by L C Hayden
fifty
Bronson raised the trap door to reveal a set of plain, wooden steps. The giant twisted Linda’s arm behind her, pushing it slowly up toward her shoulder. She let out a yelp. “Step away from there,” the giant said. “If you try anything, I’ll break her arm.” He pushed it up further to show he meant business. Linda let out another cry.
Bronson raised his hands. “No need to frighten her. I’ll behave.” He stepped away, a feeling of helplessness engulfing him. He watched as Jack descended the stairs. He must have flipped on a switch, as the entire area lit up.
The giant released Linda, grabbed his gun, and pointed it at Bronson. He looked at Linda and said, “You. Down the stairs.”
A few seconds later, just about the time Linda should have reached the bottom, she let out a stifled scream. Bronson felt his heart do aerobic loops in his chest, but he forced himself to remain still.
“Ready,” Jack said from down below.
“You’re next,” the giant said.
Once Bronson descended, he realized why Linda had screamed. The entire area had a shine to it that reminded him of a hospital. On the stark white wall facing him hung sets of tools: picks, axes, saws, and various knives, all crusted with dried blood. Before him stood a stainless steel table equipped with hand and foot cuffs. Four steel poles with chains and cuffs hanging from each had been placed at each of the table’s corners. Crusted blood covered the floor where clots had flowed to a drain, giving the place the odor of death. Two self-standing iron cells were placed at apposite ends of the room. Each cell contained a plastic bucket and a crumpled bed sheet. Linda had already been locked inside one.
“What do you think of it, Bronson? This is home, sweet home.” The giant’s eyes sparkled as he spoke.
A chill covered Bronson’s body. He ignored it and stared at the giant.
The giant threw back his head and laughed, a growl that sounded menacing. “Too frightened to speak? That’s okay. It’s better to save your vocal chords so you can use them to scream.” He laughed again, sending another chill racing through Bronson. “Go to your room now.”
Bronson made a move toward Linda’s cell. The giant grabbed his arm and yanked him in the opposite direction. “We were told to keep you separate.”
Bronson stepped into the empty cell and heard the clink of the lock.
“Don’t know how long you’ll be here. It depends,” the giant said.
“On what?” Bronson was surprised to hear how dry his voice sounded.
“I’ll let you figure that one out. In the meantime, the boss wants me to explain some of these gadgets so you’ll know exactly what’s going to happen. First of all, Linda’s role in this.”
Her head snapped up at the mention of her name.
“You’re going to watch Bronson die and realize the same thing will happen to you unless you do everything you’re told. Now don’t get your hopes up, because either way, you’ll end up dead. But one way you get a fast, painless death. The other way—” He cocked his head. “Well, you’ll see.”
He turned to Bronson. “Let me begin the tour.” He pointed to the saws, knives, and other odd-looking instruments on the wall. “The boss is very handy with those tools. He uses them to cut your ears off, then your toes, and then your fingers, one at a time. He’ll castrate you next. Then, see these gadgets here? They’re used to pull your eyeballs out, but normally that’s not until the end. He wants you to see what’s happening to you. That’s why there are mirrors.” He pointed to the ceiling.
Bronson looked up at the mirrors and back down at the giant. By now Linda had dropped to the floor, her knees drawn tight up against her. She covered her ears and gently rocked.
“These poles here, your arms and legs are strapped to them. See how they move away from the table?” He pressed a button and the poles slowly shifted position. “Eventually, all this stretching will rip you apart. Then—”
Bronson stared at the giant, but his mind recalled Carol’s gentle touch. Her lovely face, her sweet lips. He heard his grandkids’ innocent laughter. He recalled his daughters as little girls, giggling, playing. Then as older children who grew into beautiful, rebellious teens, and finally blossomed as women. He held on to the cell bars so tightly, his hands turned white. He released the bars and forced in a deep breath.
“Those are just some of the things the boss wants you to think about while you await his arrival. Sweet, huh?” The giant gave another blood-curdling laugh. “So tell me, oh Mighty Bronson, have you figured it out?”
