Chapter 4
"You're beginning to scare me! Please, wake up at last!"
The pulsating waves of the leaden ocean was rolling onto him; the more he tried to fight the icy breakers, the deeper he was sinking, having no strengths left to struggle with the overwhelming heaviness. His body felt so weak and cold, his head so weighty, the grip on his shoulders so tight...
The grip on his shoulders?
It wasn't the waves rocking him roughly, it was the hands that shook his so violently that every unevenness under his back felt painful.
"You'll wake up, Hardy!" there was a threatening note to the voice. "Do you hear me?"
Joe heard. The voice was coming from somewhere above him, it echoed excruciatingly in his buzzing head and he wished for the man to stop shouting so loud. What he wanted to say like "stop yelling at me" came only as a moan as he tried to speak.
"Come on, buddy," the voice suddenly sounded a lot happier. "Open your eyes!"
Having no idea what was going on and why he felt so weak as if he'd run into a brick wall, Joe made an attempt of opening his eyes, but the moment the bright light hit his eyes, he snapped them back shut, feeling the already unbearable headache double.
"Come on! Joe, please, I need to know that you're alright!" the voice urged, a note of desperateness in it.
Joe started to blink rapidly as he forced himself to open his heavy eyelids at last. When his vision adjusted, he saw a dark round face above him on a badly lit background.
"Who are you?" Joe managed in a throaty voice.
"Here we go," the man above him sniggered. "He sure hit you good. Chet Morton, remember me? How do you feel?"
Joe stared perplexedly at him for a few moments. "Hey, Chet," he said finally. "I'm...I'm okay. I guess."
"Doesn't look like it, but I hope so," Chet muttered under his breath and reached out his hand, "Come on, I'll help you sit up."
Joe took the hand that pulled him into a sitting position and looked around. His vision was blurry and the picture was spinning before his eyes, but he could distinguish a bulb that hung from the ceiling, dimly illuminating a dirty floor and bared walls. The teen knitted his eyebrows, "What is it?"
"Looks like a basement, but I don't know for sure," Chet replied. "Not a snug place, huh?"
Joe had to agree. The room looked decrepit and somber and the dim light of the small bulb made the oppressive feeling grow. There was no furniture other than a shabby armchair that stood in a corner under a small broken window. The already chilly air of the basement was getting colder with each gust of the chilly autumn wind through the gap and the grey concrete walls with damp patches seemingly lowered the temperature even more.
"Definitely not," Joe replied and shook his head to get rid of dizziness. His head still hurt, but at least his vision wasn't so fuzzy. "How did we end up here?" he asked, taking Chet's outstretched hand and rising to his unsteady feet from the coarse wooden floor, "Oh my head..." he complained, massaging his temples.
"You have a very nice bruise there and there," Chet said, pointing at Joe's chin and forehead. "No wonder you were out for such a long time. I actually started to think it was something really serious."
"I hope it's not," Joe said, rubbing his eyes which hurt – and it wasn't a good sign. Then he looked at his friend again. "Chet, what's going on? Why are we here? Where are we? And why are both of us here?"
"So many questions," Chet chuckled somewhat ruefully and sighed. "I don't know, Joe, where we are, but I have a very bad suspicion why we're here, however I hope I'm wrong," he said seriously. "That guy didn't tell me anything, either."
"What guy?"
"I better tell you everything in order. And you better sit down, you look as if you're about to fall and if you do you'll knock your head again," Chet had Joe seated onto the chair that squeaked under his weight and sat on the dirty floor himself. "Remember I told you this morning that I needed to buy some fertilizers?"
A nod sent painful sensation within Joe's head and he put his hands on his temples.
"So," Chet went on, "that done, I was walking to catch a taxi when that guy came up to me and asked the time. I lowered my head to look at the watch when – bang! He knocked me flat. And then I woke up here."
Involuntarily Joe looked at his friend's face and saw that his jaw was a bit swollen. "Hey!" he suddenly brightened. "I found you! Frank said your Mom said you were late and weren't answering her calls.... Frank. Wait! Where's Frank?"
"Not here. I hope."
"Chet, I don't understand anything," Joe shook his head in dismay.
"Mom asked you to go look for me, right?" Chet asked with sadness in his voice.
"Yeah," Joe replied after a pause and scratched his forehead. "Yeah! I and Frank went to the mall, but you weren't there and we were walking back to the van when that man first knocked Frank out, then struck me... If I am here, where is Frank?" he asked, his eyebrows knitted in one line.
"I hope he's not somewhere here," Chet replied dismally.
"Why? Chet, what's going on? We were kidnapped, right?"
Chet sighed, "Apparently. Otherwise the door would have been open."
"Did you see him?"
