Torment

by Leanne Wood

“Good morning Jill,” Sally said. “Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you have seen Arthur. He was due to come back to work today but he hasn’t shown. Samuel Easton and Pierre Rainer are also missing.”

  Sally heard a cackling noise, she wondered if she had dialled the correct number. “Hello Jill, is that you?”

  “Yes it’s me, and good riddance to the bastard. I would be so lucky if he dropped off the face of the earth.” She laughed. “Maybe he’s done us all a favour and drowned himself or fallen off a cliff and snapped his neck.” Another laugh cut across the line. “You must excuse my harshness, but I used to be his village-idiot wife and doormat. Thank God he’s no longer my problem, and it would probably save me significant hassle if he never returned.”

  The telephone clicked in Sally’s ear. It was a response she had anticipated. The poor woman had only recently found out Arthur had been cheating behind her back for years.

  Sally Pascoe made another telephone call, this time Veronica Easton answered. She was distraught; many of her words were indecipherable, and she could offer no answers. Veronica insisted someone had to know something. However, the harsh reality struck when Sally informed her Samuel was not the only one missing; all three mates had failed to show for their shift. Veronica burst into tears, and loud wailing filled Sally’s ears.

  “I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” Sally said gently. “I’m afraid no one knew where they were going.”

  Sally terminated the telephone call.

  ***

  Judy’s sleep was rudely interrupted by her ringing telephone. Shoving her head beneath her pillow she tried to shut out the noise. It was her day off. Didn’t everyone know she wanted a day of peace? The telephone stopped ringing and she breathed a sigh of relief. Then it started again. She pulled her pillow tighter around her pounding head trying to silence the shrill. Whoever it was, they were persistent. On the third call she lunged for her phone.

  “What?” she growled.

  “Is Pierre there?” the voice asked.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Sally, Sally Pascoe from Wolf Industries.”

  “Why are you phoning me? Pierre has told you people not to call my phone,” she barked as she rubbed her cool hand over her throbbing forehead.

  “I wouldn’t normally phone you, Judy, but Pierre hasn’t shown up for work and I can’t reach him.”

  Judy sat up. She remained silent, thoughts of the backyard intruding. Something appeared out of place. What was it?

  “Hang on,” she said.

  She staggered out of her bedroom, turned right and clung to the wall as she walked through the kitchen. She gazed out the back window. It was still there.

  “Hello? Are you there Judy?”

  “Hang on, hang on… Hold your fucken horses.”

  Judy unlocked the back door and walked up the yard. Her hand guarded her face from the bright sun. Her head pounded. In her haste to find out what was behind the garage she forgot to put on shoes and hit a patch of bindi-eye. She jumped and shouted, hopped and cursed. Tiny, sharp needles speared into the soles of Judy’s feet. “Ouch, ouch, ah, ah, ouch…fucken bindis,” she screamed.

  “What the…”

  “Judy? Judy?”

  “He’s here,” Judy said.

  “Oh, um okay. Can I have a quick word with him please?” Sally asked.

  Silence followed. A deathly scream.

  “Judy? Judy? Are you there? Judy, what’s happening? Is everything alright?”

  “I can’t find him. He’s not here. His car is here. It’s full of camping gear. He’s not here. I can’t find him,” a panicked Judy replied.

  “Oh okay, well can you get him to give me a call when you see him please.”

  “You don’t understand. He is not here. His car is here. It’s full of camping gear. I can’t find him.”

  “Yes, I know… you just told me that, but if you could get him to give me a call when you see him.”

  “You don’t understand… I don’t know where he is,” Judy cried.

  Sally sat listening. All she wanted was for Judy to ask Pierre to telephone. She had understood her the first time when she had said his car was there, but he was not. Her request had been simple. She wondered why she got all the crappy jobs. Why was it people had to babble on the telephone? Why did they feel the need to hang up in her ear? Was it necessary to be rude? The conversation with Judy was going nowhere, and she was just as rude as Pierre – those two were a perfect match. She had better things to do then sit on the telephone. Looking across the office she waved at Marcia from accounts. Sally had had enough.

