Turtle Island

by Caffeine Nights Publishing

  Rick’s throat felt dry. He couldn’t move, yet nothing bound his limbs. He couldn’t see, yet he was not in darkness. It took every effort of concentration to move his eyelids barely a millimetre. His mind was active, working, torturing him with thought, memory and guilt. He wanted to shake the voices from his head but how could he, he was literally powerless. Jordan Montoya was sitting next to him in the jeep; it was a bright sunny day. Rick waited for the traffic lights to change from red with his foot hovering over the accelerator. Jordan was quiet, she had been quiet for months, almost mute. A Camaro pulled up next to Rick’s car. The blast from the cars horn broke Rick’s reverie. Rick turned to his left and saw Prentice Fortune sitting behind the wheel of the Camaro. Next to him was his girlfriend with the emphasis on girl. Dorette Nelson was thirteen years old, she smiled at the detective and then her head disappeared from view as she ventured toward Prentice Fortune’s lap. Fortune rolled his head back as the lights changed colour. Rick turned to his daughter.

  ‘Do me.’

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘Do me.’ He repeated. Rick engaged drive as he felt his daughter’s fumbling hands tugging at his zipper.

  Rick tried to roll over, he wanted to shut the world out, but he was a prisoner. He could hear a door close by being opened, followed by footsteps. Somebody stopped by Rick and crouched down close to him. Rick’s eyelids were suddenly pulled back, exposing his eyes to a harsh white light. He couldn’t talk, his tongue flopped inside his mouth and a grunting noise emanated. As Rick’s eyes adjusted to the light he began to focus on Prentice Fortune’s features.

  ‘Hello, Rick.’ Fortune picked up an object from the tray he was carrying. It was a staple gun. With great precision, Prentice Fortune lifted Rick’s eyelids, pulling back on the lashes and pressed the gun, pinning his eyelids open. The click reverberated through Rick’s head but the paralysis saved him from the pain, though not the fear.

  Rick made a whining noise.

  ‘Ssh!’ Fortune placed the stainless steel tray next to Montoya’s lifeless form. Sitting on the tray was a syringe filled with a dark yellow, almost burnt amber liquid. ‘You know now that there is no escape, not for you Rick. No way out.’ Fortune could barely contain himself. ‘I wanted to set up something really elaborate. Something big.’ Fortune stood and walked to the end of the room, out of Rick’s limited field of vision. Another bright light switched on.

  ‘Smile Rick…you’re dead.’ Fortune stood behind a video camera. He zoomed into Rick’s features exposing the grotesque mask of pain and torture. Fortune walked back to the tray and picked up a pair of pinking shears. ‘When you want me to stop, just nod. Oh no, you can’t. Well make that mewing noise and it will all be over with one little injection. No pain, I promise…just fear.’ Prentice Fortune opened and closed the pinking shears, the metal rasped together. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.’ He pulled Rick’s top lip and placed it between the blades of the shears. Rick remembered the cars pulling away from the traffic lights almost in unison. He remembered jerking and thrusting, not watching the road and finally the clash of metal as both cars collided. Rick pulled Jordan’s head away from him as he fought to regain control of the car. Through the grinding and crunching of metal he could hear Dorette’s scream as Prentice Fortune’s car hurtled through Garland Bach’s main window. The scream was cut short as the car impaled itself into scaffolding. Rick’s jeep hit the kerb and rolled, following Fortune’s car through the shop.

  Prentice Fortune closed the blades together, slicing through skin and tissue with ease. Rick mewed.

  ‘You’re no fun.’ Fortune picked up the syringe. ‘But a promise is a promise.’ He stuck the needle into Rick’s neck and pushed the plunger evacuating its contents into Montoya’s bloodstream. ‘Let’s hope your family is more fun than you.’

  Rick felt a surge of warmth.

  ‘Cos you know what,? I lied. I’m gonna kill them too.

  The last thing Rick felt was fear.