Chet nodded, "When he brought you here and dropped you onto the floor, I had a good look at him. He looked exactly like the man on the photo you and Frank had shown us this morning."
All the color drained from Joe's already pale face. "You sure?" he asked, a tight knot tying itself in his stomach.
"Joe, if what your Dad said that madman had done is true...." Chet didn't go on, feeling his heart sink into his boots.
Silence filled the air as Joe was letting the news sink into his head. Chet watched him, a hopeful expression on his face. He had already tried to break the lock, to knock the door out, checked the window – it was too small even for a small child, besides bared from outside – but all in vain. It was Joe, not Chet, who was a detective, his father had taught him a lot of things, he had to think of something to get them out of here. Alive and in one piece.
Without saying a word, Joe stood to his feet, waited a moment till dizziness passed, "We gotta get out of here," he said, his voice collected. "Whatever it takes, we gotta get out here! And quick!"
"I tried the door, but it didn't give," Chet rose from the floor. "But maybe between the two of us we'll have more luck?"
Joe nodded and walked to the black metal door, "Do you think he's somewhere near?" he asked Chet, kneeling down to examine the lock.
"I don't know," Chet replied. "So, what's with the lock?"
"Nothing good," Joe stood up and checked his pockets – empty. "If I had a pick or something I could try, but there's nothing I can do with bare hands." His eyes studied the door frame and his face grew gloomy. "It opens inwards! There's no way to break it from inside!"
Despair started to take the best of him as he looked around the room. There was no other way of escaping other than through the door which they wouldn't be able to break.
"What's behind the window?" he asked, his voice strained. If they didn't find a way out – Joe refused to think about what would happen next. It couldn't happen!
"Trees," Chet replied, now getting as nervous as Joe. "Joe, it's too small even for you."
"I noticed," Joe replied rather sharply. He came to see what was behind the window, narrowing his eyes against the wind that blew into his face. "I can't see anything, it's too dark outside... Do you think if we shout anyone will hear?" Joe inhaled deeply and screamed at the top of his lungs, "HELP!! Anyone out there?? HELP!!!"
He was joined by Chet and together they kept on shouting for a few minutes until they stopped to catch their breaths.
"Any luck?" asked a sudden voice from behind.
Joe's heart gave a jump inside at the suddenness of it. He span around to see the speaker and all his hope that it could be their savior tumbled down. In the doorframe stood the man he was afraid to see.
"You can scream and shout," Newman adjusted the glasses on his nose and smiled; Joe felt astounded at how friendly could a smile look and how eyes could remain icy, "but the only person to hear you will be me."
As is by chance, he moved a knife in his hand, making the blade shine coldly in the dim light. Not the most serious weapon, Joe thought to himself. There were two of them against Newman, the door was open. If he could give Chet a hint...
"But if I were you," the man went on in a calm, even tone, as if they were discussing the weather, "I'd save my voice for later. I'll give you a chance to use it soon."
Joe wanted to snap at him, but couldn't bring himself to it. Had Chet not been in the room, he wouldn't hold his tongue. Joe looked at his friend, then turned back to Newman, his eyes stopping at the door for a second, hoping Chet understood.
Newman reached into his pocket and retrieved a rope from it. "Hey you," he nodded at Chet. "Take it. And no tricks!"
Chet glanced at Joe, who barely noticeably nodded, and reached out his arm to get the rope. Losing no time, Joe clenched his right hand into a fist and, taking aim at the man's jaw...
To his utter astonishment, Newman had a great reaction. Before Joe's fist could reach the target, he jumped aside and caught Joe's wrist in a vice grip. In the blink of an eye, Joe found himself in half-leaning position, his right arm twisted behind his back and a thin blade on his neck.
Chet froze, afraid to breathe.
"I recognize daddy's tricks," Newman said derisively to Joe and pulled his arm even higher, making the teen clench his teeth in pain. "You know, you only hadn't announced on the radio what you were up to."
Joe saw the world darken in front of his eyes, but he uttered no sound.
"Let him go," Chet said, his voice wavering slightly.
"What a friend!" Newman replied. "Why don't you do me a favor – take the rope and tie his hands up? Who knows what I can do to him if you don't?" Joe felt the blade start to pierce the thin skin...
Chet winced, but nodded. The next second Joe was let go, his left hand checking the thin red line on his neck; he couldn't feel his right arm at all.
Newman handed the rope Chet humbly took, "Be quick."
Chet swallowed as he walked behind Joe and started to tie his wrists up, "Sorry," he muttered.
Joe opened his mouth to reply, but Newman interrupted him, "I just thought, why don't we make it easier?"
Joe raised his head to see what the man was planning and the next second a powerful blow knocked him out.
