I had another visit that night. I realized long ago that I was going insane from the pain, but I couldn't be this bad. Carver came in, alone. I could feel a fear in his body movements. In the, I estimated 16 hours, I was traped here, the lantern light never went out. I watched Joe put oil in it earlier, but it had been burning for a long time. It put off an odor that balanced the musty smells of blood and sweat.
I closed my eyes, not really wanting to know what he as about to do. Brutally, he unchained me and tossed me onto the bed. By this time, I was wide awake and showing it. My weak muscles strained to get away, for good. I rolled over, off my bad shoulder and on my back. The swelling on the back of my skull had decreased, though it was still a horrible pain when I put pressure on it.
By now, I was certain I'd split my lip earlier today. Or yesterday. I had a new apprecation for a clock now. It throbbed and if I wasn't careful, I would open it up again. I had swallowed my share of blood, and I wasn't looking for more. I closed my eyes again and stopped struggling.
I heard the hiss of a match. I squinted out of one eye, and I saw Carver bring the match to a cigarette he had tucked between his lips. It caught intantly, and he took a few wiffs of it. In a few quick motions, he crossed the room and pulled the shirt off over my head. He strattled my waist holding me to the bed. He bent over, the cigarette just millimeters from my chin. "Having fun yet?" He asked.
It came out clear and the burning end of the cigarette brushed my chin. I could feel it begin to burn. I managed a wimper, and he pulled the cigarette and pushed it against my collar bone. Shoulder dug deeper into the matress. He twisted it between his two fingers and removed it. He admired his work, blowing off the debris off my bare skin. He repeated the process, movng from one side of my body to the next. My screams were so loud, he stuffed the bloody sleve of my shirt in my mouth.
The blood had a steel taste to it. I coutinued to scream in spite of it. The burns were all over the top half of my body. I lost count after 12. The cigarette was widdled down to a butt. Junkman produced a knife out of his back pocket. "I didn't get to hear any of your ideas during our little talk. Any part in particular you'd like to brown bag over to Ranger?" He played with the blade on the inside palm of my hand.
"Go to hell." I said.
"Been there, done that." He said and in one quick motion, I had a J etched into my hand.
I gasped. It stung really, really bad. He got off of me, and I lifted my hand if front of my face to inspect it. Blood dripped into my face and rolled off my cheek. The light flared brighter, and I could see bone. I do believe that is when I passed out again.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I take back what I said about company. There was nothing better than sitting here all alone. I hadn't been rechained, just locked in the small room. Now that I was semi-mobile, the room was no bigger than a closet. With the sheets of the bed, I mopped up the vomit and the blood. I kicked the wad of smelly goo as close to the door as I could, hoping Joe would trip into it again. I huddled on the bed, my arms hugging my knees to my chest. I tore my t-shirt to make a compress for my hand. The bleeding stopped overnight, but nothing hid the bone and muscles in my hand I didn't wish to see.
So here I was, sitting bra-clad in a cell, with death threats lingering in the air, waiting on dear old Ranger. Usually in the rescue missions, he was here by now. But I couldn't give up hope. If I had something to believe in, then I would believe in it until I died. If I gave up, I just died.
I'd never been the one to smoke, but I couldn't help but get a little high off of the lingering smoke fumes. I felt better after taking a few deep breaths. And returned to waiting.
Somewhere during the waiting period, I dozed off. My stomache howled. I heard Joe laugh heartily from the hall way, and the lock slid open and he came in. He sat down on the bed next to me and placed a bag between us. He looked at me, and I didn't dare take my eyes off of him. I knew he couldn't be trusted, even from my Burg days. Finally after a long silence, he pulled his shirt off his back, dropped it over my shoulders and turned to leave.
It was unbelievably warm. Or I was unbelievably cold. I picked up the shirt and gingerly pulled my head through the collar. It smelled like Joe. A smell that hadn't crossed me for an entire two days, and one I couldn't stand. In a flash, it was thrown in a corner on top of a pile of dead bugs. I could freeze for all I care, I wasn't wearing that shirt.
On to the next delema, my stomach growled at me. I plunged into the sack, and pulled out a kiddie juice box, a plastic bag of goldfish and a few grapes. Joe hadn't shut the door when he left this time, and it lit up my room well enough to tell that the grapes were well on their way to being rasins and the goldfish were stale. I ate them anyway, and quickly washed them down with juice. The juice box was fine to my standards.
After a deep breath and a long sigh, I returned to waiting for Ranger. Again, I fell asleep on duty.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And so much like the last few times, I woke up in a room of two. I blinked a few times and then shuddered into the cleanest corner of the bed. The shadow was too big to belong to Joe. Carver had returned.
"You fell asleep on me Steph. You shouldn't do that." He taunted and the flicker of the candle light caught the blade of a knife.
He took a step foreward, revealing the bloody knife and his arm up to his elbow. Then another step, revealing shoulders and a chin. One more step, and all of Carver was in view. He was strong, almost the same size and Ranger. There was no getting away from this guy if all hell broke out.
