by Eddie Jakes
Cliché much? Trista laughed at the thought.
After taking a second to get used to the cold, Trista started to explore her surroundings a bit. Everything was immaculate and well organized. The kitchen area was so spotless it looked as though it had never been used, but his well-stocked refrigerator indicated otherwise. It did look, in fact, as though he was a good cook with discriminating tastes for fresh produce and meat. There was not a single box of processed food to be found anywhere in the cupboards. Trista was especially shocked to notice that there wasn't even a coffee maker or coffee grounds. How this man survived without coffee in the morning was beyond her six-cups-a-day mentality.
Moving from the kitchen to the bookcases, Trista expected to see a lot of lame books on religion and Greek gods, but was actually surprised at some of the texts that she could understand. Many of them were written in languages she wasn't familiar with, and others just seemed to be strange symbols and pictures. The few books in English tended to reference occult magic and dark grimoire. She assumed it must be related to his work or just a hobby of his. She remembered how weird some of her professors were in college. When they weren't hitting on her, or ogling her well-toned assets, they were often rambling about the most off the wall things she had ever heard. One in particular used to always trace everything back to aliens. She hoped that Charles wasn't eccentric like that.
As she continued to glance over the hundreds of books in Charles' collection, she noticed a door at the rear of the apartment. It seemed out of place, and the walls surrounding it looked like they had much fresher coats of paint than the rest of the loft. Probably some storage space, she thought.
She wanted to just leave it be, but the mystery of her recent suitor was too much for her to resist solving. The sounds of the shower continued so there was no chance of him hearing her snooping around his private spaces. Just a quick look wouldn't hurt anyone. Trista grabbed the knob and turned it. The door wouldn't immediately budge, so she pulled a little harder. The sudden pop of the door opening caused her to let out a tiny peep of fear before relaxing again.
What she saw behind that door was horrific beyond anything she could have imagined.
It was a scene right out of the worst kind of Hollywood torture porn. There were eleven young women shackled to the walls, face first, with strange hoses connected to their neck and backs. The center of the room was a high-tech chemistry lab where all of the tubes attached to a machine, which was pumping strange colored fluids to and from the shackled women. Their bodies looked drained and frail, as if they had not eaten a bite of food in a decade.
The smell of chemicals burned Trista's nostrils as she tried to inhale. She wanted to scream and tried to, but the sound would not come out. A rush of warmth surrounded her throat, and she was unable to manipulate her vocal chords or push out any kind of noise. She turned to find Charles standing behind her, dripping wet and in his robe. Sparks of energy danced on his fingertips as he twitched them towards her.
"What's the matter, my dear? I thought you liked magic?"
Trista reached for her throat, but the magic keeping her from screaming burned at the touch. She was frightened out of her senses and could not comprehend what was happening to her. Who was this man, that had only moments ago made love to her, now keeping her from calling for help by simply moving his fingers?
The door to the apartment opened and an older man walked in carrying a large box overfilled with hardware of some kind. Trista couldn't tell what it was, but the grin on the man's face told her that he was not there to rescue her or offer any type of assistance.
"Well," said the man, "you've certainly snagged a good one, Krazek."
What did he call him? Is his name even Charles? Dread was starting to consume every last ounce of courage she had left. Panic was the only thing that remained, and she ran for the door as fast as her sore legs would permit.
It wasn't enough, though, and the older man tackled her to the ground as she fought to get loose. Her voice started to free itself from the magical restraints and Trista let out a quiet scream.
"I would advise you to administer your paralysis agent, Ketter. I can't keep this up for long."
Whatever it was that Charles—or Krazek—was talking about didn't sound like it would be something that ended well for Trista, and she kicked and punched violently at her attacker. He fought with her hands and arms as they flailed around trying to fend off his grip. Growing tired of her unwillingness to comply with his advances, the man grabbed her by the hair and smacked the back of her head against the floor hard enough to knock her senses loose. Trista couldn't focus on anything due to the pain and was unable to stop the man from pulling a syringe from his belt and plunging it into her neck.
"Tough little wench, isn't she?" said Ketter.
When he lowered his hand, Krazek’s spell faded from Trista's neck.
Trista felt strange, but she was able to stand. She looked at the two men staring at her with the most diabolical eyes she had ever seen. What were they doing to her? She couldn't stick around to find out. She had to run for her life … but she couldn't. No matter how fast she commanded her body to move, it would not go past a slow walk.
"What did you give me?" she tried to yell, but her voice had no power behind it. "What are you doing to me? Stop—"
Trista’s voice box was so weak, she couldn't get the words out. She felt herself falling to the ground and watched as the muscles in her legs began to suddenly atrophy as the poison went through her system. It was like she was being aged sixty years in only a few minutes. She wanted to cry, but unable to even summon the strength to sit up any longer, she fell to the floor.
It was getting harder for her to take in air, and she was scared that she was going to die. She started thinking about the fantastic night spent with the monster who was now an accomplice in her murder. Sadness, rage, regret, and fear were the only things she could feel now. The essence of her physical being was being stripped from her for some dark purpose.
