by David Clark
Robert had already stripped down to his pants and undershirt. The tuxedo jacket and shirt that he had worn for the second time in two days had found a new home on the back of a chair in the sitting area. He took a few steps and did a mini flop on the bed beside her. The mattress cushioned his impact so well, Amy wasn’t jostled at all.
Amy reached up to take off her necklace and earrings and turned to place them on the nightstand next to the bed. The tightness of the dress‘ bodice restricted her a bit, and she sighed her surrender. She stood up and unzipped her dress. It fell to the floor at her feet. She stepped out and kicked off her heels before doing her own version of a flop into the bed. In mere moments they were out, asleep, in the heaven of each other’s arms and the setting they found themselves in.
Amy startled awake and sprang up in the bed. She didn’t know what woke her, but looked around, confused by their surroundings, and then remembered where they were. She laid back down next to her husband, with warmth in her heart. The crash she heard from downstairs turned that warmth into a chill.
“Robert,” she whispered, with a tone of urgency in her voice.
Robert didn’t wake up. She laid there for a few more seconds, listening. She thought there was a chance she was overreacting. Guy could have dropped something downstairs. They were in a new place, new sounds, probably nothing to worry about. All she heard now was the silence of the space they were in. Her brain accepted that and started to settle down, letting the prospect of sleep creep back in. It had almost reclaimed its original place in her head when a loud thud, followed by a second crash from downstairs reverberated up the stairs and into their suite.
“Robert,” she said again. This time she reached over and shook him, but she didn’t need to.
“I heard it,” he said and got out of bed. He walked as quietly as he could toward the door and listened, without opening it.
Amy watched his face. At first, he was calm, but as the seconds ticked by a hint of alarm manifested on his face. He listened for another fifteen seconds, that appeared to be minutes to the frightened couple, then Robert walked from the door to the sitting area. He slipped past the chairs on his way to the fireplace.
“I hear several voices. Downstairs,” Robert said as he picked up the fireplace poker and walked back to the door. “It is probably nothing, but seems odd at this time of night, and Guy said he was the only person that worked here.”
Amy glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 4:27 AM.
Robert cracked open the door, before he slipped out into the darkness of the hall.
This didn’t feel like nothing to her. She pleaded, “Robert, stay up here. Please!”.
“Seriously, it is probably nothing. Maybe they still get milk, or something, delivered around here early in the morning. I am sure there is a plausible explanation. Let me go check and make sure everything is okay. I will be right back, sit tight.”
Robert made his way down the grand stairs, listening for sounds the entire way. With each step, and each moment of silence, he felt more reassured that everything was ok. The entire house was dark, with only the moonlight shining in through the windows, illuminating the ground floor at the bottom of the stairs. Robert stopped a few stairs short of the floor and looked through the doorways that led to the different wings. He looked twice through each. On the second look into the dining room he thought he saw a dark figure move through the door, into the kitchen.
Robert looked around again and continued down the stairs and into the dining room. He pushed through the door to the kitchen and said, “Guy, is everything alright? We heard a crash and some yelling.”
The kitchen was dark and empty. There were no signs of the individual he saw just walk in. Maybe he was more tired than he thought, and the shadows of this place, or one cast by a tree outside the window, were playing with his mind.
He turned to head back upstairs when an object lying on the floor by the corner of the island caught his eye. He took several steps forward, for a closer look. Lying there on the clean white floor was a single black loafer, stuck out around the corner of the island. He peered over the island, “Guy?” he asked the figure lying on the floor.
There was no response from the figure, just the squeak of a shoe of the floor behind him, which triggered an instinct. He did a front roll down to the ground and turned around, swinging the fire poker low and hard. The roll was one he’d perfected through repetition, in the many rounds of Game Master. The fire poker struck the shin of a black-clad assailant, who fell sideways against the island. Robert jumped up and kicked at where he thought their head would be. The figure fell backward with a thud. Robert stood over the figure with the fire poker cocked and ready to deliver another blow. The figure did not move. He kicked it lightly with his foot, still no reaction.
Robert turned his attention to Guy. He was not dead, but had suffered a significant blow to his head. A quick search of the kitchen walls located a phone. When he took it off the hook and attempted to call for help, he noticed something missing, a dial tone. He hung up the phone as another figure entered through the kitchen door. A quick spin to the left put Robert around the corner and out of view. He heard the sound of the figure stopping around the one slumped on the floor.
He readied the poker for another strike, but the figure never approached the corner. Instead, the door back to the dining room slammed shut, sending his mind thinking of Amy.
He slinked away from the corner and through the kitchen. He watched the figure on the floor as he passed him. Cautiously, he pushed the door to the dining room open. A large hand grabbed him as he came through the door and spun him face-first against the wall. Robert tried to thrust the poker backwards, but only got a glancing blow. He positioned one foot on the wall and kicked backward, sending both him and his attacker crashing through the dining room table, freeing him from his grasp, but only for a second.
