After the door shut, the men tide my hands behind my back, and lead me
down the hall towards the elevator. Once inside, they sent it down to
the boiler room. We exited into the dark, hot depths of the room,
making our way slowly, avoiding jutting pipes and jets of steam. The
whole scene appeared ridiculous. It was like something out of a
movie. The problem was, this was not a movie, this was real. I was
being held hostage by a crazy man out on a personal vendetta and being
marched into the bowels of the school where God knows what was about
to happen to me. I was scared. Hell, I was terrified. My ribs ached
from the gunshot wound and from tightening my muscles to choke the
sobs of tears that wanted to pour from me. I shut my eyes tight, not
allowing the scene unfold in front of me. Whatever lay ahead, I did
not want to watch it come at me. I kept my eyes closed until we
stopped. As I opened them I saw for the first time the Hell that
Vanessa had returned from. They had set up their own torture chamber
in our building faster than they had taken the place over. That's
when I realized that there had been more advanced planning involved in
this scenario that I had originally thought.
As I looked around at few men standing in front of me, talking over what looked like blueprints in the corner, I recognized two of them. They were maintenance men. They worked at the school. They had been there longer than I had been. My mind swarmed with thoughts at this realization. How long had they been planning this? How could anyone slip into the system, make 'friends' within the school, and then betray the basic trust of so many people.
"That's a question I plan on asking Mr. Donovan, when he shows up," Carter said, smiling as he turned to me. It was then that I realized my 'thoughts' had been said aloud.
"What's wrong Ms. Connor? Surprised that we could take an entire building hostage?" he continued, a greasy smile across his face. "And to answer your question, we've been planning this 'scenario' for about two years. I myself have had plans for much longer, but your little school wasn't in them until I met Kevin here." He swept his arm up, broadly pointing to an older man across the room, hunched over the blueprints. "And now my dear, I'm afraid we must dispense with the pleasantries. You have information I want. And I have to find a way to get it out of you, even if that means bleeding it out."
"What information? I don't even know who you are. How could I possibly know anything important to you?" I spat at him.
"Oh, good show," he smiled, mimicking applause. "But I'm afraid you'll have to do better if you plan on convincing me that you don't know our Mr. Donovan and his clan. Casey over there has intelligence claiming Donovan had a person in here watching for us. He doesn't think it could be you, but your arrival here coincides with the supposed arrival of the agent. I don't believe that to be mere coincidence. But, I'm only human, I could be wrong. But just in case I'm not, let's play a little game." He nodded to the men that held.
Suddenly I was jerked across the floor, my feet barely touching solid ground, and my bound wrists tied again with chain wrapped around the ceiling support been. I practically hung in the air, the agonizing effects of gravity pulling harshly at my arms and shoulders. The toes of my shoes grazed the ground as I swung lightly. One of the men came forward holding a large knife. I shut my eyes, expecting the worst, but instead felt the tug at my sweater as the knife cut it off of me, exposing the black camisole underneath. I opened my eyes slowly, only to see him walk away, tossing the now shredded sweater to the corner.
"Ms. Connor," Carter began again, "Let me tell you how this game works. I'm going to tell you everything I'm going to do to you now. In between, if you tell me what I want to know, I'll stop. If you don't say anything I want to hear, then I'll continue. Unfortunately this means that if you are not an agent, you'll experience every slice of pain I deliver. Either way, you're going to hurt, and I'm going to have some fun." He smiled and swept his hand through the air again. I got the feeling he thought he was a magician. This was all one big show to him. When he turned back around I saw, curled in his hand, a whip. Every muscle in my body tensed at the image and the impending damage to come.
"First, Ms. Connor, I'm going to use this." He displayed the whip like it was a priceless icon. "Between each lash, you get the opportunity to cough up any information you might have. If I receive no satisfaction from this device, I turn to the hoses. If blasting you with enough water pressure to bruise every square inch of your body turns up nothing, then we move on. The jumper cables you see to your right are attached to a generator and each clamp holds a nice, wet sponge. If I place the sponges anywhere on your body and turn on the generator, and then you will receive the shock of your life, I promise you that much. If even this proves ineffective, then, well, I begin pulling teeth – literally. Each tooth offers a chance to provide the much-desired words I want to hear. And when I run out of teeth, I start breaking bones, and so on and so forth. So, before I begin, do you have anything to say Ms. Connor?"
