by Unknown
I stood perched on the stool for twelve torturous hours, my neck secured tightly in a rough rope noose, my wrists held firmly in metal handcuffs. My back screamed out in pain. The wobble of my knees got worse by the minute. Drops of blood oozing from the rope burns around my neck teased and tickled me all the way from my chest to my stomach. Images of Ari and me played on the TV all day. The national news showed pictures of us on our wedding day, candids of us in Montréal, and shots of us hanging out together on the deck in California.
News anchors and their crews sat around desks and talked about my life and my disappearance. Psychologists, police chiefs, anti-gun representatives and social commentators chatted back and forth in somber tones until I wished I could stick a leg down someone’s throat. The number for the police station flashed across the screen as the press repeated the story every hour. I wanted to scream at them, “I’m right here! Please, somebody!” It wasn’t long, though, before I tuned out all TV sounds and concentrated on the beating of my heart and the growing numbness of my calves. I was desperate and growing more broken and defeated by the minute.
Once again, I heard No. 6 as he talked to someone on the phone. I could tell that he was in a room directly above me. I heard him tell whoever was on the other end of the line that he had me tied up and that before too long I would probably just off myself. I heard responses echoing – the call obviously was on speakerphone – but the words were too muffled for me to make out what the other person was saying.
I had to fight off exhaustion. My eyes kept fluttering closed and my legs became so weak that I could barely hold my own weight. At some point my bladder emptied and I could feel the warm urine run down my legs. My body began relying more and more on the noose to stay upright. I pillowed my head on it and an inner voice kept telling me to let go, to accept the noose and let it end my life on earth.
Finally darkness fell, though, and with the rising of the moon, No. 6 came heavily down the stairs. He untied the rope and gestured at me to climb down. My numb legs gave out and I crunched down onto the cement floor like a rag doll. No. 6 reveled in my moment of weakness and kicked me repeatedly square in the ribs. I heard the crack of my ribs and if I had had anything in my stomach, I would have thrown it up. Instead, my lungs begged for oxygen while tears rolled silently down my cheeks and mixed themselves up with my blood.
No. 6 laughed aloud and dragged my limp body back to the water heater. He undid my handcuffs and tied me back up, leaving my useless rubber legs un-done. He left me there as I cried myself to sleep.
When I awoke next, I had no way of knowing how long I had been unconscious. It could have been days, but it could have also been only hours. The window showed moonlight and I found myself faintly surprised that I had survived, that I was still alive and breathing. I had not had any water or food since my wedding day and I didn’t know how long ago that actually had been. I was weak but also disoriented and silly. My mind refused to focus and my nose itched like hell. I had to blink my eyes several times before No. 6 turned from a blur into a man. He un-locked the cuff from my left wrist, yanked my arm toward himself and pulled out a very long, thin, sharp looking knife.
“You must have thought you were pretty cute, Ava, having yourself tattooed like this,” he rapped on my tally marks with the sharp point of the knife. “Keeping tally of the people you killed,” he whispered. “My family.” Then, his face just inches from mine and his spittle showering me, he yelled, “Well, I bet there won’t be a tattoo for me, you stupid bitch!”
He took his knife and began to slice my wrist open, just to one side of the main vein. He made a jagged cut, creating his own tally mark of sorts. The pain was searing and intense but still surprisingly tolerable, almost as though I had entered a different body completely and was watching the scene from an aerial view. I looked down on myself and at Damien as he worked on my arm. Slowly he moved the blade until he had made a two-and-a-half-inch gash up my wrist. Blood oozed out surprisingly quick and started forming little pools on the cement beneath me. There was so much blood on the floor and soaking into my clothes that I didn’t see how I could survive. I was sure I had finally reached the end. This is how I am going to die. I squeezed my eyes shut, filling my thoughts of Ari as I slipped away into unconsciousness.
Chapter 27
XO
After coming to several hours later, I was once again surprised to still be alive. Thunder was crashing outside. Raindrops glittered in the moonlight as they slid down the little windowpane. Water was slowly seeping in through a crack in a distant corner, forming a puddle inside. My eyes swept down to my left arm. My wrist had been sewn up quite professionally, but this time my wound screamed out in nearly intolerable pain. Opening and closing my hand or moving any of my fingers was nearly impossible. The basement was filled with a soft aroma that was oddly familiar, but I was too disorientated to place the scent.
There was a wet shoe print on the cement floor beside me. The print was drying and fading away. There were several little wet squares by the toe and, just barely still visible, a Swoosh from the bottom of a Nike tennis shoe. The footprint was too small to belong to No. 6, but it could have been from my own shoe. I looked down at my feet. They were dry.