"I better get to work before she croaks on me," Ketter stated.
"Of course. I must finish getting myself cleaned up. I have an engagement with the Statsnys and Dr. Himmelreich. I trust you can be left alone to your own devices without drawing too much attention to yourself?"
Ketter laughed. "I'll try not to make a mess if that's what you mean. Speaking of messes … did you have to fuck this one, too?"
"I do apologize, Ephrain. Your handiwork has given me quite the appetite for pleasure."
"Well, I'm glad the treatments are working for you. You don't look a day over a century."
Krazek knelt down and placed his hand under Trista's chin. She wanted to spit in his face, but it would just be a fantasy in her own mind.
"I did enjoy our time together," murmured Krazek. "But all good things … you know the rest."
Trista could feel herself being dragged by her feet away from the hand of the vile man that had violated her trust and her body. If there was a God, she hoped that he would take vengeance for her. Trista wasn't perfect, but she had always considered herself a good person. She didn't want to die like this, there was so much more that she wanted to experience in her lifetime, but her selfishness had always gotten in the way. Maybe there was an afterlife, or maybe another chance at this life? She started to silently pray to herself while she waited for the psychopathic stranger to end her life.
Without warning, a feeling of intense pain penetrated the back of her head and broke Trista from her prayers. She was upright but couldn't see anything. What was happening now? It was the wall in the lab. Her fate was to be the same as these other women. She wasn't going to die, she was to be a part of some sick experiment.
"Don't you worry, young lady. That's gonna keep you alive while I extract your spinal fluid. It's a particular rig I invented."
The second needle when right into her back with surgical precision. The pain was great, but Trista could still not move or scream. The third one followed soon after, a
nd the shock was enough to force some tears from her eyes. If there really was such a thing as a fate worse than death, she was sure that she was living it.
"Right now you are probably pretty ripped at Ole Krazek and me. Trust me, though, when I tell you that you are part of something great. And hell, at least you got one last ride in, eh?"
Trista could feel the sick son of a bitch smack her ass before hearing him walk away laughing. The door closed, but she was still able to listen to the two men talking on the other side.
"I have to say," began Krazek, "I've never had much use for chemistry, but I wouldn't call your work anything short of … magical."
CHAPTER TWO
After a few steps, it no longer felt like Maddix was walking through the gate into the real world; it felt as though the gate was passing over him. His footing stumbled a bit as if he had missed the first step of a small porch or jagged hill. Everything seemed to whip by him at lightning speed, and the rush took his breath and vision away for a moment before everything became still again. His vision resumed for no more than a split second and then his mind was filled with rapid-fire imagery that he could not comprehend fast enough to make any determination of what he was looking at. The images slammed into his brain so hard that he was knocked down to one knee upon exiting Malevolent and into the real world. His home.
Something was strange, though. Maddix's sight was blurry so he blinked rapidly trying to remove the haze. He looked up and saw his friends staring back at him. They were all there: Javier, Tara, and Tanya.
Javier rushed to his side and helped him to his feet. He seemed relieved to see him, which only confused Maddix even more. They all walked through the gate together single-file, and Tara was right in front of him. Now she sat against a tree with her knees to her chest, sweating profusely and sobbing.
"Are you okay, monsieur?"
"I think so," muttered Maddix, brushing the dirt off his knee. "What's going on? How did you get so far ahead of me?"
"It would seem that there is a slight time-shift between the prison and here. It was almost an hour before Tanya arrived after myself, Ms. Cherane about the same time, and now, here you are."
"So it took three hours for us to get back? Dammit!"
"Monsieur?"
Maddix didn't want to think about it at that moment. If a few seconds equaled almost an hour time difference, who knows how much damage the escapees could have caused in less than twenty-four hours. They had wasted almost a whole day before going through the gate themselves. Javier had suggested scavenging for whatever weapons or supplies they could find before leaving. The town was a burning waste of wood and rubble. The station was destroyed, and all weapons were useless. The office that he and Tara had shared was also obliterated, and with it all the historical information they had about the prisoners. After a day of searching, they only managed to walk away with one extra clip of ammo and the clothes on their backs.
"What's wrong with Tara?" Maddix asked.
The alpha-wolf, Tanya, was staying close to Tara, rubbing her back and trying to comfort her as best as she knew how. Maddix could tell this was something new for her.
"I don't know," said Tanya. "She came through the gate just as all of us and collapsed as you did. As soon as she stood up, however, she began to get sick. I have never seen anything like this. I can usually smell disease or infection, and I can detect nothing on her."
"Then we need to get her to a doctor, somehow."
Maddix grabbed Javier by the arm and pulled him to the side. "Do you remember anything?"
"Not a damn thing, monsieur."
"I was hoping we would remember something once the gate was open, but so far it's still blank."
"Do you have any idea where we are?"
"Yes, that much I do. We are somewhere in New England. That much was in the journals at the prison. If I can recall some high school history, I think we need to head south."
“I am afraid my compass is broken, monsieur."
"I can help with that," interrupted Tanya. "My senses will guide us. Some of this terrain looks familiar to me as well."
