Escape

by Ray Weeks

  Bellini told me I should consider myself lucky. Because he shot my sons straight-out, you see. Sure, he terrorized them for a while first, pointed the gun at them asked them why did their daddy want them to die. But in the end, he just shot them both.

  But Shelly…

  Shelly was tortured to death. They broke her fingers, they tore her clothes off and put things in her until she bled. They beat her. They cut her.

  Your husband, madam. Your husband did this to my wife. He raped her. He abused her. He killed her. And everything he did to her, I will be doing to you. So that's something you have to look forward to.

  A monster, is that what you called me? Yes. I am a monster. Your husband made me into one. So when you're being slowly slaughtered, when you're crying and cursing, make sure you throw his name in there along with mine, okay?

  Oh, look at that. Looks like that's him calling right now. We'll answer that in just a few minutes.

  Okay, internet, here we are, me and my special hostages. These are the ones who aren't going to make it out of here. I didn't want to traumatize the other hostages, so I took them into the vault. There's a pile of explosives in there, too, so if you're the cops and you're thinking you might have a chance of saving them, think again. They won't be shielded by the walls of the vault—they will be trapped in with it. I'm still watching everything, and still broadcasting.

  I didn't want the others to have to see this, though. And internet people, you might want to look away, too. This is where it stops being cordial.

  Hello? Ah, hello, Victor! Victor, calm down—there's no need to talk like that. Isn't that what you said to me? "No need to be uncivilized about this—just business."

  So are you watching on the internet? Fuck me? Tell you what, you pile of shit, here's a way we can tell if you're watching. Might wanna cover your ears.

  Victor, are you still there?

  Don't worry, the internet—he's still there. Just crying and saying "mamma" over and over. I guess you are watching, you fat piece of scum. Don't cry, Vic—you got lucky. I was planning on kicking her to death. You're lucky I have a temper, otherwise her death wouldn't have gone nearly that quick. But your wife, your sisters, your children…

  Well, Vic, you'll get to see how well I can control my temper when I get to them. And you'll get to see how evil and psychotic I can be.

  Honestly, I'm kind of curious. I don't have any doubt that I can kill them—they're nothing more than cattle to me at this point, dehumanized and only good for proving a point. But I wonder if I can really do all the sick shit that you and your guy did to my wife.

  Oh, and tell that motherfucker he got real lucky. If I could have found out anything about him, I would have done his loved ones in even worse than I'm gonna do to yours. Tell you what—you come down in front of the bank with that evil fuck, and you chop off his head. You do that, I'll let your sisters go. Both of 'em.

  Your mom's already dead, your kids are goners, and your wife has a serious bit of hell lookin' her way before she checks out, but I don't give a rat's ass about your sisters. You bring Ralphie down here and kill him, I'll let 'em go.

  Yes, Vic, I realize you'd go to jail for killing a man right in front of the police. Your sisters aren't worth it? You're an old pro at staying out of jail. Look at it like this: either you'd do something that'd keep you out of jail—the insanity thing or whatever—or you'd end up going to jail. Look, Vicky, you owe society a little jail time. I mean, you're as crooked as a lightening bolt.

  So last chance—you gonna do it? And don't lie to me. If you lie to me, I'll cut out the eyeballs of your children and I will make your wife eat them. I shit you not, Vic.

  Three seconds to make a choice.

  No?

  All right, hang on a sec, I'm gonna put the phone down so I can carry the computer over here.

  So… you're Vic's sisters. I gave him the opportunity to save you. He decided against it, because he didn't want to go to jail. So here's what we're gonna do. Each of you tell me a story. About when you were kids. Growing up with Vic.

  Here's the thing—you're both gonna die.

  But you, what's your name? Sylvia. And you? Gloria. Okay, here's how it goes. Gloria, you tell the mushiest, heart-warmingest childhood story you can. Then Sylvia will do the same. And whoever's story touches me the most, I'll give a choice. Death by bullet or death by bat. A bullet will be fast and painless. The bat will be… well, it will be the opposite of that.

