Chapter 8
'...And then we'll go somewhere far away for some time. Altogether. And invite all our friends. We'll go somewhere warm and nice, like Hawaii. Or maybe we can even go to Europe. The Canaries are said to be great. However, no. It's gonna be cold there this time of year... But we'll think of something when we get out of here... If you get out of here.... Shut up! We are getting out of here, do you hear me? We are!...just shut up....'
Joe sighed heavily in exasperation. Every time he tried to distract himself from the surroundings and think about his happy future a strange voice would chime in and remind him of the uncertain reality. He tried to ignore it, but failed, it still kept on interrupting all his positive thoughts. It was like having two people in his head, one was himself and the other a mysterious ill-wisher.
'I'm going mad. Totally mad. Schizophrenic, arguing with myself... I'm just tired, I'm only arguing with my imagination... I wanna go home so much... Somebody come and take me home...'
Time went on, but no one came yet. Neither Newman, and Joe was thankful for that, he wished something had happened to him and he wasn't coming back to carry out his sick plan. Nor someone else – his father or whoever else who could save them from the hands of the madman. And the latter was making Joe very disheartened. Their time was running out and he was very afraid he and Chet wouldn't be found on time.
"Joe?" Chet called, interrupting his dismal thoughts.
"Huh?" Joe looked in his direction, frowning. It felt strange talking to a shadow in the opposite corner. 'Like talking to a ghost...'
"You have any idea what time it is?"
"Search me. Must be past midnight or so," Joe sighed and they fell silent again. To him the time passed after Newman's going away seemed like many hours, though it must have been much less – an hour at the most. Time always snails on when you need it to pass.
Joe stirred in his chair and winced when the subdued pain seared from his wrists up his arms anew. He had stopped trying to loosen the ropes, having to admit that he wouldn't succeed, only hurt himself even more if he kept on. The twine had cut deep into his skin and he had to sit as still as possible fore every slightest move flamed up the liquid fire in his veins.
"Cold in here, isn't it?" Chet broke the odd silence again. "My teeth are chattering... I only wish they were munching some hot soup instead of moving uselessly," he chuckled at his own joke.
At the mention of food Joe's stomach growled and he regretted turning down vanilla pudding for lunch. What wouldn't he give away to have a decent dinner now?... The next second a gust of cold draught blew past him, chilling him to the bones, and all the thoughts about his empty stomach vanished. The reality wasn't letting him stay in his imaginary world of comfort for too long. "The draught is blowing right past me," he said to keep up the conversation. "It's freezing me through. I feel like an ice statue."
"Hmm, bad," Chet sympathized. "But if it makes you feel better, I'm not better here..."
"It doesn't make me feel better, Chet!" Joe suddenly snapped harshly at him. "The fact that someone feels as lousy as I do never makes me feel better."
"Oh..." There was a pause. "I-I'm sorry, Joe. It's not what I meant, I know you're not like that." Chet said when Joe remained silent. "Sorry. I didn't mean to-to upset you or whatever I did."
Joe sighed heavily, an ticklish feeling in his throat when the damp air went down. "It's alright. And I'm sorry, too. I didn't want to sound so finicky."
"Never mind."
Joe had a heavy feeling in his heart for picking on his friend's words like that. He was having a hard time keeping his emotions under control in their dreadful situation and Chet's presence was only making the bad feeling grow. Joe made a mental note not to bicker with him for no reason, he wasn't to blame that Newman had his own peculiar reasons to kidnap him as well.
'It's your fault he's here.... I didn't ask for it! I didn't do anything to put him in danger!... You never do it intentionally, but it doesn't change the fact that the people who have nothing to do with your investigations... I wasn't investigating anything!... with your investigations end up in troubles because of you... Haven't I told you to shut up?... Hey, look there, Chet's here and he, not you, according to that man, is going to be the first...'
Joe felt a shiver run down his spine, like it did every time he remembered Newman's distant hissing voice saying "remember you'll be the first" again. What was he going to do if this was what was going to happen soon? How was he going to stop him from hurting Chet? And if he did manage to stop – at what price?
'Scared now, huh? Y'know why Because of his sister. Because if anything happens to him-... Nothing is going to happen to him! They'll come soon, I know they will. We'll get out of here before anything happens... Oh, Joey, why do you wake up to reality?'