"I already told you. I don't know anything. I'm not an agent for anyone. I don't know any Donovan," I could hear my words trembling despite my attempts to feign resolve.
"That's too bad," he said, letting the end of the whip fall to the ground, while he tightly grasped the handle.
Carter followed through on his word. I endured hours of whiplashes and water beatings. My stomach felt cold and bruised from the hoses, but my back, still split open from the whip, felt warm from the blood that drained slowly from me. Although Carter himself did not inflict every blow, leaving after the first few minutes to check on the security of the building, I could tell he was checking in with the men as one would occasionally retreat to the back of the room and whisper something seemingly to himself. I watched as they prepared the clamps and sponges for their next attack, barely listening to the man that screamed into my ear, demanding me to let forth knowledge I did not have. After a few moments, he signaled to the others to come forth. After offering me one more chance at mercy, the men set to work.
The pain of the electricity writhing through my body was excruciating. Though my eyes were open during the blasts, they saw only darkness. My screams were soon too much for my body to emit and I eventually went limp, allowing the chains to hold me in place, my only acknowledgment of my torture being the involuntary jerks of my muscles. I vaguely heard their voices over the thunderous ringing in my head. Their resonant voices sounding like little more than mice in a tunnel. After the last fire-like burst of energy that coursed through my body, my mind went blank and I passed out. I awoke after what felt like hours, but was most likely only a few minutes, to see Carter's face near my own.
"I see, my dear, we're not getting very far with you," he snarled, his eyes appraising me as one might do a slaughtered cow. "I have a feeling you're trouble. I can't have that at a moment like this. You had better have something interesting to say soon or my patience may run out."
"Sir, he's on the phone. He wants to talk to you," a young voice shouted from somewhere behind Carter.
"Well, the cavalry's arrived," he winked and slapped my stomach with the back of his hand. Pain shot through me like a bullet, but I could no longer react.
I forced myself to ask one question. "If you thought I was the one you were looking for," I struggled for a breath, "then why did you hurt her?"
Carter turned. "Her? Oh, your young friend from the lab. That's simple really. She tried to protect her students, she fought with one of my men, nearly got his gun, and for that she was punished," he recalled as if he had scolded a child. He then turned and made his way towards the voice and the phone.
Some of the longest minutes of my life passed as he conversed with whom I assumed were the authorities. He and his men returned to me shortly. Carter was obviously unhappy with the outcome of the conversation.
"Mr. Donovan claims you're not his," Carter informed me. "I don't know if I believe that. I know he had someone in here. I know it. You fit the profile. It has to be you." His anger and confusion were mounting. He was worried. Not worried that he was torturing the wrong person exactly. More to the point, he was worried that the person he wanted was still out there, unknown, and reporting to this man named Donovan.
"Well, I guess the best way to find out is to continue our little game, isn't it?" He reached towards my right and picked up an instrument from a small table. I recognized the pliers as soon as they appeared before me. "Say, ah!"
As I came to for the about the eighth time, I was horrified to see three of my molars lying on the ground before me. Though most of the bleeding had stopped, I could still feel a ribbon of warmth trickle down my chin. The water on the floor was now bright red. I could see the bottom of my camisole as the frays dripped the red liquid onto the floor. Carter had tired of my screams and returned to the details of negotiations. There was one man left in the room with me. He was seated at the table to my right, going over what appeared to be building plans.
"Please, let me down," I managed to whisper in his direction. "I won't do anything, I swear. I can't stay like this any longer."
"Shut up," he barked, not taking his eyes off the papers in front of him.
"Please, I swear, I won't be any trouble," I pleaded, the tears beginning to stream down my cheeks.
He looked up at me. "Carter said you stayed there. I follow his orders."
"You follow the orders of a mad man," I spat at him through gritted teeth, my fear and loathing rising from within my pain.
"He has his reasons. I believe they're just."
"What possible reason could he have to justify the torture and murder of innocent human beings? I think you're as crazy as your boss."
