“Snow, ice, hypothermia. That stuff sounds
so
good!”
When Payne was initially dragged across the length of the island and up the slope of the hill, he wasn’t sure what to expect. The possibility of a lynching entered his mind, but for some reason, he had a hunch that the Plantation was more about torture than death. He wanted to ask the guards who were towing him, but the four men weren’t speaking English, mumbling instead in an African dialect.
After reaching the hill’s summit, Payne was actually relieved when he saw the Devil’s Box. No guillotine, no electric chair, no gas chamber. Just a box, a simple four-foot wooden box that had been anchored to the ground. Shoot, he figured, how bad could it be?
Then they opened it.
The figure that emerged was something from a horror movie, a grotesquely deformed zombie breaking from the constraints of his wooden tomb. Haggard and obviously dehydrated, the man’s skin practically hung from his bones, like a suit that was two sizes too large. Payne wanted to turn from the scene-no sense getting a mental picture of the personal horror that was to come-but he knew it would be a mistake. He had to study the prisoner, investigate the guards, analyze the device. He needed to know what may be in store for him, if there were any loopholes in the system. It was the only way he could plan an escape.
The first thing Payne noticed was the prisoner’s size. Despite his malnutrition, the man was quite large. It took three guards to lift his massive frame from the tiny device, and even then it took a concerted effort. In fact, the prisoner was so big, Payne was amazed that the guards had been able to squeeze him into the cube to begin with. His limbs seemed too thick, too long to contort into such a confined space, but it brought Payne some optimism. He figured if they could fit the giant in there, then there should be plenty of room to maneuver.
Once hauled from the box, the victim tried to stand on his own, but it was a foolish mistake. He had been imprisoned far too long to stand unaided. Atrophy and disorientation took over, forcing him to the ground with a sickening thud, his once-proud body melting into the rocky soil that surrounded him.
The memories of the tortured man, shivering and trembling at the feet of the guards, made Payne flinch. So much so that it snapped him back to the real world.
He had been in the device for several hours, and the intense heat of the Louisiana sun was already forcing his mind to wander. And he knew things would only get worse as time wore on. The more he sweat, the more dehydration would occur. The more dehydration, the higher his body temperature. The more heat, the more illusions. And so on. It was a vicious ride, one that he desperately wanted to avoid.
“Hello!” he yelled, hoping to find a savior. “Can anybody hear me?”
But the only reply was the sound of the breeze as it coyly danced around the Devil’s Box.
Payne leaned his head against the oaken interior and stared at the bright sky above. The tiny slits of the lid’s lattice pattern gave him a limited view of the world, but he wasn’t about to complain. He figured things could be worse. He could be rotting in a freshly dug grave right about now. Still, his current situation didn’t offer much hope.
At least until he heard the sound.
At first, Payne thought it was his imagination playing tricks on him, his lack of liquid causing the synapses of his brain to misfire. A heat-induced hallucination. But then he heard it a second time. And a third. Each more clear than the last. The sound, like a memory coming into focus, grew more distinct with each occurrence. Hazy, then muffled, then clear.
It was footsteps, the sound of footsteps.
Someone was coming.
Payne stretched his neck as far as it could reach, trying to peer through the intricate grate of the Devil’s Box. But the tiny slits in the device prevented it.
“Who’s there?” Payne called. “Hey, I’m in the box. Can you give me a hand?”
But there was no reply. In fact, the only sound that he heard was the whistling wind as it whipped over the crest of the hill, which was baffling to Payne. He knew he had heard movement only seconds before. No doubt about it. Someone was definitely out there.
In order to listen effectively, Payne turned his head to the left and placed his ear against the grate. From this position he hoped to hear things clearer, praying that it would somehow make a difference. And it did. Despite the constant rumble of the wind, Payne was able to hear the sound again. But what the hell was it? It was loud, then quiet. Close, then distant. It sounded like breathing, labored breathing, like a fat man’s in aerobics class.