  Are you both ready?

  Those were both very good stories. I hope you listened to those stories, Vic, I hope you remembered right along with them. I hope you think about those wonderful memories while I destroy your sisters.

  Gloria, your story was great—I mean, these are real tears I'm cryin' here. But Sylvia's was a little better. So Sylvia—you want your sister to die by the bat or the bullet?

  See that Vic? Your sisters—not facing prison, but facing death—are still more noble than you. Sylvia chose the bullet for Gloria, which means that she—Sylvia—will be beaten to death with this bat.

  You could have stopped this, Victor Bellini. You brought this upon yourself and your family.

  Hahahahahahaha! Oh! Oh, dear lord, what have I done?! HahaHahahAhaha! Victor, your sisters are sticky when they leak. Or splatter, if you will. YOU DID THIS! YOU FUCK! YOU FUCKING SLIME!

  So… I'm back. I wondered earlier if I was ruthless enough and evil enough to do what Victor did to my wife. And the answer is no. Not yet. But I will be. Before this thing is over, I will be. Hey Vic, you still on the phone?

  Hang on a second there—I have to go shoot your sister. You listening, Vic, you hear her crying? You hear her begging?

  That wasn't nearly as hard as using the bat.

  We're two sisters and a mamma down, Vic. How you feelin'? Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! Is there any need for that kind of language? I know you're mad, Vic. I was mad, too. Hell, man, I'm still mad. This is what happens when you run around killing people. At some point, you have to expect retribution.

  Look—you should use this opportunity to think about how this can make you a batter businessman in the future. Better. Better businessman. And frankly, Vic, I think your skills as a mob boss are gonna absolutely skyrocket after this. I mean, everyone knows that you just sacrificed your sisters for your own well-being. Nobody wants to fuck with a guy who is that stone-cold. Plus, you won't have the wife nagging you, or the little boy hounding you to play catch or come to his flag football games. Or the little girl, asking you to come to her tea party.

  You won't have them running around hugging you, wrapping their little arms around your neck and giving you a huge wet kiss on the side of the face for no reason at all. You won't be distracted by their laughter floating through the house.

  Because they'll be dead, you know?

  Because I'm going to kill them. Hear that, kids? I'm going to kill you. Just like I did your aunts and your grandma. And your mom. Can you imagine that? Someone killing your mom?

  My boys couldn't. But you know what? Your daddy did it, and he made them watch. And then he shot them in the face. Your daddy, he laughed after he killed my youngest son, and he told me I was lucky.

  I'm going to kill your mommy. Because your daddy wanted me to. He asked me to do this. He made me do this.

  And do you know why?

  Because he doesn't love you.

  Look at 'em, Bellini. Your family. Taped mouths, so your wife can't even tell your little children that I'm an evil liar. That their daddy loves them. They don't want to believe, but they almost have to, at this point. I mean, why isn't their daddy saving them? He must want this to happen.

  I did my research, Vic. All my hemming and hawing, all my questions, "Who are you, oh, his sister Gloria?" All of that was bullshit. I know more about your family than you do, I bet.

  Vic Jr.? I've been to more of his Little League games than you have. Do you know his favorite flavor Sno-Cone? Tell me, Vic. Tell me, and I'll let him go, I swear to
you. You have three seconds, but only one guess.

  Cherry? Good heavens, Vic. Cherry? Really? People who like cherry Sno-Cones, your boy calls them fags.

  It's coconut. When I'm killing him, you can think about how much he loved coconut Sno-Cones after a game. If you need an image in your head, coconut Sno-Cones are blue, for some reason. So picture your boy, he's sitting there talking to the other kids about how his dad taught him to pitch, even though you're a shitty pitcher, Vic. Your boy, he doesn't realize that. He's telling them about how you taught him, he's eating his blue Sno-Cone, and even though you barely make any of his games, you're his hero, and he tells them about how great you are, because he loves you. He loves you a lot, Vic.

