by Avery Stites
“Put your gloves on and find me a knife,” I told Bit.
He put his on, and rifled through the kitchen drawers for a moment until he found one and handed it to me. I scraped at the spot with the knife, and after a few swipes a flake came off of the linoleum onto the blade. I put it to my nose and smelled it.
Blood.
Bit looked at me, and I just nodded.
“There’s more over there in front of the fridge,” he said. He walked over to the refrigerator, looked back at me, and I motioned for him to open it. He stepped back, and put his forearm over his mouth. “Oh man,” he stammered. “Oh, no.”
The inside of the refrigerator was filled with Damon’s dismembered body parts. Both arms, his hands and feet, torso and separated legs were wrapped in plastic and put on the shelving. It was all done very neatly; there was very little spatter or fluid in the wrappings. I stood up, walked over and looked at it closely. This wasn’t the way a street gang would do it; this was something different.
“Where’s his head?” asked Bit.
I opened the freezer. “In here,” I said.
I was preparing to shut the freezer door when I noticed a piece of paper folded up next to the head. I pulled it out and flipped it open, reading it silently.
“What does it say?”
I looked at Bit, then back at the paper. “It’s a list of the five of your crew’s names, with Damon’s marked through,” I said. “And at the bottom, there’s a phone number.”
“Fuck,” he said, slumping over, and putting his head in his hands. I folded the piece of paper up and put it in my coat pocket for later.
“Come on, time to go,” I said, grabbing him by his arm. “Get up. We need to get out of here.”
We hustled back through the house, out to my Tahoe, peeling off the gloves and tucking them in our pockets as we went. I started the truck and throttled the gas as we took off down the road. The streets went by in a blur; I was focused on getting us back to my house in Chapel Hill. It was a gated, private community so anyone coming for us who didn’t have a way in would at least give us time to get a head start. I didn’t want that to be what transpired, but we needed to regroup and get a plan. Whoever had killed Damon was already ahead of us, and knew who they were looking for. They were after my brother and his cohorts, and soon enough, they would have them, if they didn’t have most of them already. And I, of course, was now part of this.
“Call Derrick, tell him what happened, and tell him to get ahold of the others,” I said.
“I don’t have his number saved in this phone.”
I glanced over at him, incredulous. “You stole two-million dollars and you don’t have the phone number of your ‘partner’ who has it?”
Bit said nothing.
“Where does he live?”
He lives on a little street off of Main, near the tobacco warehouse district,” he said. “I don’t remember the name, but I can get us there.”
I followed Bit’s directions, and again we changed gears from what I had in mind. I really didn’t like how disorganized this was; this wasn’t how I did business, and we were already behind the eight ball. I thought about the phone number on the sheet; we needed to call, but we needed to get a handle on as many of these guys as we could before this spiraled further out of control.
“Down here,” Bit said, motioning down a side street that veered sharply off of Main Street. In the time since we had left Damon’s house, it had begun to snow, something that didn’t happen much of the time in North Carolina. The flakes fell heavy, acting as a natural dampener on the sounds of the city. It was just after five p.m., and the evening dark was coming.
***
We put our gloves back on, and Bit followed my lead up to the duplex door. The home was in a decrepit state from the outside; broken, rusted toys sat to the sides of the cement walkway leading up. The brown paint flaked off the cypress wood that was used to build the structure. There was no storm door on this residence, and as I came upon it, I instantly noticed the similarity to our first stop.
The doorjamb was broken.
“Draw,” I whispered to Bit. We withdrew our weapons, and on my ready signal, I pushed the door open and after a second, we stepped inside, instantly getting hit with an overwhelming scent not unlike copper pennies. The lighting overhead had been smashed, and glass littered the floor. Furniture was overturned, and slashed open. Several pictures hung haphazardly from the tan walls; others lay broken on the floor. I looked at Bit, he nodded, and we moved from the living room into the kitchen. It was empty as well, but the scent became stronger. A dark hallway fed straight off from the kitchen, and the carpet lining it was stained with a dark spatter, which appeared to get heavier as it led to a door at the end, which was partially cracked open, minimal light coming through the opening. I pulled my cellphone out, turned on the flashlight app, casting light down the dark hallway. Ropes of dark, drying blood wove patterns on the walls, ceiling and floor, smaller fingers running off of the larger patterns, downward like icicles. It looked as if someone had taken a large paint brush and tossed it in a rhythmic motion throughout. A smiley-face with dollar signs in place of the eyes was crudely drawn in blood on the door.
“Oh man,” whispered Bit.
I pocketed my flashlight, trained my gun chest-height, and with a burst of speed, I threw the door open. I quickly stepped back upon seeing what lay inside; Bit doubled over.
