by Jon Athan
Robin grinned, then she fired a black semi-automatic shotgun. Her limbs flailed and her body shuddered from the powerful blast. Frank's lower abdomen was struck by the gunfire, shredded by the pellets. As he tumbled to the floor, he was able to fire a single round. The bullet hit a book on the shelf above the trespasser. The firearm fell out of his hand and bounced a meter away.
Frank writhed in agony on the floor, holding the wounds on his stomach. He was devastated by the blast. Robin childishly simpered and scampered away, escaping the living room in search of a different vantage point. She had more targets on her list and she sought the upper-hand against all of them. She wouldn't allow herself to be trumped.
Awed by the abrupt gunfire, Wayne gazed at the front door. He glanced at Nathan and Sylvia, analyzing the worrisome situation. Nathan cried over Sylvia's convulsing body, trying his best to keep her alive. The meticulously-planned operation was falling apart before his very eyes. The people Wayne was paid to protect were dying by an unexpected variable – Robin Morris.
Wayne said, “The ambulance is on its way. Keep pressure on that wound. I have to check up on him, I have to make sure everything's okay.”
Nathan did not respond. He could only groan and weep as he held his daughter's throat. Wayne sighed, then he moseyed towards the front door. With his weapon drawn, he entered the house. He stopped at the first archway leading into the kitchen, then he peered down the hallway. He could see Frank squirming on the floor in the living room. His conscience told him to run and help, but he refused to walk into a trap.
Wayne shouted, “Come out with your hands up! Surrender peacefully! No one else has to get hurt! No one has to die!” There was no response. The detective coughed to clear the anxiety clogged in his throat, then he yelled, “You'll be surrounded any second now! Police, SWAT, FBI, everyone will be swarming this place soon.”
From a corner in the house, Robin shouted, “You called for an ambulance, not for a hostage situation! You probably didn't even tell them you were a cop, did you? You don't want to fuck up your career over this. You know better than that, right? Why don't you get out of here and I'll forget you were ever involved. Walk away a free man...”
Wayne was perplexed by the situation and enticed by the offer. As he took a step in reverse, slow and heavy, Frank grunted and groaned. Nathan's cries echoed into the home. Wayne sighed and dropped his head, staring down at his shoes in shame. If Nathan or Frank survived, his role in the operation would be known to the world. He was caught in a lose-lose situation.
Bruce yelled, “She's down here! She's here!”
Wayne's eyes widened as he turned towards the kitchen. He knew Bruce's location like the back of his hand. He helped arrange the grim dungeon, personally anchoring the chair to the floor. The detective lurched towards the basement door, rushing to kill the conniving woman. He shoved the door open, then he stopped dead in his tracks.
He hit a brick wall in his mind, running headfirst into a dead-end. From the top of the stairs, he stared down into the gloomy dungeon. The darkness was ominous. He slowly lowered his weapon, blatantly pondering the situation with a furrowed brow. He thought: why would Bruce sellout his own girlfriend?
Wayne whispered, “What the hell is going on here?”
Before he could solve the puzzle, Robin rushed forward and shoved the detective with all of her might. Wayne tumbled down the creaky steps, bouncing down the stairs like a rag doll. The sound of wood splintering and bones crunching was unnerving. As he reached the bottom of the steps, his body was tossed back by the momentum and the back of his head crashed with the concrete floor, thudding like a melon hitting a tile floor.
Robin smirked and said, “You should be careful around stairs, sir. These things can be very dangerous.”
Wayne panted and trembled, struggling to breathe and control his body. A cold sweat immediately materialized across his figure. He could feel the blood oozing from the back of his head, slowly creating a warm puddle under his cracked dome. Although he had a strong urge, he could not move. He could barely twitch.
Wayne shook his head as he glanced towards his right. His eyes widened as he spotted Bruce resting next to him on the ground, battered and bruised. Bruce deviously grinned, beaming from ear-to-ear. His face was horrendously mutilated, but his arrogance was unwavering. Through the torture, his ego emerged unscathed.
