Callum’s Hell

by Mason, V. F.

  Imagine what we can buy? She wastes money on nothing but booze and cigarettes—well, anything left after paying the bills. In her mind, I’m earning my keep, because she never wanted to have me.

  And since I didn’t ask her if she wanted a child… I owe her.

  Do all parents request that from their children? Does Sam work too to pay off his debt to his parents? I wonder if maybe there is another job out there, so I won’t have to always chant plant names in my head while all those men… while all those men…

  Sweat pops up on my forehead and I wipe it away, twisting my head so all the images and heavy, liquor-smelling breaths in my ear will go away from my mind.

  If I don’t think about it or remember… I can pretend it doesn’t exist.

  “And you better not fight me on this, Callum. Or I won’t let you go to school.” That’s the only threat she keeps holding over my head, and I can’t allow her that.

  Knowing her, she will come up with various scenarios in her head to make that happen.

  School is my salvation in the darkest of hours, a place where I can read in peace. The place where no one looks at me like I’m smeared in dirt, and where the touches of strange men don’t exist.

  It’s the only thing that’s mine and will never be hers. How can I give her that?

  Besides, my refusal will bring more blows, and in the end, I will have to listen to her anyway. So isn’t it easier to just accept whatever she wants and pray someday it will end?

  * * *

  “I’ll see you at midnight, right?” Mom asks Jimmy, who oddly doesn’t act all confident in our presence but instead gazes behind his shoulder, pulling his coat collar over his neck as if hiding from someone.

  “Sure.” He gives her three envelopes this time and then wraps his hand around my neck, dragging me outside. “Let’s go, Callum. A long weekend awaits us,” he whispers, and I look over my shoulder to my mom, who runs her finger over her mouth, clearly telling me to “zip it,” since it’s her favorite phrase.

  Weekend? She sold me for the whole weekend?

  Before I can blink, he throws me onto the backseat and straps me in, then walks around the car, hopping inside. “What a stupid bitch. Did she really think I’d take a kid just to fuck him outside? Say bye to mommy dearest, Callum. It’s the last time you will see her.” He chuckles under his breath and my eyes widen. I bang on the window to my mom, but she waves her hand at me in dismissal and shuts the door. “Be quiet, kid, or I will stop by the side of the road and make you suck me off good before I get you to Edward.”

  I freeze at the threat, press my back against the seat, and cover my mouth with my palms, doing something I haven’t done in a while. I pray to Hades once again to take me away from this man and help just once in this life.

  But as always, my prayers fall on deaf ears as Jimmy takes me farther and farther away from the house… right to the dungeon of a monster.

  Giselle

  Resting my head on the pillow, I exhale heavily and roll to my back, gazing at the ceiling as the fan above me spins.

  The new room Callum placed me in has no AC, just a huge-ass door leading outside that’s locked and a single bed. I came here right after his outburst, sulking at my sore throat that hurts like a bitch. Skimming my fingers over the skin, I flinch when I touch the sensitive spot, which for sure has a bruise.

  Thousands of thoughts flash in my mind, one darker than the last, but only one is the most prominent.

  Why?

  Why does Callum do all those horrible things to people? Is it the result of childhood trauma? Was he hurt so much the only way to deal was becoming a serial killer?

  Especially his reaction to force… as if it’s beneath him and only the lowest of scum would ever do something like that. Isn’t he a serial killer though? They have no morals or conscience or remorse, for that matter. Why should it matter that victims don’t want it?

  We studied psychology back in college, but it barely touched on special cases like him. The only thing I remember is that most our traumatic experiences come from childhood.

  Wracking my brain, I try to remember all the information I have on him.

  Perfect upbringing, mega rich with stock shares in the most successful companies. He finished his business degree, and all his close acquaintances consist of influential people around the world.

  He is nothing like those creeps shown on TV who gather their victims in basements and do vile things to them.

  Why, Callum?

  Does it matter though? No matter why, the end result is all the same.

  He kills people for pleasure, for gratification, for his sick desires.

  Life is a gift, but the likes of him treat it like a toy they can play with and dispose of when they get bored.

  My heart pangs painfully in my chest. As I put my hand on it and listen to its beat, I know it matters. Because maybe with the truth, I will understand somehow, and that somehow will allow me to accept the part of me that used to love him and crave his touch.

  Otherwise, I’ll never find peace.

  I can still feel his lips on mine, and my fingers rub my mouth, because it’s burning from his kiss. With each kiss, he stakes such a firm claim that never allows me to deny my body wants him, even if my mind rebels.

  Isn’t that disgusting? What does a man have to do for the woman to give up on him? Is this why some women stay with those creeps, justifying their actions and hiding their sick pleasures?

  Suddenly, it’s hard for me to breathe, as if an invisible chain is squeezing my chest so tight I may pass out at any moment.

  Air, I need fresh air.

  Because just the idea of becoming that woman—who seeks truth to explain her love—scares me. What if the manipulator he is convinces me it’s worth staying with him?

  Twist the truth so badly I will believe every lie he says.

  The squeezing intensifies, and I can’t take it anymore.

