by Pond, Simone
“When I woke up, Dayla and I were on a cold cement floor, chained to a pipe in some mildewy basement. It was dark, but I could hear birds chirping outside so I knew it was morning. Dayla was still out and I shook her until she woke up. She cried for a few minutes and I told her to stop it before they heard us. I started looking for a way to get free, but the handcuffs were on too tight. Dayla banged on the pipe to loosen it from the wall, and that’s when one of the men came down. He was skinny, with greasy hair and dirt all over his face. He came over and kicked Dayla until she went limp. I kept my mouth shut. One of us needed to stay strong.”
Ransom had to stand up for a minute and get some fresh air into his lungs. His insides felt like they were on fire and he wanted to crush something with his bare hands. He picked up a brick from the street and hurled it into the window of one of the abandoned buildings. The sound of glass shattering settled him a little and he was able to take in a few deep breaths. He walked back over to Keyla, who was nervously readjusting the combs in her hair.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he grunted.
“It gets worse. You want me to stop?”
“Nah, I’m good. You go on and git it off yer chest. You’ll feel better.”
“The man bent down and shot something into Dayla’s arm. Then he unchained her and dragged her over to a mattress on the other side of the room. He called upstairs to his buddy, someone named Harold, who came thumping down the stairs. He looked like a giant. The skinny man set up a camera and aimed it toward the mattress where Dayla was slumped over. He looked at Harold and ordered him to take off his clothes; it was time to make a movie. I curled into a ball and tried to block out their conversation, but it was impossible. They were making gross movies for some wealthy businessmen.”
“I don’t think I wanna hear the rest,” Ransom said.
“Yeah, it’s not good.”
“Did they hurt you?”
“They were saving me for last. I closed my eyes while they made the movie. Dayla was so drugged up she didn’t make a sound. The skinny man started kicking her again, telling her to wake up and get more into the scene. But she was too far gone. He yanked her off the mattress and threw her back in the corner, where I was stilled chained up. Her head smacked against the pipe and she hit the cement hard. Blood spilled out around her and I was sure she was dead. Instead of crying or getting upset, something deep stirred in my belly, and it felt like my insides were turning to stone. I waited for that skinny man to come over to me so I could take him out. I was going to kill him.”
Ransom understood intense murderous rage. When the corporations took away his farm and kicked him to the dirt, he plotted killing off every last one of the bastards. But this was different. This was two innocent girls who couldn’t fend for themselves. And those men hurt them for good. The kind of hurt that doesn’t ever go away, no matter how much praying you did.
“The skinny man headed over toward me so he could stick me with that needle. I stayed still until he was real close, then I kicked him in between his legs, like my daddy taught me. I yanked that needle out of his hand and stuck it right into his beady eye. He fell backward, wailing and rolling around, and I kicked him some more. Harold just stood off to the side, watching in shock. I don’t think he had much going on in the smarts department. When the skinny man finally passed out, I reached into his pocket and found the key to undo my cuffs. I took the needle out of his eye and walked over to Harold, aiming it at him. He was more afraid of that needle than a kid at the doctor’s office. He tucked himself into a ball on the mattress and I inched slowly up the stairs. I listened by the door to make sure no one was home. It was quiet and I ran out of that house as fast as I could go, leaving Dayla behind. I ran for a while, then finally hitched a ride to my aunt’s house. I knew she could help me go back and get Dayla out of that house. But when I got there, my aunt was gone. The whole house was boarded up. The neighbor said she and my uncle got really sick and died. I headed to the 77 highway and walked north. Not sure why I headed this way, but something inside told me to go north.”
Ransom pulled Keyla into his arms and hugged her tight against his sturdy chest. She stayed stiff for a few minutes until her armor melted and she began sobbing, wetting the front of his shirt.
“I didn’t want to leave her,” she cried.
“There was nothin’ you coulda done.” Ransom rubbed her back and forced himself to stay strong for her.
“I’m so glad you found me, Ransom.”
“Me too.” He stood up and adjusted his jacket. “I got an idea.”
“What?”
He reached down to Keyla and helped her up. “Let’s drive down to East Canton and find yer sister.”
Keyla stepped back, almost tripping on the curb. “But she’s dead.”
“The least we can do is go git her and give her a proper burial. We can put her next to Emma, up on my old farm.”
“I don’t know. I mean, it’s been weeks, Ransom. They probably got rid of her body by now. Those people might not even be there.”
“We don’t know till we try. Whaddya say?”
Ransom had already started packing up the tractor. Once his mind was made up, there was no point trying to change it.
“I’m scared.”
“Of course you are, but that don’t mean you don’t do something.”
“We’re not driving the tractor down, are we?” Keyla smiled.
“Nah, I’m fixin’ to ask Mayor Parks if we can borrow his car. I’ll give him the rest of these here eggs.”
Keyla stared off for a minute or two. The sun was setting and a crisp breeze blew through the empty streets. The dry leaves rustled along the road. She eyed Ransom up and down. “Okay, let’s do it.”
The two walked down the street toward the old hat shop where the Mayor Parks and his wife lived. Ransom gave the Mayor a brief account of what had happened and held out what was left of the eggs. Mayor Parks handed over his keys without any hesitation.
