Here's the next one, guys! Now I know how to get you all interested... just kidknap the main character!
Thank you for the reviews -- nice to know I'm appreciated.
Read, smile, and review...
7. Untouchable
"The pain of the mind is worse than the pain of the body." – Pubilius Syrus
A quiet giggle drifted to him from somewhere just beyond his reach. It was not a sweet giggle, from a little girl in a sundress with pigtails, but a high, manic one, creepy and insane. Through his mind passed an image of a straitjacket. Then it was gone, and he settled back into… wherever he was. He didn't know, he didn't care; he just wanted to sleep…
"Ssshh," came a slow, distant hiss. "The baby's sleeping…"
His eyes suddenly shot open as wide fluorescent bulbs flicked and buzzed to life above him. Blinking in the sudden invasion of light, he watched with growing dismay as the world solidified around him. Curiously, all he could make out was… himself. Surrounding him on all sides were equally bleary-eyes copies of him. Only when he tried to get up, and the versions followed his movement, did he realize the images were merely reflections. He studied himself in the mirrors, looking for clues as to his own condition, and consequently he was able to observe his own eyes widening as he realized the tension at his wrists and ankles was due to liberal amounts of cord that bound him to the chair in which he sat. Desperate, he tried to pull free, and was scolded with quick nips of pain that numbed his fingers.
"Oh, shit," he couldn't help but whisper.
"What's the matter, baby?" taunted the voice; now painfully aware of his surroundings, he realized it came from behind him, its echoing quality revealing the hidden vastness of the room. Somewhere in a corner, the corpse of a small animal – or several pieces of a large animal – quietly decomposed, filling the space with a rotten reek that tested the security of his stomach. There was a musky smell as well, but one he couldn't identify.
"Time to wake up, baby," cooed the voice. The blow he then suffered to the back of the head left his brain singing and his eyes seeing double. Still recovering, he watched anxiously as his captor stepped into view, the picture sharpening as both versions of him reconnected. He was a young man, late twenties at most; he would have been handsome, but the look in his eye quickly made him recall the straitjacket. The black sweatshirt he wore only served to accentuate the paleness of his skin, and his beaten jeans revealed skinny legs.
"All right, Eppsie," he said, prowling around him as if preparing to devour him. "These are the rules to this little game of ours. First, a word of caution; no one knows you are here. If Anderson had done his job, no one would even know you were missing, but he managed to screw that up." Turning away, he giggled again, rubbing his hands together. "But he paid, oh yes, he paid."
Stomach turning uneasily, Don fidgeted in his chair, and the man turned, drawing from his pocket a switch. The blade flicked out with a subtle click, freezing Don where he sat.
"Not finished with you yet, Eppsie," he growled. "Second rule: no sneaking tricking me and escaping. If you do—" he dug in his other pocket and produced a piece of paper, on which were scribbled several addresses that, with a cringe, Don recognized. "I know where you live, where your brother lives, your father, your girlfriend…" He trailed off and flashed him a grin. "And I know how to make them pay."
Don was silent; this guy knew more than he should. Everything, most likely; no bluff.
"Third rule; when I ask you a question, you answer. If you don't, well…" He showed off the switch lovingly, beaming at the unfinished thought. "You get the idea."
Trying to stare the guy down, Don filled his gaze with defiance, which he fully expected to piss him off. On the contrary, the man whistled and clapped, looking genuinely pleased.
"It seems I don't even have to go over the next one," he said pointing away into the darkness. "For the purpose of improving my… services, our game will be taped, so please, be honest about how you're feeling. Express yourself. Nothing is more boring than a show without emotion."
At the end of this spiel, Don finally found his voice. "Who are you? What is it that you want from me?"
For a moment, the man considered him. "Someone you messed with a long time ago." His smile was restored as he stood up, moving out of sight. When he returned, he had pinched between his fingers a tiny needle filled with fluid. He brought it close to Don's face so he could read the label.
"Know what it is, Eppsie? he asked gleefully. "Sodium pentothal – a potent truth serum. But you already knew that, didn't you? Considering your history, you've probably handled tons of the stuff, but we'll talk about that later."
He couldn't suppress a wince as he felt the needle slide into his arm; he had never liked getting shots, and the context wasn't helping to calm him down. Then it withdrew, and the man tossed the empty needle into a corner, resuming his pacing.
"All right, Eppsie. Let's start with an easy one; what's your name?"
Despite the fact that it was information they both knew, Don knew that answering would put him in the passive role; instead, he clenched his jaw and said nothing, instead focusing on the sudden cold in his veins.
"No?" The man shrugged and swiped, drawing him an artistic slash across the bridge of his nose, just barely missing his eyes. "May I remind you, you're the last one, Eppsie. The cat's out of the bag, and I don't have to worry about what it looks like. None of this fake suicide crap – this will be a good old-fashioned homicide."
Biting back a swear, Don could feel the blood carving pathways down his face, creeping down his cheeks like tears even as he tried to compose himself.
"Now that we've learned that little lesson, I say we jump right in."
From behind him, the man leaned in close, his mouth an inch from Don's ear.
"Tell me about Katherine, Eppsie. Tell me about the woman you killed."