CHAPTER NINE: Thursday, January 10, 2013, 9:13 p.m.
John had lost track of who was playing warden. The Durchenko brothers had been taking turns, but now it seemed random so he had a hard time keeping ahead of their game. Maybe they were drawing straws, he thought. With that thought, he became aware that his brain was perhaps losing its acuity.
He was so tired. Every time his mind wanted to shut down, he was struck or inflicted with some other form of punishment. The Durchenko brothers were relentless.
Viktor was the most aggressive and creative of the three. Anton was the weakest and smallest of the three, and he was also the least attentive. Boris was the middle ground between them. John then surmised that Boris was the middle child. While Viktor acted as though he thoroughly enjoyed the events, Boris did so out of obligation, and Anton acted as though he was going through the motions. They were an interesting sibling group, John thought.
Later, John's head began feeling heavy, and it started falling forward. Then, all of the sudden, he felt excruciating pain in his left middle finger. Viktor had smashed it with the hammer like he had done his index finger the day prior. It was purple and began to swell immediately. John closed his eyes to focus his attention elsewhere.
Then John felt a knife hacking at the ropes that kept his arms restrained to the chair. The ropes tying him to the chair remained in place. He had not anticipated this move and wasn't sure what Viktor could possibly be doing. At least without the rope restraints he might be able to get free a little easier. Viktor wrapped the rope around John's wrists and another rope around his ankles. John still could not figure out what Viktor was attempting to do.
Turning his face toward Viktor, John glared at him. He knew better than to ask Viktor what he was doing. He didn't think that he could physically take anymore corporal punishment.
"On your feet, Mr. Reese!" Viktor ordered.
John was confused. He was still tied to the chair, he thought. He glared harder at Viktor to send the message that what he was asking was ridiculous.
Then Viktor laughed as he pulled at the ropes restraining John to the chair, and they fell to the floor.
John felt stupid. Had he known that the ropes were no longer detaining him, then he would have seized that moment to go after Viktor. He felt as though he was losing his edge.
The ropes around his wrists were so tight that his hands tingled. Then Viktor threw the rope over a beam and pulled it until there was no slack in John's arms. His feet remained flat on the floor. Then Viktor made a call on his cell phone.
"How much longer until you get here?" Viktor asked.
John still could not figure out their plan. He knew that he was now showing signs of dehydration.
As John stood, restrained by the rope, he could feel his calf muscles beginning to tighten. He knew forcing prisoners to stand for long periods of time was a common form of torture in Russia for prisoners of war. While he didn't like the thought of having to stand for long periods of time, he couldn't help but think that he might now have an opportunity to free himself.
A little later, one of the Duncan brothers came in with both Durchenko brothers. They carried with them a large landscape timber. John now knew what Viktor was up to. He was smart enough not to leave John's legs untethered to something.
The men dropped the timber beside John's feet. Viktor looked at his brothers and stated, "Well, finish the job."
John instinctively kicked at them with his ankle-bound feet as they tried to secure his feet to the timber. One kick caught Boris in the eye. He fell back.
Viktor burst out laughing. He snorted as he spoke, "On poluchil odin na vy….Ty slab moy brat!"
Boris became infuriated at John. He hated to be disrespected, especially by some lackey paid by the cartel. Picking up a needle from the table, he thrust it into the back of John's neck. He continued to stick John with the needle until Viktor grew tired of watching John's stoic facial expression.
"Cease!" Viktor yelled at Boris. John Reese was the toughest man Viktor Durchenko had ever had the privilege of torturing.
Fearful that they might discover the syringe in his boot, John ceased kicking at them.
"Ah, Mr. Reese, you are smarter than I thought you were," Viktor said as he put the hammer back down on the table. John sighed a breath of relief because he knew they would go after his toes now that his hands were suspended. The syringe in his boot was his only ace.
Hours lagged on through the night as John continued to be restrained into a standing position. He was well aware that he was suffering from dehydration. As his legs started to give away, Boris or Anton, whoever happened to be guarding him at the time, would strike him with a PVC pipe that Viktor had left on the table. Boris's tortureous treatment had worsened since John blackened his eye, disrespecting him in front of his brothers.
"I think he looks thirsty again," Viktor said as he came through the door with the Duncan brothers and Margaret.
They lowered the rope to allow John to sit again in the chair. This time it was Margaret who filled the baster with vinegar and approached John. Boris and Jarrod grabbed John by his head and pushed him back. Boris opened his mouth with much less effort this time. The brothers recognized that John's strength was lessening. They found that amusing and gratifying.
"Go ahead Margaret," Viktor urged.
Margaret shoved the baster into John's mouth. The vinegar shot down his throat. John gagged and coughed, spitting what he could into the floor. Viktor came forward and slammed John's ring finger with the hammer.
John screamed. He was too tired to guard himself any longer.