  Just as she was about to hang up she heard Judy’s bellowing words. High-pitched screams penetrated her eardrum, like a sickening crazed hyena, “Blood… the car is full of blood! There’s blood everywhere. It’s over the seats. It’s on the dashboard. It’s smeared on the window. Oh my God! There’s blood everywhere!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  S

  amuel Easton began to come to. His mind was fuzzy. His eyelids fluttered. Drool ran down his chin. In the pit of his stomach was an overwhelming sense of dread. His body felt heavy and numb. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t see. And he couldn’t feel his hands or feet. He blinked into absolute darkness. Inhaled a strong odour of rubber. Panic set in. His rapid breathing echoed loudly, and his heart pounded wildly in his chest. What the fuck? Where am I? His mind raced a million miles an hour. The last thing he recalled was drinking around the campfire with his mates.

  Fear. Samuel was terrified. Silence was thick around him. He blinked furiously, prayed for the light to return to his eyes. Tingling entered his extremities, and his numbness gave way to pain. He began to sob. Where am I? Small glimpses of reality bled into his haze. He closed his eyes. Listened. Nothing. A shiver ran down his spine. Cold flooded through him. A strange sound. His eyes sprang open. Soft footsteps shuffled from within the shadows. The silhouette of a person appeared then retreated into the darkness.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” Samuel demanded. “Show me your face!” He peered into the shadows, trying to see who hid in the darkened corner of the room.

  “I am your worst nightmare, and you are an evil ape. Evil apes must be punished,” the voice whispered.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Hear no evil,” the voice muttered. The floor creaked. His attacker stepped out from the shadows. Samuel stared defiantly. A blinding flash tore into his eyes and he squeezed them closed.

  “Why are you doing this?” he bellowed. “Who are you? What do you want?” With caution, he opened his eyes. His attacker was gone. Samuel’s gaze darted about but everything was black. Shiny and black. Rippled and folded and smooth and joined. Panic flooded through him again. Short sharp breaths escaped him as he realised he was enclosed within a room lined with black plastic.

  Murderers wrapped their victims in plastic. Dead bodies were buried in plastic. Oh shit… I am going to die.

  “Help! Help! Somebody help me!” His throat burned as screams ripped from him. Someone had to hear him. Where were his mates?

  “Help me! Please! Someone… anyone… help!”

  No one responded. All was silent. Samuel’s efforts appeared hopeless but his vision and mind cleared. He was trapped. Trapped and terrified. A cool breeze crossed his body and he shivered. Time to take stock. He could move his neck, and he could lift his head. Good. He stared down towards his feet, and his eyes darted over his body as shock hit. He swallowed hard.

  Nausea broiled in his gut. He had been violated. Stripped naked, he was spread eagled, wrists and ankles tightly bound to a hard wooden board. He thought of the Vitruvian Man, a drawing by Leonardo da Vinci, a man positioned with his arms and legs outspread. He began to sob. The Vitruvian Man was well proportioned, Samuel was not. Why was he naked? How had he got here? Where was ‘here’? Had he been raped? He squeezed his butt cheeks but no pain was evident. Thank God.


  A loud clanking and rumbling noise erupted outside the room of black plastic. He focused on the buzzing. It got louder. It was getting closer. This can’t be happening. He blinked hard hoping he was in a nightmare. “Wake up, wake up, wake up,” he begged. His body shook. His heart pounded. Why wouldn’t he wake up?

  A section of the black plastic moved and an opening appeared. Samuel’s heart sank. He was going to die. He was going to be hacked apart. A masked person stood before him. Their identity concealed by a balaclava and large coat. Gloved hands tightly wrapped around the roaring beast. Samuel screamed. His body thrashed as he pulled at his restraints.

  “Help! Help! Fuck! Somebody help me!”

