Tortured

by N. M. Catalano

  “The little faggot isn’t going to show.” The bully, Joey Fists. That’s the nickname he got from beating on everyone.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” That’s Nicky Eyes, because he’s got crazy eyes, they’re always jerking around.

  My heart is pounding. They’re talking about me. My steps get faster as I follow the sound of their voices deeper into the basement. I want to gag. All around the stale smell of urine and I don’t know what else is like a hot wet blanket suffocating you. But I don’t stop. By the time I find them, I’m breathless.

  “I’m here,” I pant trying not to breathe in.

  All five pairs of eyes land on me.

  “Good, it’s about time. We’ve got a job to do,” Joey Fists barks as he heads out, the rest of the boys following behind him. I run to catch up as they all move toward where I came in.

  I don’t know what they’re talking about as we each squeeze through the wooden plank.

  “He said the kid didn’t make the drop,” Nicky Eyes laughs.

  “Stupid little shit,” one of the other laughs.

  Joey Fists is walking fast through the neighborhood, almost pushing people out of his way as he goes. Some of them I know because of my mom, others don’t pay us any attention.

  “Who’s gonna do it,” Nicky asks.

  Joey stops, turns around, and looks directly at me. “The faggot’s gonna do it,” he sneers. “Ain’t that right kid?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I stammer.

  I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I’d do just about anything to make him stop calling me that. To prove to them I’m not some kind of freak.

  I’d do anything to be just like them.

  “That’s right kid. You’re gonna do it, and you ain’t gonna say a goddamn thing, right?” he narrows his eyes at me.

  It scares me to death, but I’m not backing down. “Hell no,” I curse just to sound like him.

  He grins at me, turns around, and continues walking like he’s late.

  We finally reach a rundown building. I’m practically out of breath from moving so fast.

  “This is it,” Joey announces, and pushes open the unlocked front door.

  “This is gonna be too easy,” Nicky snickers.

  Joey doesn’t answer as he moves toward the back of the building and pounds on the door in the darkened corner.

  I can hardly hear anything from the loud thudding and whooshing in my head. I’m shaking, my palms are sweaty, and my heart’s trying a beat a hole out of my chest.

  A scrawny dirty kid opens the door a crack. His eyes fly open when he sees Joey. Immediately he tries to slam the door shut, but Joey’s already got his foot crammed in the opening. The two boys behind Joey shove the door open, and Joey grabs the kid and pulls him out of the apartment.

  “We just need to talk to you,” Joey tells him.

  “I swear to God I was mugged! PLEASE.” This kid who I have no idea is starts to beg.

  “It’s okay,” Joey’s voice is strangely…not mean. “We’re just going to talk.”

  Nicky scurries around and pushes the basement door open in front of us.

  “PLEASE DON’T,” the kids practically in tears.

  “Move,” Joey pushes him, and if the boy hadn’t gripped the handrail, he’d have flown down the steps.

  The kid scrambles down the steps and keeps running straight to the other side. Nicky’s right behind, he’s small and just as quick. Nicky tackles him and the both of them sprawl out on the floor with a loud thud, both of them grunting from the impact.

  Joey approaches them slowly. “No one takes from Mr. D., you should know that.”

  The boy’s crying now, sobbing, snot is running out of his nose and into his open mouth.

  “I didn’t take anything. I was on my way to make to the delivery and I got mugged. I TOLD him that,” he chokes out the words.

  Joey shakes his head slowly. “Same thing.”

  Joey reaches into his back pocket and pulls something out, I can’t see what it is in the dark basement. Then I hear a click.

  “Mr. D. can’t let these things go, you know what too,” Joey says as he takes another step toward the boy.

  Although I can’t see what’s happening, I know it’s bad. Really bad.

  The pubic hair has just barely grown on the six of us, but right here in this dank dirty room, we’re no longer boys.

  Joey looks over his shoulder at me, his body turning slightly to the side. I see the glint of a blade held in his hand. He jerks his chin. “Give the faggot a knife.”