In an instand, he pounced. Purposly, he stabed the knife into the matress next to me. I shreiked and wedged myself in the corner of the two walls. With an evil, lustful grin, he pulled me back down by my ankles. He twisted a heavy rope around my wrist. It itched against the scabs, which were still tender. Then he bound my feet together, using the same rope he did on my hands. I cried out for help, but no one that cared seemed to hear me.
The knife was back in his hand, and he had the dull side of the blade slide across my bare stomach. I kicked but with my arms and feet sharing one rope, I didn't have much room to fidget. My pleas got louder and more intense.
"Ranger's not going to come save you Cupcake, no one will." Joe said.
He was leaned on the door jam, a fresh shirt on his back. I realized that in each of my pleas, I was begging for Ranger to come save me. "Help?" I wimpered.
He gave me a cocky grin and moved out of my line of sight. I begged louder, begged to just die. I didn't care how, but I wanted to be dead right now. "Shut up will you. How am I supposed to enjoy all this if you keep screaming like that? I'm going to go deaf." Junkman's voice broke though my screams.
That when I kicked. Really hard. My entire body flew at him off the bed, my knee connecting with his crotch. He let out a very-masculine, very-emotional sob. But he kept me pinned to the bed. I squirmed, and his grasp moved from my left forearm to my left shoulder, right over the bullet, which made me reconsider.
My world spun for a second and I blacked out. Carver's hand moved closer to my neck, over the bruises he'd put there before. If I had been prepared, this wouldn't have been so bad, but I was in mid cry, and had only enough air to gasp for help.
Like the last time, help didn't show up. I squirmed out of Junkman's grasp and sat up. I was panting heavily, crying in pain with each breath. I could feel liquid crawl up from my stomach and before I could control anything, I threw it up down the front of my chest and into my lap. It wasn't food. Food had already passed that stage in digestion. The substance that coated my jeans and my bra was blood.
At this point, I didn't know what to do. Actually, I never knew what to do, but this time, I couldn't rely on dumb luck or Ranger. I was on my own. And whatever I did do, I needed to do rationally or I'd be dead with the flick of a trigger. I was released but not left in solitude. I cowered in the corner, proped up against the wall hugging my knees. The sobs came out in whispers and every muscle in my face hurt.
But not once did I close my eyes. I watched Carver. He had turned, and I almost thought he was going to leave. But he didn't. He stooped over and I heard him fumbling with a lock. I peeked around him, and saw a huge box. It looked like it had been stolen from a pirate, and keeping it closed was a rusted padlock. Junkman tested keys, one after another. Finally, the lock pulled open.
When I was being chased by Ramirez, I had nightmares like this. After Lula, there was no doubt that he could do this, and would. But, he hadn't. I shot him. Shot him, five rounds to the heart, with my Smith and Weston. I pawed around the back of my jeans, where I swore Ranger had tucked my gun in before. If I had it, it was usualy there or in my pocketbook. But its absence wasn't devastating. Lord only knew it was tucked in a cookie jar somewhere.
The box held all sorts of goodies. I counted four combat knives, a bloody pair of handcuffs, a high-quality whip. There were other things in there too, things I could never imagine being used on a human body. Everything looked like it had been well used.
I had the pukey feeling again, and braced myself for it. But it never came up. There wasn't anything to come up. I made a few croaking sounds, and Carver looked at me. "Which do you like better?"
On one hand, he had a lighter, pressed against a box of cigarettes, and in the other was the blood stained whip. I pused on the bed with my feet and climbed deeper into my corner. The way the wall cast it's shadow, a good portion of my torso was hidden from lit sight. Junkman set the toys down and pulled a flashlight. He fliped it on and pointed it at me. I closed my eyes and hid from the flouresent lighting. I heard it click off, and I senced that the room was dark.
With the exception of the lantern, it was dark. And the lantern was running low on oil. I stared up at the ceiling, blinking the spots out of my eyes. Now I knew why it was so cold. A barred window was about a foot from the ceiling. No way could I reach it, even with standing on the cot. I could see the stars over head.
"So, how long have I been missing?" I asked with a deep breath. My voice was shaky and hoarse.
Junkman pushed a button on his wrist watch and the green LCD lightened his face. He looked amuzed, in a crazy, pshycopathic way. "A little over 20 hours."
"Damn," I cursed under my breath, "Batman sould be here by now."
Junkman let out a howl and it bounced off the walls of the cave. "Batman's got himself tied in knots trying to find you."
I perked up. "What?" I was doing a fine impression of Minnie Mouse.
"Joe never told you?" Junkman's got happier, if it were even possible. "There's a dead body Steph. Ranger gun matches."
I was shaking my head. I knew Junkman could see me by the smile on his face. A wolf smile. Nothing like the one I'd get from Ranger, but one that if I wasn't mistaken, belonged to Satan himself. "Oh yes. Cops will find it soon enough, and then he'll be done. You want to see pictures?"
Before I could answer, pictures were fanned out infront of me. A young man, possibly in his early twenties was laying on the ground. His green eyes stared at me through the film, and between them was a .44 bullet hole. Then a photo of his hands. All ten fingers, severed at the knuckle. I knew Ranger often carried a .44 Glock.
