Author's Note: This is a very violent chapter. There is also a lot of language.
Chapter 5: A Terrible Lesson
5 years prior
"Michael!" a man barked startling Mike out of his thoughts.
"What?" Mike asked trying to cover his annoyance; it was a very bad idea to make this man angry.
"Excuse me?" the man asked.
"Sorry," Mike answered forgetting the cardinal rule. "Yes, sir? What do you need?"
"Come with me," the man said. "I need to show you something."
"Yes, sir," Mike answered although he really was irritated. He hated this man he was now following, but he had to do as he said. This man was his father and Mike was still too young to do what he wanted. That would end soon, though.
"You'll be 18 soon, Michael," his father said ahead of him. "In just a month. And then you'll be able to do what you want."
"Yes, sir," Mike answered unsure of where this conversation was going.
"As much as I would be proud to have you take on the family business, you've made it abundantly clear you are not worthy," his father continued. Mike fought the urge to scoff at his father knowing that if he said he wanted nothing more to do with this man he'd be punished for his insubordination. It wasn't that Mike wasn't worthy; it was that he despised everything his father stood for. His father stopped in front of the door to the basement of their very large house and turned on Mike, eyes boring into Mike's skull. "But I need to know that what you have learned is going to be kept confidential. So you are going to learn what it means if you misbehave."
"Sir?" Mike asked suddenly afraid he was going to be punished anyway; just to remind Mike to be silent once he had the freedom to leave and legally be on his own. He really didn't need any other reminders to keep silent about the things his father did. He had plenty of opportunities to tell someone about it, but all the threats and punishments he received as a child always made him too afraid. His father wouldn't even let him go to school until he was sure that Mike was going to keep quiet. Did his father now want to make extra sure Mike would stay silent once on his own and away from his father's control?
"I want you to know what will happen if you disobey me," his father said opening the door and indicating Mike should go down first. Mike hesitantly obeyed as his father continued. "I want you to know that I will always be able to find you if I have to."
"I promise I won't say anything, sir," Mike tried once he'd reached the bottom of the stairwell.
"I need to be sure," his father answered. The room was set-up as it normally was. The house itself could easily be taken as a mansion; with several rooms consisting of dining and formal rooms, living rooms, and bedrooms. Each bedroom was not reserved for just one person, however, but multiple. And they were not there of their own free will. Each door had been made of solid steel and bolted closed with steel locks. Windows were welded shut and made of glass so thick it was impenetrable making escape impossible. There were at least 2-3 people locked in each of these rooms at any given time. These were the things he wasn't allowed to talk about.
The basement was a special place in the house. If someone needed to be punished for something, they'd be taken to the basement. In the center of the basement was a steel chair with metallic restraints. Mike had been in that very chair himself several times and knew what happened in that chair. It was cleaned regularly, but you could still make out several spots with blood stains; some of which were undoubtedly his own. On the far wall were iron shackles that people could be restrained in when they either had to wait their turn or watch. People were often made to watch so they would learn what could happen to them if they misbehaved. Mike hated this room; he felt sick just standing in it.
"Stand in the corner," his father instructed. Mike did as he was told and waited in the corner with his father. He stood there nervously for only a couple of minutes before the door to the basement opened and Mike heard the familiar sounds of someone being dragged down the stairs. This person wasn't really fighting like most of the others did, however. At the bottom of the bottom of the stairs Mike could see two burly men dragging a skinnier young boy in between them towards the chair. Mike thought he recognized the boy and one of the men, but couldn't place them. A woman followed closely behind with a cold look on her face who looked oddly familiar as well.
Mike got a better view of the boy as they shoved him in the chair and closed the restraints around him. He looked incredibly thin, as though he hadn't eaten a decent meal in months and his skin was pale against the black shirt he wore. His hair was long and full of brown messy waves. His brown eyes looked almost empty, but still somewhat defiant. He couldn't have been more than 16 years old. Mike dreaded what was about to happen to this young boy.
"Simon," one of the men who'd been carrying the boy said to Mike's father. "Nice to see you again. I thank you for the use of your home."
"Don't mention it, Chucky," his father smiled. "You remember my son?"
"Of course," Chucky smiled at Mike making him feel sick. Suddenly Mike remembered where he'd seen this man before. He and his father were friends, but they hadn't had much contact with each other. They were both in the same line of work and had met because of that when they were younger. As a boy, Mike had met Chucky a few times and always hated him as much as he hated his own father. The boy in the chair was Chucky's son, Micky, and the woman was his wife and the boy's mother, Claire. They lived in Los Angeles, however, so Mike briefly wondered what they were doing here in Texas.
"I brought him here to show him what could happen if he misbehaves," Simon said. "He needs to see what happens to traitors. He'll be 18 soon and on his own."
"Fine by me," Chucky said. "But were it me, I'd just kill the boy."
"Yes, but that would attract too much attention to us," Simon answered. "But this will teach him to keep his mouth shut. You see, Michael, Micky was a very bad boy and did a very bad thing and now he's going to pay for it." Mike really didn't want to watch this, but he had a feeling he didn't have a choice.