The voices quieted down and he closed his eyes to recover his poise. He knew he was losing the mental battle to his challenger and his defeat would probably cost him his sanity. 'Perfect prospect', he thought gloomily to himself.
The storm outside kept on raging. The rain was pelting down, knocking into the small shattered window and the whistling draught was getting stronger, blowing all warmth out of Joe. His chest hurt with every breath of chilly air. His limbs were getting numb in the coldness and he had started to loose feelings in his fingers and toes.
The lack of movement was making his whole body stiff and he desperately wanted to move to ease the rigidity, but he daren't even try, knowing in advance it would only relight the fire in his sore wrists. If he felt so uncomfortable, sitting on a chair, how was Chet holding up, lying on the floor with his hands tied to his ankles behind his back? He looked at the hunched shadow opposite him and sighed heavily, feeling for his friend.
The moment the damp air went down into his lungs he suddenly started to cough like mad, his sore throat throbbing mercilessly and his chest aching with each uncontrollable gulp of cold air.
"Joe?" he heard Chet's concerned voice though the buzz in his ears.
Joe desperately wanted to stop his irrepressible coughing, which was leaving him weaker and weaker, but the more he tried the worse it seemed to be getting. His throat hurt as if he were swallowing emery paper, not gasping for air. 'Blast it!' It was only half a minute later when the fit of coughing finally ceased, leaving the teen's ticklish throat on fire.
"Joe?" Chet called again. "You okay?"
"No, I'm not!" Joe said between ragged gasps of air. "Isn't it obvious?"
"It-it is, but..."
"Why ask then?"
Chet paused before replying, "I asked because I was worried," he said defensively, notes of offence in his voice.
"Well I'm not okay! I'm sick and tired sitting and freezing in this damn chair, unable to do anything and just waiting for someone to come and decide my fate!"
"I understand all that. I just don't get it, what does your anger have to do with me?"
Joe opened his mouth, but snapped it shut as realization hit him. He'd just broken his promise to himself.
"Tell me," Chet went on when Joe remained silent, "What's your problem with me?"
"Chet, I'm sorry, I was a total jerk," Joe apologized, feeling his ears start to burn. "There's no problem with you, the problem is with me."
"Then why don't you stop it? Trust me, I'm not happy to be here, either. In fact if there was a chance to leave you alone so my presence wouldn't irritate you, I'd jump at that chance. But I'm here and I can't get anywhere from here and believe me, it pisses me off just as much!"
Joe was lost for words. Chet had every right to act the way he did and tell him off, if it was reversed he'd feel just as slighted. "I'm sorry," he said meekly. "I didn't mean to be so-so callous."
"Are you mad at me for something? If you are, tell me so we could sort out once and for all. The last thing we need at the moment is to hold grudges against one another and to be at each other's necks. "
"I'm not mad at you. To be more precise, it's not you I'm mad at."
"Then why are you always snapping at me when I try to start a conversation or ask if you're okay? I thought were friends..."
"We are!"
"If we are then why can't you understand that I'm worried that you're getting sick over there? That I actually care? Isn't it what friendship is about? To try to make it easier when things are rough?"
"You're right. I'm just... Well, just sorry."
"Just sorry," Chet chuckled bitterly, but Joe could tell he was cooling down. "Hardy, I have feelings, too, maybe even as bas as yours," he said calmly. "The situation's bad, but I'm not trying to make it worse for you. Don't try to make it worse for me, too."
"I honestly didn't want to make you feel bad."
There was an awkward pause. Finally Chet sighed, "I know you didn't. Sorry, I didn't mean to squabble with you. Just don't make it harder for both of us, okay? I was only worried when I asked if you were okay."
"I know. I'm fine, Chet. Well, considering. You?"
"Still holding up."
Joe nodded, "Good. Sorry again. I promise I'll behave."
"You better," Chet said with a chuckle and Joe smiled ruefully to himself, Chet's displeasure vanished as quickly as it had come – as always. Of all his friends Chet was the kindest chum. 'Jerk!' he cursed at himself for being so unreasonably nasty to him.
'Maybe it's time to learn? To treat people well so when they're gone you don't regret mistreating them?'
Joe bowed his head, having nothing to say to the voice in his head. Whatever it was, no matter how harsh its words were, he couldn't argue with it. The voice didn't come from nowhere, Joe realized, it was always there, in his head, keeping in silence when he behaved and screaming at him when he didn't....
.... And he was eager to keep his conscience quiet until their hell was over.