“Hello,” Payne yelled, his voice cracking from thirst. “Who’s out there? I want to know who I’m talking to.”
After a short pause, the movement started again, this time with calculated strides. But instead of approaching the box, the footsteps circled it, like a hawk examining its prey, patiently waiting for its moment to strike. Payne took a deep gulp, pondering the possibilities.
What the hell was going on?
To find out, he shoved his ear closer to the grate, his lobe actually sticking through one of the air holes in the box. Someone was out there. Payne could hear him. Breathing and footsteps, nothing but breathing and footsteps. Why wouldn’t he say something? Someone was circling the device, faster and faster, building himself into a frenzy. What was this guy doing? Payne strained to catch a glimpse of him, struggled for any clue, but the only thing he could hear was breathing and footsteps, multiple footsteps.
Then it dawned on him.
“Oh, shit!” he screamed, pulling his head from the lid a split second before the attack.
The beast, a snarling mixture of teeth and sinew, landed on top of the box. Drool sprayed from its mouth like it was a rabid coyote. Hoping to get inside, the animal clawed and chewed at the sturdy lid, but the device held firm.
For the first time all day, Payne was happy to be inside the box. He was actually thrilled that the contraption was so damn sturdy. Crouching as low as he could, he tucked his head between his legs like a passenger anticipating an airplane crash. As he did, he felt the creature’s saliva coating the back of his neck with drop after drop of slobber.
“Close your mouth, you drooling bitch!”
With his heart pounding furiously, Payne twisted his neck, hoping to identify the animal without getting in harm’s way. He wasn’t sure if it was a wolf or a dog, but it was, without question, the sleekest animal he had ever seen. Covered in a sheer white coat, the level back and lean muscular frame of the creature glistened in the bright sun as it frantically clawed at the Devil’s Box, trying to rip Payne into tender, bite-sized morsels. Its face, thin and angular, revealed a full set of spiked teeth, each quite capable of inflicting serious damage, and a pink nose, one of the few instances of color on the entire beast. The most prominent of its features, besides its ferocity and propensity for drool, were its ears. Long and light pink, they stood at attention like an antenna on an old TV.
As the attack continued, Payne gained confidence in the cube’s sturdiness, which allowed him to take a relaxing breath. If the animal had somehow entered the box, Payne realized he would’ve been screwed. Since his hands were bolted to the floor and his legs were severely restricted, he wouldn’t have had a chance to defend himself.
“Bad doggie!” Payne yelled, cowering from the lid. “Go home! Return to Satan!”
Surprisingly, the command worked. Just as quickly as the attack had started, it stopped. The animal suddenly leapt from the box and scurried away.
Payne’s eyes grew wide from the surprising turn of events. He had never expected his request to work. In fact, he’d said it simply in jest. “Wow! Is my breath that bad?”
Before he could answer his own question, a voice interrupted him.
“Hello, Mr. Payne. How are you doing today?” The words were English, but they were tinted with an African accent.
Payne looked above but couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from. He strained his neck in all direct
ions but was unable to see who approached. “God? Is that you?”
“Master Greene told me you were somewhat of a jokester. I guess he was right.”
Payne grimaced. “Actually, I’m not
somewhat
of a jokester. I
am
a jokester! There’s a big difference, my African friend.”
Hakeem Ndjai leaned his face over the top of his box and smiled, revealing a set of decaying teeth that had been neglected for some time. “Yes, I guess you are a jokester. Quite comical, especially for someone in your predicament.”
“By the way, I meant to talk to you about that. You know, you have to do something about this box of yours. Your wooden-mesh roof is seriously messing up my sunlight. If I’m not careful, it’s going to look like I tanned my face in a waffle iron.”
Ndjai grinned. “All you have to do is write down your request and put it in the suggestion box at the main house. Oh, I forgot! You are unable to get to the house. Too bad! I guess you will just have to deal with it.”
