by Jon Athan
In his work uniform, Stephen was tied with pliable rope at the arms, thighs, shins, ankles, and wrists. He squirmed in a three-by-three meter pit; the hole was two meters deep. Laying on his back, he could see the gray sky and the steel framing of a building. He was in a construction zone. Scott stepped to the edge of the pit, organizing his rumpled rolled-up sleeves.
As he stared down at Stephen with indifferent eyes, Scott asked, “Do you know where you are, kid?”
With tears streaming down his cheeks, Stephen shook his head and stuttered, “N–No... I was... Please, just let me go. I'm sorry... I–I didn't do anything wrong. Please...”
Scott leaned forward with his hands on his knees and said, “You're at one of my new buildings. Well, it's still under construction, but it'll be new very soon. It's going to be a lavish apartment for young yuppies. That's where the legitimate money is at, boy. Real Estate. You... Well, you're under a future living room right now. You're in the foundation of a dream. You might be there permanently if you don't fess up.”
“Wha–What? I–I... I don't understand.”
Scott turned away, then he yelled, “Back it up!”
The sputtering of an engine and a back-up beeper blended with a garble of indiscernible noise – a sonorous rumbling sound. Stephen's eyes widened as a large concrete mixer reversed to the edge of the pit. He could see the large white mixing drum and the discharge chute. The truck was daunting, like if its sounds were roars from a demonic beast.
Scott shouted, “You're good! Turn it off! Turn it off!”
As the concrete mixer settled and the racket dwindled, Stephen yelled, “Help me! Help me! Please!” Thick veins bulged from his neck and brow as he helplessly squirmed and shouted. He cried, “Please! Fuck! Fuck! They're going to kill me! Help! Mom! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!”
Scott jabbed his index finger at Stephen and said, “Shut up, alright? Shut your mouth or I'll cut your damn tongue out. You brought this on yourself. Your actions, your choices brought you here. You can't call for mommy. My buddy's daughter couldn't call for her father, so you can't call for you mom. Stupid prick...”
Stephen breathed heavily as he glanced at every corner of the pit. The walls were perfectly vertical, finely sculpted to prevent an escape. There were no tools in sight. The ditch was devoid of hope. Stephen was reduced to a mere worm, hopelessly wiggling in a futile attempt to escape his sin – he was trapped like a spider in a bathtub.
Scott smirked as he watched Stephen's fruitless attempts at escape. The attempts were useless, but the young man tried. The gangster-turned-businessman chuckled as he walked away. From beyond the ditch, Stephen could hear an indistinct conversation between Scott and another man. Stephen furrowed his brow as he sat up on his buttocks and scooted back for a better view.
Stephen asked, “What are you doing? Where are you going?” There was no response. As he stared at his muddied pants, he whispered, “What are they going to do to me?”
Stephen's eyes widened as two silhouettes emerged in the ditch – two males standing over him. He stared up and found himself gazing at Scott and Russell standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Scott slowly shook his head, disappointed. Russell scowled as he stared into the pit with a hammer tightly clenched in his right hand.
Teary-eyed, Stephen said, “I'm... I'm sorry, Mr. Wheeler. Please, don't do this. I was just...”
Russell interrupted, “Be quiet, Stephen. Don't make this harder for yourself, kid. I've already written your ending. It's carved in stone. We might be able to change part of it. Sure, it's a possibility. But, I need you to listen to me. I know you're scared. I can smell the shit leaking from your pants. You're terrified, but I don't want your fear. I want your full cooperation. Let's have a talk, kid. Let's chat.”
***
Stephen gazed into Russell's somber eyes, hopelessly trying to decipher his words. His warning was like a hieroglyphic – death was certain, the method was debatable. He stared up at the stark sky. A bird soared above the construction site, flying majestically across the gray sky.
Stephen wept and shuddered. As tears gushed from his eyes and slobber dripped from his lips, he asked, “What... What do you want from me?”
Russell squinted down at his captive, gripping the hammer with both hands. He said, “Don't cry, Stephen. I just want information. I know about Carrie. I know about Jimmy. I know about AJ's. I know about you. Now, I need to know about Wu. This... This...”