He shot from his chair and stood in front of me. "We're not crazy. Carter's old lady was killed by that fed Donovan. She was protecting him. She was never involved. She was just protecting her husband and they gunned her down."
"Why were they after Carter to begin with? Drugs?"
"No. Weapons. You should know that."
"I don't know anything," I said louder, but regretted it instantly as my swollen gums reminded me of my wounds.
"Maybe you don't. But it was that bust that killed him. They may have shot at him, but it was the bullet that hit her that killed him."
"If she wasn't involved, why was she there?"
"Hey, he didn't know about the bust. None of us could have. Some damn undercover cop bought a shipment from us then followed the trail. Carter brought the Mrs. along on one of the buys. She was sitting in the car when the guns started going. She ran to help her husband. She didn't know."
"Then how could the Fed have known? This Donovan guy couldn't have known she wasn't part of it. How can you blame one person?"
"I'm tired of talking about this," he said, his hands meeting above my head. With one sudden motion, I was cut from my bindings and dropped to the ground. "Now stay put. I don't wanna have to shoot you," he said as he returned to his chair.
I lay in the pool of water and blood below me, half curled into a ball. I could feel my hair soaking up the mixture, but I was momentarily unable to do anything about it. I eventually forced myself to sit up against the post behind me. The stinging sensations from the torn flesh of my back made me sit back up and reposition myself. Of course bending forward sent shockwaves of pain through my body from the bruises on my stomach. I slowly brought my knee up to my chest. I rested my elbow upon it and let my forehead drop into my upturned palm. It was all I could do to breathe normally. I sat in that position for a while before I noticed a glass of water appear before me. "Here," was all I heard before I watched my guard return to his post.
After a moment he began to talk to someone over the radio. From the one side of the discussion I could hear there was some confusion over the layout of the building. Apparently there was fear of an attack by the authorities now surrounding the building. I couldn't completely understand all he was saying but, from what I did, there were tunnels under the buildings. They were maintenance tunnels for the steam pipes that supplied heat to main buildings of campus. Since Carter and his men only controlled this one building, it was a concern that the police could send teams through the tunnels from other buildings. I gathered that Carter had men in the tunnels, but they couldn't hold back a large team of police or federal agents. That was when I realized why they took so many hostages. That was their only pawn in this game. If the police moved in, then they would most likely start killing their hostages.
I think that was when I decided to try to escape. As strange as it sounds, it had never occurred to me before that point. My pain and fear were transforming into a resolve to survive, no matter the cost. I could clear a path for the police from the inside out. They could get in and Vanessa wouldn't die. Without a second thought I determined that I would have to find a way to get the tunnel map, a gun, and a radio. The improbability of success never cam to mind.
As I looked around at few men standing in front of me, talking over what looked like blueprints in the corner, I recognized two of them. They were maintenance men. They worked at the school. They had been there longer than I had been. My mind swarmed with thoughts at this realization. How long had they been planning this? How could anyone slip into the system, make 'friends' within the school, and then betray the basic trust of so many people.
"That's a question I plan on asking Mr. Donovan, when he shows up," Carter said, smiling as he turned to me. It was then that I realized my 'thoughts' had been said aloud.
"What's wrong Ms. Connor? Surprised that we could take an entire building hostage?" he continued, a greasy smile across his face. "And to answer your question, we've been planning this 'scenario' for about two years. I myself have had plans for much longer, but your little school wasn't in them until I met Kevin here." He swept his arm up, broadly pointing to an older man across the room, hunched over the blueprints. "And now my dear, I'm afraid we must dispense with the pleasantries. You have information I want. And I have to find a way to get it out of you, even if that means bleeding it out."
"What information? I don't even know who you are. How could I possibly know anything important to you?" I spat at him.
"Oh, good show," he smiled, mimicking applause. "But I'm afraid you'll have to do better if you plan on convincing me that you don't know our Mr. Donovan and his clan. Casey over there has intelligence claiming Donovan had a person in here watching for us. He doesn't think it could be you, but your arrival here coincides with the supposed arrival of the agent. I don't believe that to be mere coincidence. But, I'm only human, I could be wrong. But just in case I'm not, let's play a little game." He nodded to the men that held.
