The Six: Complete Series

by E. C. Richard

  Jameson was an excellent guinea pig. He squirmed and fought at every turn. When confronted with his misdeeds he sneered and denied every charge. Every curse word under the sun was thrown at David but he didn’t care. There was a man sitting outside of Jameson’s house with a sniper rifle in the passenger seat. If he so much as tried to escape, every one of his three kids and his beautiful wife would be murdered.

  That shut him up.

  They kept Jameson around for almost four months. He was a good little worker. The private investigator came with a running list of people who were deserving of punishment. They sent the little soldier out to hit a lying cheating tennis player and attack a man who’d raped four girls at the local college but had somehow slipped out of the charge through a technicality.

  Jameson had grown weak by the end of the four months. He came in with a swagger and bulk and he walked out the door thirty pounds lighter and with a skittish look in his eye.

  He’d let the man go. That was his first mistake. There was still the ever-present threat of a bloodbath in his living room but that was no guarantee that Jameson wouldn’t need to tell someone where he’d been. What reason would he have for his disappearance?

  Thankfully, the story never was linked back to David, but the anxiety that arose from the lack of security and control was incapacitating. He had a few millions in the bank and nowhere to spend it. He paid off a few scientists and a surgeon to devise the heart device. It took months but what they came up with was a marvel to be seen. As they explained what kind of power he had over these people he felt his heart pitter-patter joyfully in his chest. It wasn’t a complex surgery and left minimal scarring so the work could be done fast and they could be put in the field tout suite. He loved the simplicity of stopping a man’s heart from across the room. There was no second chance once that button was pressed.

  “Um, dad?” Milo said.

  As they got to the fence the car screeched to a halt. The entire chain-link had been replaced with a cement wall that went up six feet. It was almost a foot thick and freshly painted. How could he have not noticed?

  “Should I keep going?” Milo asked.

  David’s mind raced to find a detour. There was always the choice to jump out and scale the fence but then they’d be on foot. He flirted with the idea of taking a hard right and driving the car straight into the neighbors’ yards and run parallel to the cops until they’d cleared. However he knew of at least two pools and three large redwoods that would make that plan fail before he got far enough to make a difference.

  “We have to go back,” David said. Once they were back inside he could formulate something but they needed the security of the house, at least for as long as it was standing.

  After the device was perfected, he was able to get a small group to start outsourcing the jobs at a quicker pace. There were three investigators working exclusively for him digging up dirt and hiring their own sleazy middlemen to get the prisoners. Six always seemed like a good number. It was just enough to keep a steady stream but just too many to create a harmonious team. Inevitably factions broke out and they never become organized enough to plot an escape. Sticking Milo in as a ringer became a necessity when the four remaining started picking the lock and nearly got out. Milo kept them in check and was able to alert David if anything screwy was going on downstairs.

  Even with the trail of blood behind him, he didn’t regret a thing. These people deserved what they got. And if they didn’t deserve it, they symbolized something that needed attention. A little tragedy goes a long way to starting a dialogue about change. In his own way he was saving the world from itself. Sometimes something needs to be burned to the ground and smolder in ash before it can be rebuilt. His six prisoners were constantly setting fires to what needed attention and the building process had already begun.

  Milo put the car in reverse and skidded it back inside the garage.

  Another blast went off above them as he put it into park. Small bits of the ceiling crumbled and fell to the ground. There wasn’t much time.

  They looked terrible.

  It took Kyle a few minutes to get his bearings straight before he could take in where he’d been placed. All of it felt like a dream that he simply couldn’t wake up from. Dennis DiMarco lay ten feet in front of him and he was right. Hannah was right. All he could do was hope that she had gotten his message.

  “So, they’re coming?” Marie asked.

  Kyle had told them everything he knew. He told them about Lila’s note and how Hannah had taken it to the police after Lila was found dead. He told them about the vice-president and the shooting which made Benjamin squirm in the corner but there was really no judgment in the room except from Kyle. The others took it in neutrally, simply nodding and moving on at the word that the man in their presence had murdered an elected official. He moved on to the photograph of the guard and the car and how he’d texted Hannah all the information.

  “I hope so. I never heard back from her,” he said.

  Dennis had been able to prop himself up against the wall with the great support of Simon who held him upright. It had been shocking to see Dennis the way he was in this room. The man from the baseball cards was muscular and full of energy and vigor. The Dennis here was pale and trembling. He had a large bandage covering his entire torso that was crimson from blood and he coughed and sputtered with every word. The light in his eyes dimmed with each passing second.

  “Was I on the news?” Dennis asked.

  He didn’t know whether to break the news now or risk him finding out later, if they ever got rescued. “Well the story was on that night...”

  Dennis started to talk but the words got lodged in his throat he choked on their syllables. Simon rubbed his back as he wheezed a rattling breath. He pointed at himself, desperate to get the real answer.

  “Yes,” Kyle said. “You were.”

  His eyes fell. There was no use telling him the extent of the coverage. It would only upset him more.

