by Jon Athan
Russell was mystified by James' call for death. A minute ago, he was happy to oblige. Yet, his fury shifted to another target. He wanted James to rot in prison for initiating Carrie's execution; he wanted Mr. Wu's decapitated head for his mantle. The punishment should fit the crime. The fear Wu instilled in his victims was expected, but the terror running through his client's veins was bizarre. Russell shook his head and walked towards the bedroom door.
With his back to the room, Russell said, “I'm not going to kill you, James. I think I've done enough. I'm going to call the cops and have you arrested while I search for Wu. I'll kill you if I keep going with this 'interrogation,' but maybe the cops can show some restraint and get something out of you. Maybe...”
James interrupted, “I warned you. I told you I had a gun.”
Russell furrowed his brow as he slowly turned towards James. To his dismay, James held a sleek compact handgun. His arm wavered as he aimed at Russell, reducing his accuracy with each shuddering movement. Blood from his left hand dripped onto the floor. Russell swallowed loudly as he lifted his arms – I surrender.
Trying to defuse the situation, Russell said, “Put the gun down and let's think about this. Are you really going to kill me? You're going to kill the father of the daughter you had murdered? Is that how you want it to go down?”
James shook his head and said, “Don't go after Mr. Wu. You don't know what he'll do to you. I mean, he... he does this shit for a living! He tortures people for a fucking living!”
“Okay, I understand. Put the gun down...”
James nervously smiled and said, “No, I already said too much. He'll know I talked. He knows everything. I won't let him torture me... Good luck to you...”
“Wait a second...”
Before Russell could utter another word, James slipped the barrel of the handgun into his mouth, then he pulled the trigger. The earsplitting gunshot reverberated through the home. Stiff and lifeless, James fell back onto the bed like a falling tree – timber. Above a streak of blood, bits of brain and flesh were scattered across the mattress.
As he gazed at James' mutilated face, Russell whispered, “Good for you, Jimmy...”
Chapter Six
The Other Backroom
Morning turned to noon as the white clouds slowly dissipated and the drizzle dwindled. The dazzling sun pierced through the remaining clouds, dousing the city with a reassuring warmth. The rush hour ended only a few hours prior, so the relentless traffic settled. Only an occasionally sputtering engine disrupted the calm lunch hour.
Russell, still donning his signature outfit, strolled towards a small independent rental store on Ventura Road – AJ's Video Store. The rental store sat at the corner of the building. To the left of the video store, there was a doughnut shop, then a liquor store, followed by a large department store. The neighbors did not matter, though.
As he glanced into the store from the filthy storefront window, Russell murmured, “Mr. Wu, Mr. Wu... Where are you?”
The clanging door chime echoed through the puny store. Russell stood at the doorway, glancing around the shop. The shelves on the parallel walls to his left and right were brimming with movie cases. There were four narrow aisles directly ahead, cluttered with more films. The selection was wide – horror, thriller, action, comedy, art house, old and new.
Russell sighed, then he turned to his left. A young woman stood behind the rose-colored counter. Her beach blonde hair was tied in a tousled ponytail, swinging with the slightest movement. She wore a red polo shirt, black pants, and black work shoes. The plastic name-tag dangling from her chest read: Hello! My name is Rebecca. Rebecca fiddled with her phone, casually tapping and scrolling.
Russell knocked on the counter and said, “Hello, miss. My name is Russell. You can call me 'Russ' if you like.”
Peppy and genial, Rebecca placed her phone on the counter and smiled. She said, “Hey, it's nice to meet you, Russ. My name is Rebecca. Welcome to AJ's Video Store. We're having a special this week. Rent one movie and you get another rental for free. It's a great deal. Would you like a movie recommendation?”
“No, no, I don't need any of that. I'm just here to pick up a movie for a friend. A 'James Lambert.' You've probably heard of him. He sometimes goes by 'Jimmy.' Anyway, I was under the impression that he had a special video waiting for him.”
