When she came from the dark hallway, with the soft glow of the yellow light behind her, he yelled at her with such intense rage. She stood at the end of that corridor wearing a blood-soaked robe and a perplexed look over her smile. He knew she did not understand at that moment, but the anger he felt when he saw her became white-hot hatred. There was an undeniable want for revenge, something to mend his heart, to satisfy the deep hunger of his vengeful soul.
“Why? Why did you do this? Oh God, no, no, no…what have you done? Look at what have you done…”
He screamed at her, shouted at her grotesque form before him, he yelled such evil things to her, at her. She stood and gave a gentle smile while nodding her bleeding head. Her eyes twitched as she stared at him with a distant expression. He grabbed another bottle of whiskey, guzzled the liquid down his throat, and tried to drown his grief, force it all away. She turned and retreated into the halo of light, and left him in a darkening hell.
“Almost finished,” she whispered. “Then we can leave.”
Her words lingered in his ears and every day since she spoke them. He wanted to reach inside and tear them from his mind. He bolted from the house, ran to the garage, and grabbed the gas can. His mind was a boiling stew pot of anger. Reeling from the pain of what she had done, the forever-lasting memory of it. He doused the living room, poured it along the hallway, and halted before the bedroom door. With his hand pressed against the stained wood surface, he listened to her humming and that noise she made. The forever-haunting sound of a blade scraping on bone. A sound that would reflect in his mind, becoming audible when the nights grew quiet, evoking memories of what lay lifeless on the floor. He stood and screamed as loud as his throat would let him, straining with each word.
“God damn you…God damn…I hate you…I…hate…you…”
He did not know if she could hear him, or if she could even care any longer about such things. Fury unleashed, he stumbled outside, struck the metal lighter she gave him when he took up smoking cigars with his partners at the office. He stared at the flame before he tossed it into the doorway and watched the blaze swell outward. Black smoke billowed from inside. When he heard her screams, the lamenting, the understanding, the knowing of what was happening, he tossed his wedding ring in for the flames to devour as well.
Blinding streams of hot tears flowed from his eyes. He stumbled to the end of the driveway and collapsed from the crushing weight of grief. As he cried and cried out, he heard it there, just from him on the post of the fence. It was there, and it was looking at him, judging him, mocking him.
“And what was it? What was it she had taken from you? Say it. Say it now and save yourself.”
“My child,” Frank said.
He screamed at the ceiling, his body shuddered against the straps, and his face changed to a dark red. He, at last, inhaled and fell into a grief-stricken weep. The doctor waited for him to continue. Looking at Frank’s face washed with sorrow, the doctor nodded his head as he accepted the answer. He leaned forward and spoke in a soft voice.
“And what was there on the fence? What is it that you say spoke to you? What did you hear?”
Frank raised his head, his face showed the severity of his devastation.
“It was a fucking crow. It saw what I’d done, and it was laughing at me. Oh, God. It was laughing at my pain. Always laughing at what I had lost. Oh, goddamn it.”
He strained against the restraints, slammed his head backward, and tried to knock himself out, or to death.
“What did you do?” Doctor Wilson said. “Say it. Say it aloud for all to hear.”
“I fucking killed my wife! Jesus Christ, I murdered her. I killed her because she was sick. I killed her because she murdered our baby…” His voice quivered as he spoke. “I killed her because I couldn’t bear it. I just couldn’t. I lost everything…”
He stopped moving and stared at the floor. Blood from the wound on his head trickled down his neck. He closed his eyes and listened. The crow was no longer there, its laughing voice was silent.
Frank hung his head and cried as the doctor tended to his paperwork. The better part of an hour passed as he scribbled away at his papers, smiling to himself with satisfaction.
“Well,” the doctor said. He continued to write on his paper with vigor. “We have made significant progress. Outstanding progress and the most gratifying work yet. These are such evolutions indeed.”
Frank nodded his head and gave a thankful smile.
“Can we take these off now?”
He nodded to the leather straps soaked in his sweat. The doctor finished writing and stood. He pulled the glasses from his face and tucked them into his pocket.
“I don’t see why not, Mr. Williams.”
Frank continued to smile as he watched the doctor lean over to undo the first buckle. The tickle of anger began at the base of his skull. Frank smiled wider because knew it was the start of an uncontrollable storm of rage.
38
Angela lay on the bed, her body sore and too stiff to move. She had cried so much she could form no more tears. Her eyelid had swollen to the point she thought it might split open, it pressed hard against her eyeball, and it hurt to look around. The bed was stained by the frequent involuntary releases of her bladder. She could not move to go to the toilet because of the intense pain. Her mind focused on only one thing, she was getting out of her prison one way or another.
She mulled over what she would do as the door opened and the first guard came in. He stared at her with that wanton look depraved men like him give. His hand was on his baton, showing her he was the one in charge. He ran his finger across his mustache and smoothed the hair down to his sweating lip.
“Hey,” the cockeyed man said. He walked in holding a tray of food. “Larry, the doc wants this bitch to eat.”
