The Thriller Collection

by S W Vaughn

  “Slow down. You’ll give yourself cramps. That’s just what you need, on top of everything else.”

  Gabriel nodded and sipped at the water, feeling every drop glide down his parched throat to be absorbed by his shriveled stomach. After a minute, Doc rose and walked into the other room. He returned with a folding tray containing saltine crackers, a small cup of green gelatin and a plain white thermos.

  “I’ll leave you to your feast.” Doc smirked at him. “Sorry, kid, doctor’s orders. You have to wait at least a few hours before you can handle solid food. See if you can keep this down first.”

  “Great.” He grimaced at the tray. Doc stood and approached the curtained doorway, and he called after him, “Hey, Doc?”

  Doc turned and raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Thanks. Again.”

  Doc merely nodded and left, without letting him see his face.

  Chapter 13

  Days blended into weeks, and Gabriel’s existence settled into miserable routine. Each morning Slade came to his room with one of the awful protein shakes. He was escorted to Doc’s office afterward and left there for half an hour.

  Doc fussed over him ceaselessly. He changed bandages, slathered ointment, fed him vitamins and Tylenol and cigarettes — and provided the sole companionship he had in this place.

  When Slade returned to collect him, he was delivered to the basement, where Sol and Apollo waited. Training consisted of a grueling two- to three-hour regimen. Weightlifting, punching bag exercises — often without gloves — and sparring with Apollo in the makeshift ring.

  Gabriel’s strength and skill increased daily. He learned both the classic boxing strategies Sol taught him, and the dirty, underhanded tactics Apollo favored.

  They would break for lunch. A slender, flame-haired girl, who he eventually learned was called Rose, delivered a tray of food to the basement each afternoon. The brothers left him during this time, locked in the gym for an hour of solitude. On their return they put him through another round of training.

  He would be allowed to shower, after which Apollo shepherded him back to Doc’s office, where he stayed for nearly an hour. Most of these times Doc had a pot of coffee brewing. There was more bandage-changing and ointment application. They sat and talked over coffee and smokes, carefully avoiding subjects that caused them both pain. Finally, Slade would come to bring him upstairs and lock him in for the night. Gabriel’s exhausted body devoured sleep like a junkie in a crack factory.

  Each evening, he asked to see Lillith. Slade denied him every time.

  The unpleasant reason behind his extended night visits with Doc quickly became apparent. Every third day, in place of the second training session, Apollo tossed him into the dungeon. The tattoo bench remained, but the mirrors had been removed. In fact, every mirror in his limited range of existence was gone — from the locker room, the bathroom off the hotel’s lobby, even Doc’s patient washroom.

  Apparently, Jenner didn’t want him to see the results of their sessions.

  The lieutenant materialized exactly five minutes after Gabriel entered the dungeon, every time. From the first visit, Jenner made it clear he was to be in position when he arrived.

  That first session after the initial marathon also brought retribution for his flaring temper. Jenner continued the tattooing, but instead of clearing the excess ink with water, he used a cloth soaked in rubbing alcohol.

  Gabriel’s back burned for days afterward. He made no further attempts to resist.

  Worse than those agonizing sessions with the sadistic lieutenant were the beatings he suffered during his ‘sparring’ rounds with Apollo. Most of the time, Sol’s presence seemed to temper his brother’s rage. But one day, around two months into his captivity, he entered the training room and found Apollo waiting for him alone.

  “Sol’s fighting tonight.” A sickly-sweet grin split Apollo’s wide face. “So it’s just you an’ me, pretty boy.”

  He spoke without thinking. “Well, then. I guess we can rule out intelligent conversation.”

  Apollo’s features twisted with the rage of a gathering storm. “Get in the ring, smartass.”

  Gabriel took his time strolling across the floor to the far corner of the room, regretting his little outburst with every step. By the time he climbed onto the platform, his muscles quivered in anticipation of blows to come.