"Ty chutʹ ne slomal, moy drug," Viktor said as he paced around John, who was now leaning forward coughing into his chest.
"I am not broken, and I am not your friend," John murmured.
Viktor laughed out loud, hitting John on the back of his head. "Back on his feet!" Viktor commanded.
"No matter what you do to me, I have nothing to say to you," John stoically stated as they pulled the rope, lifting John to his feet. John stood. His calves were sore, but he was determined to survive this situation, too.
Before long, they all left except Boris, whose turn it was to guard their prisoner.
Hours passed and John watched Boris devour a sandwich and a bag of potato chips. He drank Diet Cokes by the bottle one after the other.
"You're quite the contradiction, aren't you?" John scoffed in a low voice, nodding at the empty extra-large bag of chips next to the three empty bottles of Diet Coke.
Boris continued to sit in the desk chair, jabbing at his teeth with a wooden toothpick. He seemed completely unaffected by John's jeering.
John was surprised that Boris was able to remain calm. His body hurt intensely. He knew it wouldn't be long before his body wasn't able to take anymore. He could also feel feel his mind was becoming muddy and dulled. He knew, however, that he eeded to do something very soon to get himself out of this situation. "So, you're the middle brother, right?"
"So?" Boris asked.
Good, he's beginning to engage, John thought. "You're the one with the issues…the loose cannon," John said, speaking as loudly as his body would allow.
Boris stood up but remained at the back.
"Did daddy like Viktor most and mommy like Anton most?" John mocked.
Boris's facial expression changed. "How dare you disrespect me again!" he yelled. "I don't give a shit what Viktor has instructed. I will fight you like a man!"
"Like a man?" John questioned. "Look at me. The field isn't level. What good would killing a man who's tied up be to your ego?"
Boris became infuriated. He rushed forward with the knife. Pausing for an instance, he hacked at the rope holding up John. Once it was cut, John fell to the floor. His body was too sore and weak to hold itself up. But he didn't want Boris to know he wasn't able to stand and fight like a man, so he held up his hands toward Boris. "It would only be fair," he said.
Boris cut his hands free. "Get up on your feet and fight me like a man!" he demanded.
John concentrated hard and pushed against the pain and fatigue to rise to his feet. He stood before Boris and smiled.
Boris charged him like an angry bull, falling into John and then on top of him as they flew onto the concrete floor.
John's head smacked the floor as he landed. Then everything went black for him.
Boris got up off the floor and immediately regretted losing his temper again. Viktor would be angry at him again, but he was sick of Viktor always the one calling the shots and making all the decisions for them. After all, he was a grown man and didn't have to any longer abide by his brother's orders. He left the presumed dead cartel in the floor and went back to the desk and unscrewed another bottle of Diet Coke. Picking up the Ruffles bag and peering inside to find it empty, Boris crumpled it up and flung it into the nearby trashcan.
After nearly an hour later, Boris picked up his cellphone. "Viktor, I have killed the cartel." Boris sat with his head bent forward as Viktor yelled into the phone at him. "Okay, Viktor, I will," he answered. Boris went to John's body that still lay on the concrete floor of the deli's basement. He touched John's neck. "He is cold. There was no way any human could survive," he softly said. He stood up to finish his conversation with Viktor on his cellphone. Viktor's scolding made him thirsty and he turned to see if there was any Diet Coke left on the desk. The last bottle was empty. "Yes…okay…I understand," Boris said. He just wanted their conversation to end.
Then Boris gasped.
John could hear Viktor on the other end continuing to yell. He looked down at Boris with the syringe jutting out of his neck. His eyes were large and glassy cold…the eyes of a dead man.
It was over, John thought. His entire body hurt beyond sanity. His mind was foggy and unable to recall much about who he was and what was happening. He just knew he was in danger and that he needed to flee.
So he headed to the basement door and ran out into the alleyway. It smelled like garbage. The sun was on the verge of hitting the horizon.
The pre-dawn air was penetratingly cold. His three broken fingers were useless in buttoning up his overcoat, so he left it unbuttoned. As he sprinted, his legs felt like he was running through fire. His head was swirling, but his survival instinct told him to keep running. He knew he needed to get as far away from that place as he could. He didn't know why or who would be after him, but he had always depended on his gut to never lead him astray.
He continued running through alleys and back streets as fast as his legs would carry him. He had no idea where he was going. He just ran.
Soon, his body and mind began to feel numb. He knew he needed to hide so he headed for the alley up ahead. White lights continued firing in his eyes. He felt the urge to vomit. He knew his body could take no more. Behind a row of strategically placed garbage bins filled with rotten food and debris, John's legs began giving out.
As he fell, he hit the gravel alleyway and rolled toward the back of one of the garbage bins to get out of the line of sight.
Then his mind went blank.