by Jeff Strand
"It's all good. I apologize for not coming over to introduce myself sooner. I don't actually live here."
"No, no, that's fine," said the man. "We're sorry for bothering you. Maybe we can get together for coffee sometime."
"Yes, absolutely. That would be great. Again, I apologize for not opening the door—I'm standing here dripping all over."
"Then we'll let you dry off. We're glad everything is okay. Talk to you later."
"Yes, talk to you later," said Vivian. She wanted to open the curtain to peek at them, but she didn't want them to see her peeking.
The only way that could've gone worse was if they were actually the cops and they kicked down the door. She'd babbled her way through that conversation and she knew with one hundred percent certainty that they were going to call the police as soon as they got back home, if they weren't dialing 911 already.
She'd have to kill them.
No. That was stupid and psychotic. She couldn't believe her mind had gone there. She couldn't just chase after them and stab them to death right in the front yard. What if there were other people at their house? What if they had kids? What if they successfully fended her off? Committing a long string of murders was not the way out of this.
She could still claim innocence. Could still pretend to be the oblivious wife who was completely unaware of the sinister activities of her husband and son.
Only two people could contradict her story.
She couldn't wait them out. She didn't know how difficult it would be for the authorities to get past the two electronic locks, but she assumed that they could do it before Charlene and Gertie died.
Vivian had to get rid of them as quickly as possible.
* * *
Charlene tensed up as she heard a beep on the other side of the door, followed by a click that she assumed was the lock disengaging.
The door didn't open.
She waited.
She wasn't sure if she'd shoot at the first sign of movement on the other side, or if she'd wait to be sure it was Vivian. She didn't want to survive this nightmare only to accidentally murder a police officer who was there to rescue her.
Charlene continued to wait. Was Vivian out there working up the courage to come inside? Was it a trap?
Of course it was a trap. Vivian wasn't going to simply set her free. This was absolutely without question a trap. But Charlene had to go out there, even with a trap about to spring, because her other choice was to bleed to death in the basement.
She very slowly turned the doorknob. Then she shoved the door open as hard as she could, hoping that if Vivian was standing outside it would bash into her.
The door didn't bash into anything.
Charlene listened carefully for the sound of breathing, though it would be hard to hear over her own gasps for air.
The only light came from the cage room. Charlene could see up the stairs, which were empty, but not much to her left or right. There was a light switch right next to the door, but when Charlene flipped it on and off nothing happened.
She slowly crept up the stairs. It couldn't be this easy. Either the door would be locked, or Vivian would be waiting on the other side, seated in a chair with a double barrel shotgun in her lap.
The stairs creaked with each step, which terrified her, even though Vivian almost certainly knew where she was without the sound.
At the top of the stairs, Charlene turned the knob. The door was locked.
She looked at the keypad. She had no idea what Ken might use for his four-digit code. She might as well try something, and it had letters underneath each number like on a phone, so she punched in 2-2-4-3.
C-A-G-E.
The display reset and the door did not unlock.
"Vivian" and "Jared" both had more than four letters. And though Charlene wasn't sure how these kinds of locks worked, a computer would lock you out if you got the password wrong too many times, so she didn't want to keep trying and risk a scenario where even Vivian couldn't get them out of the basement.
She again considered the idea of shooting the lock.
But, again, she didn't know what would happen. Obviously, if she blew apart the keypad the lock wouldn't conveniently slide open. If she tried to shoot the lock itself, she might make it worse, jam it to the point where it couldn't open. If she had a double-barrel shotgun, yeah, she'd blow the shit out of it, but with a revolver it seemed like a dumb thing to do.
So she crept back down the stairs.
Vivian didn't have a gun. That seemed obvious. Otherwise, she would've shot Charlene by now. That was a small consolation as she glanced around the dark area, trying to figure out where Vivian might be hiding if she was actually down here, but at least it was a consolation.
It occurred to her that she hadn't tried to negotiate. It probably wouldn't work this time, either, yet it was still worth trying.
"Hey!" she called out. "Are you down here?"
Vivian didn't answer.
"You didn't do anything," said Charlene. "We'll tell that to the police. We'll tell it to everybody. You tried to stop them. We can end this without you getting shot."
No response.
Charlene wanted to sit down. All of that talking was exhausting.
Damn. She really was going to bleed to death.
Without the ticking clock of bleeding out, she could just perch herself upon the top step and wait for Vivian to eventually reveal herself. But now she didn't think she had a choice but to go on the offensive.
Left or right?
She didn't know where either direction led, so it didn't matter. She walked to the left. After a couple of steps, some shards of glass crunched underneath her shoe. Probably a light bulb. If Vivian had bothered to knock out the light bulbs, she most likely was indeed hiding down here.
Charlene walked slowly, gun extended, finger on the trigger.
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that she could see that she was in a laundry room. Nothing out of the ordinary: a washer, dryer, and a couple of empty baskets. No apparent place for Vivian to hide, unless she'd climbed into the dryer, which was unlikely.
Movement behind her.
She spun around. The door to the cage room was all the way open. Then it closed.
Shit!