In utter disbelief, Wayne struggled to speak. He could only conjure a croak of a word. With the blow to his head, his vocabulary was wiped – vocal cords snipped like the cord to a misbehaving teenager's television. He glanced at the anchored chair, trying to piece together the daring escape. The restraints were cut, sprawled across the bloody ground.
Bruce said, “You and your bastard friend hurt me, so I'm going to hurt you.”
Wayne could not respond. Unlike Bruce, he did not have the ability to plead for mercy. His wallet was empty, he could not buy time. Bruce grabbed a large cinder block. He grunted as he sat up on his buttocks, trying his damnedest to limit the pain on his cut ankle. He lifted the heavy block over his head, then he struck down at Wayne's dome.
The detective's legs violently trembled and his head swayed. He had a large gash on the left side of his forehead, directly above his eye. Bruce struck down again, hitting the damaged area with all of his might. A bone-crunching sound echoed through the dungeon. Wayne was instantly killed by the skull-crushing attack.
From the top of the stairs, Robin said, “Oh, that was a good one.”
Bruce fell to his side, chuckling and groaning. He glanced up at his savior, his princess, then he said, “Thanks. Come... Come down and give me a hand.”
***
Robin smiled as she descended into the basement. She bit the tip of her tongue and huffed as she caught a glimpse of Wayne's pulverized head. Bits of his brain could be seen through a massive gash on his brow and his crushed skull. The detective's eye socket was caved in, too. The violent sight was humorous to the young woman. She shook her head and walked towards her boyfriend.
Robin was petite, but she was able to offer Bruce a shoulder to lean on. She exerted all of her energy to carry her boyfriend. The pair departed the dungeon, step-by-step. Bruce hopped on his only functioning leg, keeping all of the weight away from his damaged ankle. As the pair reached the top, the couple could hear a soft call for help.
From the living room, Frank said, “Help me... Please... Don't... Don't leave without returning my daughter... She never... She never hurt anyone. Don't do this to her. Don't hurt her.”
Bruce nodded at the neighboring archway and said, “Take me to him. Grab the shotgun and take me to the bastard.”
With a furrowed brow, Robin asked, “Can you balance yourself for a second?”
Bruce gritted his teeth and nodded. Robin released Bruce, then she grabbed the shotgun from under the kitchen table. The semi-automatic shotgun was still loaded and ready to fire. Using the gun like a walking cane, she carefully led her boyfriend into the living room.
Bruce said, “Look at yourself, old man. I told you a million times: you fucked up. I told you to stop. We didn't have to do this, but look at yourself now, you worthless piece of shit...”
Bruce slurped his blood and saliva, then he spat at Frank. The blob landed on the caring father's pants. The spit was a mere speck compared to the ounces of blood pouring out of his stomach – a drop in an ocean of blood. Although severely injured and humiliated throughout the day, Bruce felt empowered.
Bruce said, “You were wrong to do this without evidence. You... You needed more, you needed real evidence. You tortured me for something you weren't even sure about. Imagine that bullshit. You're sick. You and your family deserve to die.”
Frank stuttered, “Pl–Please... Don't hurt Katherine...”
Bruce released Robin and hopped on one leg. He said, “Wait. Make sure he dies before the ambulance gets here.”
Robin furrowed her brow and asked, “Well, what do you want me to do? Blow his head off?”
“No, no... Do what he was going to do to me, but make it worse. Make it hurt. Make him die. Castrate him with the shotgun.”
Robin smiled, happy to oblige. As Frank wriggled on the ground, slowly trying to squirm in reverse, Robin lifted the shotgun and aimed down the barrel. She held the firearm with steady arms, then she pulled the trigger. The thunderous shotgun blast echoed through the woodland. The shot tore through Frank's groin, his genitals were riddled with pellets.
As Frank bellowed from the pain, Bruce and Robin departed the living room. The pair hobbled down the entrance hall, trudging towards their freedom. Robin nervously smiled as she glanced at Bruce. Bruce returned the anxious grin. Through the pain and violence, the duo blushed like a high school couple.