  Jo-Lynn continued to rub hard with her diamond ring against the embedded trap door. Slowly it freed itself from its setting, opening up the possibility of access to the entrance that lay below the surface of the water. The sudden movement sent her sprawling backward into the dirty water. Her wedding band flew from her grasp and landed somewhere nearby under the hundreds of gallons of water. She briefly submerged, swallowing a small amount of murky brown liquid, which made her immediately want to vomit. She wasn't certain, but the level in the room appeared to rising slowly. The seat of the chair she was sitting on had disappeared under a film of semi opaque water. Jo-Lynn scurried over to the trap door and grabbed hold of the lever under the water. Her fingers scrabbled around for the small metal loop. She pulled hard at the ring hoping to free the door but the weight of the water made it impossible. It was then that she noticed the small trickle of water running down the wall through the air vent. On closer inspection she realised that it wasn't an air vent but an access point for rain. As she looked around the room, Jo-Lynn realised that she was being held in part of a storm drain overflow chamber, probably underneath a house. The chambers led to the main sewerage system, through the access door in the centre of the room. Houses that were in prone to flooding would have a chamber built adjacent to the house on the vulnerable side. If a river flooded or there was heavier rain than the normal drain system could cope with, then the owner of the property would open the chamber and sewer access point allowing huge volumes of water to cascade into it, before being funnelled and dissipated through a network of adjoining pipelines leading to the water processing station or a drainage outlet pipe miles away, often into the ocean. Jo-Lynn watched the water continue to trickle out through the grill. As she moved her head, a reflection high up on the wall caught her eye. Jo-Lynn tilted her head back and saw the tiny camera lens that recorded her every move. The world continued to watch her, through satellite, cable and ISDN lines. The horror of the invasion into her predicament left Jo-Lynn feeling stunned, followed by a numb disbelief. She moved back to the dry sanctity of the stairs, defeated. Her hope dissipated, the feeling of isolation compounded by the echo of water dripping in to the ever-swelling pool. She was suddenly aware of her virtual nakedness, wondering who had been watching her attempts to escape, scrabbling around in the water, naked, trying to keep her only garment dry. Was it just him or were there others? Her hope of being rescued was below zero. Jo-Lynn sat down to contemplate her options, which she knew were limited. The food tray was still resting on the step where she had left it after finishing her meagre meal of soup and bread. The bowl was a children’s patterned variety, made of lightweight plastic. Certainly no weapon, the spoon was constructed from a lighter grade of plastic. Jo-Lynn picked the spoon up and snapped the rounded head from it leaving just the handle with a jagged neck. Was he watching her now, sitting laughing at her feeble attempts? Jo-Lynn considered the outlook. She hadn't seen Rick or her son for days, possibly weeks; she was not sure of the time span that had passed. She was intelligent enough to know that she part of a bigger plan; otherwise she would already be dead. Was it simply ransom? She dismissed kidnapping, knowing that it was rare for entire families to be taken. Who would pay the ransom? Where was Rick, where was her son? She had heard Ray laughing. Why didn't he seem concerned? Jo-Lynn looked at the camera and wondered again if her abductor was watching. She decided there was one way to find out. She wanted to gain his attention, and the only way to do that was to put herself back in control. Jo-Lynn knew she was about to take the biggest risk of her life and if she miscalculated and he wasn't there watching her every move, then she would at least be free and in a way would have won. She stood trembling with fear and cold, though fear was the overriding emotion. Her stomach lurched like a ship on rough seas. She walked down to the water, her cracked feet aware that each step could be her last. The pain from each step a sharp reminder of life, pain for once assuring her that she was alive. One way or another she hoped that what she was about to do would finalise her situa
tion. She looked up at the camera; cold, dirty, muddy water lapping around her thighs, took a deep breath then exhaled, inhaled and repeated the process twice more before plunging head first into the murky pool. Under the water she could see nothing. She tried not to think about the condition of the water or whether its rodent inhabitants had returned. Her body sank down a little way before her natural buoyancy returned her to the surface, where she remained floating, holding her breath, hoping that he could see her. If he did not return she had promised herself that she would let a final breath go before inhaling the water. She realised that the only power she had left was to deny him his moment and if the only way she could do that was by sacrificing her life then she figured that her chosen method of death would be far more preferable than any nightmare that he might dream up. Time slowed inexorably to the point where she did not know how much of its precious gift had elapsed or indeed, how much remained. Her lungs began to strain under the pressure of the forced inertia. The water moved around her face, something warm brushed against the skin of her cheeks but Jo-Lynn's eyes were shut, unable to greet the rat's return. The presence of her body in the rat’s domain, a curiosity. She was an oddity to him. A strange invader. Desperately, she began to exhale the very last breath that had entered her body. The rat watched her with indifference for now, the tiny air bubbles that escaped Jo-Lynn's mouth and nose no more than an amusement, a pre-occupation, very rarely would he attack 'live' prey for food, live prey normally fought back and he was in no mood for a scrap. He could wait.