Larry turned, glaring at the other guard. He shook his head. He said, “I don’t give a fuck if she starves.”
She looked at them, and the way they were standing. They had misplaced sense of pride and arrogance in themselves. She desired to kill them, to make them suffer as she had. But she lacked the amount of strength needed, and she would have to heal. Afterward, she could exact a proper and satisfying vengeance.
Flames and screams. All of them popping like insects in the fire.
“What?”
“I said I don’t give a fuck if she starves, Andy,” Larry said. He waved his hand in the air, dismissing the question. “This bitch can die for all I care.”
Andy shook his head as he placed the tray on the bedside table. He leaned down and looked at Angela’s face in revulsion. He pushed the tray closer to her and stepped to the window.
“You’d rather go back to that one-armed bitch in the basement?” He winked his splayed eye at Larry.
“Hell no.”
Angela looked at them as they discussed their views on which women were worthy of their perversions. The one with the cocked eyes named Andy had a gun hung on his belt. She wondered how many guards were armed, and how many rounds they had as a collective. She believed they did not have many and made due using the threat of them instead.
The doctor made his appearance, his loud heels reported his way up the hallway. Both of the guards moved back toward the wall, giving disappointed looks at each other.
“Here comes Doctor Demented,” Larry said.
Andy cackled as the doctor stepped into the room. Doctor Wilson looked at the laughing man. He flashed a truly piercing glare at him, and it was enough to gain silence.
“Mrs. Barker,” the doctor said. His voice rose higher so she could hear him. “How do you feel today?”
“Like she just got rammed,” Andy said.
He spoke louder than he had intended. It prompted Doctor Wilson to turn around and frown at the two men again. He stared at them for several seconds before he spoke.
“You would do well to remember your place,” he said. His voice was loud, pronounced, and angry. “You are to facilitate me in my researc
h. Without it, there can be no cure.”
Both men nodded their heads as he removed his glasses and sucked at them, working his tongue over the earpiece. He sat down on the empty bed across from Angela. He tapped the top of his head, lost in thought.
“Would either of you like to continue with the treatments?”
Both nodded their heads. He stood and walked to Angela, and held up her arm to inspect it. His fingers pushed at her sores, and her body flinched from the pain. Doctor Wilson checked her head. He opened his bag and pulled a tube of ointment from it, and dabbed it over her cuts. She did not resist his treatment of her wounds, the faster she healed, the faster she could escape.
“You may wonder how your friend is doing.” He wrapped fresh gauze around her wrists.
“Not really.”
“Not really, you say?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t care what happens to him. I never did. He means nothing to me.” She leaned her head back against the pillow. “I only care about what happens to me.”
Doctor Wilson secured the gauze and raised his eyebrows as he studied her face. He said, “You speak of self-preservation.”
“That is the only thing worth worrying about.” Angela nodded her head and smiled at the older man. “I’m not ashamed of that. Should I be?”
“No,” he said. “It is the natural inclination of humans. It is necessary for survival. It is nothing to feel guilty about. Man has been doing such for thousands of years. It is only reasonable that you would also, given the state the world is in.”
“Oh, I don’t think I made myself clear,” Angela said. “I have always felt that way. Even before the disease came. You see, men are simple creatures, lured into giving exactly what I want, when I want, and they don’t fully understand why. But they do it anyway. Every time. Every. Single. Time.” She winked at him. “How do you know I’m not manipulating you right now?”
“Because I am no fool,” Doctor Wilson said.
“That is what most men believe,” Angel said. She winked again. “But I prove them wrong with little effort.”
His face became flush, and he frowned at her. He gave a sharp exhale through his nose. Doctor Wilson leaned forward and pressed on her sides, which made her shout in pain. He nodded his head and cleaned the wounds of her face. She could feel the guards staring at her, openly laughing at her. The doctor pulled on his rubber gloves and lifted her gown up to examine her. She saw the guard named Larry lean over the doctor’s shoulder and make a disgusted look. He raised his hand to wave air from his wrinkled nose, pretending as if he smelled something foul. She did not respond to him, ignoring his antics, and waited for the doctor to finish.
He stood from her and tossed her gown back down. He pulled the gloves off and threw them in the upright garbage can. Again, he stood and studied the scene before him, trying to detect what was important about it. Angela noticed his long pausing stare. She tried to get his attention as she pushed herself up on the bed.
“What about my finger?” she asked. “Will it need to be put in a cast?”
He turned and focused on her, the puzzled look on his face faded as he lifted her hand up.
“No, it was not a bone fracture. I’m afraid it’ll have to heal on its own, much like that nose of yours.”
She nodded her head as he lowered her hand back to the bed. He pulled a syringe from his bag, removed the cap, and lifted it up to eye level to check the dosage.
“This,” he said. “Is a little of all, painkiller and treatment. I will come back tomorrow and check your progress.”
He shoved the needle into her arm, emptying it in a hurried manner. He packed the supplies back into his bag and nodded to the guards. They followed him from the room, but his abrupt stop at the door made them pause.