But the severed fingers? Ranger killed. I faced that problem, accepted it, and moved on. But he never removed more than necessary. "Ranger doesn't cut people up." I said, swallowing the bile taste that came up and passed the photos back.
"Ahh, but he kills. Thats all the proof I need." Junkman's voice was almost on a buisness tone.
One used by Dickie, the few times I dealt with him on the job, before treats were issued.
"Proof?" I asked and moved my legs so that my right one wouldn't fall asleep.
"With the right evadence, you can make it look like anyone killed a person. Mr. Manoso's track record wasn't too clean. You date too easy of a target, Cupcake." Now Junkman was using the nickname.
"You're saying you killed Leroy and set Ranger up? And DON'T call me Cupcake." I put an edge on don't.
"Yes. All because of you, Ranger will be sencenced to the chair or life, which ever will be worse, knowing that he could have prevented your death."
None of this would have happened if I had gotten a job at the Tampon Factory. I cried at the thought, and I felt the wall scrape my good shoulder as I got even closer to the wall. A gust of wind blew through the window. The remaining flame on the candle was gone, and I was left in the dark with a floating green watchface. Then the green was gone, and I was in the dark.
My legs were wretched from underneath me. The flashlight was beamed into my eyes and I was momentarilly blinded. I was thrown against the wall, and I heard the click of the lock. Then I felt the metal close around my adjacent wrist. I was on the wall again. My feet dangled uselessly above the ground. The flashlight was discarded, its beam pointing to the wall.
I did see a shadow go over to the box. I did see the shadow pick up three knives, examine them, and toss them aside. They landed on the cot with a thump. I didn't miss the shadow select the fourth comando knife, deem it as good, and move towards me. The blade snaped out of the handle, and it glimmered in the little light there was. That's how I monitored Junkman. He made quick movements across the room, when he was close enough, tied a blindfold across my eyes and over my nose. His wrist brought the blade closer to my body. The blade stopped right below the middle of my bra. In the snap of his wrist, the blade tore the fabric, and the bra fell to the ground.
I was scared as hell. Who wouldn't be? I kicked my legs, not doing any damage at all. From the distance, I heard a truck pull up. The doors slammed shut, there were two. One after the other. There was some running that echoed through the dungeon, and then the sounds were gone.
I turned my head towards the window, right into a cold gust of wind. I put my head down, and caught a Carver's fist. I sputtered as blood began to roll out of the corner of my mouth.
There were gun shots in the hall. More than one gun. My hopes were high at this point. Two people. That ment that even if it wern't Ranger, Joe was back and he brought someone who could help me. "That has to be Ranger." I whipered desperatly
I felt the cold barrel of a gun settle on the bridge of my nose. "Him or not, you're dead."
I couldn't see anything at all. The cellar door banged open. "Drop the gun." The voice was familiar.
Not Ranger. Too deep to be Ranger. The gun was pulled away from my forehead, and carefully the blindfold was untied from around my head. Tank stood infront of me. If it weren't for the hallway lights, I'd have missed him completely. Junkman was out cold half on the bed, half on the floor.
Tank poped the handcuffs. No keys, just pop, and they were opened. I fell off the wall, stumbling when my feet hit the floor. Tank grabed my waist before I went down. He took off his jacked and wraped me in it. I had my head on his chest, and he had one arm around my back, his hand on my hip, to hold me up. Together, we stalked slowly down the hall and up the stairs.
"Where's...Ranger?" I managed to ask, trying not to cry.
When your saved, it's supposed to be by the big hero man. Not by his best friend.
"He's in trouble." Tank stopped infront of the black Bronco.
He hoisted me up into the front seat, buclked me in, and told me to go to sleep. Then he went back inside to go get Junkman. Morelli had just... dissapeared. No sign of him in the house. Minutes ticked away. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was dead. I rolled my head against the window. Thats when I saw the smoke.
Smoke is never good. When I saw smoke, usually my car was involved. Once, it was my apartment, and on occation it was my toast in the toaster. I looked harder. The smoke was dark grey. Thick. Not good signs. It was comming out the window. I paniced, glancing left and right for Tank. Soon, he opened the metal door and cut across the grass. Smoke followed him out of the building. Junkman looked worse than before. He was knocked out, thrown over Tank's shoulder, but his leg was bent in a way it shouldn't have been.
He threw him in the seat behind me. Tank jumped into the drivers seat and hastilly rammed the keys in the egnition.
"Trouble?" I asked.
He stared at me for a second. Then at the building. He turned the key, but before the engine could catch, there was an explosion. Bits of wall were sent against the windshield, others through it. The bronco caught on fire too, the jerk bashing my forehead against the glass that had collected on the dash. Blood clouded the vision of my right eye, and I passed out.
Tank reacted quickly. He was trained that way. He grabed Stephanie and hauled her out of the truck. She lay there, her head in his lap. He brushed the glass out of her forehead and pressed his shirt against it. Ranger would kill him when he found out.
Stephanie was breathing well. Her pulse was strong. She would live to see another day. Tank had bigger problems, like how to get Ranger free of all charges.
Joe had left. He sent the call out, about finding the dead body. He framed Ranger. Took his gun the night he took Stephanie. Ranger would need a good lawer.