  The bigger man leapt neatly up and rushed him. He found himself flat on the floor, his head ringing from a powerful right hook. He shook himself, started to get up — and knuckles rammed the bridge of his nose with a sickening crunch.

  “Sud of a bidch!” He clamped a hand to his face, a futile attempt to stem the blood gushing from his nostrils. He gained his footing and wavered. “You broke my fuckid dose!”

  Apollo raised his clenched fist, lifted two fingers and grinned. A glint of metal shone there, nestled in his palm — an iron weight, small enough to conceal and heavy enough to devastate.

  The man was trying to kill him.

  His stomach contorted. Positive the thug wasn’t allowed to do this, he met Apollo’s eyes. “Fuck you,” he said, and walked away.

  He reached the edge of the platform before Apollo grabbed him by the hair and dragged him back.

  “Where d’ya think you’re goin’, boy?” The weighted fist plowed between his shoulder blades. His knees buckled, but Apollo maintained the grip on his hair as he went down. The giant circled him, wrenching his scalp, and drew him back up on his feet.

  “Today’s lesson is how to lose.” Three fierce jabs to his midsection left him gasping for breath. “Don’t worry—” wham! “—I’ll tell you when you’ve learned it.”

  Gabriel blacked out long before the blows stopped coming.

  From Slade’s office, Sol watched his brother’s vicious performance on the monitoring system with rage that his placid features did not betray. After the boy went down, he switched off the system and headed to the fight. Some part of him insisted Apollo pay for his overt, unnecessary cruelty — but not yet. Patience was a virtue.

  Jenner had taught him the lesson, and he had learned it well.

  Slade allowed Gabriel one whole day to recover from Apollo’s beating. The bastard hadn’t broken anything, but he still felt like he’d taken on a city bus and lost. On the way down to the morning session, he remembered with pathetic gratitude that he didn’t have to see Jenner that afternoon.

  He entered the training room to find Sol waiting for him. With Jenner. His hope for respite guttered and died.

  “Hello, angel.”

  Gabriel couldn’t return the greeting. Instead, he glanced around the room and muttered, “Where’s Apollo?”

  “He is otherwise engaged.”

  “Great. Does that mean you’re taking his place?” Bitterness laced his tone, and he surrendered to the inevitable pain.

  Sol stepped forward, exhibiting real emotion for the first time — fury.

  Gabriel drew back, startled. What had he done?

  Jenner placed a hand on Sol’s arm, and the trainer calmed instantly.

  “Do not be irritated with the boy, Sol. Concern yourself only with his body. His mind will require some time.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Gabriel shot back.

  “Control, angel. You lack it completely.” Jenner shook his head. “Your strength and your rage will take you only so far. Without control, you will fail.”

  He huffed. “I suppose you’re going to teach it to me.”

  “You are not ready to learn.”

  “I—” He stopped himself from insisting he was ready. It was another trick. Jenner trying to manipulate him into asking for pain.

  The lieutenant raised an eyebrow. “You what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “As I said. You are not ready.” Jenner glanced at Sol, nodded. “I will take my leave now.”

  “What, you aren’t going to stay and watch me suffer?”

  “No, angel. Not today.” A small smile lifted
one corner of his mouth. “After all, you are mine tomorrow. I am content to remain patient until then.”

  Bastard. Jenner’s quiet mockery only served to fuel his resolve. He almost looked forward to training today.

  Sol made an expectant sound, and Gabriel turned to face him.

  “One hundred push-ups.” Sol pointed to the mat.

  “But…”

  “Your arms are—”

  “No. They’re not broken.” He exhaled sharply and headed for the mat. For the moment, he wasn’t sure who he hated more.

  Chapter 14

  Gabriel’s body became conditioned to constant pain and stress. Long nights with nothing to do, no one to talk to, gave way to deep reflection. He paced his room or lay on his stomach on the floor next to his cot, a practice started after the first night he spent waking every time the rough canvas brushed the bruised skin of his back.

