by Ken Douglas
The large clock on the opposite wall was the first thing that grabbed his attention. One-fifteen. He hoped it was 1:15 in the morning. Even so that left him less than forty-eight hours to find Donna.
He tried to get up and couldn’t. He dropped his chin to his chest, looked down the length of his body. He was naked, his arms spread down from his shoulders in an inverted vee and they were tied to the side of the bed. His legs made the same vee and were lashed to the bottom corners of the hospital bed. He was bound in the same way Donna had been earlier.
He tugged at his bonds, but they didn’t give. He was at his captor’s mercy. He remembered the feeling and he didn’t like it. His back was screaming. He had to fight for every breath. His head felt like it had been split open. His broken arm throbbed and itched under the cast. He was horribly thirsty and he had to piss, but none of this equaled the terror he felt at being confined again.
The door on the opposite side of the room burst open and one of the men in black walked in, dragging an IV stand. The man set it up by the side of the bed and grinned at Jim as he ripped the seal off the needle and held it up to his eyes, inspecting it. Apparently satisfied, he attached it to the plastic tube running off the clear bag.
“ I would have killed you last night, but Manfred wants you alive. He wants her to see you die before she burns. Great guy, don’t you think, Mr. Monday?” The man’s thick accent reminded Jim of all the concentration camp movies he had ever seen and he remained silent as the man slipped the needle into his left wrist.
“ Demerol and a little heroin, a special cocktail, to make you feel good and keep you quiet.” The man stayed in the room, watching until the drug started to work its magic. In minutes his back no longer hurt, his head felt fine, the itching stopped and he was beyond caring as he floated on a cloud of pleasure. The man in black could slice his leg off and he wouldn’t care.
“ I’ll see you in the morning. The lights are on a timer. They come on at 7:00 sharp.” The man turned off the lights and closed the door. Jim heard the sharp sound of a bolt clicking into place on the other side. He was locked in.
Overkill, he thought, because it was impossible for him to untie the ropes that bound him to the bed. And why would he want to? He felt pretty good right where he was. But there was a small part of him still resisting the drug, a part that remembered Donna and the danger she was in, a part that tried to fasten onto something the man in black had said, something that didn’t seem right, and then he drifted off, to sleep, and to dream.
But his dreams were not the drug induced dreams of well being and pleasure his captors counted on, instead they were dreams of concentration camps and terror. Even in sleep, he fought the drug, and in his tortured dreams he struggled with the problem. What did the man say that wasn’t right? He said something. A clue. He gave a clue. It was something for Jim to hang his mind on as he fought the drug and when the lights went on he was already awake and he knew what it was.
His name. The man knew his name.
And with the lights on he was able to study the room. As promised the clock said 7:00. His time was running out. He looked up at the clear bag and noticed it was still dripping the drug into his arm.
Movement. He spied movement, and he fastened his eyes on the far corner where the wall at the foot of the bed met the wall to his left. And on the ceiling, a blob of black. A blob of black that moved. It couldn’t be, but it was-a black widow.
It bounced up and down on its eight legs, a small black marble bouncing on the ceiling. Odd, he thought, black widows were native to the United States. What was one doing here, on a ceiling, indoors, in a warm room? They liked to be on the edge of things-in the dark, but near the light-in the dry, but near the damp. They were seldom seen and they seldom bothered anyone, but he had been bitten in the past and he couldn’t forget it as he watched the spider settle into the corner.
He had to piss like a race horse now, he wasn’t going to be able to hold it much longer.
“ Can anybody hear me?” he shouted. Nobody answered, nobody came. He shouted again and from the way the walls seemed to absorb the sound, he gathered the room was soundproofed. Since all the rooms in the front of the house had windows that opened onto the small ravine opposite, he figured that the room he was in, was built into the side of the hill. He could shout forever, nobody would hear.