Payne sighed. “I guess so.”
“Now, if we are done with the fun and games, I would like to ask you a question. How did you enjoy your introduction to my pet?”
“Your pet? You mean the albino pit bull? Oh, yeah, it was swell. I bet it’s great around kids. Just make sure you get a head count beforehand.”
Ndjai sat on the edge of the black device and chuckled. “Surprisingly, he is wonderful around children. He is only hostile when I want him to be. That is why he backed away from the box when I called him. He is very obedient.”
“You called him? Damn! I was hoping it obeyed
my
commands. That would make my escape so much easier.”
“Yes”-he laughed-“I guess it would. Unfortunately for you, Tornado only listens to me.”
“Tornado? That’s a pretty stupid name for a dog. How the hell did you come up with that?”
Ndjai sneered. “If you did not notice, Tornado circles his prey again and again until he is ready to attack. It is how he whips himself into a frenzy.”
“Boy, that’s kinda weird, don’t you think? Why not call him Dizzy? That’s a good name for a dog. Or how about Re tardo? That seems to fit. I mean, let’s be honest, how smart can the dog be if it has to run in a loop to attack?”
“Quite intelligent,” Ndjai argued. “Ibizan hounds are some of the smartest dogs in the world. They were originally bred for Spanish royalty.”
“Well, some of them might be smart, but I don’t think yours qualifies. Did you get it at a clearance sale? Because that would explain a lot.”
Ndjai stood from the box. He wasn’t used to arguing with his prisoners. Normally, they were too scared to even speak. “You have a lot of nerve for someone who is about to die. Trust me, I will make sure you go slowly and painfully.”
“You mean, like your teeth? You know, if you started brushing now, you might be able to save the last few you have left.” Payne’s words hit his mark, and Ndjai responded by slamming his fist into the top of the box. “What? Was it something I said? If so, why don’t you let me out of here and kick my ass like a real man? Then again, you’d probably have to run around me like your fucked-up mutt. By the time you were done, you’d be too dizzy to hit me.”
Ndjai took a deep breath, finally understanding the game that the prisoner was trying to play. Payne wanted Ndjai to become so infuriated that he’d do something irrational, like opening the box to get at him. It was a nice try, but Ndjai was too smart for that.
“Do not worry about my aim, Mr. Payne. If I were to let you out of your cage-something I am not going to do-I would be able to strike you. In fact, let me prove my accuracy.”
Payne sat up in the box, trying to view the exhibition that Ndjai was going to put on for him. Unfortunately, as it turned out, it was a show in which he was forced to participate.
With a grin on his face, Ndjai climbed on top of the cube and lowered the zipper on his pants. “The reason for my visit, Mr. Payne, was to give you your daily dose of water, but seeing how uncooperative you have been, I have decided to alter your menu.”
A sudden stream of golden liquid fell from above, surging through the slits of the cube like a warm waterfall. By lowering his head and closing his eyes, Payne did his best to avoid the downpour, but his restricted mobility prevented much success.
“What do you think of my aim now?”
Payne wanted to answer, desperately wanted to scream insults at the sadistic guard, but he couldn’t risk saying a word. The possibility of the yellow liquid seeping past his cracked lips and into his mouth was far too great. Besides, he knew that he would somehow escape from the Devil’s Box and make Ndjai pay for his actions.
And when he did, he would pay for them with his life.
CHAPTER 37
IT
was hard for Ariane to believe, but her seemingly perfect life was spiraling out of control. Two days earlier, she was a successful bank executive, preparing to spend a relaxing holiday with the man she loved. The only activities on her itinerary were golfing, swimming, and fooling around. No business. No stress. Just pleasure. She’d been looking forward to it all summer and had done everything in her power to plan the perfect weekend.
Unfortunately, her plans were altered.