“There’s not much gas, but I trust you’ll figure out something.” He shook Ransom’s hand. “You’re a good man.”
“Just tryin’ to do the right thing,” he said, humbly.
“That’s what makes you a good man. It’s not about our past sins; it’s what we learn from them.”
They got into the large Buick and Keyla buckled up, looking tiny in the passenger seat. Ransom didn’t bother with his buckle. It took a few tries before the engine turned. There was a quarter tank left, which wouldn’t be enough to get them to East Canton.
Ransom drove down Erie Street toward Mason’s Auto Shop. He pulled up to the vacant garage.
“Mason always keeps some extra gas lying around. He’s must be gone now. Don’t think he’d mind if we helped ourselves.”
Once they were fueled up to three-quarters tank, they got on the 77 South toward Canton. Keyla took a nap along the way, while Ransom thought about the last time he’d driven down that highway. He was a little rusty at the wheel, and after a big swerve, Keyla woke up.
“You sure you know how to drive?” she teased.
“It’s been a while. Now, do you remember where that house was?”
“It was on 24th Street Southeast. I’ll never forget it. It’s off of Wayne-something. Waynesburg Drive, maybe. Once we get close enough, I can figure it out. You’ll need to take exit 43 South.”
He nodded. “Good memory.”
“It’s kind of hard to forget when you’re walking on it for a while.” Keyla smiled, pointing to the upcoming exit. “You need to get off there.”
When they got close enough to 24th Street, Keyla crouched low in the passenger seat, tears rolling down her cheeks. Ransom parked a few houses away, hidden in the shadows of the trees. Good thing the street lamps were off.
“You okay?” he asked.
“It’s that little red house. The one with the van in the driveway,” Keyla whispered.
“You wait right here.”
“You’re just going to walk
up to the door?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you have a weapon or anything?”
The sixty-three year old raised his eyebrows and held up his fists.
“Good luck,” she said, shaking her head.
He got out of the car and walked toward the house, feeling another bout of that burning rage. Someone was definitely going to pay for what they did to those innocent girls. When he was about a few houses away, he waited by the trees, sizing up the place. A couple of folks came out of the house and got into the van. They peeled out of the driveway and bolted down the street. Ransom looked back to make sure Keyla was okay. Her puffy hair ducked down just before the van zipped by.
Ransom marched up to the door and didn’t bother knocking; he just barreled through it, almost taking it off the hinges. He stormed through the filthy living room and kitchen area, opening doors to see if anyone was still there. Someone had to answer for this crime. But the place was empty. He noticed a baseball bat next to the couch and picked it up for his journey to the basement. One step at a time, he descended the wooden steps into the dark hole.
“Hello?” he called down.
He thought he heard something skitter about.
“I’m here to help,” he said. “I came with Keyla.”
“Keyla?” the voice cried out from below.
Ransom jumped down the last few stairs and ran to the corner where a young black girl, who looked a lot like Keyla, was chained to a pipe. She had on a long stained T-shirt and nothing else.
“Good lord.” That was all he could get out.
“Where’s my sister?”
“She’s safe. I’m gonna git you outta this mess.”
The handcuffs were too tight to wriggle off.
“Please help me,” she cried.
“Watch out, I’m gonna bust that pipe open.”
Dayla scooted off to the side and he began swinging the bat like a madman until the pipe busted and he was able to slide off the handcuffs. He scooped Dayla into his arms and ran up the steps. Before reaching the front door, he turned around and scanned the living room. He placed Dayla next to the door and scurried back to the kitchen, looking for something flammable.
“What are you doing?” Dayla cried out.
“Burning this place to the ground.”
Those evil men would probably keep going about their business, but at least it wouldn’t be there. He snatched a lighter off the counter and searched the cabinets until he found just what he needed––a stock of Jack Daniels. Grabbing a couple bottles, he ran around dousing the furniture and carpets with the stuff. Standing next to the ratty curtains, he flicked the lighter, catching the material on fire. He picked Dayla up and darted out of the house, back to the car.
“She’s alive, Keyla! Open the back door!” he yelled, running toward the Buick.
“She’s alive?!” Kayla’s eyes bulged. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!”
Keyla opened the back door and helped Ransom get Dayla into backseat. She sat down and held her sister’s heavy head in her small lap. Ransom got behind the wheel and drove away, speeding down the dark streets. Nobody said a word until about five miles on the 77 north.
“I thought you were dead.” Keyla sobbed, hugging her beaten down sister.
“I thought you were dead,” Dayla whispered.
Ransom looked at the girls in the rearview mirror. He was still shaking with rage, but seeing the relief in their faces was enough to comfort him back down. He dug into his pocket for a piece of twig to gnaw on, but he was out. Keyla’s small hand touched his shoulder and she handed him a piece of twig she must’ve picked from the bushes. He took it and smiled in the rearview mirror. Peace settled through the Buick as they cruised along the barren highway back to Willoughby. Ransom had lost a lot over the years, but finding Keyla had been the greatest gift.
Books By Simone Pond
THE CITY CENTER
THE NEW AGENDA
THE MAINFRAME
THE TORRENT
VOICES OF THE APOCALYPSE: SHORT STORIES
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