Suddenly I was jerked across the floor, my feet barely touching solid ground, and my bound wrists tied again with chain wrapped around the ceiling support been. I practically hung in the air, the agonizing effects of gravity pulling harshly at my arms and shoulders. The toes of my shoes grazed the ground as I swung lightly. One of the men came forward holding a large knife. I shut my eyes, expecting the worst, but instead felt the tug at my sweater as the knife cut it off of me, exposing the black camisole underneath. I opened my eyes slowly, only to see him walk away, tossing the now shredded sweater to the corner.
"Ms. Connor," Carter began again, "Let me tell you how this game works. I'm going to tell you everything I'm going to do to you now. In between, if you tell me what I want to know, I'll stop. If you don't say anything I want to hear, then I'll continue. Unfortunately this means that if you are not an agent, you'll experience every slice of pain I deliver. Either way, you're going to hurt, and I'm going to have some fun." He smiled and swept his hand through the air again. I got the feeling he thought he was a magician. This was all one big show to him. When he turned back around I saw, curled in his hand, a whip. Every muscle in my body tensed at the image and the impending damage to come.
"First, Ms. Connor, I'm going to use this." He displayed the whip like it was a priceless icon. "Between each lash, you get the opportunity to cough up any information you might have. If I receive no satisfaction from this device, I turn to the hoses. If blasting you with enough water pressure to bruise every square inch of your body turns up nothing, then we move on. The jumper cables you see to your right are attached to a generator and each clamp holds a nice, wet sponge. If I place the sponges anywhere on your body and turn on the generator, and then you will receive the shock of your life, I promise you that much. If even this proves ineffective, then, well, I begin pulling teeth – literally. Each tooth offers a chance to provide the much-desired words I want to hear. And when I run out of teeth, I start breaking bones, and so on and so forth. So, before I begin, do you have anything to say Ms. Connor?"
"I already told you. I don't know anything. I'm not an agent for anyone. I don't know any Donovan," I could hear my words trembling despite my attempts to feign resolve.
"That's too bad," he said, letting the end of the whip fall to the ground, while he tightly grasped the handle.
Carter followed through on his word. I endured hours of whiplashes and water beatings. My stomach felt cold and bruised from the hoses, but my back, still split open from the whip, felt warm from the blood that drained slowly from me. Although Carter himself did not inflict every blow, leaving after the first few minutes to check on the security of the building, I could tell he was checking in with the men as one would occasionally retreat to the back of the room and whisper something seemingly to himself. I watched as they prepared the clamps and sponges for their next attack, barely listening to the man that screamed into my ear, demanding me to let forth knowledge I did not have. After a few moments, he signaled to the others to come forth. After offering me one more chance at mercy, the men set to work.
The pain of the electricity writhing through my body was excruciating. Though my eyes were open during the blasts, they saw only darkness. My screams were soon too much for my body to emit and I eventually went limp, allowing the chains to hold me in place, my only acknowledgment of my torture being the involuntary jerks of my muscles. I vaguely heard their voices over the thunderous ringing in my head. Their resonant voices sounding like little more than mice in a tunnel. After the last fire-like burst of energy that coursed through my body, my mind went blank and I passed out. I awoke after what felt like hours, but was most likely only a few minutes, to see Carter's face near my own.
"I see, my dear, we're not getting very far with you," he snarled, his eyes appraising me as one might do a slaughtered cow. "I have a feeling you're trouble. I can't have that at a moment like this. You had better have something interesting to say soon or my patience may run out."
"Sir, he's on the phone. He wants to talk to you," a young voice shouted from somewhere behind Carter.
"Well, the cavalry's arrived," he winked and slapped my stomach with the back of his hand. Pain shot through me like a bullet, but I could no longer react.
I forced myself to ask one question. "If you thought I was the one you were looking for," I struggled for a breath, "then why did you hurt her?"
Carter turned. "Her? Oh, your young friend from the lab. That's simple really. She tried to protect her students, she fought with one of my men, nearly got his gun, and for that she was punished," he recalled as if he had scolded a child. He then turned and made his way towards the voice and the phone.
Some of the longest minutes of my life passed as he conversed with whom I assumed were the authorities. He and his men returned to me shortly. Carter was obviously unhappy with the outcome of the conversation.