As the couple slowly descended the porch stairs, Nathan shouted, “You! You... You can't do this! You can't!”
Bruce and Robin stared at Nathan and Sylvia with deadpan expressions. Without warning, the couple burst into a derisive guffaw. They had no respect for the hopeless and helpless. They savored the extreme violence, showering in blood. Depraved minds could not show sympathy.
Robin lifted the shotgun and said, “Don't try anything stupid. She might still survive if you're there to hold the wound. I don't think I cut her jugular, so there might be some hope. I really don't want to have to kill all of you. Just stay there, alright? Forget you ever saw us.”
Bruce and Robin slowly wandered off, meandering away from the grisly crime scene. Nathan glanced around the environment, examining the death and chaos. He could see Julia's corpse from afar. He could hear Frank's cries, dwindling with each consecutive shout. Wayne did not emerge from the home, so he expected the worst for the detective.
Nathan wanted to fight back, he wanted to avenge his friends, but he refused to release his daughter's throat. As he glanced back at the barbaric pair, Nathan was awed to see Bruce and Robin had disappeared with the shadows.
Chapter Sixteen
One Last Rodeo
Bruce yelped as the sedan jounced on the rutted road. He grimaced from the pain as a twinge struck his mutilated ankle. He felt giddy from the sheer lost of blood and the insufferable anguish. He wanted to bark at his beloved girlfriend, but he could not conjure the energy to shout. Even if he had the energy, he refused to yell at Robin after her brave rescue.
Robin glanced at Bruce and said, “Sorry about that. I'll slow down a bit. We're almost there anyway.”
As he leaned back in the passenger seat, keeping his leg slightly elevated, Bruce asked, “Where are we going anyway? Huh? What do you have planned?” Cheerful, Robin shrugged and smirked. Bruce chuckled, then he asked, “Really, where are we going? You have a plan, right? You have a–a getaway plan, right?”
Robin responded, “Oh, I think we both know we're not getting away from this one. We just left the parents of a missing girl and a cop dead at a cabin in the woods. The entire state is going to be after us. No, this was our last one, sweetheart.” She slowed the car to a smooth cruise, riding between ten and fifteen miles per hour. She turned towards Bruce and caressed his jaw, then she said, “Damn. What the hell did they do to you? You were so damn cute.”
“That was a hard man back there. He wouldn't budge for anything. I... Damn, I've never been this fucked up in my life. He was lucky, though. He was lucky I was tied to that damn chair the whole time. I would have done much worse to him. Damn bastard...”
Robin smirked and asked, “He really thought you had his daughter, didn't he?”
Bruce sighed, then he explained, “Yeah. You know, you mess around with a few young women and you're suddenly the number one suspect in all missing children cases. It's bullshit. It's discrimination. I didn't do anything wrong and he couldn't stand it. He was obsessed with pinning it on me. I'm telling you, though, if I wasn't tied up, I would have beaten his ass.”
Robin glanced at Bruce, then she rolled her eyes. She held her hand to her mouth as she giggled. Bruce leaned forward in his seat, staring at his girlfriend with his only good eye. Despite her obvious ridicule, he couldn't help but smirk. The pair were back to flirting – back to normality.
With a large PR grin plastered on his face, Bruce asked, “What? You don't think I could have beaten his ass?”
In a playfully sarcastic tone, Robin responded, “Oh, I'm sure you could.”
“I really could, Robin. He wouldn't stand a chance against a man like me.”
Robin pulled over on the side of the road. As the car rolled to a stop, she turned in her seat and gazed at her boyfriend. She gently caressed the wounds on his face, running her fingertips across the black and blue bruises. Bruce's face was bumpy from the constant beatings. His torso and abs were stained with blood. Yet, she was still attracted to him – true love, deviant lust.
Bruce glanced back at the road, examining the area. He asked, “Aren't we near our shed? What are we doing here, sweetie?”