  He’d long since given up keeping track of days, and so had no clue how long it had been when one afternoon the dungeon yielded a chilling sight.

  The mirrors were back.

  He approached the bench on trembling legs. He had no desire to find out what Jenner had done to him. In fact, he’d extracted a promise from Doc not to talk about what he saw during the treatments. True to his word, the doctor never disclosed the secrets seared into his skin.

  Now he was only postponing the inevitable. Jenner wanted him to see. Therefore, he would. He climbed onto the bench, fit his head in the brace — and swallowed an anguished cry.

  Wings. The bastard had given him wings.

  The sleek black design spread in graceful, sweeping lines. It tapered gradually from the widest point across his shoulder blades to a gentle fringe at the base of his spine. Though more Eastern than angelic, the image couldn’t be mistaken for anything but what it was.

  The cruel taunts had been buried in the solid sea of ink, just as they were buried in his mind. Only one phrase remained, sprawled across the center of his back.

  GABRIEL JOSEPH MORGAN

  He didn’t look up when the door opened. Alternating waves of anger and humiliation consumed him, and he couldn’t trust himself not to act on his feelings. Instead, he gripped the handles beneath him until his hands burned with the effort.

  “Hello, angel.” Jenner’s haunting voice drifted through the room.

  He wouldn’t answer. His heart slammed his ribs, threatened to burst from his chest.

  Jenner approached him and stopped inches from his side. “Look at me.”

  Gabriel swallowed hard, raised his head, and met Jenner’s simmering gaze.

  “Beautiful, is it not?” Jenner skimmed a finger along the outlines of the black monstrosity. “You may have noticed that it is not quite finished.”

  He nodded, still unwilling to speak.

  “This is a momentous occasion.” Jenner was practically purring. A grin surfaced on his sallow face. “Today, you will be reborn.”

  “What?”

  “Gabriel Joseph Morgan entered this room, but he will never leave it. He dies here, now, on this bench.” Jenner paused, presumably to let his words sink in. “When you leave, you will be Angel.”

  “Like hell I will,” he blurted.

  “Oh, but you will. You have no choice. Of course, if you want to make things difficult for yourself, and your lovely sister…”

  His anger faded. His shoulders sagged, and he hung his head. “All right,” he whispered. “You win.”

  Jenner smirked. “Of course I do.”

  He lowered himself back down, and the lieutenant gathered his needles. The gloves snapped into place. The wheeled stool glided up beside him, and he forced himself to watch Jenner obliterate his name. Erase him, letter by letter.

  Eventually, the last ‘N’ disappeared. An arching line formed that licked beneath the right wing to complete the pattern. He focused on the mirror beneath him and shuddered at the sight of the stranger staring back.

  Angel.

  That night when he was returned to his room after his treatment with Doc, Slade entered and closed the door behind them. Exhausted, in physical and emotional agony, Gabriel’s mood did not endear him to deal with his captor.

  Slade said nothing at first. He looked around as if seeing the room for the first time, and settled for seating himself in the sole chair.

  Gabriel squatted on the floor, balanced on the balls of his feet with his arms resting on his thighs, and fixed his gaze on Slade with all the disgust he could summon.

  “I understand Jenner has finished your tattoo.”

  He nodded. His eyes didn’t leave Slade’s.

  “Don’t be so upset, boy. All my fighters are marked in some way, and all by Jenner.”

  Yeah, great. So he’d joined the club. But he was pretty damned sure that not all of them had their secret sins plastered across their backs.

  “Show me.”

  Gabriel rose slowly and turned away. Pulling his shirt over his head to expose his back proved excruciating, but he managed.

  Behind him, Slade drew a sharp breath. “Jenner’s really outdone himself this time,” he muttered. Footsteps crossed the floor, and Slade stood in front of him, searching his face. He bore the scrutiny unblinking, until Slade reached out and eased the shirt from his arms.

  “Why don’t you leave this off for now? It will only irritate you more.”