Maddix caught Javier giving Tanya an affectionate smile. He rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself.
"Okay you two," said Maddix.
"It will be difficult for Madame Cherane."
"I can walk. I-I …" stuttered Tara.
The she-wolf helped Tara to her feet and gave her a reassuring nod.
Maddix’s brow furrowed. "You sure you can make it?"
"What other choice is there?"
"Lead the way. If you smell any kind of civilization, let us know."
"Yes, Overseer."
"You're not a prisoner anymore, Tanya. Call me Maddix."
The three of them watched Tanya as she started to sniff the air and move her head in an animalistic fashion. She looked around for a couple seconds before settling on one direction toward the thick forest. Her ears perked up, and she pointed with her palm facing down.
"This way," informed Tanya.
They had only walked ten miles when the pain in Maddix's head first started, then another five when his vision became blurry again. It was just like before when he walked through the gate, only this time, it was slower and a lot more torturous. He glanced at Tara and wondered if what she was going through would happen to him. Was it some kind of time-shifting sickness perhaps? Or was it just an effect of the memory wipe ending? He wanted answers, but not the discomfort.
Tara continued to get worse, and the walk was not doing her any favors. Her arms were folded tightly around her midsection, and she was noticeably shivering. It wasn't cold outside, and the sweat dripping from her brow didn't indicate that she was freezing in the slightest, but she definitely had a chill. Fever, Maddix figured.
As Maddix turned to approach Tara, a sharp pain in his frontal lobe sent him to the ground, and when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the forest with his friends.
Maddix scanned his surroundings which were now dark and smelled rank like mold and wetness. He couldn't make out anything except for the sound of two people arguing from a room upstairs. He couldn't recognize any of the voices, but something was telling him that they were acquainted from somewhere. Try as he might he was unable to move, having been tied up to a chair by thick, heavy rope. He attempted to open his mouth to call for help, but his body wouldn't obey his command. It was if someone else was in the driver’s seat choosing the journey for him.
A creaking door opened from above, and the arguing pair of voices could be clearly heard. By the tones of their voices, it was a man and a woman, and their use of pet names indicated to him that they were husband and wife. At the very least they were in a relationship of some kind. But why was he tied up in their basement, and how did he get there in the first place? Where were Tara and the others?
"We discussed this already," said the man.
The lights flickered on, and Maddix could tell that he was indeed tied up in a basement with a bickering couple. Two sets of footsteps echoed behind him, and it wasn't long before he could feel the presence of them on either side.
"I hope we didn't keep you waiting too long."
Maddix wanted to ask where he was, but he couldn't form the words.
"You have to forgive my wife; she is so indecisive about things. For a second she actually thought it might be better to just let you go. Women! So frustrating sometimes, eh?"
Something hit Maddix in the back of the head hard enough to make his neck snap forward. It wasn't an object of any kind. In fact, it felt like his captor had smacked him. But why?
"Please, I'm sorry," Maddix whispered, although he didn't know what he was sorry for. Or why he even said it.
"Shut up, you bastard," said the woman, right before cracking Maddix in the head with something hard.
"Easy now, honey. Let's not be rude to our guest."
The two kidnappers stepped in front of Maddix with looks of rage in their eyes. They knew him somehow, and they really hate
d him and wanted to see him suffer. Something familiar gnawed at his brain when he saw their faces. He did know them, but couldn't remember why.
"I'm sorry … please … don't hurt me," pleaded Maddix.
"Hurt you? We haven't even begun to hurt you, Mr. Benbrook. Trust me, we won't stop causing you pain until we get justice for our daughter."
Daughter? What is he talking about? Maddix thought to himself.
"Let me just shoot this monster!"
Maddix stared straight down the barrel of a revolver and the crazed women pointing it at him. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to make him suffer.
"Not yet, honey. Our baby didn't go so easy, and neither will this sick bastard. Isn't that right, you mother fucker? She didn't get to die so easy. Did she?"
"I didn't mean it! I'm sorry!"
"Fuck you!" snarled the woman, as she smacked Maddix across the face with the butt of her gun.
The blow broke his nose, and he could taste the blood dripping down his face. Laughing, the husband clapped his hands is approval.
"Way to go, honey! I told you this was what you wanted."
"Stop. Just stop! I'll confess to everything. I'll make it right!"
"It's a little late for that now, isn't it?"
"I'll do anything! Just … please, don't kill me!"
The face of the husband went slack, and he bent over to look Maddix in the eye. He just stood there with a disgusted frown. Maddix was caught off guard by the firm smack across his mouth that sent drops of blood flying off his face.
"Did she beg? Did she ask you not to kill her? Did she?" the man screamed.
These people think I killed someone? Maddix tried to wrap his head around it. They had to be mistaken, but they knew who he was. He needed to convince them that he was not their guy.
"No. I … yes, I'm sorry!" said Maddix, but the words he was thinking were not the words he spoke.
"Shut the fuck up!"
The husband stormed to the back of the basement, grabbed a gas can from the floor, and started pouring the gas all over Maddix who jerked in his chair in desperation.