Rebecca leaned back and tilted her head like a curious pup. She was caught off guard by Russell's request. Without moving her head an inch, her eyes glided to the left. Russell could see through the facade. She had the eyes of a liar – a conspicuous liar.
Rebecca slowly shook her head and said, “I'm... I'm sorry. I've never heard of him. We don't have pick-ups or anything like that, either.” She nervously chuckled, then she joked, “This isn't a pizza place, you know.”
Russell returned the chuckle – a blatantly fabricated laugh to keep the buoyant ambiance afloat. He responded, “Are you sure about that, Rebecca? I'm certain he meant this store, not the pizza place. 'AJ's Video Store,' he said. Those were his words and I'm absolutely sure about that.” Rebecca's bottom lip quivered as she shrugged. Russell leaned closer and said, “Think about it, okay? It's a special movie. Not like your other movies, no. This one was specifically made for James Lambert. Think about that for a second.”
“I don't know what you're talking about, mister. I don't... I do not recall that name or that 'special' movie. I'm sorry. You can rent any movie from our selection and get one free, I can give you a discount on a tub of popcorn, but I can't help you more than that. I'm sorry.”
Russell bit his bottom lip and nodded. He understood the game Rebecca played. He had seen it all before. Rebecca practically asked for a lawyer before the interrogation began – she was innocent until proven guilty and she refused to self-incriminate. Yet, she was visibly perturbed by the simple questions. Her poker face required practice.
Russell pointed towards the plentiful aisles and said, “Well, I guess I'll just browse for something else. Thank you for your help.”
Russell sniffled as he moseyed towards the wall to his left. He examined the wide selection of horror movies – ghosts, zombies, serial killers, and splatter films. He could distinguish reality from fiction, but the torture movies still managed to bother him. An image of Carrie, doused in blood and weeping, flashed in his mind. Fiction was derived from reality, after all.
Russell murmured, “Bastards...”
The vengeful contractor lifted a random case from the shelf and flipped it over. From the corner of his eye, he glanced at the cashier area. Rebecca held her phone to her ear, whispering as she constantly peeked over at Russell. Russell scoffed and shook his head at her erratic behavior. Her surveillance was obvious.
The door chime reverberated through the shop. Russell leaned back and stared at the door – a young man had entered. The man walked to the cash register, then he chattered with Rebecca. Russell thought, a friend? The man's identity did not matter. He seized the opportunity. He turned to his right and examined the back of the store. Dusty purple curtains veiled the secretive backroom.
Russell sauntered towards the back of the shop, walking slowly to avoid drawing attention to himself. Rebecca was preoccupied with the new customer. The indistinct conversation could be heard throughout the entire store. Breathing heavily from his nose, Russell slipped through the purple curtains.
As he glanced around his newfound environment, Russell whispered, “What the hell is this?”
The backroom was a quarter of the size of the main shop. There were two doors on the parallel wall from the room's entrance. The door directly ahead was clearly marked as the employee area – an office and storage room. The blue door to the left was unmarked. Although nothing was certain, the blue door piqued Russell's interest.
The walls were cluttered with pornographic videos – some domestic, others foreign. There was a free-standing shelving area towards the center with more movie cases. The covers of the videos, most depicting women with lar
ge breasts in skimpy outfits, were insignificant to the man. With a hunched back, Russell walked around the aisle and gazed at the blue door at the back of the room – the backroom to the backroom.
He whispered, “There you are... The room...”
Russell approached the inexplicably daunting door. His mind raced with the sinister possibilities. Yet, he could not stop himself. His journey was fueled by his lust for vengeance and redemption. For Carrie, he would endure the most diabolical nightmare. He would kill and die for his murdered daughter.
As he twisted the doorknob, Russell murmured, “Locked... I should have expected it...”
He gritted his teeth as he tugged on the knob, leveraging all of his weight away from the door to no avail. He switched stances and began pushing forward. His attempts were fruitless. Russell scowled and shook his head, sorting through his options. He preferred brute force to stealth. Russell kicked at the sturdy door. The door rattled and the door frame groaned. The clanging ruckus echoed through the video store. Each kick was mightier and louder than the last.