  “Fine.” Like he cared.

  The man held his hand out, a placatory gesture. “I stayed to tell you a few things. First, Sol and Apollo believe you’re ready to fight. I’ve entered you in a match that will take place one month from today, at my arena. Second, there are two rules in our fights, and they’re simple ones. Weapons are not allowed and you can’t kill your opponent. Other than that, anything goes.”

  Slade paused. “And finally, your schedule is to change starting today, so you’re on the same timeline as the rest of us. You won’t sleep tonight.”

  Gabriel glared at him. “How am I supposed to manage that?”

  “I don’t care. Twiddle your thumbs, shadowbox, bash your head against the wall if you want to, but stay awake. I’ll come back at dawn to check on you, and then — only then — you can sleep. Any more questions?”

  “Can I see Lillith?”

  “No. But you can talk to her.” He produced the omnipresent phone and dialed. “Get Lillith,” he said seconds later. He paused again, spoke sharply. “Lillith, someone would like a word with you.”

  Gabriel took the phone. “Lilly?” he half-whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  “Gabriel! Is that you?”

  Her voice soothed his shattered psyche, and he clung to the sound like a man drowning. “Yes.” He closed his eyes and folded his free arm across his stomach. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. What are they doing to you, Gabriel?”

  “Nothing. I’m okay.”

  “Oh, Gabe. I’m so sorry.” Her voice hitched.

  “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, I did. I shouldn’t have run—”

  “No.” He cut her off, and turned away so Slade couldn’t see his face. “No, Lilly, you didn’t. Don’t cry. I’m okay. Really.”

  She sniffled once. “Where are you?”

  “In the attic.” He uttered a harsh laugh, stopped himself.

  “The attic? I didn’t even know there was one here.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have a room.” Her voice grew quiet.

  “Okay. If they do anything to hurt you…”

  “No, Gabe. They haven’t hurt me, not at all.”

  Slade motioned for him to cut the conversation. “Lilly, I have to go,” he said. “I … I love you, sis.”

  Lillith drew a shuddering breath. Whatever she said next was lost to him when Slade jerked the phone from his hand and ended the call.

  “Satisfied?”

  Gabriel snorted and crossed his arms.

  “I’m leaving. I have a business to run. You know wha
t will happen if you defy me, so don’t go to sleep. Angel.”

  His jaw clenched, and he forced himself to stay in place. Slade left the room. The deadbolt lock slid into place with ringing finality.

  Alone, he pounded his frustrations out on the bag that hung from the ceiling, until his knuckles split and the blood ran down his hands. When he could no longer lift his arms, he fell to his knees and loosed an anguished scream.

  He would not become who they wanted him to be. Angel would never exist. He’d make sure of that.

  Chapter 15

  By the fourth night on his new schedule, Gabriel’s body had adjusted to rising long after the sun. His attic prison had no windows, so day and night made no difference to him anymore.

  With the end of his sessions with Jenner came an end to his formal training. He still spent five or six hours in the basement every night, conditioning himself to stay fit and focused. He had nothing better to do. One of the ever-present twin bodyguards would lurk, if not in the room with him, then just around the corner or outside the door.

  On the fifth night, he entered the training room after an hour with Doc and found a stranger.

  A muscular Hispanic man, around his age, stood at the far end of the room engaged in a bout with a bag. Bare-chested, shoeless, he wore only tight-fitting black pants, hand wraps, and a gray sweat-soaked headband. Slick black hair spiked over the band like burnt blades of grass. His face reflected intense concentration, and he pummeled the heavy vinyl with blows that echoed flatly through the room. The guy was completely focused, a state Gabriel had yet to achieve himself.

  The workout ended abruptly. The fighter stopped and lowered his arms, panting, and faced him with a wide grin that showcased a missing front tooth. “Hey. You must be the new guy,” he called as he advanced. He reached him and extended a wrapped hand. “I’m Lonzo. And you are?”