"That's right," Chucky said standing in front of the boy now fully restrained in the chair. "Micky here ran away. I gave him a little bit of freedom, and he betrayed it. Took a few of my girls with him."
"And I'd do it again," Micky spat.
"Shut up," Claire spat as Chucky landed a good hard blow to the side of Micky's head. Micky hissed in pain and Mike recoiled a little. He really didn't want to see any of this, but knew if he tried to leave he'd be punished, too.
"Now he's going to tell us where he hid those girls," Chucky said keeping his fist clenched.
"Now why would I do that?" Micky sneered. "So you can kidnap them again and force them to star in your sick fucking videos again? Not a chance in hell." Mike winced knowing what was happening now. These men were truly evil people. The people his father kept in those steel enclosed rooms were young women and men that were forced to star in videos or pose for pictures that were sold to other sick and twisted people like them. The victims were forced to rape each other or were raped by Mike's father. Mike so often wished he could do something to help them, but he never once saw an opportunity to help them escape. He had an older brother who spoke to the police once, but the cops didn't believe him. His father was a respected lawyer and his brother was never seen again; the police assumed he just ran away, but Mike knew better.
Mike remembered one woman who escaped with the help of one of the other prisoners when he was around 5 or so. They hadn't even made it to the police station before they had been dragged back into this very basement and tortured before they were killed. Mike had often thought that he didn't care about dying if it meant he could save one of these people, after all, what could he really offer the world coming from a man like his father? But he was too afraid that they'd be discovered and killed. So he had never even tried, as much as he wanted to. This boy had, and had apparently succeeded. At least partially.
"You're going to tell me where you hid them because I told you to," Chucky sneered. "And if you don't, well..." Chucky smacked Micky on the side of the head again.
"Go to hell," Micky spat as blood trickled out of a cut on his cheek. Chucky frowned and hit Micky again hard enough to rock the entire chair.
"Where are they, Micky?" Chucky growled. Micky looked at his father defiantly and didn't respond. Chucky crossed over to a trunk below the stairwell and pulled out a baseball bat. Mike took a few steps backward knowing that no one was planning on playing baseball.
"Come on, Micky," his mother said. "Are they really this important to you?"
"They're safe from you," Micky answered. "That's all that matters to me. It's going to stay that way."
"You're really willing to endure all this for a couple of whores?" Claire scoffed.
"Don't call them that," Micky spat.
"You like one of them, don't you, boy?" Chucky asked. Micky remained silent but Mike noticed his eyes flick to the ground for just a second.
"You do?" Claire asked. "You're in love with one of them? Which one? Which whore did you fall in love with?"
"Shut up, bitch," Micky growled. Chucky swung the bat making contact with Micky's shoulder. Micky cried out in pain as the chair rocked a little. Mike looked away for a second as he heard a popping noise come from the boys' shoulder, but his own father hit him in the back of the head.
"Watch and learn, Michael," his father sneered.
"Don't you dare speak to your mother like that!" Chucky roared.
"That's alright, Chucky," Claire said. "I've heard worse from better."
"It doesn't really matter which one he fell for," Chucky continued. "He will tell us where they are. Eventually."
"No," Micky said firmly. "I won't."
"Tell me, Micky," Claire said walking around behind the chair. "You fell for her and decided to set her free, is that it?"
"I'm not telling you a damn thing," Micky said defiantly staring at his father. Claire put her hands on his shoulders as if to rub them, but when she squeezed the shoulder Chucky had just hit, Micky hissed in pain again.
"Be a good boy for once in your life," Claire whispered. "Do what mommy says."
"I'd sooner die," Micky answered through gritted teeth.
"Be careful what you wish for," Chucky smiled. "We will find them, you know. If you tell us where they are, it'll be easier on them."
"No, it won't," Micky answered. "And you'll never find them."
"We found you," Claire said finally letting go.
"I let you find me," Micky spat. "To give them time to run somewhere where you'll never find them. I didn't tell them where to go, and they didn't tell me where they were going. So I really don't even know where they are. But even if I did, I still wouldn't tell you." Chucky sighed heavily and threw the bat on the ground.
"I can tell we're going to need the big guns for this," Chucky said walking back over to the trunk. Micky looked at Mike as Chucky sifted through the trunk looking for something. Mike tried to tell this boy that he should just do what they said knowing full well the pain Micky would soon be in by not talking. But Micky had an ever defiant look in his eye; he really wasn't going to say anything even though he also seemed to know what would happen to him.
"Pretty," Claire said admiring the long, intricate knife Chucky had extricated from the trunk.
"This is going to hurt, Micky," Chucky said walking back over to his son. Micky tore his eyes away from Mike's and braced himself for even more pain. Mike desperately wanted to do something, but he couldn't. He was outnumbered; 4 to 1. The man who had helped Chucky drag Micky down the stairs was standing firmly in front of the base of the stairwell now, blocking Mike's only possible escape route. All he could do was stand and watch.
Chucky brought the knife down to Micky's chin and held it for a moment trying to intimidate Micky. But Micky's eyes flashed with anger instead of fear. Chucky grabbed the front of Micky's shirt and cut down it, exposing Micky's bare chest to the blade. Mike could see clearly see the ribs under Micky's skin showing just how thin he really was. Claire ripped the rest of Micky's shirt off his shoulders and threw the now tattered rag aside. His shoulder looked out of place and the skin was already turning a deep shade of purple and green.