Robin inhaled deeply, then she leaned forward. She softly kissed Bruce's lips, a kiss fueled by passion. She pecked his wounds with her puckered lips, like a mother tending to her child's scratch with a gentle kiss. Bruce closed his only functioning eye as he savored her love. He adored his girlfriend as much as she adored him.
Bruce whispered, “I love you...”
Robin smirked and responded, “I know.”
Bruce could not contain his joy as he giggled like a boy flirting with his schoolyard crush. He was revitalized by his girlfriend's gentle touch. It was refreshing after the harsh punishment he endured from Frank.
Robin stroked Bruce's hair and said, “Listen, I have something for you. I was saving it for later, for a special occasion, but I don't think we'll live free much longer. Hell, I don't think we'll live much longer overall. But, I think you should have it. After everything we've been through, I think you deserve a treat.”
Bruce smiled and asked, “What did you get me?”
“Come on. It's in the trunk. I'll help you out.”
Robin tossed Bruce's arm over her shoulder. She helped her boyfriend trudge towards the trunk. The pair giggled from the sheer excitement. Robin was eager to share her gift, Bruce was yearning to unwrap his special present. Bruce leaned forward and gripped the side of the sedan, using the car to balance himself.
Robin said, “Okay. Happy early anniversary, hun. Only a few weeks early, too.”
Robin smirked and opened the trunk. Bruce peeked inside, then he gasped. His breath was taken due to the sinister revelation.
Katherine slumbered in the trunk. The young girl was unconscious but alive. Her mouth was gagged with a dirty gray rag. Her arms and legs were restrained with durable rope. Katherine's tender face was sooty. Her long black hair was sprawled across her face and shoulders, begrimed due to a lack of bathing.
She wore a blue sundress down to her kneecaps. Her bare feet were grubby, stained with mud. She had minor bruises on her wrists and forearms. Although she was dirty and slightly injured, the young girl glowed. Her aura of innocence was overwhelming. Frank was correct in his assessment – she never hurt anyone, she was innocent.
Shocked, Bruce asked, “You... You had her the entire time?” Robin bit her bottom lip and slowly nodded, ashamed of her deed. Bruce chuckled from the disbelief, then he said, “This... This is unbelievable.”
Robin said, “I hope you're not mad at me. I just... I just wanted to give you something great. I wanted to get you a gift no one else could have. Something lucrative, you know? I didn't know the man would go this far and I didn't think they'd track it so quick.”
“I'm not mad. I'll be dead soon, so I'd rather not waste my time being mad.”
Ecstatic, Robin said, “That's what I'm saying. I mean, I sort of messed everything up, butt that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun. What do you say? Huh? You up for one last rodeo? Can you get it up for a little fun before we march to our 'eternal paradise?' Can you do it for me, baby?”
As he gazed at Katherine with a deviant spark in his eye, Bruce nodded and sai
d, “Yeah, I think we can have some fun with her... We'll have a lot of fun with this beauty.”
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Dear Reader,
First and foremost, thank you for reading! I'm glad you finished the book. If you skipped to the end to find my contact information so you can hurl insults at me, you'll find my Twitter and Facebook links at the end of this segment. (Please, don't be too harsh. I'm sensitive.) Anyway, I truly appreciate your readership. Like the rest of my books, Captives and Captors was fueled by my love for dark fiction and storytelling. I enjoy writing uncompromising stories and delving into taboo territory. Although the disturbing content occasionally takes a toll on me, I often feel refreshed while writing dark fiction. I hope it doesn't offend you, though. That's never my intention. So, if you were offended by any of the content in this book, please accept my sincerest apologies.
Captives and Captors, in a sense, was inspired by Park Chan-wook's Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance. It involves a kidnapping, distraught parents, torture, heartbreaking tragedy, and interlinking stories. Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance is my personal favorite film in Park's Vengeance trilogy. While writing this book, I continued to think about said film. As a matter of fact, I'd say Mr. Vengeance has had a powerful influence on most of my thrillers. The themes and the uncompromising presentation are persistent in my books. I guess I'm going off on a bit of a tangent, though, so I'll get to the point: go watch Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance!
