by M. D. Thomas
I don’t want to die. Not in this fucking bed. Not in this fucking house, with that goddamn shrew laughing over me…
She tried to embrace the anger, to let it fuel her and replace the fear, but it wouldn’t take, not strong enough to overcome the thirst and the hunger, much less the deep, gnawing desire for alcohol.
At first she hadn’t thought much of that feeling, figured it was just part of the fear and pain. But instead of stepping back as the fear had—no one could stay amped up that long, not left alone in a room—or staying constant as the pain had, the gnawing had grown, made the hollow feeling of hunger in her stomach seem like the bite of a no-see-um compared to the hornet’s sting of her desire for booze.
Nothing more than a dime-a-dozen alcoholic…
Somehow she’d held it in check before the accident, but since then it’d been one more drink, and then one more, and then one more until she passed out. She’d tried to remember the last time she’d fallen asleep sober and couldn’t.
Because you didn’t want to think about what you’d done…
She hated her mother for abandoning her, and had tried so hard, for so many years, not to be like her, but the harder Elle tried, the more like her mother she'd become—just another deadbeat that ran from any obligation or responsibility. It had to be the biggest fucking joke in the world.
She hadn’t known about the boy though. She hadn’t. Not that it mattered. Even if the boy hadn’t been there, they’d left the parents behind.
You deserve this bed. These ropes and chains. This gnawing in your belly and mind. The shrew was right…
The sound of a slamming door roused her from a half-asleep stupor.
Please let it be the husband…
But when the door opened, the shrew came in. She stopped, her eyes roaming Elle’s body, her face unreadable, her right hand cradled against her belly. After a moment she spoke. “You’ll regret doing that to your wrists.”
Elle only looked away, afraid the shrew would see her pain, her longing for booze.
The shrew left and returned soon with a glass of water that she set on the nightstand by Elle’s left hand. The shrew lowered herself onto the bed next to Elle and said, “Same as before. I’ll take your gag out so we can talk. If you start screaming it goes right back in. Understand?”
Elle wanted to refuse, to curse the bitch, but the glass of water was so close she could smell the slight tang of chlorine in the air. She wouldn’t have thought that was possible, but the smell was unmistakable. She nodded, already imagining what the water would feel like as it flowed into her mouth and ran down her throat.
The shrew pulled the gag free and Elle’s jaw muscles began to ache even harder after suddenly being released from the position they’d been locked in for hours. Still, she lifted her head and spoke, her voice thick and rough. “Can I have a drink? Please?”
The shrew used her left hand to pick up the glass and tilt the contents toward Elle’s open mouth. Elle sucked greedily at the water that dribbled past her dry lips, but before she could get enough for a second swallow the shrew pulled the glass away. The cool water that flowed down her throat felt like it was gone before it even reached her belly.
“No. Please let me have more. Please.”
The shrew’s expression didn’t change. “I need you to think about everything this Harvey ever said to you. Everything you noticed about him. Anything he mentioned that might be a clue about where he lives or what he does. Anything.”
Desperate for another drink, Elle tried. “He never said what he did. I… don’t like to know, so I didn’t ask. But he’s always wearing a suit. I don’t know what that means. Businessman or something I guess.”
“What else?”
Elle closed her eyes as she tried to remember. “He didn’t wear any jewelry. No wedding ring or anything.”
“What about his car?”
“It was older, nothing fancy or anything.”
“What kind was it? What color?”
Elle couldn’t remember, those details lost in the haze of that night. She almost lied, but was worried the shrew would be able to tell. “Some kind of SUV. Dark colored.”
The shrew pursed her lips. “What did he do with the car after the accident?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was he driving the same car when he came to the bar?”
“I… I don’t know. He came in, we talked for a minute outside and then I went back in before he left. I never saw his car.”
The shrew scrubbed at her face with her left hand, the other lying still in her lap, and Elle sensed her chance to get another drink slipping away.
“I’m sorry,” Elle said, her voice cracking, her mouth already dry again. “I’m trying. I just… there isn’t much. I barely know him.”
“There’s got to be something else,” the shrew said without even raising her head.
She thought of Harvey’s claim that he’d seen the boy twice, that he was trying to find him. But the shrew said her son was still in a coma and claiming otherwise would just piss her off. “I’m sorry. There’s not…”
The shrew returned the glass to the nightstand and picked up the gag again, the rolled up fabric brushing against Elle’s chin as she lifted it.
“No,” Elle said, ashamed by the whimper that emerged from her mouth but unable to stop herself. “No. Please.”
The shrew paused with the gag held against Elle’s chin. “When you remember something else, you can have another drink.”
“Please,” Elle said, shaking her head. “I can’t. I can’t. Please.”
The shrew said nothing as she advanced the gag.
“Please. One more drink of water. Just one. Or just a little vodka. Anything. Please. Plea— ”
The shrew slid the gag into place and cut her off.
Thirty-Nine
HARVEY
Harvey’s alarm blared through the fitful, alcohol-laced sleep he’d suffered for a few short hours. He groped for the clock and found the button by instinct. For a moment he just lay there, one arm out of the sheets, nose congested, mouth dry, his head not pounding but swimming.