  Throwing the blanket away, I get up and snatch my black pashmina from the chair. Twisting the doorknob, I gasp in surprise when I find it’s unlocked and step out into the hallway, my bare feet slapping on the cold marble. I expected him to lock it at some point to guard what belongs to him, even if I loathe those words.

  No part of me is his anymore.

  My intention was never to harm you.

  Why couldn’t he be a normal psycho? Then he wouldn’t have confused me so much, and this would have been simple.

  The house is so silent a pin could drop and everyone would hear it, and so dark, only lit by the moonlight streaming through the windows.

  Slowly, I pad along the hallway, aiming for the terrace door leading into the garden and praying it’s open, because my lungs beg for fresh air.

  I reach the terrace and snatch the doors open. The scent of orchids hits me along with the beach breeze that glides across my skin, awakening every hair on my body and bringing much needed relief.

  Leaning my head back, I allow the air a second to take all my worries away and bask in its presence, appreciating the nature around me.

  I lift my hair up, since the heavy locks cascade wildly down my back and sigh, because my heated skin finally can be cooled.

  But reality comes crashing back, snapping me from my momentary reprieve, and I sink in devastation again.

  How do I escape this? How do I get back to New York, where I will be safe from Callum and his games?

  And how can I explain all this to the police if he never hurt me in any way and I have no proof of his deeds? I’m sure, by the time I could bring the cops, he would have removed everything from his secret room.

  The barely audible sound of classical music penetrates my ears, and I look around, searching for a source. It’s nowhere in sight, but the sound continues to come from behind the villa. I walk deeper into the garden right before I freeze when I see Callum resting on a pool chair, with the view opening up onto the beach. He tosses a yellow ball to a golden puppy whose ears fly in different directions
as he chases after it, barking all the way.

  He catches it and then proudly runs back to Callum, who takes the ball, scratches him behind his ears, and throws the ball again.

  A bottle of whiskey is in his other hand, and he takes a greedy sip, still resting on the chair. His shirt is unbuttoned, and he is barefoot just like me. “You can join me if you want, instead of standing there,” he says without even looking at me and points at the pool chair next to him.

  His voice is calm, detached, and doesn’t give me any clue about his mood.

  Before I can reply, the puppy notices me, and with a squealy bark as I call it, because the sound is a mix of barking and whimpering, he runs to me, skirting around my feet and licking my thumbs. His tail is wagging happily as he jumps a little, demanding attention. “Hey there, buddy,” I murmur and scoop him up, pressing him to my chest, and he sighs loudly, resting his muzzle on my chest. I drop onto the chair, laughing when he tries to lick my chin. “Aren’t you an eager one?” His tongue is hanging out, and he barks, agreeing with me it seems.

  I raise my gaze to meet Callum’s, who is watching us broodily with a blank expression, once again denying me the right to see his emotions. But then again, do I want to know them anyway? It’s not like they’re going to change anything.

  “You didn’t mention having a puppy.” The words pop out of my mouth before I can stop them. Maybe because the stretched silence nips on my nerves, creating uneasiness in the pit of my stomach.

  “I didn’t have one.” Reading my confused stare, he elaborates. “Found him on the way here. He ran into the street and then hunched down right in the middle of the road, covering his muzzle with his paws.”

  “And you took him in?” I ask with surprise, not expecting such behavior from… well, a serial killer. Usually such studies show they start by inflicting pain on animals and gradually move to humans.

  Does this mean he never harms animals?

  He chuckles, the bitter sound echoing in the night. “Oh, the look on your face is priceless.” He leans forward and straddles the chair, so I can hear him better. “I’ve never harmed an animal in my life.” He waits a beat before asking, “Does this make me less of a monster?”

  “Hardly.” The puppy wiggles in my arms, and I place it back on the grass, where he runs back to fetch the ball. “You kill people.”

  “Ah, right. I forgot. Moral ground and all.” He rests back on the chair, sipping his whiskey as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening.

  I can’t believe I’m sitting and chatting with him while waves crash in the distance and the puppy brings him the ball to throw repeatedly in the middle of the night. Silence settles on us as the puppy continues to play around and music plays from speakers a few feet away in a nearby room, where the door is wide open.

  The tension can be cut with a knife, but I still stay silent, not knowing how to act.

  I want to escape and forget about this like a bad dream, but life is not giving me such privileges. Instead, I’m stuck here with him or he’ll kill my loved ones.

  I’m not delusional enough to believe he won’t fulfill his threat. People like Callum always search for a person’s weaknesses right before stabbing them and then twisting the knife for good measure.

  “What do you want from me?” The question slips past my lips, filling my body with anticipation, because it’s the only thing that matters now. If I can figure out his true agenda, maybe then I can fight the evil that resides inside him.

  He doesn’t reply, instead taking another sip.

  “You brought me here to introduce me to your darkness. You’re lonely?” That’s an idiotic conclusion, but in light of recent events, I don’t know what to make of it. Does he want someone to be by his side while he continues to kill people, someone with whom he doesn’t have to pretend?