  I think my heart just stopped.

  “Please DON’T. I’ll get the money to pay him back!!” the poor kid wails.

  A sudden rush of hot fresh urine aroma explodes.

  Nicky snorts a loud a laugh. “The little pussy pissed himself.”

  I want to vomit.

  I turn to run out, but a hand stops me. My eyes fly to the boy next to me. “Take this, it’s for you. You’re doing it.”

  I shake my head no furiously.

  “You do it,” it’s Joey, “or you’ll be lying down there with him…faggot.”

  I CAN’T! I CAN’T! I CAN’T!!!

  My heart is racing, my body is paralyzed, I can’t move, I can’t speak, I can’t do anything but hold the sticky knife that was forced into my palm. I glance down at the open blade.

  Joey turns back to look at Nicky, “Get him up!”

  Although what’s happening in front of Joey is blocked by his body, I hear scuffling and the sobbing of the poor kid.

  Whatever he did, he can’t deserve this! I’ll help him. When we finally get out of here, I’ll help him. Somehow!

  What happens next is all just a blur. Sounds of fists hitting flesh and bone, curses and grunts, and screams of pain. Arms and bodies and fists flying so fast I can’t tell who’s who.

  Then Joey sidesteps and the kid is heading straight for me. I don’t have time to think, but only react. My arms reach out to catch him as he hurls himself at me. The expression on his face goes from violent to shocked, then pained. Because the knife I’m holding in my hand plunges deep in his stomach. Warmth immediately drenches my hand and pours onto the floor. The kid, I don’t even know his name, is clutching my shoulders holding himself up.

  “I…I…didn’t mean to. I’m sorry!” I tell him as anguish engulfs me as we stare at each other, my eyes full of my horror, his full of disbelief.

  He doesn’t say anything as he falls to his knees.

  I lower to the floor with him, my hand still holding the knife buried in his gut.

  “Please, please…I’m sorry…,” my words are whispered.

  The kid’s eyes are glazing over and I don’t know if he can hear me anymore.

  There’s so much blood. I don’t want to pull out the knife, I’m afraid of what will happen.

  Joey, Nicky, and the other boys are laughing.

  I’ve got to stop the bleeding somehow!

  I yank on the handle trying to get it out. It’s not easy. Finally, it’s free. But I can’t stop the river of red, it’s gushing from him now.

  “Oh God,” I choke out.

  “Get his keys. We can’t take the faggot out of here looking like that,” Joey barks.

  Somebody pulls me away from the boy now lying in a pool of his own blood. I’m not sure how much time passes between the time Nicky rifled through the dying boy’s pockets and came back with some clothes.

  “Put these on,” Joey barks.

  “I c c c can’t!” I push out, the words barely audible from the chattering of my teeth.

  “You will, goddamn it! And hurry up, we’ve got to get out of here!” Joey snaps.

  “I told you we shouldn’t have brought him,” it’s Nicky.

  “We needed someone to take the heat if the cops came,” Joey snarls.

  That’s all they wanted from me! I’m just the fall guy!!

  Tearing the dirty clothes from the kids hands, I take off mine and throw them into the f
urnace. Pulling on the dying kids clothes, I fight the urge to vomit as I glance at him. Our eyes lock and I know the last thing he sees is his killer wearing his clothes.

  Excruciating agony engulfs me. And fury.

  “Come on,” Joey barks the command and leads the way out of the now tomb.

  Once we’re outside and around the corner, Joey turns on me. “You don’t say a fucking a word about what happened today. If you do, I’ll bring you back there myself and do you to you what you did to him.”

  I get in his face, “If you ever come near me again, I’ll kill you.”

  Joey’s eyes widen. Then he laughs. Underneath his act, I can hear the fear. “Seems like faggot boy has grown some balls.”

  I open my palm still holding the bloody switchblade. I look from it, then to Joey. And smile. He doesn’t say anything. I shove it back into my pocket and walk slowly away.