Bronson looked him in the eyes. “It’s Carrier, isn’t it? He’s still alive.”
The giant smiled.
fifty-one
Bronson watched as the giant went up the stairs and closed the trap door behind him. Jack sat on the stainless steel table, produced a pornographic magazine from somewhere, and began looking at it.
Linda continued to rock. Bronson went to the back of his cell and flopped down on the floor. Might as well rest. He would need all the strength he could muster.
* * * * *
A noise woke him up. Bronson bolted to his feet, half hoping this past experience had all been a nightmare, realizing it wasn’t. Missing Carol, thinking of Carol, praying she wouldn’t know he was in danger so she wouldn’t worry. He stepped to the front of the cell and watched the giant descend the stairs.
“I’m driving into town. I’m taking food orders,” the giant said.
“I’m cravin’ a big juicy steak from Outback or Logan’s Roadhouse,” Bronson said.
“Don’t be an asshole. This is breakfast.”
“Pancakes from Village Inn? Or one of those skillet breakfasts from Denny’s? And oh yes, a big cup of coffee, three sugars, and lots of cream.” He smiled and nodded at the giant and silently cussed him.
The giant threw him a finger and turned to Linda. “And you? What do you want?”
She barely raised her head and shook it. The giant left, leaving Jack as the bodyguard.
Bronson waited for what he thought was five minutes, long enough to make sure the giant had really gone. He wished they hadn’t taken his watch away. “I need to use the bathroom,” he said.
Jack looked up from the magazine. “That’s what the bucket’s for.”
“I figured as much,” Bronson answered. “But we don’t have any toilet paper. Your boss would sure get upset if we both got sick from lack of hygiene.”
Jack sat up straighter.
“Come on. What would it hurt? It’s just two rolls of toilet paper. One for Linda and one for me.” Bronson moved to the back of the cage and sat on the floor, his back against the bars.
Jack frowned, set the magazine down, and left.
As soon as he heard the trap door close, Bronson took the shower curtain ring out of his pocket, unsnapped it, and pulled the ends out. He inserted the end in the cell lock and jiggled it. The lock didn’t open. He tried the other end with the same results.
Linda’s head came up. She watched him with interest.
Bronson ignored her and continued jiggling. Come on, come on. You’ve picked harder locks before. Do it. Do it. He moved the ring back and forth, sideways, up and down, willing the lock to open.
He stopped, pulled the ring out, took a deep breath, and looked at it. Then he studied the lock.
“Why are you wasting time? Put it back in there. Open the cell.” Linda gripped the bars.
A hammer—that’s what Bronson needed. If he could just pound the metal ring into an end that resembled a power pick, he might succeed. He didn’t have a hammer, but his shoes had steel toes. Maybe that would work. He sat on the floor, took off his shoe, and began to pound the ring. Over and over.
After a time, he heard another noise. Someone was opening the trap door.
The speed of Bronson’s reactions would have humbled Superman. Within seconds, he pocketed the curtain ring, slipped his shoe back on, and lay on his back. He kicked the cell door with the soles of his feet.
Jack’s voic
e carried down to them as he descended the stairs. “Hey! Hey! What’s going on down there?”
Bronson continued to kick, but stopped when he could see Jack. The smaller thug pulled his gun and pointed it at Bronson. “Stop that!”
“Why? I’m only exercising. Have you tried this? It does wonders for your leg muscles.” He stood up. “So, did you bring the tissue?”
“Get to the back of the cell and sit down. How stupid do you think I am?”
Very, Bronson thought, but kept the comment to himself. Instead, he shrugged, sat down, and watched Jack shove a new roll of toilet tissue through the ten-inch square opening designed to pass small items to the prisoners.
“Go ahead,” Jack said.
“Go ahead what?”
Jack leaned against the table and folded his arms. “Go ahead and use the bucket.”
