Ransom X
Page 90
Chapter 59 Last Ditch
“Creak, creak, creak, creak.” The obsessive repetition of jumping jacks had put a spring into the boards under Laura’s feet. “Creak, creak, creak” She had to keep in shape, she had to have something in her life that listened to her commands and did exactly what she wanted. Her legs and arms still obeyed, and that meant she still had something left inside her that listened.
She was petrified of the way Blue had been conditioning her mind, scared that she would tell her legs to do something and they would be unwilling without permission of her captor at some crucial time, and that crucial time was approaching fast. The indoctrination went so deep that she feared that it would take a drill to the base of her spine to drain his will from her. She was divided against herself in every thought of rebellion or revenge. Even her dreams of killing him lacked satisfaction. She’d wake up sobbing, screaming, “no.” Her limbs shook like his death took away the chaos control that kept her from moving outward in all directions and breaking apart.
Disgust flooded through her and pushed her body erect. Then she’d start doing jumping jacks, always in the same place. She carefully stepped off paces from the far and sidewalls before beginning. The exercise continued until her muscles no longer listened to her mind. She loved that last moments, when it was clear she had no control. It made her feel like there was a point at which everyone’s boundaries are the same.
“Creak, creak, creak.” Tonight was special. Laura heard the motorcycle engines roar into life. She’d heard Blue giving them permission to take a break after the session. This was her chance. She watched the boards flex below her feet.
She’d chosen the location of her exercise routine carefully after studying the position of the support studs through her peephole in the ground. This was strategically the weakest area of the floor. The sun would go down soon, and she would put this circle of hell behind her. The finality of her next thought reverberated in her mind – there was no going back, freedom or death were the only acceptable terms. She’d already surrendered too much.
Blue watched the video screen in the mirror between peeling off his mask and splashing his face with the icy cold ground water that ran throughout the compound, keeping the memory of the last winter in every drop. He wasn’t looking forward to the shower that would close his pores and leave his body shaking under a downpour of the same icy temperature. His doctor had told him that the stiffness in his arms and back could be worked out with improved circulation. His skin clammy and red from being encased in the blue plastic wrapper would soon be cold as marble. He stepped into the shower. He needed to be alert, with all of his faculties ready to experience what came next. The men left only moments before, and what they didn’t know is that they’d never see him again. Blade had complete access codes to the accounts, and he didn’t need anything from this shithole so packing would be quick.
All that left was the pleasure of keeping his appointment with Laura. An hour with Laura. The disappointment of losing two men and his last victim evaporated in the intoxicating pleasure of thinking about his last hour with Laura. The water hit his skin, and his lungs filled. He screamed like an acid was pouring over him. The pain was all consuming as blood rushed into areas that were practically dry of all life moments before. His chalk white flesh went crimson. He would have the shakes for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and then he would be in full control again.
The medicine of the fresh blood felt like poison as he dried his skin and doused himself with a specially medicated powder and steroid cream. The disease was getting worse, these showers were getting more painful and the rebound time was shortening. One of his jagged nails came free of his towel and jerked across his chest. Like two pages of yellow old paper curling back separating the skin parted, he began to bleed. He looked into his hollow eyes and saw sunken geriatric tissue around the sockets of his 30-year-old eyes.
He lit a cigarette, his hands still shaking, the flame danced inches in front of his nose. He watched the mirror closely. Blade had to wait until his eye batted down before he did anything even if he felt like the shakes had passed. His feelings on the matter were unreliable. The blink response signified that his condition was coming back to normal. The unconscious action was the most trustworthy indicator of regaining control.
Blade watched his face like he was watching a clock. Soon he would get see the face of his true love, the face of the tortured, the face of the damned.