  He laughs, covering his eyes with his arm. “Loneliness is a virtue. Trust me.” My brows furrow at this, but he continues, “No, I brought you here for specific reasons, yes. But telling you what I do was not one of them. It was never my intention for you to… how do you say it, woman?” He clicks his fingers and then snaps them at me. “Right. Accept my darkness. I have it, and it won’t go away, and I don’t give a fuck if you accept it or not.”

  “Then what do you want from me?” Fear builds inside me at the prospect of being with this man and never knowing of the evil he does.

  His bloody hands touching me, living a life with him… God, it’s a woman’s worst nightmare, discovering that the man she shares a life with is a serial killer.

  “What I always wanted.” He sits up again and whistles to the puppy, who rushes back. He orders, “Lie down.” And to my freaking shock, the puppy complies and settles onto the path as he looks between us.

  Maybe he feels the tension too, poor guy.

  “What do you want?” I hiss, needing him to finally say so I can figure out what to do with it.

  Slowly, a half smile lifts his mouth, and he utters two words that freeze me to the spot and increase my heartbeat, while fear sinks into my veins, alerting me to the doomed future.

  “Marry me.”

  Callum

  Checkmate.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Callum, 11 years old

  The water in the sink drips loudly and slowly, banging on my eardrums.

  Drop. Drop. Drop.

  I wrap my hands around my knees and wince when I brush my bruised flesh, after being fucked by Edward on my knees in the cell.

  My body is sweaty and dirty, but no one allowed me a shower after the encounter, because he wants me to remember him for a day before the guard will let me clean him off me.

  As if water can get rid of it. His fingers and touches are forever imprinted on my skin.

  I shiver under the AC humming in the basement, cold air nipping at my skin while my flannel dress barely has the power to keep me warm. Two rusty bowls are set next to me, one with water and the other with the freshly made bread that will never feed the hunger in me.

  Small scratching noises come from my side, and I quickly pick up the bowl, spilling water on the floor that is stained in blood, urine, and God knows what else.

  First, I see red eyes flashing from the other corner, and then the rat rushes toward me, probably wanting to get to the bread.

  I hit her with all my might before trapping her under the bowl. I exhale in relief, because this time she won’t bite me. Rats have become so common here lately; it’s a wonder I’m not eaten by one. Jim will have to take care of it too when he cleans the basement once a week.

  Resting my back against the rough wall, I think about the last two years spent in this place while horrifying images flash in my mind one after another.

  Jimmy had pulled to the side of the road and had his way with me one last time before bringing me to Edward, aka the boss. He told me that my reputation was so good word spread on the street, and Edward wanted to try me for himself.

  On that night, Edward raped me twice before announcing his verdict that I would be perfect for his business—though I didn’t know he meant at the time.

  He placed me in the basement, and the nightmares that usually happened on Saturdays and Tuesdays at my house… started to occur every single day with new men.

  And sometimes women.

  My long hair was now a messy bun on my head, but Edward wouldn’t let anyone cut it, claiming there was nothing more beautiful than running his fingers through it.

  “God, if you hear me… please kill me,” I say into the space.

  Salvation will never come in my life. I will be forever a prisoner of theirs. So at this point, the only good thing I can hope for? To die by infection or their choking or whatever else they do to me to get themselves off.

  As long as it will bring me death, I will be happy and free of this.

  The sound of the door opening snaps my attention from my prayers, and I scrunch my eyes when the harsh light enters the basement. Two boys are pushed inside, stumbling on the s
tairs, and I get up swiftly, only to groan in pain when the heavy chain around my ankle digs into my skin, which had started to fester after Edward beat me with the belt—because it heightened his pleasure.

  The chain is long enough to roam freely to the toilet and back, but short enough I can never reach the stairs leading to the door.

  Just like a dog on a leash.

  “You’ve got company, Callum,” Jonathan, walking behind the kids, says and then shuts the door, the gun still in his hand as he orders them. “Sit on the floor, and you,” he addresses me, pointing with the gun. “Wrap those chains around them.” All of us follow the command and shortly, they are in the same position as I am.

  I watch them from the corner of my eyes, noticing they are as skinny as I am while a lot of bruises cover their entire bodies, since both of them are shirtless, and wearing only pants. One of them has silver eyes, while the other striking blue that seem fucking huge in his face.

  “Play nice with each other,” Jonathan orders, his laughter sending prickles of fear over my skin. “You two will have a job to do soon. Callum, you are free till tomorrow.” With this, he walks back and leaves us alone while silence settles over the place.

  I’m not sure how to react to their presence; in all this time I’ve been here, I’ve never seen other boys around this place, or kids in general. By the number of clients using me, I thought Edward had no one else to sell.

  “Hi,” I rasp through my dry throat and wrap my hand around my neck, still sore from Edward’s belt. “My name is Callum.” This seems so foreign, trying to speak to someone first when I never had to do it before.

  The silver-eyed guy looks at me, and I wince at the hollowness in his gaze. “Artem,” he replies, and my brows furrow at the weird name. It doesn’t sound American.

  Then my gaze travels to the other guy, who answers, “Santiago.” His mouth curves in a grin that almost knocks me on my ass, because who the hell smiles in these circumstances?

  Silence falls after that again, but then Artem asks, “How long have you been here?”