I had seen and taken part in many bad things during my life, but this had to be among the worst. Bit's partners, Derrick, Melvin and Tee were tied to chairs with their backs to each other, in a triangle, their mouths duct-taped closed. They were nearly unrecognizable from one another; their skin had been nearly completely flayed off of their bodies, while countless vicious slash wounds littered what remained of their torsos, groins, legs and heads. Blood was everywhere, chaotically sluiced around the room in a similar manner as the hallway, only more intense here, covering the walls and carpet. What struck me as the most vivid was that Derrick's eyes were still open, permanently wearing a visage of utter horror in death. His mouth and jaw muscles had fought against the tape, ultimately frozen in a grinding agony. There was a folded piece of paper stuck into one of the wounds on his chest. I withdrew it, opened it, and saw what I expected; the same phone number, same list of names, all crossed out except for Bit’s. However, this time, there was another space below his name, a blank line, with a question mark next to it. And the phone number was written again.
I looked at the scene, understanding this was something so far beyond what my brother had realized he was getting into. I looked at him; Bit stood expressionless, gun at his side, not speaking. He seemed out of it, thinking about something else.
“Bit.” No response; I waved my hand in front of his face. “Bit.”
“What?”
“Where was he keeping the money?”
“Here.”
“Not all of it.”
“What?”
I pointed at the bodies in front of us. “Whoever did this wouldn’t have gone to this length to torture these guys if all the money was here. They would’ve collected the cash and put a bullet in their heads.” I shook my head. “This is anger, and making a point. The cash wasn’t here. Or, if it was, some of it was missing.”
I handed Bit the piece of paper. “Hold onto this, and let’s get out of here. Cops will be onto this place soon.”
***
The ride back to my home was quiet; neither of us said anything. I wondered if my home was safe for us at this point. The only occasions I had seen anything remotely like what we were now embroiled in involved brutal, powerful organizations. This most resembled something I had seen in South America one time; a Cartel had arranged a similarly brutal scene involving a small crew who had intercepted their drugs mid-shipment. The only other time was...during my training. I wasn’t sure if that was what we were up against, but we would know soon. The disposable phone that Bit had was a good thing, I decided. We co
uld make the call from that line. And that would be our next move.
Chapter Five
Jeremy Manor came back to my room on graduation day at the Forward World School shortly after breakfast, as he said he would. He came in with two other men, both in their late forties, whom I had never seen before. They were dressed in jeans and tee shirts, which seemed casual for the environment. Only Manor spoke when they entered the room.
“Mr. Holley, let’s take a walk,” he said.
I followed him out of the room, and the other men dropped in behind me as I drew up beside Manor. We walked across the open training ground, which was approximately the length of two football fields. The training ground was in a miniature valley between two small mountains. At the other end of the field was a large gray building, which as students we had never been in. It looked like a warehouse of some sort, its composite cinder block and steel. We were headed that direction, toward the structure.
“Mr. Holley, I asked you to stay this morning because I believe you have abilities that some of the other students don’t have,” he said. “I believe you are different; special, as I would put it.”
I said nothing, just walked alongside, listening.
“Frankly, it isn’t your physical abilities. You weren’t the most athletic or conditioned of the students, as you yourself would probably admit,” he continued. “And yet, you are no slouch. You can handle yourself in combat. The difference is, I believe, is your mental fortitude.” We stopped walking and he looked at me. “I believe you don’t have the same parameters most of the students here had.”
“Sir?”
He looked back at the men, who had dropped back silently and watched, appraisingly. He addressed me again.
“I believe you are capable of anything. I don’t think there is a task I could put before you that you couldn’t accomplish, regardless of the requirements. Where most men would quit, mentally, you would keep going. Where many men would waver, claiming ethics, morality, I believe you would hold fast.”
I said nothing.
“That isn’t an insult, either.” He nodded at the men. “These men here, they are here for that reason. I called them and asked them to come; to see you. If I am right, you could be of indispensable value to them.
“These are men that you will never see again after today, no matter how things play out. But their reach is longer and more powerful than you could imagine. If they like what they see, your life will change in ways you couldn’t imagine, for the better.”
“If they like what they see?” I repeated.
“Yes. In order for things to move forward, there is a final battery of tests, so to speak. There are some things you will have to do, that you will have to show an ability to handle, in order for this path to move forward. If you say yes, we will move forward and get started. I will warn you, it will be very, very tough, but ultimately worth it. And once you begin down this path, there is no turning back, ever. If you decline, you must do so now. There will be no hard feelings, and I will drive you to the bus station, and put in a good word for you with a few security firms. In or out, it is your choice.”
I looked back at the men, looked at Manor, and considered the options, though there wasn’t much to consider. Either I choose obscurity and struggle, or whatever was behind the mysterious curtain. I didn’t have anything to go back to in the world, and I owed this man in front of me. He had given me invaluable skills. The choice was easy.
“Okay, let’s move forward.”
He nodded. “That’s good. Let’s get started.”
***
We entered the building from the north end. Inside, the facility was broken into different rooms, many of which were padlocked from the outside. The walls were a dark gray, the doors an olive green and the floors were cement. Somewhere inside the building, the hum of a generator vibrated rhythmically. About halfway down the hall, we came to a room on the right in which the door stood partially open, revealing a mass of computer monitors and electronics. On the screens were live video feeds of each room; they appeared on the screens in an eerie bluish hue. I paused momentarily, looking in. A man sat at the monitors, ignoring my presence. He appeared to be toggling back and forth between rooms on the screen using a feed switcher. Some rooms had equipment in them, some only chairs, and some were barren.
