Uh, sir."

  The connection was broken and a dial tone began to hum.

  Garner turned off the recorder and looked up at Ethan, who was frowning and tense, rubbing his upper and lower lips together nervously.

  Rob was staring intently at the computer screen, his fingers hitting keys now and then. He did not seem to notice they were there, right beside him.

  "Sounds pretty convincing to me," Garner said. "How about you, Pastor?"

  Ethan simply nodded. To himself, in a mere breath, he muttered, " 'The reporter and his friend are taken care of.' "

  "There were other calls," Rob said without taking his eyes from the screen. "I'm pretty sure they had something to do with this, but they were all in a sort of code. Nobody said what they meant, y'know? But that one sounded like he was talking with the big boss. Or at least somebody real important. Otherwise, he probably wouldn't have — " He froze a moment. "Hah! Got it!"

  "What, what?" Ethan breathed, moving closer to the boy, looking over his shoulder.

  "That call came from Los Angeles. There's no address, but it was definitely L.A."

  "Which is not far from Bent and Coll," Ethan muttered.

  "If you want," Rob said, "I can use the prefix to narrow down the area."

  Garner said, "You go right ahead, kid, work some more magic."

  "I think we should call them," Ethan said, heading for the nearest phone.

  Garner turned his chair and followed, saying, "But there's no phone there. Those people they're seeing in the desert don't have one, and at this hour of the night, Bent and Coll won't be in their motel room. They'll be out in the dark looking through their telescope."

  Ethan turned to him, nodding. "But we can at least leave a message with the clerk telling them to call us as soon as they get in."

  He took a slip of paper from his shirt pocket, unfolded it, and put it on the table beside the phone, glancing at it as he punched the number in. He waited as it rang at the other end. When the clerk answered, Ethan said, "Yes, I'm looking for the men staying in rooms eleven and twelve. I'm sure they aren't in right now, but if I could — "

  "They haven't been in for a while, the way I hear it," the man said. He sounded like he was chewing on something, a toothpick maybe.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "I say, they haven't been around. All their stuffs still in there, but nobody's seen 'em in about, oh, uh ... couple of days, maybe. I'm not sure. I only work four nights a week, and they ain't in a row, so I'm not exactly up-to-date on stuff, you know?"


  "Are you sure we're talking about the same two men?" Ethan said their names slowly.

  "Uhh, just a sec, lemme check." After a moment the man said, "Yeah, those're the guys. Rooms eleven and twelve."

  Ethan could do no more than frown at the number on the piece of paper as he thought frantically. What could be keeping them away? Why hadn't they called in the last couple of days?

  Finally, Ethan muttered, "Yes, well ... those are the men. Could you leave the message, anyway? For when they come back?"

  "Yeah, sure. 'Course, if they aren't back soon, their stuffs liable to get junked so the rooms can be rented to paying customers."

  "Didn't they pay in advance?"

  "Not this far in advance, according to the book. Anyways, yeah, I can leave a message."

  "Have them call Garner the second they get in."

  "I'll do my best. We'll see."

  Once the conversation was finished, Ethan returned the receiver to its cradle very slowly, still frowning. He turned to Garner. "They haven't been anywhere near their rooms in two days, maybe more."

  Garner frowned with him as they stared at each other silently.

  "That voice on the phone, Garner," Ethan said quietly. "It said, ‘ Besides, the reporter and his friend are being taken care of.’ "

  Garner nodded slowly.

  Ethan suspected Garner was thinking the same thing he was thinking: Somehow, the Satanists were on to them and they had fallen into a trap. Or perhaps they had come across something in that desert after all and had gotten themselves in trouble. Could that be possible? After all, Bent had been calling almost every day to update them, let them know that they hadn't found anything yet. At least, he had at first. Then, when they continued to find nothing, night after night, the calls were spaced further and further apart ... a day ... two days ... then finally three ... until there were no more calls.

  "I have to go there," Ethan said.

  "Go where? How do you know where they are?"

  "Bent left directions to the Kotters' place. I'll find them."

  "You can't go alone."

  "Why not?"

  "Well, if they're in trouble, you sure won't do them any good going by yourself! Listen, Pastor, I have lots of friends. Some of them are geniuses like Rob ... and some of them are just big buildings on two legs who know how to handle themselves."

  "I'm sorry, but I don't work that way, my friend."

  Garner set his jaw and pressed his lips together hard. "Then you don't work at all, my friend. Because, like it or not, I'm not letting you go there alone, not without help or protection."

  Ethan turned away, sighing, and placed both hands flat on the table, leaning forward. "Yes, I suppose you're right. As much as I hate it."

  "That's better."

  "If they are in trouble ... I hope Bent has finally allowed himself to have a little faith," Ethan muttered to himself. He stood and said, "I need a phone. I should call Detective Roberts."

  "Who?" Garner asked.

  "Someone who needs to know about this."

  "Okay, fine. You do that. Soon as you're done, I'll call a couple of my friends and see if they can go along with you to the southland."

  Ethan stared at Garner for a long moment with a slight frown, wondering what kind of "friends" Garner would be setting him up with, then headed for the nearest phone ...

  PART FOURTEEN

  Torture and Pain,

  Questions and Answers

  1

  Consciousness came to Bent so slowly that, for a while, he was in a black, smothering limbo, feeling as if he'd been wrapped cocoonlike in filthy wet gauze and bound so tightly with piano wire that it was cutting through his flesh and muscles and grinding against bloody bone.

  For a long time, Bent was certain he was dead ... just floating in painful blackness. But as consciousness came to him slowly, he realized that was not the case at all ... he was simply tied up ... bound and gagged ... somewhere ...