The attacker was quick to his feet. He had several inches of height on Robert, and probably twenty pounds. He stood in a fighting stance and measured Robert up. He lunged at Robert before he had a chance to stand all the way up. The attacker tackled him in his mid-section, throwing him back against the wall. The impact expelled the air from Robert’s lungs for a moment, yet did nothing to diminish the fight inside of him.
He hit down on the small of the back of his attacker with a closed fist. His hold did not loosen. Robert remembered the fire poker in his other hand and used it to strike down hard several times. On the last blow, he was free. The attacker stumbled backwards, but was not deterred, as he charged at Robert again. This time he threw punches at Robert’s head. Robert blocked a few and dodged one, but one still found its mark. The impact sent shock waves through the bones in his face, producing a ringing in his ears as his vision went black for a moment. He was not out, but not fully there, either.
Robert felt himself being dragged across the floor like a sack of trash. The attacker dropped him at the foot of the stairs. Robert was feeling a little more aware, but decided to lie there for a moment and observe. The more he knew about his attackers, and what they were after, the better prepared he would be. As great as that plan sounded in his head, it only lasted until he heard someone step on the stairs and head up toward Amy. Robert leapt up and threw a few of his own punches, all connecting with the back of the attacker’s head. A quick mule kick sent Robert sliding across the slick floor, into the opposing wall. The attacker descended the stairs and walked toward him. Robert pulled himself up, ready for another round.
The mystery attacker uttered something in a deep imposing voice. Robert didn’t recognize the language, and didn’t care. He wished he still had the poker, but had dropped it when he was semi-conscious. Robert thought he could use his speed and rushed the attacker, throwing a punch as he moved by, before he could retaliate. He did this again and felt he finally had the upper hand. He made another dash and, this time, a huge arm reached out and caught him firmly across the throat. He crashed to the floor and gasped for air. Th
e attacker put a knee in the center of Robert’s chest and loaded his right hand for a punch.
The last image he saw before the huge fist struck the front of his face and sent him into darkness was a brief glimpse of his wife being led down the stairs, bound and gagged, by Marjorie.
6
Robert woke from his dark nap with a violent throbbing in his head. His body flinched to avoid the fist that had already landed. In the flinch, he discovered his feet and hands were bound. There was a hood over his head, and something across his mouth. He lay on his side, on a hard surface. A roll to his left landed him on his hands, behind his back. A pain ran up through his elbow and shoulder from the pressure. He hands felt something that resembled carpet.
He rolled back up to his side and then tried the other direction. That was not something he had thought through entirely. He landed on his face, with nothing to brace the impact. The shock of the impact identified the many bruises on his face from the altercation earlier. He gave a quick flip of his feet and attempted to roll himself once more to the right, but he ran into a solid obstruction. There was a slight thud with the impact. He rolled again, this time harder, with a louder thud. He was coiling up for his third attempt when a hand reached down and stopped him.
“It's no use, Mr. Deluiz. You are going nowhere. Not for a bit,” said a very gruff and accented voice.
The hand rolled him back over on his side. Robert tried to scream, but the gag and hood muffled most of the sound. Even so, someone else heard it. From above his head, he heard a similar muffled sound. Who else was there? Was it Amy?
Robert screamed, “Amy!”, but the sound was just a groan through the gag. A quick kick impacted his ribs. He screamed again, but another kick to the ribs was the only answer he received. He tried to forcibly open his mouth and rip the tape or rag away, but it didn’t budge. He rubbed his head back and forth quickly on the floor, to force the hood up and off his head. Robert let out a loud groan as a knee to the small of his back responded to that attempt.
Robert struggled against the mystery hand. He pulled his legs up and kicked in all directions. None of the attempts struck anything but air. He rolled side to side, running into the same obstruction on each side. Not sure what he was trying to do, but he kept doing it because it was all he could do. With each move he tried to free his hands or feet, but the restraints would not give.
After his fourth back-and-forth trip between obstructions, the hand had enough. Robert felt two hands grab both of his legs and restrain them with a great amount of force. Robert tried to kick against them, but he couldn’t. The hand wrapped another restraint around the upper part of his legs. Then he flipped Robert over onto his front. Robert held his head up to avoid hitting the floor. A pain shot through his shoulders when the mystery person pulled his hands up and back. He hooked something to them and then pulled up his feet. He struggled to pull them high enough. Robert felt him let them go, but before his legs hit the floor again, the restraint connecting his arms to his feet yanked them to a stop.
“I would stay still. Wouldn’t want you to separate your shoulders,” said the voice. The voice was right. Edward attempted to pull against the restraints with his legs and he felt his shoulders burning at the joint. Robert groaned in pain and retracted his legs up.
“See. We only have a few more hours, you will survive.”
The muscles in his legs burned trying to stay bent up. From time to time, he relaxed them, testing his limits of pain, and the force of the restraint. After a few attempts, he found a happy medium, the magic spot where the restraint supported enough of the weight of his legs to allow him to hold them in position, but just below the pain threshold of his shoulder joint.
In the distance he heard a whimpering. A tear rolled down his cheek. He knew that was Amy, and there was nothing he could do, nothing to help her. He couldn’t even help himself.