  That thing I told you to picture, about him telling his buddies how great you are, I'm not making that up, I saw that happen, he really does think you're the greatest. And right now, he's wondering why you won't save him. He's wondering if I'm telling the truth about you not loving him. He's crying and he's hating you, Vic, and that's how he's going to die. A lifetime of love, it's washed out in the final moments, erased by death.

  He's going to die hating you. Do you understand that?

  There, there, Vic. Calm down. Calm down. It's just business. You should consider yourself lucky that I just shot him straight out. Right? Lucky. Don't you feel lucky, Vic? I asked him, Vic, did you hear, or were you too busy screaming at me?

  I asked him why did his daddy want him to die. He just cried. My sons, at least they knew. Even as they died, they knew I would have done anything to save them, there was no doubt there. Did you see your boy, Victor? Did you see the question on his face? The doubt?

  I can barely hear you, Vic. Why don't I give you a few minutes to calm down, get your crying under control? We'll talk again soon.

  Hey again, the internet. Are any of you still watching? I hope not. The things I've been doing, it's sick, and any person who'd watch this has problems. I'm sorry for the cops, because they have to watch it. Nothing they can do.

  I just went back and checked on the hostages. They're all terrified, and I don't blame them a bit.

  Like I said earlier, I put them in the vault so they wouldn't see what I was doing, but they can still hear the screams. The gunshots. I'd shut the door—I'm pretty sure it's sound-proof—but I don't know enough about the vault to make sure they'd be able to get out again. I'd hate it if they ran out of air, or if it was a time-lock or whatever.

  If I had to do this all over again, I guess I'd take Victor's family into the vault and leave the hostages out here. A timed lock wouldn't matter to us, would it? We're not going anywhere, anyway.

  I don't even know what the other hostages thought when I went in to check on them. All covered in blood and brains and puke. I didn't think about that, really, about how sick all this would make me. But screw it, right?

  I reckon they still welcome you in Hell even if you've got a little vomit on your shirt.

  I'm almost done. Honestly, I didn't think I'd make it this far. I figured I'd break down, send the other hostages out, and just blow the building with us in it. Pushing a button, it doesn't even seem like that's murder. I'd still get revenge, but maybe I'd retain a bit of my humanity.

  That was what I thought as I made this plan: "You don't have to rape anyone, you don't have to shoot any children, you can just blow everyone up."

  How fucked up is that, that you're consoling yourself by telling yourself you only have to blow up the kids?

  I'm broken now, I broke the second I walked in and saw my family tied to kitchen chairs. Blood smeared on the wall next to the telephone. I guess my wife had run for the phone, and someone had smashed her face against the wall. That's theory, of course, because I never got to ask.

  I think about that smear on the wall a lot. Because that alone, hurting my wife, that would've have been enough to drive me to kill, I think. If I was in a bar and someone did that to her face, shoved her face into a wall, they'd have to pull me off of him.

  But things like that don't happen, not in real life. You stay out of the bars, you take your wife to Olive Garden, right? You live your life right, safe and sound, you don't have to worry about stuff like blood smears on walls.

  You don't have to wonder if you have the evil inside of you to cut a little girl apart. That was my plan, was to slice her until she bled out. This cute little girl behind me in the pink dress.

  Couldn't get any more cliché, right? Little pink dress, little pink ribbons holding her hair in pigtails. She's shit herself, and that's not too cliché, but I guess that's to be expected. She's only seven, after all.

  I'm not gonna cut her, Vic. I'm assuming you're still out there watching, I hear the cell phone ringing. I'll pick it up in a minute, we'll talk again.

  But right now, you listen, you piece of shit. I never wanted to be this, I never wanted to ponder on whether or not I could kill a little girl.

  You did this to me.

  I'm doing it. I'm an evil man. I'll take that blame. I'll take the responsibility for the things I've done today. But I was never this, not until you killed my family. I never had the need to be a monster, Victor.

  I wanted to be the good guy. I was the good guy.

