It had been a long walk back to the Pub. Dennis, Dee, and Charlie all had burn marks etched across their throats from repeated shocks by their captor, Matthew Mara. Dee's neck was predictably the worst. She was having a hard time walking at this point, being partially supported by her twin brother and by Charlie, just to keep her balance at this point.
To her credit, Dee had managed to withhold from referring to Matthew by his real name for the entire walk, referring to him only as "Cricket", and various swear words. He may have had the upper hand for once, but she refused to concede anything, even if it spared her from pain. This was the proud, noble Deandra Reynolds that he had fallen in love with as a child. The unyielding behavior that drove him to degrade himself so many times before. But it didn't make a difference now. It was nothing but idiotic stubbornness, and she knew it. That's what he told himself. Sure, let her act tough! It would only lead her to more punishment. Matthew Mara was done showing mercy to her!
The three hostages entered the bar, followed closely by their captors. They attempted to take seats in the bar, but Matthew cranked the dial on his remote, causing them all to jump, and grab their necks. They eyed a large, somewhat familiar figure standing in front of the office's closed door, acting as a burly bouncer. He scowled at the captives as they looked towards the office, and then looked right past them, at the bar's employees.
"The boss doesn't have time to take audience with the riffraff! Lock 'em in the cellar for the night! Have 'em organize things down there, and tie 'em up after!" the large man shouted.
"Hey, I already got that mostly taken care of, I think…" Matthew began to relate, before being harshly cut off by the large man's fevered howl.
"Well then you should mess things up again for them, so they have something to do!"
The towering man's voice rang in all their ears.
"Doyle?" Dennis asked, recalling the largest and most ferocious of the McPoyle clan as the man who they had robbed of a professional football career so many years back. But that was Frank's fault. If anything, he should be mad at Frank.
"You haven't earned the right to say my name, slave! Make sure that one trips down the stairs, will you?" he barked at Matthew. "Oh. And make them wear these!" Doyle tossed some raggedy clothes which Matthew caught and ducked under the arm that wasn't holding a pistol.
"Yeah, alright chief! I think I can handle that!" Matthew said with a chuckle, as he jammed his pistol in Dennis's back hard, causing him to jump. So gratifying!
Into the basement, they all went. Matthew made sure to trip Dennis, the last to enter the stairway. Dennis rolled down the stairs, taking Charlie's knees out, and Charlie hurtled forward and took Dee down with him. The three hostages loudly slammed down the stairs, bumping various body parts in the commotion. Dee just barely threw her hands out at the bottom, protecting her nose from fracturing on the concrete, but badly jamming her wrists in the process. Charlie had a bit less luck, thwacking his skull on the last step, feeling that familiar, almost enjoyable but undeniably painful flash and dizziness which accompanied a concussion. He was now having trouble hearing the others. Great! Dennis, being the last one down the stairs, received the most cushion on his fall, but he could still feel a series scrapes and bruises on the right side of his body as he tried to adjust to his feet. Matthew and the two McPoyles stood at the top of the stairs, pointing their weapons and smiling cruelly. Dee took a glance at the shotguns that Margaret and Ryan were wielding and had a sudden flash of memory to the last time she had been held prisoner by these gross psychos.
"Wait! You dickbags aren't holding us up with fake guns again, are you?"
Ryan aimed his shotgun and fired at a shelf of Brandy and Vodka. The bottles exploded, showering glass shrapnel across the room. Margaret, excited by her brother's action, followed suit. She destroyed a large jar of pickles, allowing the juice and glass to spray upon the three captives. This was not a trial run. There was no prank. They still had no idea what they were doing here, or what Frank meant when he mentioned a contract. Matthew came down the stairs, stepping on top of each of his prisoners as he moved through. He began to tear the room apart, knocking everything that wasn't made of glass on the floor. Charlie tried to reason with his former acquaintance.
"Cricket, dude. You don't have to… Ah! Oh, fuck!" Charlie suddenly grabbed at a blistering pain in his neck, realizing immediately that Matthew couldn't be reasoned with.
"Stop calling me Cricket, bitch! And all of you cunts, strip down to yer' underwear!" Matthew shouted, aiming his gun at them. Each of the began to strip layers of clothes off rapidly, as Matthew urged them, repeating "C'mon! C'mon! C'mon!"