Disgust encompassed Bronson as he realized Jack would get his thrills by watching him. Bronson glared at him as he unbuckled his belt. Linda’s eyes widened. She turned her back.
* * * * *
Bronson estimated that two hours had elapsed before the giant arrived carrying two plain white bags. Either they were quite a ways from the closest city or he had run other errands in town. Without a word, the giant shoved one of the white bags through the open area between the bars.
Bronson looked at the bag. No logo on it. Maybe the napkins inside would give him a clue. He peeked in the bag and pulled out a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich, the type that usually came from a Ma-and-Pa type restaurant. Bronson preferred that to a fast food place or a chain restaurant, but it did nothing to tell him where he was.
He reached into the bag for the coffee. At the bottom of the bag, he saw several packets of cream, sugar, ketchup, and mayonnaise. He fixed the coffee and took a sip. It felt good going down.
He took out the two packets of ketchup, realized nobody was watching him, and pocketed them. He spread the mayonnaise on his sandwich and began to eat.
* * * * *
For the next three days, Bronson grasped every opportunity to pound the shower curtain ring into shape. He’d hit it with his shoe, and then rub it on the concrete floor to make it thin enough to go into the cell lock. Occasionally, he used the cell bars to shape the end. By the fourth day, he felt ready and eager to try it. His chance came the next day.
As usual, Jack kept watch while the giant did whatever he did. Today, however, the giant lingered for a moment. “Hey, Bronson, I got news for you. Carrier called and guess what? He’s feeling much better. He told me to tell you he’s eager to start chopping you apart. He’ll be here any day—maybe even today.” His gloating laugh filled the room and chilled Bronson’s bones. “How’s that for good news?”
Jack’s face brightened. “That’s great, Ranger.” He looked at the prisoners. “What do you think?”
Bronson felt as if he’d swallowed broken glass. The need to open the lock filled him with urgency that verged on obsession. He gripped the bars and stared at their captors.
Jack giggled like a fifth-grader as he followed Ranger up the stairs. His mocking laughter echoed in Bronson’s brain. As soon as they slammed the trap door shut, Bronson slowly counted to ten. Then he retrieved the U-shaped curtain ring. It now resembled a screw driver on one end and a hook on the other.
Linda stood up. “Hurry, Bronson. Get us out of here.”
Bronson slipped the tool he had shaped into the lock and manipulated it, hoping to release the locking mechanism. It made a sound like a ball bearing dropped into a garbage disposal. The clatter seemed to stretch into eternity, but the noise stopped after what was probably just a few seconds. Bronson pushed the door and it opened.
Linda gasped and placed her hand over her mouth as though stifling a scream.
Bronson walked to the far wall, choosing the proper knives, ignoring the crusted blood on them.
“What are you doing? Get me out of here.” Linda grasped the bars and shook them.
Bronson chose two butcher knives with blades large enough to do damage but small enough to carry in his jacket pocket. “I’m going to ask you to do somethin’ you won’t like, but you’ve got to trust me on this, okay?”
She nodded.
“I’m going to unlock the door, but you’re to stay inside.”
“No!”
Bronson put his finger to his lips. “Shhh. Listen.” He inserted his homemade device into the lock on Linda’s cell and jiggled it. “Jack should come back just about any minute now.” The door opened. A step closer to freedom, but still miles away. “I’m going to stand behind the stairs and grab him as he comes down. I want you to make noise, create a disturbance, draw attention to yourself, and away from my empty cage. Can you do that?”
Before she could answer, he heard the trap door open. His heart jumped to his throat as he rushed to the area behind the stairs. He wished he’d had enough time to plan his strategy.
fifty-two
As Bronson ran to hide, he heard Linda cry out behind him. “I can’t stand it anymore. Get me out of here. Get me out of here!”
He reached the back of the stairs just as Jack came into view. Linda continued to wail.
“Shut up, lady. You’re hurting my ears.”
Bronson grabbed Jack and placed a knife against his throat. “I can hurt a lot more than your ears. Where’s your gun?”
“I-I d-don’t have it with me.”
