Into The Fire jb-4

by David Wiltse

  "I can't wait," Aural said, turning to get out, but the man opened her door at the same time and grabbed her hand in his. Distracted as she was, she wasn't aware that he was handcuffing her until the metal clamps were already on her wrists, and when she opened her mouth to speak he slapped a piece of tape across it.

  "Fast service, no waiting," he said, giggling. He slammed the door and ran to the driver's side. Aural reached her cuffed hands to open the door but found that there was no handle on the inside. Well, damn, she thought. Who would have dreamed that Harold Kershaw was bright enough to hire an accomplice? She watched Harold pounding inexorably towards them, but then, when he was within a few yards, amazingly, the man started the car and drove away. Harold pounded the car's trunk once with his fist, but that was as close as he got. Aural squirmed to watch him recede in the back window, then turned to take a good look at the driver for the first time.

  He glanced at her as he spoke, keeping most of his attention on the road.

  "I was wondering how I was going to get you alone," he said. "I knew I didn't dare come into that trailer full of women. You can't be overeager, you have to restrain yourself and be careful, no matter what, otherwise… well, you just have to be careful. But you learn that. You naturally get better as you go along. Anyway, I was thinking and thinking, how am I going to do this safely when all of a sudden, there you were. Do you think Jesus sent you to me? I believe maybe he did, I believe he watches over me. Of course, I'm sure he watches over you, too, given your line of work, I mean. I'm certain that you have a good relationship with your Lord, don't you, Miss Aural? Well, that means Jesus wanted us to get together for your sake as well as mine. I think that means we're going to have a real good time together, don't you? I know I will.

  Together, we're going to be fulfilling your destiny.

  That's a nice thought, isn't it? You're only a part of my destiny, of course, but I am yours. I'm what Jesus has in mind for you… I'll make it real good for you, I promise you that. Ooh, but it's been a long time. I got such an awful lot to make up for."

  He turned away from the road again and smiled broadly at her.

  "This going to befun, hon," he said. When he giggled, Aural lmew that she was in terrible trouble.

  "Good thing you're so petite," Swann said. "This is a very tight squeeze." He paused to catch his breath. The rope around his waist bit into his skin and he wriggled back towards her to ease up on the tension. Aural was zippered into a leather sack designed to encase golf bags and a full set of clubs for shipping, and the rope was tied around her feet. He had carefully selected the leather be cause it would slide better than the nylon sacks and it offered a measure of cushioning. Swann had added to the protection by slipping two pillows under her head before beginning to drag her. He didn't want her to get a bump and fall unconscious. The whole thing was that she knew what was happening to her.

  'Course, if you was one of those chunky girls, I wouldn't have wanted you in the first place," he said. He knew she could hear him even if she couldn't see. "I like a slim girl, one with a shape, but not pudgy, you know?

  I believe that a slim girl feels things more intensely, don't you? All that extra padding of fat can seriously decrease your sensations, don't you think?"

  Aural made a noise, but the tape over her mouth made her unintelligible and Swann had long since given up trying to decipher her sounds. He knew the general sense of them anyway. He turned to face the way he was going once again. The light on his hard hat illuminated his path for only a few yards before it was swallowed up again by the darkness. Still breathing heavily, he began to crawl forward again, feeling the golf sack catch and then slide after him. The leather had cost more but it was definitely worth it.

  Aural could hear him panting and tried to imagine him trudging along, dragging her. It must be uphill, judging by his difficulty, although she had no sense of being tilted.

  She had no sense of where she was at all, hadn't known since he pushed her into the bag. Disoriented as well as terrified at first, she knew only that she had been dragged for a long time, then lowered with what she assumed was rope around her upper body as well as her feet, then dragged again, this time over considerably bumpier terrain.

  He was working hard to get her wherever they were going. Always nice to be wanted, she thought, then realized that her sense of humor was returning. Whatever lay ahead of her, she knew that fear and confusion were not going to help her survive it. Being afraid had never done her any good in her life, but, staying calm had saved her neck more than once. The best way she knew to stay calm was to cling to her sense of humor. In this case, that might mean hanging on to it for dear life.

  They were still for the longest time; and yet Aural imagined him lying down, panting and wheezing as if he'd run a few miles, but then she realized she couldn't hear him breathing. What if the asshole had died from the exertion? What if she were to be left in this bag, gagged and handcuffed, while her captor lay dead beside her?

  Where in hell were they? How long before someone found them? Would someone find them?

  She wanted to cry out, but a calmer part of her remained in control. She would only waste energy now; she would save her scream until she needed it.

  Something fumbled with the sack over her face, then the zipper began its lovely zip. He wasn't dead after all, and Aural felt a confusing flood of relief.

  "Boy, am I glad to see you," she said, sitting up as soon as the opening was large enough to allow it.

  In truth, she couldn't see much of anything at first; the light was too bright after so long in the total darkness of the bag; but she could make out his shape, kneeling next to her. She squinted while trying to look around to see where she was. There was an odd hissing sound coming from behind him. It sounded like a concert of snakes.

  "You like it?" he asked.

  "Well, I'm not sure how I feel about it yet," she said.