“Donald,” said Manor, redirecting my attention to him. “Let’s keep moving.”
I noticed he had switched to using my first name, instead of ‘Mr. Holley’ as he had been prone to do with all of the students who had attended the school. We continued down the hall to a room near the end, on the right side. Manor removed the padlock and opened the door. Stepping inside, I took in my immediate surroundings: it was fairly large, approximately the size of an average classroom in dimension, but completely empty minus a metal folding chair. Its walls were gray like the others I had seen from the control room; the door green, the ceiling composed of tight metal meshing, with several large spotlights shining down overhead. I estimated the walls to be approximately fifteen feet tall, and the lighting above was mounted several feet higher than that. The only thing different about this room was that the far wall had a basic metal double-door in the middle made of riveted steel. I looked at the door, down at the chair, and back at Manor and the two men, who stood next to him. They all appeared to be appraising me; it was clear to me now that everything I did was being judged. I waited for someone to speak.
Manor stepped toward me, and withdrew a large hunting knife. He laid it flat on his palm, and extended it toward me. The handle was a black plastic composite, while the blade was a polished stainless steel, tapered at the point. It appeared to be about a foot in length, and extremely sharp.
“Take it,” he said.
I took it from his hand, and got a feel for it, flexing my grip around the handle. It was as heavy as I expected it to be.
“Now we begin,” Manor said. He left the room, followed by the two men, who pulled the door closed behind them. I looked around, my blood pressure rising. I considered what could be next; the ideas ran through my head in multitude. Suddenly, a voice came on from a speaker overhead. I looked up for it, but could not see it.
“Donald, one minute from now, the double door on the far wall opposite of you will open, and a man will enter. You are to kill him with that knife.”
I looked up at the ceiling again but all I could see were the lights. I blinked.
“Who is he?” I asked. “What did he do?”
“That is not important. What is important is that you kill him. Quickly or slowly, that part is up to you. When your testing is over, you will be paid fifty-thousand dollars for this job.”
The realization of what my testing was for quickly sank in. I didn’t have time to think about it, though. The door opened, and a man shuffled in.
He was approximately six feet tall, medium build, and haggard looking. He had wild blue eyes, which darted around, from my face, to the knife, to the door, and back to my face. I figured his age to be just shy of forty. He was sweating profusely, even though he was clad only in a tee shirt and jeans. Other than scared, he struck me as fairly normal looking. I quickly wondered what had led this man here, much like myself; on opposite sides of a deciding fate. If I didn’t kill him, these men would probably kill me. I took Manor at his word that there was no going back; once I had accepted his offer, this was the only way forward. A voice overhead suddenly interrupted my train of thought.
“Don’t think about him, don’t second guess this. You are both where you are for a reason.”
Of course they had read my mind, because they had been here before. The men who watched us currently were professional killers. They were training me for their line of work; molding me, testing me, seeing if I was really capable.
I stepped toward the man, and he backed toward the wall, shaking, and stumbling. His eyes fluttered wildly, and he put his hands out toward me, pleadingly.
“Please man, don’t do this. You don’t
have to-
I pushed forward, shoving him against the wall and quickly drove the blade into his chest, right where his heart was located. I quickly twisted the blade, and the man’s eyes rolled back; blood and spittle gurgled from his mouth down his chin and onto his shirt. I withdrew the blade from his chest, and thrust the bloody steel into his brain from underneath his chin. His body trembled on the blade as he lost footing; I pulled the knife from his head and he fell to the floor, blood spreading from his neck and chest. He was dead prior to falling.
This was where I knew I was not the same as most people. Though I had killed before, it was somewhat defensible; I had been in a bad fight trying to defend myself. This, however, was something else entirely. I had just murdered this man without knowing a thing about him. Where most people would feel remorse, or hesitate before killing, I felt nothing. I didn’t feel anything negatively about what I had just done; if anything, I felt invigorated. I was different. Manor was right: there was no turning back.
The door in which I had entered the room opened, and Manor stepped in. I sat the knife down on the ground and wiped the blood from my hands on my pants. He regarded me, almost like a proud father of a son.
“I knew I was right about you.”
I nodded. “What’s next?”
***
Over that next month, I learned many things about myself. I learned what I was capable of enduring, and what I was capable of doing. I was taught how to kill, in almost every manner you could imagine; I was taught how to extract information from even the most resistant individuals, and how to cover my tracks when I was finished. I learned how to inflict pain and suffering that would be nearly unimaginable to most people. I also learned that everyone has a breaking point, and I found mine, as the last two weeks of my training consisted of being tortured and deprived of anything other than scraps of food and water. My captor was a man I had never seen, and he was both cruel and effective. When I finally broke, and gave the information to him that I had been instructed not to, Manor only said I had done very well. “Don’t feel bad; everyone breaks. In fact, you lasted longer than I did when I went through this training.”