"You're beginning to scare me! Please, wake up at last!"
The pulsating waves of the leaden ocean was rolling onto him; the more he tried to fight the icy breakers, the deeper he was sinking, having no strengths left to struggle with the overwhelming heaviness. His body felt so weak and cold, his head so weighty, the grip on his shoulders so tight...
The grip on his shoulders?
It wasn't the waves rocking him roughly, it was the hands that shook his so violently that every unevenness under his back felt painful.
"You'll wake up, Hardy!" there was a threatening note to the voice. "Do you hear me?"
Joe heard. The voice was coming from somewhere above him, it echoed excruciatingly in his buzzing head and he wished for the man to stop shouting so loud. What he wanted to say like "stop yelling at me" came only as a moan as he tried to speak.
"Come on, buddy," the voice suddenly sounded a lot happier. "Open your eyes!"
Having no idea what was going on and why he felt so weak as if he'd run into a brick wall, Joe made an attempt of opening his eyes, but the moment the bright light hit his eyes, he snapped them back shut, feeling the already unbearable headache double.
"Come on! Joe, please, I need to know that you're alright!" the voice urged, a note of desperateness in it.
Joe started to blink rapidly as he forced himself to open his heavy eyelids at last. When his vision adjusted, he saw a dark round face above him on a badly lit background.
"Who are you?" Joe managed in a throaty voice.
"Here we go," the man above him sniggered. "He sure hit you good. Chet Morton, remember me? How do you feel?"
Joe stared perplexedly at him for a few moments. "Hey, Chet," he said finally. "I'm...I'm okay. I guess."
"Doesn't look like it, but I hope so," Chet muttered under his breath and reached out his hand, "Come on, I'll help you sit up."
Joe took the hand that pulled him into a sitting position and looked around. His vision was blurry and the picture was spinning before his eyes, but he could distinguish a bulb that hung from the ceiling, dimly illuminating a dirty floor and bared walls. The teen knitted his eyebrows, "What is it?"
"Looks like a basement, but I don't know for sure," Chet replied. "Not a snug place, huh?"
Joe had to agree. The room looked decrepit and somber and the dim light of the small bulb made the oppressive feeling grow. There was no furniture other than a shabby armchair that stood in a corner under a small broken window. The already chilly air of the basement was getting colder with each gust of the chilly autumn wind through the gap and the grey concrete walls with damp patches seemingly lowered the temperature even more.
"Definitely not," Joe replied and shook his head to get rid of dizziness. His head still hurt, but at least his vision wasn't so fuzzy. "How did we end up here?" he asked, taking Chet's outstretched hand and rising to his unsteady feet from the coarse wooden floor, "Oh my head..." he complained, massaging his temples.
"You have a very nice bruise there and there," Chet said, pointing at Joe's chin and forehead. "No wonder you were out for such a long time. I actually started to think it was something really serious."
"I hope it's not," Joe said, rubbing his eyes which hurt – and it wasn't a good sign. Then he looked at his friend again. "Chet, what's going on? Why are we here? Where are we? And why are both of us here?"
"So many questions," Chet chuckled somewhat ruefully and sighed. "I don't know, Joe, where we are, but I have a very bad suspicion why we're here, however I hope I'm wrong," he said seriously. "That guy didn't tell me anything, either."
"What guy?"
"I better tell you everything in order. And you better sit down, you look as if you're about to fall and if you do you'll knock your head again," Chet had Joe seated onto the chair that squeaked under his weight and sat on the dirty floor himself. "Remember I told you this morning that I needed to buy some fertilizers?"
A nod sent painful sensation within Joe's head and he put his hands on his temples.
"So," Chet went on, "that done, I was walking to catch a taxi when that guy came up to me and asked the time. I lowered my head to look at the watch when – bang! He knocked me flat. And then I woke up here."
Involuntarily Joe looked at his friend's face and saw that his jaw was a bit swollen. "Hey!" he suddenly brightened. "I found you! Frank said your Mom said you were late and weren't answering her calls.... Frank. Wait! Where's Frank?"
"Not here. I hope."
"Chet, I don't understand anything," Joe shook his head in dismay.
"Mom asked you to go look for me, right?" Chet asked with sadness in his voice.
"Yeah," Joe replied after a pause and scratched his forehead. "Yeah! I and Frank went to the mall, but you weren't there and we were walking back to the van when that man first knocked Frank out, then struck me... If I am here, where is Frank?" he asked, his eyebrows knitted in one line.
"I hope he's not somewhere here," Chet replied dismally.
"Why? Chet, what's going on? We were kidnapped, right?"
Chet sighed, "Apparently. Otherwise the door would have been open."
"Did you see him?"