  Just as the uncomfortable silence threatened to burst the door from its hinges, a boom rang out from above them. The ceiling shook and bits of concrete fell to the ground.

  “What was that?” Kyle asked.

  Simon, his hands still wrapped tight around Dennis’ body looked up at the small cracks that formed above them. “That was different. That’s never happened before.”

  Marie walked to the middle of the room and examined the new damage. She placed her hand up as high as it would reach and pulled it back down with confusion. “It’s hot. The ceiling’s hot.”

  “Shit,” Kyle said. He knew what that meant and he knew they didn’t have a lot of time. He raced over to the door and pounded on it hard with an open hand.

  “What?” Simon said. “What is it?”

  Kyle pulled at the edges of the door but they weren’t budging. It was sealed shut and he could see all the locks that sealed them into the room. “It’s hot because it’s on fire. The floor above us is on fire.”

  Simon’s eyes doubled in size. “What?” he said with a trembling voice.

  “We have to get out of here,” Kyle said. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  Irene woke up in a puddle of sweat and the bag that had been over her head had fallen off and lay at her side. It was cozy at first, like she’d fallen asleep in front of a roaring fire. It took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t a fireplace but the floor in front of her smoldering with a growing flame.

  “David?” she shouted. Immediately she felt like an idiot. Why would he be here? He’d trapped her in this room and left to her to die alone. The betrayal quickly changed to panic as she pulled hard at the handcuffs.

  There wasn’t a lot of time and she knew that panicking was useless. It was so important to stay focused and find a way out of his office before the flames engulfed the rest of the room.

  She pulled at her right hand which was the one in the cuffs with the other side being looped tightly around a stubby pipe that connected to the leg of
his 2000 pound maple desk. There was no way that she could lift the desk, especially not after the concoction that he’d injected into her.

  The only solution was to pick the lock. She’d seen it on TV but never done it in real life. Her hair was down so there were no bobby pins. Frantically she groped the top of his desk blindly with the hope of finding something that would work.

  A pen. A stapler. Papers.

  “Please,” she cried as she flung her hand from side to side. Just as she was about to give up her quest, she felt the warm metal of a paper clip on the edge of the table. With a little twist of her fingers she was able to fling it down to the floor.

  It sat and glimmered against the flames that licked the wall and shone on the metal. Pressing the clip against her leg, she unbent the labyrinth of aluminum and straightened it out to a point. She bent her arm straight across her chest and stabbed the small circular opening that sat flush against her wrist where she would normally place the key.

  She jiggled and jabbed it into the hole and waited for a click or a snap that would free her from the table leg. “C’mon,” she muttered. “Just work. Please, just work.” Her words escalated in desperation with every second. As she rocked the metal back and forth her hands began to sweat and the paperclip threatened to slip out of her fingers.

  As she rattled it one more time she felt something move against her wrist. Irene wriggled her thumb and pulled at the cuff. It moved and fell off from her arm. She tossed it to the ground and leapt to her feet. It took a moment to regain her footing. The room was heating up fast and the smoke began to filter over to her side of the room.

  There was no use in calling for help. David was clearly long gone by now in one of his many his ridiculous cars with Milo in tow. She was on her own.

  Irene ran to the door that led to the main staircase. As she reached for the doorknob it was warm, not boiling hot, but definitely warm. She pulled down the sleeve of her sweater and looped it over her hand as a makeshift mitten. The door opened but she could feel the heat behind it. The hallway was on fire.

  Irene peered quickly behind the door. The entire hall was filled with a thin layer of smoke. The fire was coming from “Milo’s” bedroom which sat next to David’s office. The flames licked the door and crept down the wall and bled onto the rug. If she was going to get out of here, it was going to be now. There wasn’t much time. She held her hand in front of her face to block out the rush of scalding air that blasted her face as she tried to walk out.

  The heat was nearly unbearable. Irene got on all fours and began to crawl towards the stairs twenty feet away. Through all the smoke she could hardly see the handrails. As she slowly neared the staircase there was a boom that shook the floor beneath her. She gripped the rug in a fruitless attempt to feel stable. The blast wasn’t near her, at least as far she could tell. What she could feel was a sudden scalding sensation on her back.

  She wrenched her arm back and flicked away the piece of burning wallpaper that had fallen from the wall and landed on her blouse. It had burnt a hole in her shirt and the skin below stung, especially in the smoky air. David had more blasts to set off and they would eventually bring the structure down. She needed to get outside before she went down with the building.

  The wood was slick and scalding to the touch and the staircase was shaded in a heavy cloud of black smoke. Crawling on her hands and knees would just elongate the process. Irene took in one long deep breath and stood up straight. With the chemicals burning her eyes with every passing moment, she reached for the smoldering handrail and hopped down the stairs, careful to avoid the small patches of fire that popped up every few feet.

  The front door was just twenty feet away. Through the haze she could see it. Freedom from the suffocating air was so close. It wasn’t until she hit the bottom of the stairs that a flash of faces flitted across her face.