In a matter of forty-eight hours, she’d been drugged, kidnapped, and smuggled to Louisiana, where she was being tortured for the sins of relatives she’d never even known existed. Her days, which used to be filled with meetings and paperwork in an air-conditioned office, were now occupied with grueling field labor and the stinging crack of leather whips in the sweltering Southern sun.
If it wasn’t for her inner strength, a trait that was tested and fortified when her parents died several years before, she would have broken down. As it was, she stubbornly clung to hope, realizing that things were never as bad as they seemed.
Well, almost never.
Her current situation offered little hope, and because of that she decided to push her luck. While pulling weeds from the untilled ground, Ariane glanced around the spacious field, searching for someone to talk to. She knew that conversation of any kind was forbidden by the guards, but she had the feeling if she didn’t do something soon, there was a very good chance she was going to end up dead. And she wasn’t about to let that happen without a fight.
A young woman, no more than eighteen years old, stood fifty feet away from Ariane, busily plucking rocks from the dark brown dirt. She tried to signal the girl from a distance, hoping to catch her eye, but the teen remained focused on her task.
Undaunted by the threat of punishment, Ariane moved her wicker basket to the east, carefully approaching the teenager.
“Hello,” she mumbled under her breath. “My name’s Ariane.”
The athletic-looking girl was stunned at first, surprised that someone had the guts to speak under the close watch of the guards. After suppressing her shock, she whispered back.
“Kelly Metz.” She wiped the dirt from her hands on her orange work pants, then brushed the brown hair from her eyes. “Where you from?”
Ariane glanced around. The closest guard was over one hundred feet away. “Pittsburgh. What about you?”
“Farrell, Missouri.” As she spoke, she continued ripping rocks from the soil. “Heard of it?”
Ariane shook her head. There was no sense speaking when a gesture would do. “How old are you?”
Now it was Kelly’s turn to be cautious. Like a student trying to cheat on a test, she made sure the coast was clear. “Seventeen.” She carefully checked a second time, then continued. “Are you new? I don’t remember seeing you in the field before.”
“I think I got here yesterday. I’m not sure, though. Everything’s kind of foggy.”
Kelly nodded in understanding. “The drugs’ll wear off, you know. Don’t worry. Just hang in there. You’ll get through this.”
Ariane smiled at the optimism. She found it amazing that a g
irl Kelly’s age was holding up so well in such adverse conditions. “You here alone?”
Kelly searched for the guards. They were busy hassling one of the male slaves. “Me and my family are a part of Group One. Ten of us in all.”
Ariane thought back to earlier in the day, back when it was still dark. If she remembered correctly, Kelly was in Master Holmes’s group. “Are you the one with the cute little brother?”
For the first time in a long time, Kelly wanted to laugh. “I’ve heard my brother called a lot of things, but certainly never cute.” She looked over her shoulder, paranoid. “The cute one is Scooter. He’s my cousin.”
“But you have a brother, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “His name’s Donny.”
Something about Kelly’s voice worried Ariane. She wasn’t sure why, but she could tell something was wrong. She quickly looked for the nearest guard, who was still occupied with the men. “What’s going on, Kelly? Is something wrong with your brother?”
She brushed the hair from her face one more time. “He’s not what you would call tough. I get the feeling that he isn’t holding up too well.”
Ariane found that hard to believe. If Donny was anything like his sister, he was probably cutting down trees with his bare hands. “Are you sure? ’Cause you seem to be doing great.”
“I play sports year-round, so physical stuff doesn’t bother me. Donny, on the other hand, is in the band. The most exertion he gets is playing his trumpet.”
“So, he’s breaking down physically?”
“And mentally. My dad was tortured the first night we were here. I think that got to him.”
Ariane tried to picture the members of Group One. She distinctly remembered a middle-aged man with a bandaged hand. “What did they do to him?”
Kelly took a deep breath. “They cut off his finger. He didn’t even do anything wrong, but they still chopped it off. Probably to prove that they were in charge.”
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