  "But whatever it is, it beats the bag."

  He giggled, surprised and pleased.

  "You a talker, ain't you?"

  "There are very few things in life that aren't improved by a little conversation," Aural said, her eyes still scanning the area, trying to figure things out. Shapes were beginning to take form, but they were all odd and unfamiliar.

  "You're not afraid?"

  "No, I'm not afraid," Aural lied. "Mostly I feel a little cramped from the bag. Say, listen, you're not afraid, are you? Because if you are, I say let's call this whole thing off."

  "You're funny," he said. "I like that. You're lying to me, too, but that's all right. I understand that. Before we're through, you'll say anything you can think of."

  "Now there's a prospect," said Aural. "The man wants me to lie to him.

  All men do, 'course, but you're the first one who ever admitted it.

  Don't tell me you're an honest man.' "I'll be very honest with you," he said. "I don't have any reason to lie to you."

  Aural looked upwards. She could see no ceiling, only darkness that extended beyond the light.

  "So how about I stand and stretch? That be all right with you?"

  "Sure," he said. "Why not? You're not going anywhere."

  She came to her feet awkwardly because of her handcuffed wrists. She arched her back, rolling her head on her shoulders to loosen the muscles and taking the opportunity to examine even more of her situation.

  "Cold in here, isn't it?" She had just noticed the chill.

  The air felt as if it were above freezing, but not much.

  "How about turning up the heat?"

  "I'll warm you up before long," he said.

  "I look forward to that."

  "I know you're scared," he said. Aural thought he sounded disappointed, as if being scared were part of the deal. Whatever it was, she wasn't going to give it to him.

  If she admitted to the fear, she knew it could quickly overwhelm her.

  "Why would I be scared?" she asked. "You didn't bring me all this way to hurt me.".He gave that gigg
le that was colder than the air.

  "Yes, I did," he said.

  "Uh-oh," she said, grinning at him, right into his face, showing him he didn't bother her. "Sounds like another Danny Leeps."

  "Who's that?"

  "An old boyfriend. Danny liked to hurt me, too. He wasn't near as cute as you, but otherwise you're just like him."

  "I'm not like anybody else!" He was so enraged at the suggestion that Aural thought he might hit her. She readied to duck under the blow and then to push against him and knock him off balance. She could try to run if she had any idea which way to run.

  He didn't hit her, though. Instead he bent down to the leather sack and rummaged around, allowing Aural to see the light source for the first time. It was a camper's Coleman lantern, and the hissing sound emanated directly from it. She thought of kicking him while he was bent over, then smashing the lantern and taking her chances in the dark, but she realized that she had no chances until she at least figured out where she was and how to get out of there.

  He stood up from the sack, holding what looked like a larger, oddly shaped pair of handcuffs.

  "I like your hat, by the way," she said.

  Swann reached up to touch the hard plastic shell on his head as if just noticing, and at the same time Aural realized with horror what it was, and why. She was underground.

  Swann noticed the change in her expression immediately and a slow smile of satisfaction suffused his countenance.

  "You just figure it out, honey?"

  "Guess you wanted us to be alone," Aural said.

  "That's right."

  "A motel room would have been easier," she said. She tried to grin but her face felt stiff with fear.

  "You remember when Jesus wanted to be alone, where he went? He didn't go to a motel. He went to the wilderness."

  "When was this?"

  "To the mountains and the desert. And he wrestled with Satan and all?

  The devil tempted him, remember?

  Well, you and me have to wrestle with Satan, too. We have our own temptation. 'Course I tend to give in to mine, but Jesus understands and forgives. But there just isn't that much wilderness around anymore, is there? It's not like we have a desert place where we could be alone as long as we want."

  "How long you figure that is? Just ballpark."

  "That depends on you, doesn't it? I can take it as long as you can.

  Turn around."

  Swann slapped the odd-looking handcuffs on her ankles. As she felt the iron tighten on her boot, Aural remembered the knife for the first time.

  There was nothing to do with it now, not trussed hand and foot, but the time would come. She suddenly felt much better.

  "I got other supplies to fetch," he said. "You just stay here and pray.

  And think about your Danny Leeps. Think about if he ever went to this much trouble for you."

  He snapped on the light on his hat and extinguished the lantern and put it in the golf sack. The headlight beam struck her right in the face.

  "You're not going to just leave me here, are you?"

  "When I get back we can pray together," he said.

  "How long you going to be?"

  "Time is relative," he said. "It's going to seem like a very long time to you."

  "Well, you hurry on back, then, sugar, 'cause I'm going to miss you."

  "I know that," he said. He turned from her and walked away. The beam from his hat had a peculiar yellow color to it and when it struck the wall it reflected back as if from gold. Aural could make out the rock of her prison for the first time.

  The light dipped down until it was almost to the floor of the room. She could no longer see Swann himself, only a vague shape interfering with the reflected glow.

  "Y'all have a safe trip now," Aural called.

  "You better hope," he said and the light disappeared as if it had gone straight into the wall of rock.

  His voice continued to echo for a moment or two, and Aural realized that wherever she was, room, or dungeon or cavern, it was vast. For a minute she could hear the scrape of his boots against stone, and then even that sound was gone and she was alone in the darkness.