  But what had been done to him? Where had he been taken?

  He opened his eyes, but the darkness did not go away. Thoughts swirled around in his head like bats flitting around in a cavern, the sounds of their wings echoing loudly and painfully off the walls of his skull. Was he blindfolded ... or simply in complete darkness? He couldn't tell and didn't care, because his head was throbbing and waves of nausea were splashing around in his stomach.

  Bent tried to think, tried hard, tried to remember what had just happened to him ... but nothing bobbed to the murky surface of his mind. Instead, his mind was blank, as if it were empty, completely drained of its contents.

  He thought of Coll suddenly, although he wasn't quite sure why, but the thought melted away quickly ... and soon his consciousness began to melt away as well ... slowly but surely, until ...

  ... there was nothing ...

  2

  Ethan sat in the passenger seat of the rented Plymouth Sundance as they headed for Los Angeles, silent and still and a little embarrassed. He didn't know either of the two men in the car with him. Normally, that would not stop him from talking, from being friendly and sociable. But these were not just any two men.

  Both were enormous. Ethan could not remember ever meeting two people so large. They were not fat — in fact, there didn't appear to be an ounce of fat on either one of them — but they filled out their clothes with broad shoulders, solid arms, and slablike abdomens. It was difficult to pinpoint their ages; both men hovered somewhere between thirty-five and fifty. Neither had shared his last name with Ethan.

  The man in the backseat called himself Doc. He appeared to be part Asian. His eyes were narrow and piercing, his hair black and shiny like melted tar and gathered in a ponytail that went halfway down his back, his glistening lips shaped like Cupid's bow. But his skin was rather fair. A scar ran from the lobe of his left ear, along his jawline, then jagged down over his throat like a lightning bolt. Doc never spoke.

  Ed, the man at the wheel, looked like a matinee idol from the black-and-white movies of the forties. His dark blond hair was perfectly combed, his jaw square and sharp, his grin broad and teeth white, and his blue eyes held a mischievous sparkle. He had a dark tan and a foul mouth, which was chewing hard on a wad of gum, and the same massive, solid build as Doc. He was also the worst driver Ethan had ever encountered ...

  "These guys are professionals," Garner had assured Ethan with a smile.

  "Professional what?" Ethan asked.

  "Well ... see, they have incredibly varied backgrounds, these guys."

  "Backgrounds in what"? Garner, who are these men? What are these men? You're being very mysterious and, quite frankly, suspicious about them, and if you're going to send me off to Los Angeles with them, I'd like to know who I'm traveling with!"

  "Look, look, I can't tell you everything, okay? But I can, well, give you some idea."

  "Some idea of what! You can't tell me everything? What does that mean? Are these men secret agents or something?"

  "Okay, so their backgrounds are a little shady. They're good friends of mine. And they're both good guys. If I send them out to take care of you, believe me, you're in the best possible hands."

  "Fine, I trust you, Garner, really, I do. But that doesn't answer any of my questions."

  Garner sighed. "They both have extensive — and, if I may say so, very impressive — military backgrounds. They've also both been in prison. And that's all I can tell you. Because they're good friends, and I will not betray their confidences. Okay?"

  Ethan looked at him for a long moment, then bowed his head, turned away, and said, "I'm sorry, Garner. You've been very good to me. You've given me no reason to distrust you. If you say I will be in good hands, then I believe you ...”

  Now, Ethan wasn't quite as sure as he'd been at the end of that conversation.

  Ed darted from one lane to the other on the freeway, zigzagging the car around as if they were on an amusement park ride. And he was quite obviously exceeding the speed limit, because even the
fastest cars on the freeway didn't stay in front of him very long.

  Ethan's seat belt was fastened tightly around him and his hands were clutching the edges of the vinyl-upholstered seats as his teeth clenched together behind pressed lips.

  Ed turned to him with a white-toothed grin. "Little uncomfortable, are ya, Padre?"

  "Well, I'm ... it's just that you're, um ... driving rather fast, if you don't mind my saying. And, um, you don't have to call me Padre or Father or anything like that. I'm not a priest, I'm a pastor."

  "Whatever you say. Don't you like movin' fast? Huh?"

  "Not this fast, no."

  Ed continued to grin at Ethan, without even glancing at the road. "Aw, c'mon, ain't this just a little fun? Sailin' down the highway like this?"

  Ethan gulped. "I think it will quickly become much less than fun unless you start looking where we're going, all right, Ed? Please?"

  Ed laughed as he faced front. But he didn't slow down and he continued to shoot from one lane to another. "Well, I've got this theory, see. I figure if we drive real fast, we'll be younger when we get there than we were when we left." He tilted his head back and laughed some more.

  There was an electronic chirping sound — the ringing of a phone — and Ethan jerked, making a sound like a sheep.

  Ed began to laugh. "What, the phone scared ya, too?"

  It sounded again.

  "I'm just not used to, um, hearing a phone ring in a car," Ethan said.

  The cellular phone was folded up and sitting between the two front seats just below the gearshift. Garner had insisted that Ethan take it with him so they could be in contact whenever necessary, especially when Rob came up with the location of the phone number he'd located.

  Ethan stared at the small, shiny black phone as it chirped again.

  "You gonna answer it, or what?" Ed asked.

  Ethan picked up the folded phone carefully, as he might pick up a snake.

  "You gotta pull up the antenna," Ed said.

  "What?"

  "The antenna." Ed looked at him for a long moment, then reached over for the phone. "Here, let me pull that antenna up for ya, 'kay?"