Maybe he’ll be gone. Gone with the morning…
When Harvey went to sleep the kid had been sitting in the corner of the bedroom, his gloved hand cradled in his lap while his free hand balanced the ball on the backs of his fingers.
He fought the urge to close his eyes again. Robertson is expecting you. You’ve got to visit Nonna. And there’s still Elle, wherever she is…
Harvey took a deep breath and sat up slowly in the bed, his eyes going immediately to the corner where the kid had been the night before.
He wasn’t there.
Harvey looked with disbelief around the room, certain he would find the kid nearby. But the room was empty.
Harvey was getting out of bed when there was a whisper of noise outside his bedroom. He felt surprisingly calm as he walked to the open door.
A baseball sat in the hallway.
Harvey thought about picking it up, but what if it was really there and he could touch it? Perhaps worse, what if the ball wasn’t really there and his hand caught nothing but air? What would that do to him?
He left the ball where it was.
Harvey changed into fresh clothes—there wasn’t time for a shower—and walked into the living room.
The kid sat in the same corner as he had the night before, still in the Dodger’s uniform. The glove was in his lap, and in the glove was a baseball, a sliver of white nestled in brown leather.
Harvey felt the pull of the ball in hallway. Was there more than one? Or was it the same? Much like trying to touch the ball outside of his bedroom, the thought of going back to the hallway terrified him. He didn’t want to know if the ball was gone or still there. Either possibility was knowledge he didn’t want—better to leave it an unknown, like Schrödinger’s cat in a box.
He picked up his keys and wallet from the kitchen counter, avoided looking at the hallway, avo
ided looking at the kid, hoped but didn’t expect the kid to remain behind when he left the apartment. He locked the door behind him, picked up the umbrella from where he’d left it on the porch, and then trudged out to the Cherokee in the downpour.
Inside, he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel, enjoyed the solid and reassuring feel of it against his skin. Everything’s come undone. Work. Money for Nonna. Nonno. Everything. All because of the kid…
“It was wrong to leave you,” he said as he raised his head. “But I can’t change it now.”
The kid looked back at him from the mirror, his eyes serene and unperturbed. You’re right, those eyes said, so what are you going to do about it?
“The gods above have spoken, Harvey. You’re on desk duty for the foreseeable future.” Robertson loomed across from him, his meaty hands steepled before him. He watched Harvey, but his gaze wasn’t searching. “Not my decision of course. But I gotta do what the assholes upstairs tell me to do. Sometimes I can convince them otherwise. Not this time.”
“Why?” Harvey asked, because there was nothing else to say. Robertson knew what Dave had known—and more, no doubt—and was probably just fishing for a confession.
Robertson shrugged. “Hell if I know. Maybe you can tell me.”
Harvey said nothing, only watched as the kid paced behind Robertson, tossing the ball close to his boss’s head.
“Everything all right, Harvey?”
Harvey stared at the name on the back of the kid’s jersey. Vaughan. Thinking back, he couldn’t remember if he’d seen a name there before or not.
Robertson leaned forward. “Harvey?”
Harvey blinked, tore his eyes off the kid and focused on Robertson. “Yeah, boss. Desk duty.”
Robertson’s face tightened. “This is serious shit, Harvey. You realize that, right? When internal affairs comes knocking, somebody’s head rolls. If you know why they’re interested in you, then it’ll be better for everyone if you tell me right now. We can clear the air, get it all out there, then we can move forward and see how much of your career can be salvaged. You understand?”
“I understand, boss.”
When Harvey didn’t say anything more Robertson leaned back once again. “They’ll let you cool your heels for a day or two. That’s what they always do. So finish any paperwork you’ve got, pass your outstanding cases to Dave, and then sit tight. Okay?”
“Do you need anything else?” Harvey asked.
Robertson arched an eyebrow. “I suppose I don’t. Look, I know this is difficult, Harvey. But it’ll pass. And hey, at least you don’t have to run any ops in this god-forsaken weather. The way things are going, one of those Weather Channel bastards will be here any day now looking for a drowned neighborhood to wade through so they can get some footage and bump their ratings.”
“Sure, boss,” Harvey said as he stood. He closed Robertson’s door on his way out—the kid didn’t need it open to follow.
Forty
ELLE
The nightmares came whether she was awake or asleep.
She would doze off, overwhelmed by exhaustion, and find herself in the utility closet cowering behind the pinging bulk of the water heater as her father stomped around the house searching for her, as he screamed that she had to come out and get what she deserved, only to jerk awake to the ropes and chains, to the thirst and hunger, to the pain, to the biting need for booze. She would lay in the dark shaking, too dehydrated to cry, until the adrenaline burned off and her heart slowed, remembering where she was and what had happened. The waking minutes passed in an agony of sensation, only dulled by the fear of what the morning would bring, until sleep took her again and sent her once more into the past.
The rumble of the garage door tugged her out of another nightmare. She lay still and listened, no longer confused to wake up and find herself bound to the bed.
The light coming around the edges of the blinds was dim but no longer dark, the long night over.