  I'm not anymore. But I'm not going to slice your daughter apart.

  Lucky, right? Victor, shut the fuck up! Answer me, you fuck! You feel lucky? A gunshot to the side of the head, quick and easy. Just business, right Victor? And she didn't even have to suffer, you should consider yourself lucky.

  Oh, Vic. You can yell and curse and cry all you want. It's like music to me, you piece of shit. And behind every sob, I hear your laughter, I hear you laughing as you took everything from me. As you slapped my wife in the face while that other piece of shit-

  What's this? Hey Vic, you watching TV? A car just pulled up and tossed out the body of Ralph Gomez. It took off again, the cops didn't even have a chance to see who it was.

  Don't suppose you'd know anything about that, would you, Vic?

  Sorry—too little too late.

  No, I understand that it took time to track him down. But you should have said, Vic. You should have said you were looking for him, that you'd deliver him. Instead, what did you do? You called me names and you told me you'd kill me, and you acted tough.

  You're not tough this time, Victor. You have no power in this situation. You can throw decapitated bodies out in front of the bank until you're blue in the face, and it makes no difference to me. Not now.

  There's no one important to me in the world, don't you understand that? You took everything from me. Everything. Yeah, yeah, you have your people look, you pile of shit.

  No, fuck you!

  Your guys, they won't find anything!

  There is nothing you can threaten me with, not anymore.

  But you, you still have this!

  The two of you met, what, in high school? She was a junior you were a senior? You've had your girls on the side, and she's had her guys on the side, but one thing I learned is that the two of you really are in love. What? Yeah, she's been fucking other guys, Vic. Get over it. That? That's the thing sticking in your craw right now? I'm going to rape her in a moment, does that make you feel better? No? I didn't think it would. Now shut up.

  I've been watching you, Victor. I know I just seem like a regular guy, but you have no idea how good a regular guy can get at things when he's obsessed. I've been watching you every day for months.

  At your home. While you laughed with your wife and played with your children. I've seen you as the man you really are.

  And you know what, Vic?

  You don't seem like such a bad guy. You seem a bit like me. Joking with your wife, slapping her playfully on the bottom when she walks by, kissing her neck when you make love to her.

  That's how I was able to do this, Victor. That's how I was able to force myself to go through with what I have gone through.

  If you were just some heartless beast who caused destruction everywhere you went, mayb
e I wouldn't have had to do this. If you went home and screamed at your children and beat your wife.

  If you hated everything in life.

  But you didn't. You went home to your family, and you loved them

  You knew exactly what you were taking away from me Victor. You knew exactly what you were taking away. And you laughed as you did it.

  That's why, you piece of shit. That's why.

  I'm putting the phone down now, Vic. You looking at the computer? Look at your computer.

  All these things over here, I'm gonna use them on your wife. The police kept the exact ones that you used on my Shelly, but I remembered each and every instrument. I remember exactly what brand of spatula you used. I remember what speed you had the mixer on as she screamed.

  I remember the sound of her fingers breaking, I remember the sound of her flesh tearing.

  I remember.

  And you will, too.

  This is a dead-man's switch. You've probably seen stuff like this in movies. I had to make my own, because it's not one of those things that they readily sell to the general population.

  I haven't activated it yet, because I want to make sure all the hostages get out safe, first.

  After I finished with Vic's wife, I hung up on him and then smashed the cell phone under my foot so it'd stop ringing. I don't need to hear from him anymore—it's all just crying and screaming and threats.

  I don't blame him a bit, either. That's exactly how I felt after he did the things he did.

  I also swore revenge. If you're still out there watching, Vic, don't worry about doing that swearing revenge thing. There's nothing you can do to hurt me, not anymore. You won't even get the satisfaction of killing me. The hostages are almost out—here, let me turn this web-cam thing around so you can see them filing out—and once they are, I'm activating this switch and then blowing everything.

  I was originally going to shoot myself, but during the course of all this, I realized that isn't sure enough. I might not do it right. I might end up living.