What the hell was going on? No. 6 or someone had stitched up my knife wound. Did he want me to live or die? And did I honestly believe that the crazed, overweight, cigar smoking Damien could have sutured the slash on my wrist? Who had been on the phone with him? My fear was unlike anything I ever knew existed; I had always thought No. 6 would be the last of my problems. Now I knew there were more troubles out there for me. The word panic didn’t even begin to do justice to my state of emotions. I was so completely helpless. If not for my determination to keep Ari safe, I may have begged for death already.
In the midst of my pain and confusion, No. 6 appeared again and greeted me with a sick, deranged smile smeared across his sweaty face.
“Oh, Ava, you have got to see this,” he said, breaking into my thoughts and carrying on like a giddy schoolgirl as he turned on the TV.
“They had a vigil for you last night and they lit these lanterns in the sky; the whole town was there. Here, I’ll just shut up so you can watch.”
With his newly effusive mannerisms, No. 6 seemed to have crossed over the line into psychotic behavior, but everything he said was true. People stood on the beach outside the home Ari and I had slept in just once, holding candles and watching as paper lanterns took flight into the starry sky. The scene was very beautiful. Friends and family and neighbors covered the whole beach, more people than I had ever known would care about me. As the newswoman talked, one camera zoomed in on Aggie. She was crying and taking solace in Andy’s arms. Lauren and Julia rested their heads on each other’s shoulders and Thais and Gianna stood silent, hand in hand, as they let a big, golden lantern float up into the sky.
Another camera scanned on Margaux briefly; she appeared to be screaming at someone on her cell phone. August was there with Nick and Nick’s friends, Collin, Misha, Rachel and Nigel. They stood next to people from school that I had known so briefly. Sarah Kros, the girl I had met on my first day at DPI was there with her mother; they had been at our wedding and they appeared to be beside themselves with grief.
Everyone from the 12th floor was there. Even Mrs. Bea, my former piano teacher, held a small lantern up toward the sky, ready to let it go. Finally, a camera found Ari. He and Rory sat together, on the beach. Ari’s head was in his hands while Rory had an arm wrapped around Ari’s shoulder. Rory had tears in his eyes. Seeing them was more than I could handle and I was relieved when the video was done and No. 6 turned the TV back off.
“Wasn’t that something?” No. 6 said, nodding his head enthusiastically. “Oh, where are my manners? I am sure all of this rain is making you thirsty.”
My eyes grew wide. I shook my head no.
“You’ll drink or I’ll kill you,” he said, smiling widely while cocking his gun. No. 6 ripped the duct tape with forc
e from my lips. He unlocked my right hand from the metal cuff. “Or you can see if Ari wants a drink...” No. 6 set two glasses full of clear liquid down in front of me.
“One of these is cold, clear, purified water. The other,” he laughed, “isn’t. You choose, but do it now,” he said holding the gun to my temple, “or this time I will blow your brains out.”
I quickly looked at each glass of water. The light that filtered in from the small window showed that one was slightly more clouded than the other was. I grabbed the clearer looking glass and swallowed the liquid all in one gulp, closing my eyes while I thought of nothing but Ari.
“What a good girl,” No. 6 applauded. “That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” He poured the second glass of water out on the basement floor, re-taped my mouth, locked my hands back up, and then left me there.
I sat there alone for hours desperately racking my brain for an escape. I was too weak to cry and too tired to sleep. I thought of Ari, knowing that he was thinking about me too. I wondered if he had slept or eaten. I pictured in my mind his family trying to console him while holding back their own tears.
Time passed slowly and was marked only by the coming and going of the moon. Hope was lost to me. I knew this was my end and I began to make my peace. I prayed for forgiveness for the lives I had taken. I told my mother, my father, Mia, and my Grandpa Perry that I would be with them soon. I thought of Ari to make the time before my death pass more quickly. I pictured in my mind every detail of his perfect face, his smile and his remarkable eyes. The way his hair felt when I ran my fingers through it and the way his mouth tasted like mint. Ari was burned into my mind, my memory, my senses, so much so that I felt as if we were one. No matter what may happen to me, I could never, while still breathing, forget him. I would die holding on to every moment we had shared, every kiss and every whispered “I love you.”
No. 6 came back to me the next day at dusk, pulling me back again from my drifting thoughts. He un-locked my hands and took a seat next to me. He pulled out a simple, silver zippo lighter from his shirt pocket.
“I have been looking forward to this one all day,” he said with a laugh.