He would hold it as long as possible, but if somebody didn’t come soon, he was going to piss himself. If the intention was to degrade him, it would fail, he had been degraded before, this was nothing.
More movement and he turned his head as something slid up the wall toward the spider. A small green gecko looking for lunch. The gecko stopped inches from the black spider and made a tiny sound, a kind of chattering laughter. The spider backed away.
The gecko moved forward an inch-and stopped. The spider backed an equal inch away-and stopped. The gecko moved up the corner toward the ceiling, but the spider held her ground. The gecko issued another chattering challenge, but its laughter had no affect on the spider, she still held her ground. The gecko inched closer and the spider jumped forward, attacking, but the gecko was a blur as it backed down the wall, the widow’s poison fangs missed by inches.
The gecko darted back, chattering and goading. It made no sense. The spider was no match for the reptile. It should have been over in an instant. Instead the gecko darted up the wall and on to the ceiling, coming close to the spider, then backing off. Jim didn’t understand, but the fight above captivated him and, as it drew closer, he found himself silently rooting for the spider.
When they reached the center of the ceiling, the spider backed up to the copper-colored light fixture, looking like she was going to make a final stand, and the gecko stopped, still chattering and snapping at it. The spider, with her back against the fixture, raised her front two legs and bared her deadly fangs, daring the gecko to come closer. The gecko remained only a sliver out of reach, like it was uncertain about its quarry, like it knew a head on rush could be fatal.
They stood facing each other, two lone soldiers locked in a fight to the death, each waiting for the other to make the mistake that would cost it its life. Jim wondered if the giant gecko with the shark’s teeth was hovering over Donna like the one above was hovering over the spider. Were they to be devoured like the black lady with her back against the light fixture? Was their fight as hopeless as hers? But the spider hadn’t given up yet, one second she was standing, back protected, fangs bared, facing her enemy, the next she was scooting around the light fixture, faster than Jim thought possible. The gecko took the bait and cautiously inched after her, but the spider had gone all the way around the fixture.
She came at the gecko’s back, front legs raised, but at the last instant the gecko darted across the ceiling. One second she was a breath away from victory, the next the gecko was five feet away. The spider moved back around the light fixture, like she thought she could hide from the monster that had been nipping at her legs, but the gecko was having none of it. It rushed the spider, then backed off, always dancing a whisker away from the deadly fangs, forcing her away from the fixture and back on her journey across the ceiling above. Jim watched fascinated and then he figured it out. The reptile was herding the spider the way a sheep dog herds sheep.
And he knew why the gecko didn’t go in for the kill. It had no intention of finishing off the spider. It was herding the spider toward him. That’s why the black widow was here, half a world away from home, it was brought here by his captors, to terrorize him. That meant they had been expecting him and he had fallen into their trap.
He pulled at his bonds, but only succeeded in digging the ropes into his wrists. Fortunately he didn’t feel the pain, thanks to the drugs dripping into his arm. He tore his eyes away from the scene on the ceiling and looked at the plastic bag hanging on the chrome stand. No help there. He ran his eyes along the plastic tube to his arm. No help there either, but maybe he could pull out the needle.
He bent his wr
ist and tried to remove the tape, but he couldn’t bend it enough. He twisted his hand around and pinched the plastic tube with his thumb and forefinger. At least he could stop the flow of the mind numbing drugs, but how long could he keep the tube pinched off? Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes? And what good would it do? The gecko would have the spider directly overhead before then.
He studied the plastic tube for a second time, his eyes following along its clear surface to where it buried itself into the tape covering his wrist. The needle was inserted into his wrist downward, facing toward his open palm. If he could work it out, he could use it to cut through the rope binding his hand. If he tugged on the tube, maybe he could pull it out, if the tape would give, and if the tube held fast to the needle. Four big ifs.