  He returned to the monitor, pulling the mask down over his face as he walked to the seat in front of the three monitors and separate computer systems. One monitor relayed the live image from a little further than two hundred yards away. He sat in the seat and moved the computer mouse, activating the computer from the screensaver slumber that was on a constant link to his web site. Then he pressed the refresh button hoping to see an update on the figures on the counter that invariably was going to lead to an execution, in a little over five hours. The error message sent the mouse hurtling toward the screen. He moved across the desk and lifted the phone to be greeted by a dead line. The system was crumbling under the strain and interest that he had created. His finger tapped a Morse rhythm on the receiver button hoping to re-establish a link, but with no joy. He ripped out the landline connection and connected the machine's modem to a jack socket on his cell phone, which linked to a laptop computer. He called up the network-dialling box and entered his password, Jordan, then once again tried to establish a connection, hoping that the signal could establish a link via satellite. While he waited he glanced at the live feed from the flood chamber. His finger toyed with a small joystick, moving the camera around the chamber. The all seeing eye scanned the stairs and moved down them one by one, until it met the water’s edge. Something semi round came into view, something that was floating, something that looked like a heel, a bare naked heel. He pulled back on the joystick allowing the camera to zoom out. As it did so, the rest of Jo-Lynn's body became visible. Floating, motionless. The control of the joystick pressed into his skin, pressing against the soft fleshy part of his palm, making a small white indentation, until the skin ruptured and the metal rod entered his body through the fissure. He pulled back sharply, freeing the foreign body from his hand, then ran from the room, pulling open the door fiercely, sending it rocking back on its hinges. The sound reverberated down the long passage. He continued running down the hall, past three doors to his left and two to his right. From one of the rooms came the sound of a television, at the bottom of the corridor was another door, which he opened with equal force and began descending down a flight of steps. He was feeling a rush of adrenaline and apprehension. These sensations pumping him to a new height of frenzy. He reached the steel door, as he pulled back the bolts that secured the heavy door, a voice from the top of the stairs jolted him into stasis. He remained motionless, his heart threatened to leap out from of his chest. A boy's voice temporarily paralysed him.

  ‘Daddy?’

  ‘Get in. This weather's really foul.’ Barbara Dace cursed the blackening sky.

  John Keller lumbered into the waiting helicopter, weighed down by his camera and enough baggage to suffice a fortnight’s holiday somewhere drier and sunnier than Turtle Island in the winter.

  The rain was gathering momentum, splashing large droplets against the windscreen.

  ‘We're still ahead of the pack.’ She shouted to the pilot over the whirr of the rotor blades above her head. Within minutes the Borland Ziborski hovered over the crash scene. Paramedics were scrambling from another helicopter parked in what appeared to be the only available gap near the grass verge bordering the tar macadam surface of the highway. Barbara could clearly see the jack-knifed lorry and what remained of the vehicles that were helplessly swept along in its wake. A white car was now blackened with carbon scorch marks running from the rear of the car to the driver’s seat. Firemen were attempting to cut away the roof of the car using hydraulic cutting tools. The clamps being placed through the broken glass panels so the jaws of the cutters could slowly eat their way through the blackened twisted hulk.