'...And then we'll go somewhere far away for some time. Altogether. And invite all our friends. We'll go somewhere warm and nice, like Hawaii. Or maybe we can even go to Europe. The Canaries are said to be great. However, no. It's gonna be cold there this time of year... But we'll think of something when we get out of here... If you get out of here.... Shut up! We are getting out of here, do you hear me? We are!...just shut up....'
Joe sighed heavily in exasperation. Every time he tried to distract himself from the surroundings and think about his happy future a strange voice would chime in and remind him of the uncertain reality. He tried to ignore it, but failed, it still kept on interrupting all his positive thoughts. It was like having two people in his head, one was himself and the other a mysterious ill-wisher.
'I'm going mad. Totally mad. Schizophrenic, arguing with myself... I'm just tired, I'm only arguing with my imagination... I wanna go home so much... Somebody come and take me home...'
Time went on, but no one came yet. Neither Newman, and Joe was thankful for that, he wished something had happened to him and he wasn't coming back to carry out his sick plan. Nor someone else – his father or whoever else who could save them from the hands of the madman. And the latter was making Joe very disheartened. Their time was running out and he was very afraid he and Chet wouldn't be found on time.
"Joe?" Chet called, interrupting his dismal thoughts.
"Huh?" Joe looked in his direction, frowning. It felt strange talking to a shadow in the opposite corner. 'Like talking to a ghost...'
"You have any idea what time it is?"
"Search me. Must be past midnight or so," Joe sighed and they fell silent again. To him the time passed after Newman's going away seemed like many hours, though it must have been much less – an hour at the most. Time always snails on when you need it to pass.
Joe stirred in his chair and winced when the subdued pain seared from his wrists up his arms anew. He had stopped trying to loosen the ropes, having to admit that he wouldn't succeed, only hurt himself even more if he kept on. The twine had cut deep into his skin and he had to sit as still as possible fore every slightest move flamed up the liquid fire in his veins.
"Cold in here, isn't it?" Chet broke the odd silence again. "My teeth are chattering... I only wish they were munching some hot soup instead of moving uselessly," he chuckled at his own joke.
At the mention of food Joe's stomach growled and he regretted turning down vanilla pudding for lunch. What wouldn't he give away to have a decent dinner now?... The next second a gust of cold draught blew past him, chilling him to the bones, and all the thoughts about his empty stomach vanished. The reality wasn't letting him stay in his imaginary world of comfort for too long. "The draught is blowing right past me," he said to keep up the conversation. "It's freezing me through. I feel like an ice statue."
"Hmm, bad," Chet sympathized. "But if it makes you feel better, I'm not better here..."
"It doesn't make me feel better, Chet!" Joe suddenly snapped harshly at him. "The fact that someone feels as lousy as I do never makes me feel better."
"Oh..." There was a pause. "I-I'm sorry, Joe. It's not what I meant, I know you're not like that." Chet said when Joe remained silent. "Sorry. I didn't mean to-to upset you or whatever I did."
Joe sighed heavily, an ticklish feeling in his throat when the damp air went down. "It's alright. And I'm sorry, too. I didn't want to sound so finicky."
"Never mind."
Joe had a heavy feeling in his heart for picking on his friend's words like that. He was having a hard time keeping his emotions under control in their dreadful situation and Chet's presence was only making the bad feeling grow. Joe made a mental note not to bicker with him for no reason, he wasn't to blame that Newman had his own peculiar reasons to kidnap him as well.
'It's your fault he's here.... I didn't ask for it! I didn't do anything to put him in danger!... You never do it intentionally, but it doesn't change the fact that the people who have nothing to do with your investigations... I wasn't investigating anything!... with your investigations end up in troubles because of you... Haven't I told you to shut up?... Hey, look there, Chet's here and he, not you, according to that man, is going to be the first...'
Joe felt a shiver run down his spine, like it did every time he remembered Newman's distant hissing voice saying "remember you'll be the first" again. What was he going to do if this was what was going to happen soon? How was he going to stop him from hurting Chet? And if he did manage to stop – at what price?
'Scared now, huh? Y'know why Because of his sister. Because if anything happens to him-... Nothing is going to happen to him! They'll come soon, I know they will. We'll get out of here before anything happens... Oh, Joey, why do you wake up to reality?'
