Chapter Ten: Remembrance

Rebecca's boots echoed with each step down the stairwell. The gray walls stood only a couple of inches on either side. Florescent lights flickered on the landing below. A faint smell of mildew and copper attacked her nose, and she had to stop herself from gagging. Billy descended a step behind, the jingling of his handcuffs adding to the noise. Hairs on Rebecca's arms rose as the temperature fell.

Concrete continued to surround them as they walked down the corridor. A metal door stood at the end of the hall, and around the corridor's corner stood another. Opposed to the other metal door, this one had a rounded top and made of dark wood with iron rivets. Rebecca looked between the two.

"Maybe we should split up," she said. "Cover more ground then."

"That is the dumbest thing you have said this evening," Billy said. Rebecca spun around. He looked down at her with that condescending look—the one they always gave her. The one that mom gave her when Rebecca said she was joining the police. "I think we've already established that you can't be left alone for long."

Rebecca's face flared a bright shade of red. Her lips tightened, and her fists balled at her side. Couldn't take care of herself? Who was he to talk? A convict on the run.

"Fuck you," she muttered and stomped off toward the wooden door. Billy sighed as he watched her fling open the door and slam it behind her. Kids, Billy thought. He took a few steps toward the door but stopped. He had gotten soft. It couldn't have been that easy to forget his purpose. Yet, here he was, trying to help her find her fellows to arrest him.

"Man, you're dumb," Billy muttered.

Screw it. Let her go on her little ego trip. Let her get killed. It would make things a lot easier for him anyway. He grabbed the cold, metal handle and pushed in.

Rebecca entered a dark little room, though she didn't take much notice. All she could do was pace back and forth. Billy's words echoed in her head. True, she hadn't been the best combatant that night but that doesn't mean that she wasn't learning.

She needed to learn faster though. Rebecca stopped in midstride, suddenly feeling more tired than she had all night. Her muscles ached. Rebecca pulled the foldable chair at the small desk off to the side and dropped into it. A stench rose up around her, and it took a moment for her to realize that it was her pants—stained with sewage. What I wouldn't kill for a bath, she thought.

Rebecca sighed, scanning the room around her. It wasn't very large. The only pieces of furniture were the table she sat at and a heater beside the door. Another door stood next to her, with a barred window to its right. A little black diary sat at the corner of the desk. Rebecca picked it up and flipped through it. The pages were filled with nothing other than moments for a man's life in neat, tiny handwriting—going home for a holiday, seeing the family, the long nights at work. But when she got to the last page, Rebecca stopped. The handwriting became uneven and slanted. She turned back and read the entry:

What is that Director Marcus is researching all the time? And what's with his weird interest in leeches?

Interest? ... Seems more like love at times... Rumor has it that there's something dangerous about those leeches.

It is true that when Dennis just touched one he got ill with a fever.

Again today... there were those horrible moans. Beyond that door.
"Let sleeping dogs..."
No way I'll go near them.
Even if the director tells me. I no want to end up like Dennis.
That poor bastard.

Scratching and scratching. Makes me itch just watching him.

Must maybe go
IF can but hwo

Dennis gone. I go

Hungry...

Help

Mom.

Rebecca's stomach churned. She didn't know what she expected when she thought of those zombie-things turning, but it wasn't this. In the movies, they always died before they turned. This…this was something that made her shutter. Rebecca threw the journal back onto the table. Focus, Rebecca, she thought.

She took deep, steady breaths, and tightened her fist to stop it from shaking. After a second, they stopped. Rebecca turned to the other door in the room and walked toward it. She wished Billy was here. He might be an ass sometimes, but he…stop that. Billy Coen was a murderer. He had killed all of those people. Yet, one thing kept nagging her—the one thing that nagged her all night. Why didn't he hurt her? In fact, all he'd done that evening was protect her.