  My fingers hold the last notes, bleeding everything I can from it until all that’s left is its echo. Sweat is pouring from my half naked body as I fall to my knees. My body is racked with sorrow, ecstasy and anguish.

  The music is love/hate for me. It represents my destruction and a life that was, that could have been. It is all that I am.

  I don’t know how long I sit like that, hunched over with the violin held in one hand, the bow in the other, both of them at my sides. It’s completely dark when I carefully place the instrument back in its case. I don’t return it to its tomb in the attic, but to my bedroom. There has always been a place for it in my closet, I’ve always known I’d bring it back. Mindlessly, I set it on the shelf in the empty spot that’s always been there since I moved in.

  I walk to the bathroom.

  It’s time to deal with today’s demons. The ghosts from the past have been satisfied. For now.

  CHAPTER 11

  Sasha

  The house is empty of course. It’s too late for Lorie to be here, the maid. Even her cold company is sometimes better than none at all.

  When I left Gringo, I’d been less anxious, but more depressed. He’d never told me with words precisely that he’d keep me safe. But I know. Why I feel that I need protection just might be the strangest thing out of everything. Granted, my marriage has never been normal, it wasn’t supposed to be. It was an arrangement, a partnership of some kind.

  A business deal.

  I’d thought I’d gotten the better end.

  What naïve thoughts of a young romantic girl. Because James was handsome and he had a certain way about him, I thought I’d gotten really lucky. My parents had always been good to me; I’ve always known they loved me. It was understood throughout my life that my father would choose who I married. He’d always told me he would make certain that I’d be well taken care of, that my marriage was going to be everything I ever wanted.

  I grew up believing what I wanted was what they wanted for me.

  God, was I wrong.

  James had even been nice to me at the beginning, he seemed to actually care about my feelings and if I was content with the situation. That all ended the minute we were married. For a long time after, I was convinced that I was lucky because he didn’t beat me, that I lived in a nice house and I had nice things. I reminded myself of that day after day as I fell deeper and deeper into the black hole of depression and despair. When Gringo hit me like a freight train, I was barely breathing, my last grip on my sanity was quickly scratching down the cliff by my fingernails.

  If Gringo hadn’t come into my life when he had, I don’t know where I’d be now. With the events of the last few weeks, I might have literally gone insane. Even now, I question my own sanity. Did I really see a flashlight outside of my house in the middle of the night? Is James really disappearing all night long?

  Did I really understand correctly all those innuendos made by Dominic?

  My self-confidence had been destroyed years ago, I questioned everything I felt, believing that I’m pathetic and stupid and worthless.

  Gringo captured me and virtually smashed that self-destructiveness and freed me from my prison.

  He said he doesn’t want me here. My heart simultaneously exploded and melted at the same time. I’d wanted to tell him to keep me, to not let me go. To make me his. The truth is, I am his whether or not he knows it. Regardless if he wants me. Despite the fact I can never truly be his.

  Never.

  It doesn’t matter that I know I’m falling in love with him. And that could be a very bad thing. Still, he found me and brought me back to life. I can breathe again, and I feel. I feel everything.

  That’s not always a good thing.

  What I’m feeling right now is a different kind of loneliness. It’s an emptiness, a longing for something I don’t have.

  It’s late, almost ten, and I’m prowling around the house, restless and anxious. I haven’t been able to shake this feeling that’s been growing and growing all day. Ever since I received the call about lunch.

  It’s a sense of foreboding.

  I can’t relax, and I don’t want to take the sleeping pills James brought home after I told him I saw someone outside in the middle of the night. That really pissed me off. Instead of telling me he’d look through the security feed to confirm or debunk my claim, he’d shoved a bottle of medication in my hand and told me to take one before bed every night. It’d knock me out.

  What an asshole.

  Every time I hear a car outside, I jump. Wearing only a flimsy t-shirt and shorts, no bra or underwear, I’m not dressed to go out and look around. Finally, James pulls into the driveway. I’m not happy to see him, I never am, but at least I won’t be alone in the house tonight. However, the relief is short lived.