"Mr. Donovan claims you're not his," Carter informed me. "I don't know if I believe that. I know he had someone in here. I know it. You fit the profile. It has to be you." His anger and confusion were mounting. He was worried. Not worried that he was torturing the wrong person exactly. More to the point, he was worried that the person he wanted was still out there, unknown, and reporting to this man named Donovan.
"Well, I guess the best way to find out is to continue our little game, isn't it?" He reached towards my right and picked up an instrument from a small table. I recognized the pliers as soon as they appeared before me. "Say, ah!"
As I came to for the about the eighth time, I was horrified to see three of my molars lying on the ground before me. Though most of the bleeding had stopped, I could still feel a ribbon of warmth trickle down my chin. The water on the floor was now bright red. I could see the bottom of my camisole as the frays dripped the red liquid onto the floor. Carter had tired of my screams and returned to the details of negotiations. There was one man left in the room with me. He was seated at the table to my right, going over what appeared to be building plans.
"Please, let me down," I managed to whisper in his direction. "I won't do anything, I swear. I can't stay like this any longer."
"Shut up," he barked, not taking his eyes off the papers in front of him.
"Please, I swear, I won't be any trouble," I pleaded, the tears beginning to stream down my cheeks.
He looked up at me. "Carter said you stayed there. I follow his orders."
"You follow the orders of a mad man," I spat at him through gritted teeth, my fear and loathing rising from within my pain.
"He has his reasons. I believe they're just."
"What possible reason could he have to justify the torture and murder of innocent human beings? I think you're as crazy as your boss."
He shot from his chair and stood in front of me. "We're not crazy. Carter's old lady was killed by that fed Donovan. She was protecting him. She was never involved. She was just protecting her husband and they gunned her down."
"Why were they after Carter to begin with? Drugs?"
"No. Weapons. You should know that."
"I don't know anything," I said louder, but regretted it instantly as my swollen gums reminded me of my wounds.
"Maybe you don't. But it was that bust that killed him. They may have shot at him, but it was the bullet that hit her that killed him."
"If she wasn't involved, why was she there?"
"Hey, he didn't know about the bust. None of us could have. Some damn undercover cop bought a shipment from us then followed the trail. Carter brought the Mrs. along on one of the buys. She was sitting in the car when the guns started going. She ran to help her husband. She didn't know."
"Then how could the Fed have known? This Donovan guy couldn't have known she wasn't part of it. How can you blame one person?"
"I'm tired of talking about this," he said, his hands meeting above my head. With one sudden motion, I was cut from my bindings and dropped to the ground. "Now stay put. I don't wanna have to shoot you," he said as he returned to his chair.
I lay in the pool of water and blood below me, half curled into a ball. I could feel my hair soaking up the mixture, but I was momentarily unable to do anything about it. I eventually forced myself to sit up against the post behind me. The stinging sensations from the torn flesh of my back made me sit back up and reposition myself. Of course bending forward sent shockwaves of pain through my body from the bruises on my stomach. I slowly brought my knee up to my chest. I rested my elbow upon it and let my forehead drop into my upturned palm. It was all I could do to breathe normally. I sat in that position for a while before I noticed a glass of water appear before me. "Here," was all I heard before I watched my guard return to his post.
After a moment he began to talk to someone over the radio. From the one side of the discussion I could hear there was some confusion over the layout of the building. Apparently there was fear of an attack by the authorities now surrounding the building. I couldn't completely understand all he was saying but, from what I did, there were tunnels under the buildings. They were maintenance tunnels for the steam pipes that supplied heat to main buildings of campus. Since Carter and his men only controlled this one building, it was a concern that the police could send teams through the tunnels from other buildings. I gathered that Carter had men in the tunnels, but they couldn't hold back a large team of police or federal agents. That was when I realized why they took so many hostages. That was their only pawn in this game. If the police moved in, then they would most likely start killing their hostages.
I think that was when I decided to try to escape. As strange as it sounds, it had never occurred to me before that point. My pain and fear were transforming into a resolve to survive, no matter the cost. I could clear a path for the police from the inside out. They could get in and Vanessa wouldn't die. Without a second thought I determined that I would have to find a way to get the tunnel map, a gun, and a radio. The improbability of success never cam to mind.