As the door frame groaned from the pressure, Rebecca shouted from the other room, “Sir! Sir, what are you doing?!”
A loud cracking sound emerged from the backroom. The door frame splintered and the door snapped. As the door violently swung open, Rebecca stumbled into the backroom. She stopped, then she stared at Russell. The distraught father stood at the doorway of the mysterious room.
***
With a furrowed brow, Russell examined the puny room. The walls were a dusky red color and the floor was comprised of concrete. On the wall parallel to the entrance, there was a gargantuan storage tower brimming with hundreds of black cases. The spines on the cases were scrawled with white ink – the movie titles.
To his left, there was a 60-inch flat-screen television atop a black entertainment center. To his right, there was a black recliner with faux leather. The room served as a personal theater – a popcorn machine would complete the set. Russell ran his fingers through his hair as he shambled into the chamber. Rebecca held her trembling hand to her mouth as she stood at the doorway – the act was over.
Russell nervously chuckled, then he said, “Of course... If they can't watch them at home with their kids or their wives or their husbands, they can watch it here. They've got a little safe haven.” He nodded and turned towards the doorway. Russell glared at Rebecca and sternly asked, “Right?! That's what you do here, isn't it? You let these sick fucks pleasure themselves back here, don't you?”
Russell walked towards the storage tower, then he scanned through the cases. The handwriting was sloppy but legible. The titles ranged from seemingly normal to vulgar. One title read: Afraid of the Dark. Another title read: My Bitch Ex-wife. As his eyes swelled with tears, the vengeful man turned towards Rebecca and jabbed his index finger at the timorous employee. His throat was clogged with anger, rendering him speechless.
As tears streamed down her rosy cheeks, Rebecca shook her head and said, “I... I didn't have anything to do with this... I don't know...”
Russell asked, “What are these?”
“I don't know...”
“You know damn well what these are. Don't lie to me. I want you to tell me. I want to hear the words come out of your mouth. Tell me: what are these videos?”
Rebecca stared down at the floor as she wept. She was flustered by the barrage of questions. She was burdened by the weight of guilt. Her words were muddled and distorted from the copious saliva forming in her mouth. The dread wiped her vocabulary.
Infuriated, Russell said, “I know what they are. They're fucking snuff films. They're snuff films, aren't they? You know what they are, too. You know what's on these discs, don't you?” Rebecca shook her head and whimpered. Russell said, “Then let me show you.”
He tightly grabbed Rebecca from the nape of her neck, then he dragged her into the room. Rebecca yelped from Russell's violent force, but she did not attempt to escape. She simply sobbed as she flumped into the recliner and admitted to her knowledge of the heinous crimes. Russell retrieved the case titled 'Afraid of the Dark.' He inserted the disc into the DVD player. He glanced at the remote, gliding his eyes over the cluttered buttons – dozens. He stood by the recliner, then, with the press of a single button, he started the video.
Russell said, “This is the crap you're spreading. This is the filth and murder you are spreading to sick people. You are helping with this... this crap. You are responsible for this. Don't ever forget that, little lady.”
The video began with shaky camerawork as the cameraman walked towards the ring of illumination. The room was similar to Carrie's chamber of death, but the ground was cleaner – perhaps an earlier video in Mr. Wu's collection. The blurry footage focused as the cameraman captured the victim in the light.
Shocked by the footage, Russell murmured, “What the hell is this?”
A young brunette girl, no older than eight years old, stood beneath the bulb. Her blue sundress swayed with her movements as she frantically glanced around the room. Her glimmering brown eyes could not pierce through the surrounding darkness. She could not identify the men snickering in the impenetrable shadows.
In a soft, cracking voice, the girl said, “I... I want to go home... Please... I'm sorry... Where's my mommy?”
From the darkness, a man said, “Your mommy's not here, sweetie. Let daddy take care of you.”