His neck muscles tired and he lay his face down on the floor. From there he felt the hint of a vibration. They were in something, and it was moving. He listened and didn’t hear any footsteps or talking. If there was anyone else other than mister forceful, they were being quiet.
Robert didn’t feel any bumps like he would in a car on a road, but did sense a roll, back and forth. Not fast, gentle and more than what a car or truck would experience going around a corner. With each roll, he adjusted his weight just a smidge, to avoid rolling to that side.
Within twenty minutes, the restraints had reduced the blood flow in his stretched extremities to that of a trickle, causing both arms and sections of his legs to tingle. Another ten minutes, and they became completely numb. He tried to wiggle his fingers and experienced the odd sensation of not feeling his fingers at all.
He laid that way for several hours. Arms and legs both numb, his body gently rolling back and forth in smooth motions. No one spoke. No one walked by. There was a gentle hissing of air above him, and the drone of the vibration that never changed, hour after hour.
Robert felt his weight roll hard to his left side, this was a larger turn than before. Another change followed the turn, the vibration in the floor, it sounded slower. Two minutes later there were large clunks and groans, as if large mechanical pieces moved from one place to another. Another few moments, and several clunks, later, there was a sudden hard jolt through the floor, followed by a rapid deceleration that sent him sliding forward several inches on the carpet.
When what they were in came to a stop, Robert felt a gush of cool air rush in and hints of light filtered through the hood over his head. There were multiple thuds as several people walked over and past him. Some even brushed his side with their foot as they tried to step around. He heard his friend say, “Watch out for this one.”
Two sets of hands grabbed him by the arms and then another two grabbed his legs. A third set looped under his shoulders. They picked him up off the floor, sending an excruciating pain into his shoulder. They carried him out and down some stairs before they dropped him like a piece of luggage onto a cold metallic surface. A few seconds later, he heard something dropped next to him with a muffled squeal. He assumed it was Amy. Oh, how he wanted to reach over and comfort her, but he couldn’t.
A door slammed behind them and then an engine started up. They were in a vehicle of some type, and moving. The vehicle moved at high speed, sending Robert and Amy sliding and crashing into each other in the back. He tried to yell so Amy could hear him, but the gag made everything he tried to say sound like a random groan.
After a short drive, the vehicle stopped and the doors behind them were thrown open. Hints of car exhaust rushed in and made Robert feel nauseous. Another set of hands grabbed him and slid him backward. They released the restraint between his hands and legs, sending a flood of relief, and newfound pain, flooding through him.
A very forceful voice asked, “We are not going to have any trouble with you, are we? I would hate for anything to happen to your beautiful wife.”
The threat was all that was needed to keep Robert compliant. They pulled Robert out the back of the vehicle. His feet hit the ground, and they stood him up. His legs quivered under his own weight, after the hours of strain caused by the restraint. The discomfort was short-lived, someone placed Robert down in a chair and a put new restraints across both his chest and his lap, locking him into the chair. From behind, someone wheeled him up a ramp and across a platform. The chair bumped as it crossed a door’s threshold.
Marjorie greeted them both, “Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Deluiz. We have been waiting on you.”
The chair continued to roll when Marjorie barked the order, “Go ahead and take them into the studio. Everything is set up and the others are already in there.”
7
The handler rolled Robert and Amy into a large vast room. The entire room was dark, except a single row of lights that hung low from the center of the roof. The lights formed five single spotlights. The handlers carefully positioned Amy and Robert directly under two of the spots. The bright light seeped through t
he fabric of the hood. The footsteps of their handlers echoed as they walked away from them. Just below the sharp thuds of leather shoes on smooth tile, Robert heard the sound of something rustling to his right. At first, he thought it was Amy struggling against her restraints, but the sound was farther away. Then he heard muffled groans, in various voices. He now knew, he and Amy were not alone.
The strong odor of fresh-cut wood and paint wafted under the hood and into his nose. It was a smell he usually loved, like that of a newly built house or completed project, but not this time. Nothing about it created the same sense of pleasure now.
The pain in his shoulders had subsided, but the weakness in the muscles still remained. Every attempt to push against the restraint across his chest was futile. His legs were in similar shape, and useless against the one across his lap.
The lights intensified above them, bathing them in a painful cone of bright white. Robert tried to look down and away from the light, but it seemed to be everywhere. Multiple groans, from the various mysterious individuals seated to his left, communicated he was not alone, the others felt uncomfortable under the agonizing invasion as well.
A few banged around in the chairs they were restrained in but, after the first few hours, they gave up. After a little while longer, the groans disappeared, too. The sound of an air conditioner cycling on and off above them was the only interruption to the deafening silence. Robert didn’t know how long this continued for, he’d lost track of all sense of time, he settled back in the chair and tried to get comfortable. For several minutes he let his neck hang forward, then back, and then forward again. Each attempt resulted in a burning sensation in the muscles of his neck. He rolled his neck when he felt a relieving pop. It felt good, so good he almost let out a sigh. The sharp and determined click of high heels cut that impulse short. They marched toward Robert. Every step echoed in the room like a gun shot.