  His attacker moved closer. Samuel’s screaming was drowned out beneath the threatening roar. His thrashing stopped. He froze. His attacker stood near his head. Blasting explosions filled his ears. He peered into the unblinking eyes of his attacker. He tried to work out who it was. Think! Minutes passed. It felt like an eternity. His attacker retreated. The roaring stopped and a high pitched ringing filled Samuel’s ears. White noise filled his head. He yelled and screamed and yelled and screamed. He could hear nothing except high-pitched ringing. Samuel’s world began to close in around him. If he couldn’t hear, how would he know if help was on its way? How would he know if his attacker were returning?

  Without warning the opening in the plastic thrust apart again. His attacker returned, pointing at him. The balaclava hid their mouth, and Samuel couldn’t work out if they were speaking. He began screaming for help again. Surely someone would hear. His attacker bent over and retrieved something from the darkness. A flash burst into Samuel’s eyes, followed by another followed then another. Samuel could do nothing to stop the blinding flashes. His throat ached from his yelling. He squeezed his eyes closed when he realised what caused the flashing. Photos. Dear God, his attacker was taking photos – one after another, after another. Tears streamed from Samuel’s eyes. He felt defiled and violated. What would happen if people saw the photos? How would he ever live it down? He began to sob. His body trembled. His mind whirled. It had to be her. That fucken bitch. His eyes sprang open. His attacker had vanished.

  “I know it’s you,” he screamed, “I know you can hear me! I know it’s you!”

  He closed his eyes. His body trembled. A torrent of tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “You fucken bitch! You fucken Adolf Titler bitch,” he screamed, as he fought to inhale. His cursing continued as he desperately sucked in large breaths between his sobs. He stopped. Reality hit. If he angered his attacker, he would surely die. If he begged for forgiveness he may be spared.

  “I don’t want to die,” he bellowed, as he began to cough and splutter. “Please, I’m sorry! Please let me go. I won’t say a word. Please…” he cried.

  A revving vibration filled his body. He screamed as he was thrust into a world of excruciating pain. Sharp metal teeth spun around the edge of a long steel plate. Metal teeth driven by a high-speed chain ate into his thigh. His skin was ripped apart. Warm blood spattered over his body and the black plastic. Rapid spurts sprayed out in time with his pulsating heart. Like some horror movie, the blood went everywhere. So much blood. Then came shards of bone and flesh. Samuel clenched his teeth. He squeezed his eyes closed trying to absorb the pain. Flecks of bone and flesh hit his face. He shut his mouth as he tried not to swallow the taste of his own blood. The cutting stopped. His pain did not. A burning filled his leg. Throbbing pain. He looked down but couldn’t tell if his leg had been completely severed. There was too much blood. Vomit sprayed from his mouth. His body became hot and sweaty. His breaths short and sharp. He was going to pass out. His attacker had vanished. Samuel could do nothing, but lie still and pray he would be saved. One minute passed, then one more.

  Samuel Easton’s eyes became dull and glassy. They fluttered as he struggled to breathe. He could feel his body pulsating. Blood flowed from his open wound. His chest ached. Sorrow overwhelmed him. Images of his wife Veronica swirled in his mind. Did she know he loved her? He wanted her to know he was sorry for everything he’d done wrong. He wished he could go back in time and tell her how he felt, show her the attention she deserved. He wanted to apologise to his daughter, Sharon. He should have been more considerate to her needs. She was a young lady; he should have respected her more. He shouldn’t have yelled at her as he had, he should have demanded less of her. He looked towards the door. His breathing became desperate. He was cold. So very cold. His attacker had returned. They stood in the shadows. Between his blinking he saw a large coat. A balaclava covered his attacker’s face. Samuel gasped. The room appeared void of oxygen. He stared. His attacker removed their mask.

  Samuel met his attacker’s eyes. No… it can’t be… “You,” he said, and then his world went dark forever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  E

  dward Wolf was a rich and powerful businessman. His name was synonymous with Wolf Industries. Initially, he was a man Bridget had admired – successful in business, a family man recognised for his contributions to the community through a variety of philanthropic endeavours. Heck, he was even listed on the BRW rich list. Bridget was proud to have her name associated with his. That was until she met the man behind the mask. Edward Wolf hadn’t evolved into an accomplished man by being a nice guy. He was ruthless and didn’t take kindly to having the darker side of his personality exposed. Bridget found this out within twelve months of being in his employ. She had decided to go to the top with her complaints about bullying and harassment.