  Barbara tapped John Keller on the shoulder and pointed to the rescue attempt. From their position it was difficult to tell if there were any occupants still alive. She guessed, looking at the other victims in the horrific scene that the rescue team wouldn’t be wasting their time trying to free the dead.

  Each corner of the roof was severed with speed and efficiency, until the lid of the burnt out can was peeled back like a used sardine can, ready to be hoisted away.

  ‘Get in close, John.’ Barbara told the experienced cameraman what he didn't need to know, but he knew Barbara too well to be insulted. He zoomed in until the rectangular roof filled the camera's viewing area, then waited to see the sardines inside the tin. Fire-fighters moved around the driver’s side, they appeared to be talking to the driver, who must have miraculously been alive. One of the firemen was pointing forward. The last of the cutters were pulled away and a group of four rescue workers each elected to grab a corner of the severed car roof. As the roof began to open, Keller felt a trickle of sweat run from his forehead, over his eyelid and down the corner of his eye. He blinked away the salty invader from the corner of his eye and in that blink the roof was carried away, exposing four blackened occupants inside the car. Keller’s mind tried to assemble the scene inside the vehicle. He couldn't hear the fireman telling the driver not to look behind, but he could see the reaction of two of the hardened rescue workers as they staggered away from the car. John Keller could also see, quite clearly see, the bodies of two children, scorched black. Fire had ravaged their tiny bodies until they were shells that had begun to merge with the molten interior. The driver appeared to be almost free from any burns whatsoever. John Keller could see that he had lost some hair from the back of his head, he could also see what he thought to be the man's wife lying forward with her head tilted virtually all the way back, her eyes wide open and a bloody grimace spread across her features. He had seen enough, Keller moved the camera away from the car, choosing to get a panoramic view of the chaos that had brought Turtle Island to gridlock. As he moved past the crash site and in front of the hastily erected blue screens, Keller caught a brief glimpse of two familiar figures. He used the zoom facility on the camera. This time he tapped Barbara on the shoulder.

  ‘Take a look.’ He offered the reporter the viewfinder to look through. Barbara shifted across the seat and peered through the tiny eyepiece.

  ‘O’Neil and Frusco.’ Barbara turned her attention to the pilot. ‘Frank, I don't care where you put this bird, but take us down.’

  The wind from the rotors blew the blue plastic tarpaulin taught, threatening to rip the freshly hammered stakes out of the ever-softening ground. The rain was pushed with even greater force into Georgina and Norman Frusco’s face and body. Frusco shielded his eyes as he looked up at the approaching helicopter, Georgina turned away, trying to avoid the
worst of the spray until the blades stopped whirring. Keller was out of the chopper first. His camera was already cradled on his shoulder, filming the devastation on the ground. Barbara Dace made a beeline for Captain Norman Frusco, her lover.

  ‘What’s wrong Norman, phone not working?’

  ‘For the past few hours, actually, no.’

  ‘The world’s going mad.’ Barbara tried to light a cigarette but the elements conspired against her. In frustration, she threw the wet cigarette to the ground. ‘Got a patch going spare, Norm?’

  Frusco searched through his pockets. He pulled out an unopened pack of twenty cigarettes, he fished again inside the deep pockets of the soaked trench coat and returned hold yet another pack plus a couple of nicotine patches.

  ‘One or two?’

  ‘Jesus, the way I feel today, there ain’t enough patches in the world.’ Barbara took the two patches from Norman. She peeled the backing paper off the first patch, pulled at the neck of her blouse and slapped the patch on the top of her left arm. ‘Got any gum?’

  Frusco smiled. ‘Only nicotine gum.’

  ‘You know, Norm, I think we were made for each other. How come I never met you thirty years ago.’

  ‘I was waiting. I’m just reaching my peak now.’

  Barbara leaned forward and delicately moved one of the few remaining strands of hair that had blown down across his face and gently placed it back on his head. The hair didn’t even make an attempt to hide the huge bald expanse in-between.

  ‘Captain, there’s a message for you on the radio.’ Georgina’s voice interrupted the moment.