Rebecca grunted. She pushed through the door, immediately having to cover her nose from the putrid smell. It was the sick smell of decay and blood she had smelled all night, but amplified. Yellow light lit the rusty stone walls. Steel chairs with spikes in the seat and back lines the wall to her right, while to her left was an Iron Maiden—open and revealing the spikes within, each stained dark with dried blood.

Rebecca held her hand over her mouth. She took a step back—the floor crumbled beneath her and she fell. Rebecca reached up, trying to grab the floor opening. The stone's ragged bricks scraped against her gloved hand, but she found nothing to hold onto.

Billy just stepped out of his room when heard something down the corridor. The first thing that he thought of was that stupid girl. Running off by herself. Whatever happened to her, she deserved. Still, Billy stood in the hall, making sure he actually heard something.

"Rebecca?" He called, taking a step toward the door she had gone through. Silence filled the corridor. He took another step toward the door.

"BILLY!" Rebecca cried said, far off and muffled. Billy grunted, but ran toward the other door and threw it open. He entered a small, dark room. The only light came from a small desk lamp on the desk opposite the door. Billy ran through the other door and froze when walked into the torture chamber.

"What the hell…" He muttered. His nose wrinkled at the smell of dried blood and the sick sweetness of mildew.

"Billy, oh my god!" Rebecca said.

Rebecca hung from a twisted support beam just beneath a hole in the floor, two feet in diameter. Billy placed his shotgun aside as he fell to his knees.

"What are you doing down there!"

"BILLY! HELP ME UP!'

Billy reached down, grabbed the girl's wrist, and hoist her up. She fell over beside him, her body shaking. Billy ran his eyes over her body, looking for any wound or tear in her uniform.

"Fuck…" Rebecca said, her voice breaking. "Fuck!"

Billy raised a hand and let it hover over her for a few moments, before patting Rebecca's shoulder. Her body convulsed, and she curled up. Poor girl, he thought. Billy glanced away. No matter how tough she acted, she was still a girl. And you were seriously thinking about leaving her, you stack of shit.

"I can't do this," Rebecca whispered through sobs. Billy remained quiet, only patting her shoulder. It reminded him of when his mother used to do it to him, and that she was gone. What she would think of him now, Billy wondered. Would she be proud or ashamed of what he had done? He tried to push the thought away, but it hovered in the back of his mind.

"It's been a rough night for us all kid…Rebecca," he said.

It took a few minutes for her shaking to stop. Finally, she sat back up, eyes glassy as though waking up.

"She was right," Rebecca said. "I'm nothing like Dad…he was a cop, you know."

Billy sat, waiting for her to say more. When she didn't, he asked, "What happened to him?"

"He died…gunned down my thugs he was perusing. The report said that he just pulled them over for speeding, and as soon as they rolled down the window, they shot him. They didn't even give him a chance to defend himself. Shot him point blank…its hell, being a kid…waiting for a parent to come home who never will. I wanted to make him proud—honor his memory. My mom was dead against it. Guess she was right after all…I'm not as strong as he was…"

"Not completely your fault though," Billy said. "You caught a wanted perp on your first run out." He held up his handcuffed hand.

Rebecca hiccupped as she gave a little laugh. Billy gave a sideways grin.

"Besides, I don't think many people could have survived ten minutes in all of this," Billy said. Rebecca's jaw tightened. Dumb ass, Billy thought of himself. He should slap himself across the back of his head. "What's this place for, you think?" Billy asked, gesturing toward the torture chamber. Rebecca shrugged.

"I dunno," Rebecca said. "Maybe to test subjects…or get information out of people."

She glanced down, her face livid. Billy glanced at the iron maiden. Burgundy coated their spikes, and he thought he saw a dried piece of flesh hanging from the end of one. Billy felt his stomach churning.

"Come on, let's get outta here, huh?"

Rebecca nodded. He stood and turned to give her a hand to find that she was already standing. Her eyes looked forward, still glassy but somehow more focused. You're tough as nails, doll-face, Billy thought as they left the room.