Scott leaned forward and said, “Andy Wu.”
With a quivering lip, Stephen stared at his captors. He was awed by their knowledge. The pair had more pieces to the puzzle than he had originally imagined. Yet, he could not muster the courage to confess to his deeds. Even with a mountain of evidence piling up against him, he refused to self-incriminate.
Stephen slowly shook his head and said, “I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about.”
Russell said, “Don't make us do this the hard way, Stephen. I hate the hard way. Tell me about Andy Wu. Where can I find him?”
“You don't... I don't know what you're talking about. I'm sorry. Just let me go.”
Russell sighed in utter disappointment. He turned towards Scott and nodded – the hard way. Scott clicked his tongue and gave off a nonchalant shrug – okay, the hard way. Stephen furrowed his brow as he watched the wordless exchange.
Scott shouted, “Start it up, Vinny! Bury this slimy motherfucker!”
The ground trembled as the concrete mixer began to rumble and spin. Goops of concrete fell into the pit from the discharge chute. The globs splattered on Stephen's shoes and pants. Stephen wiggled away, like a worm wriggling in mud. His squirming was hopeless. He writhed on the ground and sobbed, fearing a slow death as the concrete approached him like a wave at shore.
Stephen yelled, “Okay! Okay! I'll talk! Turn it off! Please, turn it off!”
Scott smiled and strolled towards the driver – the hard way was tried and tested.
As the mixing drum stopped, Russell said, “Okay, Stephen. Talk to me. Tell me everything.”
Stephen loudly swallowed, then he said, “Mr. Wu, he... he works from an abandoned warehouse at the edge of town. The... You know the condemned building off Bishop Road, right? I know you know it. It was used as a torture house for the mob, right? You used to kill people there. Rivals, snitches, and politicians, right? I heard about it...”
Scott glowered as he returned to the pit. Brimming with fury, he jabbed his index finger at Stephen and shouted, “Shut your fucking mouth, you damn brat! You don't know shit! Don't...”
Russell gripped Scott's wrist and sternly asked, “Did you know about this? Did you know they took over that lot?”
Scott paused his tirade and contemplated – the uncertainty was blatant. He shrugged and said, “I... I heard rumors, Russ, but it's not what it looks like. That place was abandoned years ago. We wiped it clean of our history. And, we don't mess with Wu or his business. You know all of this. How was I supposed to... I just don't know, okay? I don't know.”
Russell sighed as he turned towards Stephen. He asked, “So, Mr. Wu is hiding out in there? That's all you know? You don't have a home address or a girlfriend's address? Do you know anything at all? Huh?”
“He doesn't tell everyone everything. He's... He's very secretive, you know. He's usually at the warehouse or the–the 'studio.' That's what he calls it. I don't know his office number or anything like that. I've never actually seen his face, either. I was a middleman, that's all. And, if you enter that building, you'll find nothing... nothing but death. Room after room with death and torture. He has dozens of men making those movies, maybe hundreds. Don't go after Mr. Wu, sir, you won't survive. Please, don't do this.”
Stephen slumped his head down and whimpered. His plaintive cries were sincere, his sorrow was genuine. His soul spiraled deeper into a forlorn pit without a helping hand. Even his concern for Russell's safety was unfeigned. Russell could read the young man like an open book, but he could not forgive him fo
r his fatal flaws.
Russell asked, “How do I contact him?”
Stephen sniffled and said, “Please... let me go.”
“How do I contact him?”
Stephen bit his bottom lip and looked away, turning his head from the prying duo. He refused to answer. Russell sniffled, then he nodded towards Scott. Scott sighed and returned the nod – the hard way, again. Stephen tightly shut his eyes and panted as the sonorous rumble returned. He could hear the wet concrete splattering in the pit. He could hear his death slowly approaching.
Through his gritted teeth, Stephen yelled, “I have his number in my phone! It's in my phone! The address and everything is in my phone, damn it!”
Russell inhaled deeply and shook his head in exasperation. He moseyed to the other side of the pit, then he jumped down to Stephen's side. The hill of accumulating concrete was slowly falling towards Stephen's legs – an avalanche waiting to swallow his entire body. As the young man squirmed, Russell stuffed his hand into Stephen's pocket, then he retrieved the white touchscreen phone.