  Not yet-don't scream yet, she told herself Save it.

  Swann was startled to see how light it had become. It was nearly noon by the time he saw the sun again and it shone with a brightness that he had forgotten while maneuvering with only the feeble light of the headlamp.

  In fact, he realized he had never really gotten used to the sun, the wind, the scent of fresh air since getting out of Springville. Prison was like living in a tomb, and no amount of time spent in the exercise yard could dispel the sense of permanent gloom that pervaded the mind of a prisoner.

  That gloom was not just a matter of light, of course-at times it was entirely too brightly lighted inside. It was a matter of internal vision. If one's eyes could see no farther than the nearest wall, it was not long before the mind could not think past it either. The romantic notion that confinement would release the imagination to soar was nonsense, Swann thought. It cramped and stifled the mind just as it did the body. Most of the men in prison could not hold a sustained thought about anything outside the walls; their minds were mired in the quotidian concerns of survival, cellblock politics, manipulation, fear.

  Television and radio were not links with the outside world, they were artifacts from a civilization light-years away, one that died when the prisoner entered the walls. Books, with their visions of alternate universes, were as alien as Runic tablets. Decipherable, but irrelevant to the life of those who read them. Life in prison was the prison and the role that a man had to play to survive became the man, the man became the role. After a time there was no difference.

  Now, however, Swann could shed his role at last. As he walked to the car he realized that he felt truly himself for the first time since getting out. He was no longer anybody's punk, whore, and wife. He was no longer servant, slave, craven. He was in control, he was in control. There was no limit to what he could do now, provided he exercised reasonable caution. His only limit was his imagination, and in the real world his imagination flourished.

  He knew that he was unique in the thoughts that possessed him, he always had been, since childhood, and he had learned early to keep them to himself. They were his treasures that no one else could understand, even though they coveted them. That was the ironic part: they did not approve of his thoughts, he knew that, they thought they were ugly, nasty, shameful, yet they all wanted to take his treasures away. Swann would not let them have his treasures. He clung to them, nurtured them, and kept them carefully hidden from view.

  It was at times a burden never to be able to speak of his most prized possessions. There were occasions when he was tempted to share them, when a fantasy had been so real, so enticing, so filled with excitement and pleasure that he wanted to grab a stranger, anyone, and tell them what a joy he had in his own mind. He could not, of course. That is, he could not unless he had a confidant whom he could really trust. The only such people were his girls. He told them all about his thoughts, told them even as he demonstrated to them. He knew they would never betray him. They would never tell another living soul.

  Swann drove to town, feeling at last fully and completely himself again.

  He felt the beast that lived within him stir and stretch its tentacles to clutch his heart and stomach and groin. It tugged, voracious, yearning to be fed, and Swann felt the old excitement build, the old irresistible joy.

  He drove with the window down, smelling the air, loving the scents of the countryside where he had grown up.

  Everything seemed new again, yet comfortingly familiar.

  He could not recall ever feeling better. He was in charge, everything was under control and perfectly planned, and there was at least a week's worth of great pleasure ahead of him, perhaps more if she could take it.

  This one seemed strong and she had a great mental outlook. He liked her spirit, it would help her to stay alive longer.
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  Swann could not remember when he had ever felt better. After a time he began to sing.

  The Reverend Tommy R. Walker met Harold Kershaw in Elmore at a coffee shop named Chat 'n Nibble, where the other customers downed noonday meals of chickenfried steaks with biscuits and brown gravy. Tommy drank coffee and kept a nervous eye on the front door. He didn't expect anyone from the show to come this far afieldthere were several fast-food restaurants between here and the campsite-but it wouldn't hurt to be careful. He sat beside Kershaw at the counter rather than in a booth so that he could disassociate himself from the other man in the unlikely event that Rae or a member of the Apostolics should wander in.

  "She didn't have no friends outside the show, not that I was aware of,"

  Tommy said.

  "Some sumbitch was driving the car," Harold said.

  "Well, I can't figure out who it could have been."

  "Girl like Aural's got no problem finding friends. Just walk past a bar and get about a dozen sniffing after her."

  "I realize that… still, I would have heard if it was anybody local.

  Rae would have told me. Besides, how could she know you were coming? I didn't tell anybody."

  "Uh-huh."

  "I didn't. You think I'm crazy? I want to get everybody back on my side, not turn them against me by doing anything against their little darling."

  "Your little darling is a dangerous woman."

  Tommy glanced at the door, then took in Harold Kershaw's hands and face.

  He saw no trace of skinning.

  "Bitch tried to kill me more than once," Kershaw continued. "Tried to bounce me out the back of my pickup one time. Took a knife to me once."

  "I thought she burned you," Tommy said.

  "Burned me?"

  "That's what she told everybody."

  "Oh, yeah. It wasn't me she burned, it was the damned trailer. I was in the pot and she jammed the door shut and packed a bunch of stuff down at the bottom and set them on fire. Mostly my clothes. Bitch burned my favorite boots."

  "She didn't burn you, though?"

  "I got out the window. Hell, the door was metal, metal don't burn that well."