Let it be the shrew that’s leaving… The heel-licking nutless wonder was probably the only chance she had left.
She was disappointed but not surprised when the door opened a few minutes later to reveal the shrew, who flicked on the overhead light and then stood at the end of the bed examining her. There were dark circles under her eyes and Elle hoped the shrew’s sleep had been as shitty as her own.
“Did you remember anything else during the night?”
Elle, still gagged, didn’t attempt to answer. She’d tried rabid defiance. She’d tried begging. Neither had gotten her anywhere.
“Time to pee then,” the shrew said.
Elle’s shoulder muscles cramped as the shrew shackled her wrists to her ankles again and she had to bite the gag to stop herself from moaning. She had trouble getting to her feet once she was free of the bed, but the shrew only watched, her face blank, until Elle was able to stumble down the hall to the bathroom.
The bit of pee she was able to produce was a disturbing dark yellow, almost brown. Elle said nothing though, only wiped and pulled her pants back up awkwardly. She hoped the shrew would see it and realize how dehydrated she was.
She looked for an opportunity to attack on both ends of the trip, but the shrew was wary and took no chances. Not that it mattered—she was already too weak to have much of a chance. A few minutes later she was back on the bed, spread eagle again.
The shrew sat down but Elle refused to look at her, stared at the ceiling instead.
After a few minutes the shrew spoke, her words slow and careful. “I want to be done with you. But it isn’t my decision to make. It’s yours. We can’t move on from here until you tell me what I need to know.”
Elle ignored her and after a moment, the shrew got up and left the room, leaving the door open on her way out. Unable to stop herself, Elle stared after her.
What in the hell is she doing?
She got her answer when the shrew returned a minute later with a paring knife.
Elle jerked involuntarily when she saw the knife and the muscles of her left shoulder started to spasm. She bit down hard on the gag in her mouth as she waited for the spasm to pass, her eyes locked on the shrew.
The shrew held the knife in her left hand, her right no longer cradled against her belly but still held awkwardly. She stared at Elle, her face flitting between anger, fear, and disgust. Mostly anger. When she spoke her words were almost a whisper. “Do you think I’m capable of using this on you?”
Oh jesus… Elle’s heart felt like it might explode out of her chest, her nostrils flaring as she tried to suck in enough air. She nodded, afraid to provoke the shrew by refusing to answer.
The shrew walked to the right side of the bed where she sat next to Elle, so close that her hip pressed against Elle’s hip. Elle shied away but it got her nowhere, the ropes holding her tight. She couldn’t take her eyes off the knife, its sharpened edge gleaming with reflected light.
The shrew moved the knife toward Elle’s face, the blade trembling ever so slightly.
Oh jesus fucking christ…
Elle wanted to close her eyes but it was impossible.
The shrew and the knife both got closer and Elle shook her head, slowly at first, then with more speed. She garbled around the gag, her body tensed against the coming pain.
The knife paused an inch from Elle’s cheek and the shrew’s voice was a hiss. “I need you to tell me. Tell me his last name. You must’ve seen it. On a credit card. On a forgotten piece of mail in his car. If you just think, you’ll remember and we won’t have to do this.” The shrew reached forward with her free hand and tugged the gag out of Elle’s mouth, her face wincing in pain as she did it. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know,” Elle croaked, her mouth and throat so dry they felt cracked.
“You do,” the shrew said. “You must!”
Elle’s lips trembled as she babbled, hating the weakness of it, unable to stop herself. “Please. Please, don’t do this. We’ll figure out something. Some way to
find him. He’ll come back to the bar. Just let me go and he’ll come back and I’ll tell you he’s there.”
“Not good enough,” the shrew said, her words barely audible. She moved the knife closer and Elle turned her head away as far as she could, her left ear pressed against her outstretched arm as she closed her eyes. The tip of the knife pressed against her cheek and there was a flash of pain.
Elle cried out but stayed still, afraid to move and risk driving the knife into her flesh. Pain radiated across her face and she felt a warm trail of blood creep down her cheek toward her neck.
“Tell me!”
Elle couldn’t speak. Eyes still closed, her cheek burned, throbbed, and all she could do was sob.
The shrew jerked the gag back into place.
Oh god thank you she’s leaving…
Elle opened her eyes reflexively, expected to see the shrew stand up. Instead the shrew yanked up Elle’s shirt, baring her stomach and breasts, and dragged the knife across the valley of skin between two ribs.
Forty-One
SARAH
The woman’s eyes went wide with pain but the gag muffled her screams.
Hard, Sissy. Be hard for Lee…
Sarah pulled the knife away where the woman’s ribs ended by her stomach. She didn’t think she’d pressed hard enough to slice into the muscle below, but a lot of blood still welled out of the cut, started oozing down the woman’s side toward the sheets. Sarah pulled the woman’s shirt back into place, pressed it against the wound to sop up the blood. The cotton would help stop the bleeding.
The woman stopped screaming, began to pant and whimper around the gag, her chest heaving.
“The longer you breathe like that, the longer it'll take for the bleeding to stop.”