He pulled on the plastic tube with thumb and forefinger and winced. Even with the pain killing drugs flowing through his body, he felt the needle dig into his wrist. He grit his teeth and gently tugged on the tube a second time as the gecko moved the spider still closer. A stabbing pain shot from his wrist along his forearm. Each time he pulled up on the tube, the tape across his wrist forced the needle downward into it. The pain was excruciating.
He relaxed the pressure and watched the battle on the ceiling. The spider wasn’t submitting to the gecko’s wishes willingly. The gecko, chattering and snapping, would herd the spider two or three inches toward the space above where he lay, but the spider would move an inch or two aside, forcing the gecko to move around her and try and move her back on course. Sort of a three steps forward, two steps backward kind of situation and all the while the hands on the clock were ticking away. Time was running out for Donna.
He bit his lip against the pain he knew he was going to cause himself and silently screamed as he pulled on the tube. The silent scream turned into a belly wrenching wail as the needle dug into his flesh, but still he pulled on the tube and suddenly it pulled free.
The steady drip of the fluid hitting the floor echoed throughout the silent room, reminding him of leftover rain splashing down a rain gutter after a summer rainstorm.
He thought about giving up. It would be so easy to lie back, piss himself and go to sleep. He looked up at the spider just as she moved to the side. The gecko again moved around her to put her back on course, but instead of complying with the reptile’s wishes, like she’d been doing, she attacked, almost catching it with her fangs. She hadn’t given up yet. His bladder felt like it was going to burst, but in his drug induced state he equated wetting himself with giving in. He would hold it as long as possible. If the black lady above could hold on, so could he.
The steady patter of the dripping solution picked up an echo. Stereo, he thought, craning his head around to look. The clear drops were being matched drop for drop by the red liquid drops of his blood as it oozed out the tiny tunnel the tube had left in the tape. Great, he thought, if he didn’t do something, he would slowly bleed to death.
The thick red liquid covered his wrist and hand, making it impossible to see how bad the wound was and how fast he was losing blood. He wanted to know. The clear tube was hanging less than an inch from his grasp, so he stretched his bloody hand against the rope, hooked it with his index finger, and twisted his hand around, so that the drip landed on the bloody tape. He planned on the slippery liquid washing away enough of the blood to give him a look at the place where it flowed from the tape, but the blood was too thick and the drip too slow.
He stared at the clear liquid mingling with his blood and for a few minutes was lost in the clear splotches among the red ooze. Then he saw the gold band he still wore and wondered how slippery the red ooze was. He let go of the tube and watched it swing away. He had taken a vow. Till death do us part. Julia was dead, he was no longer married. He bent his wrist and moved his thumb behind the ring on his ring finger and pushed it over the knuckle. He was surprised how easily it slipped off.
The soft pinging sound the ring made as it bounced on the tile floor sent shivers of grief and regret through him. He shouldn’t have done it. He wanted the ring back. He stared at his bloody hand with his thumb still folded under his ring finger and an idea struck him. He had seen Julia fold her hand like that every time she slipped off a bracelet. With the slippery goo covering his hand, maybe he could slip it out from the rope tied around his wrist.
He looked up and saw that the spider was directly overhead, with the gecko moving around it, snapping at its legs. It was too fast for the confused spider, snapping first at its front, then an instant later at its back, keeping the spider spinning in a vain attempt to defend herself. Any second it would fall.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled his hand against the rope and came up against an unexpected obstacle. The needle. If he tried to slip his hand through the rope, he’d drive the needle further into his wrist and that would really hurt. He looked up at the spider bravely defying the gecko and made his decision. He let out a yell as he jerked his hand against the rope.
The defiant scream turned into an agonizing cry. The needle, pushed by the rope, dug into his wrist. His hand slipped further through the loop. The rope caught under the needle, pulling it up and ripping it through skin, tendon and muscle. He clamped his mouth shut, biting back a second scream as the room echoed with the crack of the needle snapping. His hand slipped through the rope as the spider fell, landing on his naked chest with a quiet plop.