Charlene rushed over there. She momentarily lost her balance but didn't fall. She reached for the doorknob—
—just as the door flew back open, smashing into Charlene and knocking her off her feet. She landed on her back, hard, and a few drops of blood shot into the air.
It took a second for her vision to focus. When it did, Vivian hovered over her, swinging something down at her with both hands.
Upon impact, intense pain shot through Charlene's arm and then her hand went numb. Vivian struck her twice more. It was a riding crop, something you'd use on a horse or a kinky sex partner. Charlene tried to twist her hand around, so she could pull the trigger and put a bullet in Vivian's face, but her hand wasn't cooperating.
She couldn't lose the gun. She could survive repeated hits with a riding crop, but if Vivian got the revolver, Charlene was dead. And then Gertie right after that.
Vivian continued to strike Charlene's arm, which now had several bloody streaks on it.
If Charlene wasn't weak from blood loss, she'd be kicking Vivian's ass for sure. As it stood, she couldn't really do much but lie there and take her punishment.
Vivian switched her target, smacking the riding crop across Charlene's face. It hurt so badly that she didn't immediately register that Vivian had yanked the gun out of her hand.
Charlene curled the fingers of her other hand into a claw and swung at Vivian's face. Long fingernails were not conducive to waitressing or lesbian activities, so she kept hers clipped short, which was inconvenient right now. But she got Vivian in the mouth just as the woman was screaming at her, getting her index and middle fingers between Vivian's teeth and cheek. She yanked hard, hoping to tear off part of Vivian's face.
Her cheek
did not rip wide open, but blood appeared at the corner of her mouth as Charlene's fingers popped free.
Then Charlene punched her in the brand new wound.
Vivian howled in pain.
She still held the gun, and Charlene saw that the gun was pointed right at her chest. As soon as Vivian gained the presence of mind to squeeze the trigger, there was going to be a great big hole very close to her heart.
Charlene punched her again. Vivian, who was actually foaming at the mouth as if she'd gone rabid, tried to bite her fist. Her teeth scraped against the back of Charlene's hand, tearing away skin, but didn't sink in deep.
Vivian let out a cry that sounded more animal than human. The woman had completely, utterly lost her mind. But she still had the gun.
Summoning all of her strength, Charlene rolled over, just as Vivian fired. The bullet pounded into the floor. Charlene sat up, which hurt like hell, and grabbed Vivian's wrist. She pulled it backwards, trying to snap the bones, and when that didn't work she tried to dig what existed of her fingernails into Vivian's flesh.
Vivian twisted the gun around and squeezed off another shot. This one flew past Charlene's shoulder. Her ears were now ringing so badly that she could barely hear Vivian's primal shriek.
Charlene still held Vivian's wrist. She squeezed tighter and tighter, hoping her fingers would burst right through Vivian's skin. Finally, the gun slipped out of Vivian's fingers and landed on Charlene's leg.
She immediately grabbed the weapon. Vivian lunged for it as well. There was no time to get her finger around the trigger, take aim, and fire, so Charlene settled for flinging the gun away from them, toward the laundry room.
Vivian, perhaps taking a cue from Charlene punching the wound on her face, smacked the gash on Charlene's neck. Charlene couldn't really hear the sound her own voice made, but she assumed that it too was less than human.
Charlene tried to make another plea for them to just go their separate ways, but her mouth wasn't successfully forming words anymore. She punched at Vivian but missed completely. Vivian spat some blood into Charlene's face, then got up and staggered toward the laundry room.
Though her body felt like it was going to split apart and just start spraying blood from a dozen places, Charlene forced herself to stand up and go after her. She hadn't lost yet.
But when Vivian picked up the gun, Charlene was still ten feet away. No way to tackle her before she could shoot. Instead, Charlene began to back away, hoping she wouldn't slip on her own blood.
"Please..." she said, or thought she said, even though there was absolutely no chance of reasoning with the woman at this point.
Vivian pointed the gun at her. When she smiled—a crazed, scary smile—blood streamed from both sides of her mouth.
There was a knock at the door at the top of the stairs.
Somebody was inside the house.
Vivian looked up at it. If Charlene had been closer to her, this would have been a perfect distraction, an opportunity to attack and try to wrestle the gun out of her hand. Hell, if she'd had anything that she could throw, the knock at the door might have saved her life. Instead, all it did was buy her enough time to take a couple more steps back.
The knocking continued. More of a pounding now.
Vivian didn't lower the gun. She squeezed the trigger.
Missed, though not by much. Charlene took another step back.
Vivian fired again. This shot took a piece out of Charlene's shoulder. A few inches to the left and it would have struck the same place that Jared slashed her neck.
She hadn't won yet. Charlene wasn't going to give up until she was dead.
Vivian took a few steps forward, to get better aim.
"Please..." Charlene repeated.
The pounding continued.
Charlene cried out and doubled over as Vivian shot her in the stomach.
She fell to the floor, gasping for breath. Blood was already pooling beneath her.
Vivian wiped the blood off her mouth, then turned away from Charlene and walked into the room with the cages.