  He’s not alone.

  Who the hell is he bringing here at this time of night?!

  Before anyone steps out of the car, dread courses through me in fiery waves.

  I already know.

  My suspicion is confirmed when James steps to the other car parked behind him and opens the driver’s side door. Dominic emerges looking just as put together as he had earlier at lunch.

  No, no, no!!

  I know I should run to my room and lock the door. But I’m riveted. Anger, fear and confusion are warring inside of me.

  What is he doing here? Why is he here? Why does it seem like James is kissing his ass?

  I’m still standing in the darkness of the dining room at the front window where I watched them pull in when the front door opens and both men enter the house. I’m frozen in place, I can’t move, and I hope they don’t hear me. I should have hidden. STUPID me!

  “I heard from the Saudi’s today,” it’s Dominic.

  “Son of a bitch,” James growls.

  What the hell? Are they talking about Saudi Arabians? Why would James be involved with anyone from Saudi Arabia?

  “I tried to warn you that things were getting precarious, James. I can only do so much.” Dominic takes the lead and walks to the office across the hall. James follows. He moves to the liquor cabinet and chooses James best scotch, pours himself a drink, then makes himself comfortable in the chair in front of the fireplace. The one facing me. James gets a drink for himself, but continues to stand where he’s at as he downs the first glass and pours himself another. James moves to his desk, but rather than taking the chair behind it, he leans against the front of it.

  He must think I’m in bed or he would have shut the door. He always closes the door and stays locked in there the entire time he’s home. I don’t dare move and hope they don’t see me. All they’d have to do is glance this way and they’d see the outline of my body illuminated by the light coming in through the window I’m standing in front of. My heart is pounding so hard. I shouldn’t be afraid, this is my home, I have every right to be anywhere in it any time I’d like. But I have a strong feeling I wasn’t supposed to hear that little bit of information about the Saudi’s.

  There’s no telling what a man like Dominic is capable of. Apparently James as well.

  “
It’s only a slight delay. The deal will be finalized. And soon. The final partner will be…persuaded,” my heart jumps, “then we can send the gift to the Saudi’s.”

  Dominic shakes his head. “It’s not we, James. It’s you. You were made aware of all the details at the onset when things were still in the planning stages. Nothing has changed.”

  James raises his hand holding the glass and points at Dominic. “You changed the time frame,” he snarls.

  Dominic laughs a dark sound. It makes goosebumps rise on my skin. “I did nothing. I’m merely the facilitator. And,” Dominic pauses to look at him, “you would do best to remember who I am.”

  James lowers his hand and drops his head. “I know, I’m sorry.”

  I’m completely shocked. I’ve never heard James apologize to anyone. Ever. I have no idea what they’re talking about, but I’m absolutely certain it’s extremely important. And confidential. And dangerous.

  Dominic’s gaze shifts directly to me across the hall. My heart stops.

  “The gift is still being determined,” he comments in that smooth confident way of his, but his eyes don’t leave me.

  James laughs. It’s cold and callous. That makes my skin crawl. “I know, but it’s pretty much finalized. I must say, I’m relieved.”

  My breathing is coming short and fast, and if I don’t get my shit together, or get out of here, I may very well hyperventilate.

  “Sasha, please do come in. What a pleasant surprise to find you…awake.” Dominic gives me away.

  I don’t move, I’m paralyzed. My body wants to run in the opposite direction. My feet want to run out the door, and keep going until I get to Gringo.

  Gringo, I wish you were here!

  “Sasha, what the hell are you doing in there?” James pushes himself off the desk and storms toward me.

  “I heard a car and I wanted to check. You know how nervous I’ve been since…,” my words trail off now that his angry face is directly in front of me.

  “Get upstairs to your room,” he snaps as he grabs me by the arm. He drags me into the hallway and toward the stairs.