"Make 'em get naked! You've got a fuckin' gun!" Ryan smiled while being held in a passionate embrace by his sister, Margaret.
"Alright. Like the way, you guys think up there. How bout you just keep going?"
"Oh god, are you serious? Ahhh! Ok, fuck!" Deandra wasted no more time, removing her undergarments. Dennis removed his underwear as well. Charlie, refused to remove his filthy, worn out underwear, instead clenching his legs together tightly.
"C'mon, Charlie boy! Pop off those tighty whiteys!" Matthew pointed the gun at Charlie's head, finally forcing him to comply with the request, revealing an extremely humiliated Charlie Kelley. Dee blushed a bit, hoping that her brother wouldn't notice the fact that this aroused her. He had noticed. Matthew enjoyed a good laugh at his enemy's expense. He then tossed the ragged garments on the ground and pointed his gun at them.
"Now put these new clothes on, which your captors were so gracious as to provide you. You will wear them, bitches… but in a couple seconds. I kinda' wanna look at Dee naked for a while longer!" Matthew smiled.
Dee narrowed her eyes at the skeezy little pervert standing before her. She knew that she had caused endless pain in this man's life. She realized that she was at least partly responsible for bringing him to this wretched state and that it was all wrong. That she was wrong. But nothing could excuse the way he was treating her right now. And she would not be forgiving when the tables inevitably turned.
"Now suit up! I've ogled you long enough!" Matthew demanded.
The three unfolded the ragged garments before them. The fabric was scratchy and loose. All shades of beige and gray. The tunics were ill-fitting, with bits of twine laced in to allow for some adjustment on the placement of the neckline. The trousers were loose and a bit billowy, though Charlie had managed to unfold the one skirts among the garments.
"Dude! Why do I have to be the one who wears a skirt, dude?" Charlie complained. Matthew laughed.
"Hey man, you're the one who picked it out. Don't blame me." Matthew mocked. Dee rolled her eyes, and turned to Charlie, handing him the pair of trousers she was holding, and taking the skirt from him, with a 'Gimme that!' for emphasis. She slid the skirt on, up her long slender legs, and tied a knot when it reached her waist. Charlie slid on the cream-colored trousers, a tied his waist as well. The three now looked like prisoners from a long-forgotten time. Probably the dark ages. They wondered what the point of this all was, but they weren't allowed to explore these thoughts for very long, as Matthew snatched up their original clothes, hurled them up the stairs to Ryan and Margaret, and then pointed his gun again.
"Alright, you cocksucking bottom feeders! It's time to get to work!" Matthew blustered. "Make it look the way it did before I knocked everything over! Otherwise, you're not eating tonight! I'll be back down to check in three hours, and if it's not finished, I'm shocking the shit out of you, and spraying you in the eyes with bug spray!"
"Are you fucking serious, Cricket!" Dee exclaimed. Matthew pivoted behind him to grab a can of Black Flag, tear off the cap, and blast Dee directly in the face, causing her to cough, scream, and convulse all at once. The pungent, viscous toxic spray burned her eyes furiously, and she gagged hard, only barely able to breathe. Ryan laughed from atop the stairs. She could hear him. The ghoul bastard! Charlie immediately shielded his eyes as Matthew walked passed him, hoping dearly that he wouldn't decide to spray him too.
"Alright, you've got your assignment. Somewhere in this room, there's a list of instructions describing how Liam wants things done down here. Find it, and fucking do it! Oh! And don't eat or drink ANYTHING! You hear me? If I come down here and find that any of you fuckwits has eaten or drunk anything, I'm punishing all of you. You got it?" Charlie and Dennis stared at Matthew, petrified by what he might do next. Dee would have followed suit if she could see, but she was still working to recover her vision. Matthew was starting to feel impatient with his captives. "You fucking GOT IT?" he reiterated.
"Yes Cricket!" the three said, almost in unison. A dry smirk curled along Matthew's dry, pallid lips. He reached into his pocket one more time, twisting the knob, sending a high voltage snap across the surface of their already damaged skin.
"It's Matthew to you, bitches!" he insisted, following his coworkers into the bar, and slamming the door shut. They heard the key turn on the basement door, then slide from the lock. After that, only silence followed. Nothing explained, no questions answered. Just the darkness of the basement, the wet, cluttered floor, and the three of them.