Charlene wanted to shout out a warning to Gertie, as worthless as that would be, but right now, and possibly forever, there wasn't a damn thing she could do.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Vivian almost wanted to sob with relief as she turned away from that bitch. If she was quick, she could kill Gertie, then finish off Charlene if she wasn't dead already. She'd have to figure out a narrative that made sense, but if she acted hysterical—that is, if she continued to act hysterical—nobody would expect her to share her story right away. She could go mute until she'd worked things out.
She almost dropped to her knees as she saw the gory corpses of Jared and Ken, but forced herself to look past that. She just needed to kill Gertie, a helpless unconscious girl in a cage, and everything would be all right.
She took the long way around to avoid stepping in any blood.
Gertie, obviously, hadn't gone anywhere.
Vivian walked up to the cage. Gertie's eyes were closed but she was still breathing. Vivian didn't get too close, in case it was a trick, but she pointed the barrel of the revolver at Gertie's forehead and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened. Just a click.
Was she out of bullets? She'd only fired five times.
Wait, she'd forgotten about Ken shooting Charlene in the leg. Yes, the gun was out of bullets. She tossed it onto the floor. Her fingerprints were all over the weapon, but she'd probably have to admit to shooting Charlene anyway, since their blood was mixed together out there. She'd just claim self-defense.
Gertie's death would obviously not be self-defense. She'd blame this one on Ken.
She looked around for the knife. It was lying on the floor. The pool of Jared's blood had reached it, but she'd have to get over her revulsion and pick it up. No time to hesitate. She let out an anguished sob as she picked up the dripping weapon.
Vivian returned to the cage and reached inside with the knife. Three or four quick stabs in the center of the throat and Gertie would no longer be able to tell the truth about what happened.
Gertie's eyes flew open and she grabbed Vivian's arm.
* * *
Gertie had awakened to the sounds of screams. She didn't waste energy trying to get out of the cage, but she did flex her arms, trying to get the blood circulating. The pins and needles sensation was pure agony.
She'd popped at least one set of stitches in her leg when she kicked the kid, and possibly the other when the cage fell, so the legs of her pants were soaked with blood.
She'd listened to the sounds of Charlene and Vivian's fight, wishing she were out there to help break Vivian's arms and legs.
She'd heard what sounded like pounding. Was somebody trying to get into the basement?
Heard the gunshots.
When the door swung open, she'd prayed that it would be Charlene, there to rescue her. Upon seeing that it was Vivian, she'd immediately closed her eyes.
She forced herself to keep them closed as Vivian walked over to the cage.
Somehow, she didn't flinch at the sound of a click. Had Vivian tried to shoot her?
When she could tell that Vivian's arm was inside the cage, she moved.
Grabbed Vivian's arm.
Pulled it down.
It didn't hurt Vivian, but her long blonde hair spilled down into the cage.
Gertie grabbed Vivian's hair with her other hand. Twisted it hair around her fist. All of Gertie's fingers were raw and sore from the knife-under-the-fingernails treatment, but she gritted her teeth and fought through the excruciating pain.
Yanked as hard as she could.
Vivian's face bashed into the cage, chin-first. She dropped the knife.
Gertie yanked again.
Vivian smashed into the steel again. Her nose split open.
Vivian screamed something incoherent and tried to pull her head away, but Gertie was able to pull her hair one more time, bashing her right on the mouth. As Vivian s
creamed, a couple of her front teeth dropped into the cage.
The woman's face was a ghastly sight but she was still very much alive.
Gertie had no strength left to yank her hair again.
She did have enough strength—barely—to pick up the knife and jab it up through the bars.
Gertie was aiming for her neck, right where Charlene had stabbed Jared. But Vivian had moved. The blade plunged into her heart instead.
As blood pumped down upon Gertie, Vivian tried to push herself back up to a standing position. A moment later, she dropped to the floor. It would've been a sick, fucked-up romantic ending if she'd landed on top of her husband, but Ken's corpse was on the other side of the cage.
Gertie wiped Vivian's blood out of her eyes. Some had gotten directly on her right eyeball and she frantically tried to blink it out to make the burning sensation disappear.
It wasn't going away. She'd worry about that later.
She called out to Charlene, who didn't answer.
She kept calling out, even though she'd heard multiple gunshots, and the fact that Charlene was not in the room with her right now was a pretty strong indication that her friend was dead.
There was a loud crash outside of the room.
Creaking on the stairs. Too much creaking to be only one person.
"We've got a body!" a man shouted.
Two men walked into the cage room. Police officers. If she'd been able to give them some sort of warning about what they'd see, she would have. She would have warned them about the now-eleven cages dangling from the ceiling, most of them with dead bodies inside. Warned them about the teenage boy lying with an open throat in a pool of blood. Warned them about the dead man who'd been crushed by a heavy steel cage. Warned them about the woman with blood gushing from her heart.
The cops looked like they could have used the warning. One of them immediately turned around and vomited, while the other gaped at the nightmares surrounding him.
The one who'd vomited removed his walkie-talkie from his belt and stepped back out of the room. She heard him say something frantic about needing backup and an ambulance, immediately.