Chet nodded, "When he brought you here and dropped you onto the floor, I had a good look at him. He looked exactly like the man on the photo you and Frank had shown us this morning."
All the color drained from Joe's already pale face. "You sure?" he asked, a tight knot tying itself in his stomach.
"Joe, if what your Dad said that madman had done is true...." Chet didn't go on, feeling his heart sink into his boots.
Silence filled the air as Joe was letting the news sink into his head. Chet watched him, a hopeful expression on his face. He had already tried to break the lock, to knock the door out, checked the window – it was too small even for a small child, besides bared from outside – but all in vain. It was Joe, not Chet, who was a detective, his father had taught him a lot of things, he had to think of something to get them out of here. Alive and in one piece.
Without saying a word, Joe stood to his feet, waited a moment till dizziness passed, "We gotta get out of here," he said, his voice collected. "Whatever it takes, we gotta get out here! And quick!"
"I tried the door, but it didn't give," Chet rose from the floor. "But maybe between the two of us we'll have more luck?"
Joe nodded and walked to the black metal door, "Do you think he's somewhere near?" he asked Chet, kneeling down to examine the lock.
"I don't know," Chet replied. "So, what's with the lock?"
"Nothing good," Joe stood up and checked his pockets – empty. "If I had a pick or something I could try, but there's nothing I can do with bare hands." His eyes studied the door frame and his face grew gloomy. "It opens inwards! There's no way to break it from inside!"
Despair started to take the best of him as he looked around the room. There was no other way of escaping other than through the door which they wouldn't be able to break.
"What's behind the window?" he asked, his voice strained. If they didn't find a way out – Joe refused to think about what would happen next. It couldn't happen!
"Trees," Chet replied, now getting as nervous as Joe. "Joe, it's too small even for you."
"I noticed," Joe replied rather sharply. He came to see what was behind the window, narrowing his eyes against the wind that blew into his face. "I can't see anything, it's too dark outside... Do you think if we shout anyone will hear?" Joe inhaled deeply and screamed at the top of his lungs, "HELP!! Anyone out there?? HELP!!!"
He was joined by Chet and together they kept on shouting for a few minutes until they stopped to catch their breaths.
"Any luck?" asked a sudden voice from behind.
Joe's heart gave a jump inside at the suddenness of it. He span around to see the speaker and all his hope that it could be their savior tumbled down. In the doorframe stood the man he was afraid to see.
"You can scream and shout," Newman adjusted the glasses on his nose and smiled; Joe felt astounded at how friendly could a smile look and how eyes could remain icy, "but the only person to hear you will be me."
As is by chance, he moved a knife in his hand, making the blade shine coldly in the dim light. Not the most serious weapon, Joe thought to himself. There were two of them against Newman, the door was open. If he could give Chet a hint...
"But if I were you," the man went on in a calm, even tone, as if they were discussing the weather, "I'd save my voice for later. I'll give you a chance to use it soon."
Joe wanted to snap at him, but couldn't bring himself to it. Had Chet not been in the room, he wouldn't hold his tongue. Joe looked at his friend, then turned back to Newman, his eyes stopping at the door for a second, hoping Chet understood.
Newman reached into his pocket and retrieved a rope from it. "Hey you," he nodded at Chet. "Take it. And no tricks!"
Chet glanced at Joe, who barely noticeably nodded, and reached out his arm to get the rope. Losing no time, Joe clenched his right hand into a fist and, taking aim at the man's jaw...
To his utter astonishment, Newman had a great reaction. Before Joe's fist could reach the target, he jumped aside and caught Joe's wrist in a vice grip. In the blink of an eye, Joe found himself in half-leaning position, his right arm twisted behind his back and a thin blade on his neck.
Chet froze, afraid to breathe.
"I recognize daddy's tricks," Newman said derisively to Joe and pulled his arm even higher, making the teen clench his teeth in pain. "You know, you only hadn't announced on the radio what you were up to."
Joe saw the world darken in front of his eyes, but he uttered no sound.
"Let him go," Chet said, his voice wavering slightly.
"What a friend!" Newman replied. "Why don't you do me a favor – take the rope and tie his hands up? Who knows what I can do to him if you don't?" Joe felt the blade start to pierce the thin skin...
Chet winced, but nodded. The next second Joe was let go, his left hand checking the thin red line on his neck; he couldn't feel his right arm at all.
Newman handed the rope Chet humbly took, "Be quick."
Chet swallowed as he walked behind Joe and started to tie his wrists up, "Sorry," he muttered.
Joe opened his mouth to reply, but Newman interrupted him, "I just thought, why don't we make it easier?"
Joe raised his head to see what the man was planning and the next second a powerful blow knocked him out.