His first impulse was to swat the spider off with his newly freed hand, but he bit his lip against the pain shooting from his wrist and watched the spider sitting on his belly button. This time he wasn’t frozen with fear. He felt a certain empathy with the deadly spider. They had the same enemy. He looked up at the chattering gecko above and, as if the spider knew what the man was thinking, it side stepped away from his belly, slid down his waist, walked across the bare mattress, dropped a web to the floor and slid down, away from Jim.
He grabbed the chrome IV pole with his bloodied hand, pain shooting from his wrist as his fingers closed on it, but he was a man with a mission. He lifted it an inch off the ground, testing its weight and balance. Then he turned his attention to the noisy gecko, set his mouth in a tight grin and looked away. But instead of setting the pole back on the floor, he shot his arm upward sending the pole flying to the ceiling like a spear.
He missed the gecko by over six inches, but the clear plastic IV bag flopped up, hitting the reptile like a water balloon, stunning it and sending it falling with the chrome tube, and the clear bag. The metal pole made a clanging sound when it hit the tile floor. The half full IV bag made a loud pop as it broke open, spilling its gooey liquid contents. The gecko hit with a tiny thud.
He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, turned his head to see the spider, a black blur, dart across the room toward the fallen reptile. She was on its back as it came to life. She sank her fangs into its flesh repeatedly as it twisted and tried to throw her off, but she held on with all eight legs, riding the gecko like a cowboy rides a bronco. She stayed with it until it quit its death throes and lay still.
When she was satisfied her enemy was dead, she hopped off its back and did a little dance around the fallen reptile. Despite everything, Jim smiled when she spun around, and he watched as she moved across the floor to the door and began to climb back toward the ceiling. She paused where the wall ended and the ceiling began, but after a few seconds she started her trek along the ceiling. She didn’t go far. She stopped over the doorway. Stopped and waited.
Jim swung his bloody left hand over and untied his right. Once it was free, he pulled out the rest of the broken needle with a tight grimace. He was weak and still bleeding. He pulled the sheet from the bed and tore a strip off with his teeth. Then he wrapped it tightly around his wrist. Only when he was sure the bleeding had stopped did he untie his feet.
He still had to piss. He looked around the room and settled on the farthest corner. He climbed off the bed, made his way to it, where he lay his cast against the wall for support and urinated. Finished, he stumbled to the
door and wasn’t surprised to find it still locked from the outside. He went back to the bed, picking up the IV stand along the way. A five foot long chrome tube would make a good weapon. He propped it up by the bed, then sat and massaged his legs. The only thing left for him to do was wait-like the spider.
The lights went out twelve hours later and he was still waiting and beginning to think no one would ever come. Twice more he stumbled to his corner. Once to urinate, once to squat. The pleasant, drug induced sensation was replaced by a raw, nagging hunger. One arm ached, the other itched, his head hurt. He was naked, alone and fighting for his sanity, when he drifted off to a fitful sleep.
He woke several times during the night, but no one came. When he slept his dreams were peppered with fire and monsters. When he was awake his thoughts were of death and pain. He didn’t know which was worse. But awake or asleep, through the fire or the pain, he wondered who’d brought a black widow halfway around the world to frighten him. Everyone that knew about his being bitten by a black widow and how terrified he was that day, was dead.
How did they know? Could they read his mind?
After a time that could have been ten hours or thirty he heard the sound of the deadbolt snapping open. He grabbed the IV pole and moved through the blinding black to where he imagined the center of the room was. He was weak and his grip on the chrome tube sent flaming stabs of white hot hurt shooting up from his mangled wrist, but the clicking of the turning doorknob grabbed all his attention. A man stepped through, backlit by the light flooding through the doorway.
“ Hey,” Jim heard a startled voice say as he swung the tube at the man’s head the way a home run hitter swings at a fat pitch coming down the pipe. He felt himself connect, but the tube slipped out of his hands as his eyes fought against the light.