Stephen said, “Mr. Wu won't answer the phone. It's useless.”
Russell glanced at Stephen and said, “It's not for me. What's your password?”
Stephen did not respond. He looked away with bloodshot eyes like a child peeved at his parents. Russell scoffed at Stephen's juvenile behavior. With one foul swoop, he kicked Stephen's crotch. The steel-toe boot thudded on Stephen's pants. Stephen gasped as he leaned forward. A vein protruded down the center of his brow as he wheezed from the choking pain.
Russell shouted, “What's your password?!”
As he writhed and panted, Stephen said, “0... 9...” He paused and erratically blinked as the agony echoed from his crotch – his genitals were crushed by the devastating kick. As his teeth chattered, Stephen said, “0... 8...”
In a dubious tone, Russell repeated, “0908?”
Stephen could only nod as his entire body shuddered. Russell entered the code and the phone unlocked. Content with his findings, he strolled to the edge of the pit and beckoned to Scott. Scott helped him escape the makeshift grave.
As he swiped the dirt from his pants and returned to the concrete mixer, Russell said, “Don't act like you've never been kicked in the crotch. Men like you love that torture shit, don't you? You love to get tied up and penetrated, right? You like to have sex in a pool of blood, right? You damn perverts...” Russell and Scott simultaneously shook their heads as they glared at Stephen in disgust. Russell said, “Don't faint, boy. This isn't over. I've got more questions for you. Just a few more and you'll be free.”
***
Stephen's eyelids flickered as he rolled on his back and gazed at the two menacing men. His head swayed from the pain. A powerful kick to the groin was more torture than he had ever endured or witnessed – despite partaking in a business of torture. Dazed and numbed, Stephen slowly nodded in agreement. A mixture of pain and guilt concocted a potion of cooperation.
Russell asked, “Which one killed my daughter? Which one killed my Carrie? He killed a little girl, too, right? I saw part of that video. Who is he?”
In a slow, monotonous tone, Stephen responded, “I don't know. I have no idea, Mr. Wheeler. I... I only know it wasn't me. It wasn't me... They're always wearing those black masks, even before they arrive. They're just sick people. If one of them did it, then all of them did...”
Russell believed every word uttered out of Stephen's quivering lips. He was injured and petrified, but surprisingly honest. The young man had come to terms with his sinister deeds. The information, however, was not enough to quench Russell's thirst.
Russell said, “Give me something to work with, boy. I know you feel bad about this. Maybe it's the guilt, maybe it's the pain, or maybe it's the fear of death, but none of that matters to me. I only want the truth. Help me find the man that slaughtered my daughter. Help me bring Carrie's killer to justice.”
Struggling to recollect, Stephen absently stared at the sky and mumbled, “He's... He's tall, maybe six-five. A little taller, maybe shorter. I don't know. He's just tall... tall and strong. He has... He has blue eyes. He works in a dark room with an iron door. It says... It says, 'Mr. Homicide.' That's all I know. That's his torture room. That's where Carrie died. That's all I know...” On the verge of tears, Stephen turned his attention to Russell and pleaded, “Please, let me go. I'll leave town, I swear. You'll never hear from me again.”
Russell inhaled deeply as he gazed into Stephen's remorseful eyes. The trio waited in silence, waiting for the judge to hand down his verdict. A crow cawed from the steel frame, observing the showdown from afar. Melancholy reigned supreme in the area. In a world of violence and deceit, the correct answers were blurred. Let him live, Russell thought, or let him die?
Scott leaned towards Russell and asked, “Well, what do you want to do with him?”
Russell sniffled as he stared at the ground. His eyes glimmered as the tears accumulated. He could only think about his daughter. He could only contemplate the slaughter of the last remnant of his family. His joyful memories were tainted by his daughter's demise. Carrie and vengeance became synonymous.
Russell said, “I have one more question. Why...” He coughed and grunted as the anxiety clogged his throat. As his breathing intensified, Russell asked, “Why'd you pick my daughter? Why'd you pick Carrie?”