Bronson tightened his grip.
“I-I s-swear. I d-don’t.”
“How about the keys to the cells?”
“I-in my p-pocket.”
Bronson signaled for Linda to join them. She approached hesitantly. “Frisk him,” Bronson said.
“What?”
“Empty his pockets. All of them.” He tightened his squeeze a bit more. “And you, if you move, I’ll slice your throat.”
Linda emptied the pockets and set the contents on the steel table.
Bronson eyed Jack’s wallet. “Take out his driver’s license and put it in your pocket.”
She did.
“Check his ankles for a gun.” Bronson hoped she’d find one. She didn’t.
Bronson led Jack to a cell and shoved him in. “Strip down to your shorts.”
Jack shook his head. “N-n-no. Wh-what are you going . . . to do?”
“Just strip. I want to make sure you don’t have any concealed weapons.”
“I-I d-don’t.”
“Do it, or I’ll do it for you.”
Jack removed his clothes. Bronson grabbed them and slammed the cell door shut. “May you rot in prison, and while you’re here, you better not do anythin’ to warn your buddy.”
“I won’t make any noise. Ranger is going to be pissed at me.”
“My heart is breakin’.” Bronson placed the crumpled clothes on the steel table. He handed Linda a knife. She shook her head. “You may need it. Take it.”
She frowned but accepted it.
Bronson reached for the keys and pocketed them. “I’m going to need you to do everythin’ I tell you. Don’t question it, okay?”
She nodded.
“Thanks for your vote of confidence. Are you ready?”
Again she nodded.
Bronson climbed the stairs, Linda close behind him. When he reached the top, he stopped and listened. No sounds. He pushed the trap door open just high enough to peek out. Seeing they were alone, he swung the door further upward, so he could see all around. He climbed out and helped Linda. Without making any noise, he closed the trap door. He looked through a crack in the barn’s slats, and immediately moved away. Ranger was leaning against the car, smoking a cigarette. Bronson risked another peek. He saw Ranger look at his watch and down the road, as though expecting someone.
Bronson’s heartbeat accelerated. He had to get Linda out, but how could they get past the giant? The only way out meant facing him.
“I’m going out there,” Bronson said.
“Are you crazy? Do you want to get yourself killed?”
“I’m hopin’ I won’t, but no matter what happens while I’m distractin’ Ranger, you use that time to get away. Follow the road out, but don’t walk on the road or its shoulder. If Carrier is headin’ this way, you don’t want him to see you.”
Linda started to protest. Bronson looked at her, reminding her of her promise not to question him. She nodded, but looked grim. “You can’t just walk out there. He’ll shoot you and ask questions later.”
“I’m sure that’s true, but if he thinks I’m already wounded, he might get close enough for me to attack.”
“What would make him think you’re wounded?”
“These.” Bronson pulled the two ketchup packets out of his pocket. He opened them and smeared his shirt with half a packet. Then he had Linda pour the rest of the ketchup on his hands. He plastered them over his shirt around the ribs. “How does this look?”
Her eyes widened. “From a distance you might get away with it.”
“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Pray that I give an award-winning performance.”
“I am.”
He reached for the door handle.
“Bronson.”
He turned.
“Be careful . . . and thank you.”
He winked and nodded once. “Don’t forget to hightail out of here while he’s busy with me.”
She nodded.
“God bless you,” Bronson said. He opened the door. Holding his ribcage with both of his ketchup-smeared hands, he staggered out.
fifty-three
Ranger dropped his cigarette. Shit! How did Bronson get out? He looked seriously hurt. Ranger imagined Carrier’s violent reaction, and froze.
Then he saw Bronson stagger and fall.
If he’s dead—Ranger bolted toward Bronson. That weasel Jack. I’m gonna kill him. Ranger had told him over and over, “Watch Bronson. He’s tricky. Don’t fall for anything he does.” A few steps from Bronson, he came to a sudden stop, listening to himself. Don’t fall for anything Bronson does.