“Mrs. Barker,” he said. He looked out the doorway into the hall. “I know you are unconcerned for the man who kidnapped you. But, he is set to make a splendid recovery soon.” He glanced at her with his wicked grin and continued. “I do hope you will give him a second chance. He was a sick man, unknowing of his actions. I can, and will, completely cure him. In time you will see that to be true. Then we shall work on your particular problems.”
One loud step and he was beyond the door. The guards waited inside the room as he addressed them.
“Give her two hours to eat and let the medicine do its work. Then take her to the shower again. The hot water is good for the healing process. You may repeat the same motivation as the other night if you feel so inclined. But her wounds must remain clean. Is this understood?”
They both smiled and nodded their heads in unison again. He turned and let his heels proclaim his departure down the hall. Larry turned his head to give Angela a menacing grin. His lips pursed to blow her a kiss, and he walked from the room. The loud slam of the door sounded a warning.
Angela feared what was to happen when they got her back to the shower. She could not allow it to happen again. Her only choice was the broken needle and the small vial. The medicine in the doctor’s shot was having its effect on her. She knew her time was limited.
Angela pulled herself to the edge of the bed and tried to fight back any reflexive cry of pain. Tears formed and fell as she struggled to get to the floor. It was excruciating agony to bend down to the tile beneath her feet.
Her hands felt for the gap in the underside, she pulled the small bottle free. The needle was just beyond her reach, she could feel it, but could not grip it. Her mind became frantic, it was bad enough she was going to prematurely attempt to make her escape, it was worse to do so in a drug-induced stupor.
She lay on the floor weeping to herself, distraught at what it had all come down to. Cracked bones, a smashed face, cuts that lined her skin and a broken needle she could not reach. The thought of what was to happen within the next couple of hours was horrendous. Her mind glassed over, the morphine in the shot made her dazed.
In the back of her mind she knew, if she could not escape soon, she might never get out alive. The reality of winding up like the armless body, dragged face down beyond the metal doors, was as strong of a possibility as what was to happen when the guards returned. She reached back under and into the small gap between the metal and the plastic. Her finger was on the metal of it, but it was sitting long ways inside. It occurred to her to push her finger onto the metal tube. With some adjustment, she pushed until she felt the blunt needle jam inside her fingertip. She withdrew it with deliberate and slow movements. Angela grabbed the syringe and pulled it from her bleeding fingertip.
Her hands twitched with nervousness. She worked the dull metal tube into the black rubber cap, twisting it back and forth until it was through. She lifted the bottle, pulled the plunger back, and filled the syringe. The vial was drained in the process. Her shaking hands pulled the needle free and pushed the bottle back into the gap. There was a rush of relief seeing the full plastic tube.
Angela looked at the nearly flat across needle. It would have to work because she had no other choices left. She looked at her arm to find a vein. To her disappointment, she heard the tromping of the guards boots. They were early.
She lifted herself to the bed and pushed the syringe under the bandage on her left wrist. Her head rested back against the pillow at the same time the door opened. The one called Larry strolled in, kicked the bed to wake her, and leaned against the wall. His companion came right after him, his face blowing and reddened. His breath was heaving in his chest. They had run to her room, no doubt in a hurry to pleasure themselves using her body.
“Get up bitch,” Andy said. His throat bellowed out a deep laugh as he pointed to the doorway. “Got to go wash up now.”
Larry chuckled aloud, kicking at the bed again, his face a devilish grin. He pulled at his facial hair, stroking it down, licking his fingers to stroke it again. He grabbed her arm and snatched her up. His sour breath was on her face, and the strong odor of whiskey came off of him. He pulled her with a violent tug toward the door and shoved her into A
ndy’s open arms.
“Hello,” Andy said. He staggered backward a step as he held her around the waist. “You’re in a hurry. Ain’t ya, girl?”
She tried to balance herself from him, the numbness of her feet made it difficult to stand. Larry pulled her back by her hair, and she let out a yell. He gave her throat a hard squeeze with his right hand. It caused her to have a coughing fit, and she tried to grab his hand from her head.
“Come on.”
He pulled her backward until they were past the door and then he spun her into the wall. The impact of it, coupled with his body slamming into her, knocked the wind from her lungs. She tried to push away, but he continued to force her into the hard beige painted wall. Andy appeared beside him, laughing in her face. His breath reeked of sour whiskey also. They pushed her down the hallway, if she veered from the wall, they would force her back into it. Her hands stayed on the painted wall as she tried to hurry. The men were impatient, eager to assault her again.
Burning. Screaming. Blackened and dead.
She was in the shower room doorway before she realized it, and Larry nudged her forward with a kick to her bottom. She knew it was now or never. It was time to figure it out, decide what she would do. They pushed her into the room. Andy was already unbuttoning his pants.
“Hey,” Larry said. He cast a scowl at the other man. “I go first, remember?”
Andy shook his head in disbelief. He said, “I never agreed to that.”
The Wretched Page 27