Eyes swelling with tears, Stephen responded, “She fit the order. She fit the man's specifications. She was perfect. She was perfect...” Upon spotting Russell's menacing glare, Stephen shook his head and said, “I... I loved her. I loved Carrie with all of my heart, I swear. I didn't want to do it. I tried to talk her out of it, too. I wanted us to run away together, but she wanted the damn money. I shouldn't have told her about it and I should have warned her about Mr. Wu. But... I... I couldn't... I couldn't do anything about it. I really did love her...”
Russell scowled and sternly said, “You're a damn liar. You're a fucking liar. You tricked her! She didn't give a fuck about the money, she didn't want to be a pornstar. She wouldn't whore herself out like that and you know it! You deceived her! You sent her to her death! You escorted her to her slaughter like some sort of animal. You didn't love her, you killed her.”
“No, no, no. I loved her, Mr. Wheeler. You know I loved everything about her. I was just... I was just so scared. I couldn't stop her and I couldn't stop him! No one can! Please, let me go! Please!”
Russell barked, “Shut up! You signed her death certificate! You had her killed for money! Don't fucking lie to me!”
Stephen indistinctly muttered as he glanced around the pit, hopelessly searching for an escape route. He couldn't conjure an excuse, he couldn't escape his actions. Scott patted Russell's shoulder, trying to comfort him with a gentle touch.
Scott asked, “What do you want to do with him?”
Russell turned his back to Stephen. As he sauntered away from the pit, the vengeful father shouted, “Bury him!”
Scott nodded, then he turned towards the concrete mixer. He shouted, “Unload on this bastard, Vinny!”
Stephen held his breath as he exerted all of his energy, but to no avail. He could not snap the durable rope. He bounced on the ground, flopping like a fish out of water. He tried to stand, but the heavy cement covered his shins. He watched as the cement oozed towards him. Stephen indistinctly shouted, blurting letters and incomplete words.
Scott watched as the cement swallowed Stephen's torso. The dense cement held his body down, further restricting his movements. He coughed and croaked as the sludgy substance slipped into his mouth. After 30 seconds, the cement stopped rippling – Stephen stopped moving. Scott sighed and shook his head – another fool sleeping with the worms.
Scott glanced over his shoulder and shouted, “Vinny! Fill it up, then straighten this shit out! I don't want any cracks, okay?”
Chapter Ten
A Reflection
The filthy streets were washed by the luminous moon and the lucent stars –
scrubbed by the natural pearly glow of the night. The wind howled, bushes soughed, trees groaned, and crickets chirped. The nighttime racket was soothing – a tranquilizer strong enough to knock out the most resolute insomniac. The night was peaceful.
Russell shambled up the wooden porch steps, his keys clicking and clanking in his pocket. He walked up to the forest-green door, then he glanced at the bench on the porch beneath the living room window. For a second, he reminisced about the times he spent consoling and scolding his daughter on the simple seating area.
As he opened the door, Russell whispered, “In another life...”
The front door opened up to an entrance hall. To his left, an archway led to the living room. To his right, an identical archway led to the kitchen. There were three doors in the hallway. The first door led to a bathroom, the second led to Carrie's room, and the final door led to the master bedroom. The home was simple but adequate.
Russell shut the door behind him, then he stood in unwavering solidarity. The home was usually silent considering Carrie's active behavior. The young woman spent more time with Stephen than her father. Yet, the home felt more desolate than ever – the ambiance was uncanny. Russell rubbed his eyes, then he sobbed. He could not fight the urge to weep.
He sniffled and grunted as he staggered into the small kitchen. His boots thudded on the linoleum flooring with each teetering step. He lurched towards the cupboard beside the refrigerator, then he pulled out a bottle of whiskey – the bottle had two-thirds of its liquid. Like if he were dehydrated, Russell gulped the whiskey down. Alcohol could open the gateway to retribution, but it also served as a homemade painkiller. He chugged the hard liquor like cheap beer, then he staggered to the floor.
With the half-empty bottle in hand and a single tear streaming down his right cheek, Russell whispered, “I'm sorry... I'm so sorry...”