  “Speak one word of this and I will destroy you,” he’d threatened. “I am a powerful man with many friends, and I’ll make sure you never work again.”

  Mr Wolf was nothing more than hypocritical fat bastard. Employees of Wolf Industries sat through compulsory workplace diversity training. Edward Wolf would spruik about the importance of not tolerating shameful behaviour in the workplace, yet, he had made millions on the back of turning a blind eye. He believed he was beyond reproach. To Mr Wolf, nothing was more important than the almighty dollar. Nothing and no one would stop him from making his fortune. His senior management team consisted of all men, and it was rumoured they would stand around the urinal comparing penis sizes. Their ‘I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine’ mentality, their sexist behaviour and snide remarks left all the female employees wondering who would be next in the firing line. Most silently believed Mr Wolf simply hired female employees to keep up with appearances within the business world. In essence, he was nothing more than a greedy thug who controlled a team of thugs below him in order to profit. He was an individual who believed in male domination and female submissiveness.

  When Bridget Tilner thought of Edward Wolf she felt sick to the stomach. He repulsed her.

  When Edward Wolf heard the news about three missing employees he exploded. He was furious – how dare they disappear and affect his ability to do business. Three employees in one branch of his business represented ten percent of that workforce. An absence of ten percent reduced his ability to make money. A workforce running with a declined efficiency could be hit financially.

  “Bastards! Inconsiderate bastards,” he shouted as he picked up his glass paperweight and hurled it across the room. Glass smashed and shattered over the floor. His secretary flinched and jumped so she would not be hit. “Don’t they think about their obligations? What ever happened to loyalty?” he snapped.

  “They are missing, Edward,” she replied, as she meekly stepped forward and handed him a copy of the Sydney newspaper.

  He snatched the paper from her and straightened the page with so much force he nearly tore it. He grunted and cleared his throat then peered over the top of the page. “Who are they?”

  “Samuel Easton…”

  “Don’t know him. Who else?”

  “Arthur Fuller…”

  “Never heard of him. He means nothing to me.”

  “Pierre Rainer…”


  “What?” His eyebrows rose. “I know that name… he’s… he’s… he is the bloody Union Delegate.” Edward began to laugh. His face reddened, and he removed his glasses and wiped his hands over his face. “Oh wow, oh my,” he chuckled. “That bastard has cost me a fortune over the years. Do you know how many people I’ve had to pay out to keep silent because of him? The disharmony he caused throughout the years has been enormous. I couldn’t get rid of him due to the Union.” He tried to compose himself. “Oh wow… poor bastard. So you say he is missing?” He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “Well let’s hope he stays missing. Contact Human Resources; tell them to send over one individual from three of the surrounding branches. Give it a week, if the guys still haven’t shown their ugly heads tell Human Resources to commence interviews for replacements. Oh, and grab me a chocolate thickshake, I think I need a celebratory drink. That will be all.”

  His secretary stood to the side of his desk taking notes as he spoke; she was used to his outbursts. His glass paperweight was not the first thing she had seen fly across his office. He had been known to throw a chair or two.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A

  rthur Fuller lay strung out, cold, and trembling. He struggled and strained. His forehead ached and his eyelids pulled. Blackness. He was in a world of complete blackness. No matter how much he strained his eyes, they would not open. It was hopeless. His breath was ragged. His heart pounded and he began to sob. His forehead was a mass of sweat. The pain from the large gash on his right arm was excruciating. Blood seeped through his bandage. He had never seen so much blood. His clothes were covered in the red crimson. He felt weak.

  Pierre had been pissed with him. It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t asked for the metal to slice his arm. It was in his panic that he had jumped into the car. It was his desperate searching to stop the flow of blood that resulted in him dripping and smearing blood throughout Pierre’s car. At the time he hadn’t been worried about the mess. His urgency had been in stemming the flow. He feared he had hit an artery. Now his fear had changed. It had grown into its own monster.