  Dennis.

  Marie.

  Simon.

  Benjamin.

  They were all still down there.

  They’d be trapped if she didn’t let them out.

  The door was right there. Irene reached out for its handle. She could let them go down with the house and preserve their dignities. How were they supposed to go back to society after what they’d done? They’d all be charged with murder. It would be just another jail sentence.

  No Irene, she said to herself, you’re not David.

  There wasn’t much time.

  She had to set them free.

  David pulled open the door of the car as Milo parked. The garage was sealed tight but the smoke from the upper floors was still butting up against the door and small wisps of grey mist entered the room.

  “What are we going to do?” Milo asked.

  They would need to go on foot. There was no clear driving route out of the house. The police were in the front and there was no side route. “Grab your bags. We need to go out the hatch.”

  Milo looked at him with a furrowed brow. “Won’t they be there?”

  David shook his head. “Even if they are. We don’t have many other options right now.”

  “What about the bikes? We could sneak out the front with them.”

  “No. They’ll see use.”

  Milo pointed desperately at the pair of Harley’s in the corner. “But they’re right there.”

  Bringing him had been a mistake. David couldn’t stop himself from slapping the boy in the face. Milo’s face whipped back and snapped into place. “We’re walking out, you understand?” David said.

  Milo simply nodded. The boy never had much of a backbone. He was all puppy dog loyalty and ignorance which made him the perfect ally.

  The garage stretched much of the way under the house and butted up against the prisoner’s room. He’d made a pair of exits out in case Eduardo or one of the others needed fresh air or a quick undetected entrance.

  “Out the back,” he said. “The green door.”

  Another muffled blast went out above them. It must have been the one in Irene’s room, hidden under her bed. The one that would take out the garage ceiling was not far behind.

  Robby had been the only child he’d had with his ex-wife. She’d been his make-up artist on the show for two years before they began dating. It was a short courtship, if you could call it that. Three months after their first date she announced that she was pregnant. David had been thrilled about the kid. He was thirty-seven and he figured this was his last chance to have a family. For the whole pregnancy he’d been uber-dad: taking trips to Target to get clothes, spending Super Bowl Sunday putting together a crib, and hiring a small army to make sure the whole set was baby-proofed.

  But when the baby came, their relationship took a turn. His wife became someone he didn’t recognize. Gone was the cheery flexible party chick he’d fallen in love with. Now, she was constantly angry and annoyed and didn’t let him so much as touch the baby. He’d have to sneak into Robby’s room when his wife was asleep in order to give him a cuddle.

  That’s when he double-downed on work. He bumped the production to six shows a week which kept him and his staff at the studio for 60+ hours. People quit left and right and by the time Robby’s first birthday came around the staff was down to a fourth of what it used to be.

  Divorce was inevitable. He wasn’t surprised when she told him that she’d hired a lawyer. One day he had a home and the next she’d demanded he get out and into his own apartment. Robby was only four and she made a point of fighting in front of him to get the kid on her side.

  For the longest time it worked. His custody was cut down in leaps and bounds during the first five years. At first he had better lawyers and got Robby on the weekends and after-school twice a week. When he seemed to favor his dad’s souped up apartment and big-screen TV over his mom’s endless series of rules and demands, his ex-wife put a second mortgage on the house and got the best lawyer she could find. He saw Robby less and less each month until he was given one supervised visit a month.

  After all that, he wasn
’t surprised that the kid called him up. He heard his ex scream in the background as they spoke. By the time Robby called David hadn’t spoken to his son for more than a few minutes in three years. Robby’s voice had deepened and he hardly recognized his own son. They talked about the boy leaving and coming to live with him. Robby said that he couldn’t stand it anymore and he wanted out.

  He was just twelve but he heard all he needed to hear. There was a cold calculation to his boy that was just what he needed. The people he kept after Jameson were sneaky and tried to get out. Robby would keep them quiet and complacent without guilt or shame.

  It didn’t take long to convince his ex-wife to arrange a quick visit. Within a few days she drove the boy to David’s apartment with enough clothes to last the weekend. Robby got out of the car without looking back at his mother.

  That was the last time he’d ever see her and it still didn’t bother him that he didn’t say goodbye. When David chose the new guy, a serial domestic abuser from San Francisco, and gave him the job of burning his ex-wife’s house down, Robby didn’t bat an eye. He sat quietly in the basement and never said a word about it. Once he became Milo, his basement dwelling character, he lost touch with the world he used to know. He was more soldier than son at this point.

  “They’ll see us,” Milo said.

  David grabbed his son by the arm. “We don’t have a choice. Run.”

  They raced to the green door which would take them out to the side yard. If the police were distracted by the house and not the perimeter they could sneak to the neighbor’s yard and make a break that way. He wasn’t happy with the plan but in another five minutes there wouldn’t be any home to hide in. If they wanted to survive this was the only choice. A cab ride to the airport would get them to Paris where he had a small home where they could start over.