Like a demon surfacing from the depths of hell, a towering man donning a black cloak and mask emerged from the shadows behind the girl. The man held a leather belt in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. The girl gasped, then she tumbled to the floor as she spotted the baleful man. She was shocked by his mere appearance.
As he took one step forward, the man said, “I thought I told you not to touch my tools, darling. I told you a million times: don't touch daddy's tools. But, you don't listen. You know I'll have to punish you now, don't you?”
The child began to hyperventilate as she squirmed in reverse. As the man prepared the belt like a whip, Russell stopped the video. He vacantly stared at the dark screen, absently gazing at his reflection. He was already astonished by the video, he didn't have to watch more. Mr. Wu had no limits – evil was illimitable. The masked man, however, rattled him most. Russell recognized the voice from Carrie's video.
Russell whispered, “This... This bastard doesn't discriminate, does he? Old, young... It doesn't matter to him. He's sick...”
Rebecca whimpered as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled and said, “I'm... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't... It's not supposed to happen this way. I don't watch these videos. I don't even touch them. I swear, I'm not like them... It's not supposed to be this way.”
Like if a trance had been broken, Russell slowly turned towards Rebecca. The young woman seemed remorseful for her role in the plot. Although she did not know the details of Russell's investigation, Rebecca wore a contrite heart on her sleeve. Russell could see she was nothing but a pawn. He sought the king and the black knight.
Russell said, “Tell me something, Rebecca. Who delivers the videos? Who was going to deliver James' video?”
Staring down at her thighs, Rebecca confessed, “A... A young guy. His name is Stephen. Stephen Berman, I think. He comes by only once or twice a week to deliver new videos. Some are 'generic' videos for the backroom, others are for the higher-paying clients. He... This isn't everything. There's been more, but Stephen gets rid of the 'unpopular' stock.”
In a dubious tone, Russell said, “Stephen Berman? That rich brat?” Perplexed by the information, he stared down at his boots and blatantly pondered. Russell murmured, “Stephen? Carrie's boyfriend?”
“You're right, too. I knew what was in the videos, but my manager made me accept them anyway. I got a bonus for keeping my mouth shut. A big bonus. The clients tipped, too. I... I just needed the money. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” Rebecca explained.
Russell contemplated Rebecca's punishment, considering all of his options. Hi
s heart was filled with rage, but he couldn't conjure the force to strike her. She played a minor role in Carrie's death, but she was brimming with sincere regret and innocence. Russell sighed in disappointment and shook his head. He moseyed towards the door – his warpath was temporarily derailed.
From the doorway, Russell said, “I've lived this long without laying a finger on a woman, I can live a few days longer with that on my conscience. Lord knows my conscience will be very filthy when this is all over. I won't kill you, but you should consider staying out of my way until I'm dead. Good luck dealing with your boss and the police.”
As Russell took his first step out of the room, Rebecca stood from the recliner and asked, “Do you have a gun?” Russell raised his brow as he turned towards the young woman. Rebecca explained, “I... I want you to kill me. I want it fast and easy. It's better than what he'll do to me. You've... You've seen the videos, haven't you? You know what he'll do to me for letting you see all of... all of this without his permission. Please, kill me.”
Russell stared at Rebecca with a deadpan expression. He scoffed and shook his head. Her plea for death resembled James' piteous call for mercy. She was scared of Mr. Wu, like everyone he had encountered. The pattern was obvious. Russell was willing to let Rebecca live, but he wasn't willing to forgive.
Russell said, “No, I'm not going to kill you. I hope the courts are lenient with you because you're not so bad. I can see you're not like the rest of them, but your hands are still dirty. Living with the guilt is your punishment.”
Rebecca sobbed into her hands and staggered to her knees as Russell exited the room. Russell sauntered through the backroom, ignoring the plentiful porn. He retrieved his cellphone, then he dialed Scott's number. As he returned to the main shop, he noticed the rental store was empty. The other customer vanished during the commotion.