The voices quieted down and he closed his eyes to recover his poise. He knew he was losing the mental battle to his challenger and his defeat would probably cost him his sanity. 'Perfect prospect', he thought gloomily to himself.
The storm outside kept on raging. The rain was pelting down, knocking into the small shattered window and the whistling draught was getting stronger, blowing all warmth out of Joe. His chest hurt with every breath of chilly air. His limbs were getting numb in the coldness and he had started to loose feelings in his fingers and toes.
The lack of movement was making his whole body stiff and he desperately wanted to move to ease the rigidity, but he daren't even try, knowing in advance it would only relight the fire in his sore wrists. If he felt so uncomfortable, sitting on a chair, how was Chet holding up, lying on the floor with his hands tied to his ankles behind his back? He looked at the hunched shadow opposite him and sighed heavily, feeling for his friend.
The moment the damp air went down into his lungs he suddenly started to cough like mad, his sore throat throbbing mercilessly and his chest aching with each uncontrollable gulp of cold air.
"Joe?" he heard Chet's concerned voice though the buzz in his ears.
Joe desperately wanted to stop his irrepressible coughing, which was leaving him weaker and weaker, but the more he tried the worse it seemed to be getting. His throat hurt as if he were swallowing emery paper, not gasping for air. 'Blast it!' It was only half a minute later when the fit of coughing finally ceased, leaving the teen's ticklish throat on fire.
"Joe?" Chet called again. "You okay?"
"No, I'm not!" Joe said between ragged gasps of air. "Isn't it obvious?"
"It-it is, but..."
"Why ask then?"
Chet paused before replying, "I asked because I was worried," he said defensively, notes of offence in his voice.
"Well I'm not okay! I'm sick and tired sitting and freezing in this damn chair, unable to do anything and just waiting for someone to come and decide my fate!"
"I understand all that. I just don't get it, what does your anger have to do with me?"
Joe opened his mouth, but snapped it shut as realization hit him. He'd just broken his promise to himself.
"Tell me," Chet went on when Joe remained silent, "What's your problem with me?"
"Chet, I'm sorry, I was a total jerk," Joe apologized, feeling his ears start to burn. "There's no problem with you, the problem is with me."
"Then why don't you stop it? Trust me, I'm not happy to be here, either. In fact if there was a chance to leave you alone so my presence wouldn't irritate you, I'd jump at that chance. But I'm here and I can't get anywhere from here and believe me, it pisses me off just as much!"
Joe was lost for words. Chet had every right to act the way he did and tell him off, if it was reversed he'd feel just as slighted. "I'm sorry," he said meekly. "I didn't mean to be so-so callous."
"Are you mad at me for something? If you are, tell me so we could sort out once and for all. The last thing we need at the moment is to hold grudges against one another and to be at each other's necks. "
"I'm not mad at you. To be more precise, it's not you I'm mad at."
"Then why are you always snapping at me when I try to start a conversation or ask if you're okay? I thought were friends..."
"We are!"
"If we are then why can't you understand that I'm worried that you're getting sick over there? That I actually care? Isn't it what friendship is about? To try to make it easier when things are rough?"
"You're right. I'm just... Well, just sorry."
"Just sorry," Chet chuckled bitterly, but Joe could tell he was cooling down. "Hardy, I have feelings, too, maybe even as bas as yours," he said calmly. "The situation's bad, but I'm not trying to make it worse for you. Don't try to make it worse for me, too."
"I honestly didn't want to make you feel bad."
There was an awkward pause. Finally Chet sighed, "I know you didn't. Sorry, I didn't mean to squabble with you. Just don't make it harder for both of us, okay? I was only worried when I asked if you were okay."
"I know. I'm fine, Chet. Well, considering. You?"
"Still holding up."
Joe nodded, "Good. Sorry again. I promise I'll behave."
"You better," Chet said with a chuckle and Joe smiled ruefully to himself, Chet's displeasure vanished as quickly as it had come – as always. Of all his friends Chet was the kindest chum. 'Jerk!' he cursed at himself for being so unreasonably nasty to him.
'Maybe it's time to learn? To treat people well so when they're gone you don't regret mistreating them?'
Joe bowed his head, having nothing to say to the voice in his head. Whatever it was, no matter how harsh its words were, he couldn't argue with it. The voice didn't come from nowhere, Joe realized, it was always there, in his head, keeping in silence when he behaved and screaming at him when he didn't....
.... And he was eager to keep his conscience quiet until their hell was over.