My mouth went dry and my legs began to kick while No. 6 gripped my hand with all of his strength, nearly crushing the bones. He flipped open the zippo and held my fingertips, one by one, over the scorching hot flame. I screamed through the soggy duct tape and my body jerked and shrunk back, but he did not relent. My flesh turned bubbly and bloody. I slammed my eyes shut in an attempt to block out the pain. I filled my eyelids with Ari.
My torture went on for several minutes and I gave up on life and opened my mouth to beg for the coup de grace, I was ready for my mercy kill. I stopped myself from begging for death when I heard the tiniest click against the cement floor. I forced my eyes open, saw that No. 6’s phone had slipped out of his pocket, and lay there unnoticed by him. I kicked at him hard and gave a loud distracting scream as I used my free hand to slide the phone underneath me.
No. 6 continued with his merciless torture, but the pain lessened as he burnt the flesh away to nothingness. I didn’t care. I was renewed by a flicker of hope. He left me there with my feet tied up but my mangled hands were left free to bleed. As soon as I heard the door at the top of the stairs close behind him, I grabbed the phone and forced my bloodied fingers to pull up a text box. I punched in Ari’s number and typed in one little letter “X” then hit send. I waited a few seconds and got the response I was looking for -- a tiny “O” shot up on the screen.
I quickly deleted the texts and wiped it clean on a part of my shirt that had not yet been stained with blood. I slid the phone against the floor and it came crashing against the TV in the corner. Moments later, No. 6 came barreling down the steps in a frenzy. I lay on the floor, in the fetal position, my eyes partially closed, pretending not to have ever noticed the discarded phone next to the TV. No. 6 grabbed it and breathed a sigh of relief. He ignored me and headed back up the stairs. I let out a breath of my own and waited in the heavy silence for what felt like an eternity.
I watched what was left of the orangey daylight slowly disappear. The moon peeked in as it began its inexorable trek across the horizon. The quiet was deafening. Midnight came and went and I began to lose my flicker of hope. Like a candle at the end of its wick, I was sure to burn out. If Ari didn’t find me within hours, he would be too late. No. 6 had tortured me for each brother I had killed and there was nothing left for him to do but to choose my manner of death and then follow through with it.
I could feel myself slipping away from pure exhaustion, starvation and dehydration.
Time limped. Then something new. I thought my head was pounding when I first heard the thumping in my ears, but as the noise grew louder, I could see the glass in the tiny window begin to tremble. After a moment, I realized that it was not my head that was pounding but the chopping of helicopters. My heart began to soar. The sounds of screeching tires came next. Then a man’s voice rang out over the entire house. The small basement window kept shaking.
“Police! Damien Kakos, come out with your hands up!”
Forcing my raw, bloody hands to untie my feet from their complicated knots, I pushed myself into a half crouch. Legs shaking, knees trembling, I forced my body to move. I made my way to the basement stairs where No. 6 kept his baseball bat, grabbed it and pushed my body up the steps. No. 6 stood at the top with his gun pointed straight at my head. I lifted the bat, rushed up two stairs and swung hard, sending the gun flying behind him. He charged at me but I was ready for him and I brought the bat across his temple. I didn’t have enough strength to knock him out, but I had enough to slow him down.
I tossed the bat aside and I made my body run through the house, holding on to the walls for support, leaving streaks of blood on everything I touched. At last, I found the front door and barreled through it.
White lights instantly blinded me and I came to a sudden stop at the top of the steps. I blinked several times and pulled my arm up to shield my eyes from the light. The front lawn was covered with swat teams, police cars, ambulances, fire trucks, and news media. There were helicopters in the sky and all the beams from all the vehicles and flashlights were shining on me.
Several people yelled out, “Hold fire,” at once. I was scared, like a deer in headlights. My hands trembled and my knees shook. I didn’t know which way to turn. Then I saw him -- Ari, running up, pushing himself through the crowd. My world stood still. I let out a breath and took a shaky step towards him.
The moment I moved toward him, I saw Ari’s face change from worry to horror and immediately after, a rushing pain spread across the back of my head. I fell to the ground. My eyes closed without my consent as gunshots rang out all around me.
###
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cat Mann has lived her entire life in central Illinois, but her interests and passions span the planet. She loves skiing, French music and working with the written language.
A self-proclaimed hermit, she is happiest at home reading, writing and scouring the far corners of the internet for new musical artists -- artists she skillfully weaves into her tales of the offspring of ancient Greece. She is happily married to her amazing and awe-inspiring best friend, Derek Mann, and together they have created two beautiful daughters.
A Beautiful Fate is Cat’s first novel in The Beautiful Fate Series. The second installment of The Beautiful Fate Series, A Broken Fate, will be available summer 2013.Visit Cat on Facebook and keep up with Cat on her blog http://authorcatmannblog.blogspot.com/.
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