"You don't have to go through this, Micky," Claire whispered.
"I won't let you touch them again," Micky said firmly. "You think I care what happens to me? Go ahead. Do your worst."
"You think these girls would show you the same favor, Micky?" Chucky asked pressing the tip of the knife into Micky's good shoulder. "Were they in the same position they'd squeal like little pigs."
"That won't work," Micky said. "You can't try and psych me out. They won't, but I don't care if they'd sing songs about me. I'm not going to let you anywhere near them."
"What's so important about them?" Claire asked staring at Micky. "Other than you being in love with one of them."
"Shut up," Micky spat.
"She was pregnant, wasn't she?" Claire asked. Micky was silent and stared at the ground.
"I should have known," Chucky laughed pushing the blade into Micky's shoulder slowly. "Why else would you risk your life and theirs if not for a baby? Which one was it?"
"The brunette," Claire answered. "Rose. She was throwing up an awful lot. Am I right, Micky? Is she the one you fell for, or the blonde? Sarah?"
"You'll never find them and you'll never find that baby," Micky said. "I don't give a shit what you do to me. That baby is safe. You'll never be able to touch it. You'll never corrupt that baby like you did me. Like you did Rose and everyone else you've touched."
"You're risking everything for a little brat!?" Claire exclaimed. "You don't even know if that child is yours!"
"I really don't care," Micky answered. Chucky growled a little and pushed the blade in even further. Micky hissed in pain and Mike could tell he was trying not to cry out. Mike's mind raced. Mike was never forced to participate in any of the movies his father made, but he had been forced to watch several times when Simon had tried teaching him the "business". Had Micky not been spared the same fate? Had Micky actually been forced to participate in the movies? Mike felt sick to his stomach at the thought that someone could do that to their own son. Torturing was bad enough.
"You little shithead!" Chucky yelled. If he could, Mike had no doubt Chucky would be foaming at the mouth. "Did you think you'd be the hero? That you'd swoop in and save those girls and that baby? Run off with them and all live happily ever after as one big happy family? This isn't a movie! This is real life! You WILL tell me where those girls are AND the child."
"I already told you," Micky answered. "No. I. Won't." Chucky glared at Micky and twisted the knife inside Micky's shoulder. Micky couldn't stop himself this time; he screamed in pain. Claire smiled seeming to enjoy the sound of her own son screaming in agony. Mike couldn't help himself either anymore.
"Stop it! Leave him alone!" he yelled and tried lunging toward Micky. His father caught him by the shoulder and threw him back down on the ground. He was thrown with such force that his face hit the hard floor despite the fact he tried to break his fall with his arms outstretched.
"Michael, don't be stupid!" Simon snapped as Mike tasted blood on his lip.
"I'll leave him alone when he does what I want him to, boy," Chucky snapped. Simon yanked Mike back up and held onto his arm. Mike was fighting back tears for the boy. He couldn't do anything to help him no matter how much he wanted to. Mike and Micky's eyes met again and Mike saw regret there; but something told him it wasn't regret for saving those girls. It was regret that they were forcing Mike to watch this. Mike wasn't sure why since there really was nothing Micky could do to keep them from forcing Mike to watch. Mike believed Micky when he said that he really didn't even know where they were, so he couldn't have told them anything anyway.
"Why don't you just kill me?" Micky asked. "Otherwise we'll be here all night because I really don't care what you do to me."
"You see, Micky, everyone has their breaking point," Claire said. "That point where they can no longer tolerate the pain and they break down."
"Yeah, I don't have that point," Micky said. "You destroyed that in me a long time ago. Do you know how many times I've already tried to kill myself? There's nothing you can do to me now that you haven't already done at some other point in my life. Really. So why don't you stop wasting your energy and just finish it."
"You really believe that?" Claire said walking closer to him. "One thing you forget about me, Micky, I like pushing people to that point." Claire pushed the heel of her hand against the wound Chucky's knife had made causing him to cry out in pain again. Mike couldn't take it anymore; he dropped to his knees and threw up.
"Control yourself, Michael," Simon laughed.
"Please," Mike breathed, "just leave him alone."
"Get him out of here, Simon," Chucky said. "If the boy can't take it, he shouldn't be here."
"He can take it," Simon answered. "He needs to see this. He needs to know what will happen if he pulls any shit like this."
"Fine, but no more interference from him," Chucky said.
"Don't worry," Simon answered. "There won't be if he knows what's good for him." Mike looked up at Micky again who looked bleary from the amount of pain he was in. Yet he still tried to appear strong through it.
"I won't ask you again, Micky," Chucky said turning back to him and brandishing the knife. "Where are they?"
"You really wanna know?" Micky whispered. "Come here." Chucky hesitated, but leaned in closer to Micky's face. Mike watched horrified as Micky spit in his father's face causing the man to roar in anger. Chucky buried the knife blade deep into Micky's shoulder and snatched up the baseball bat still lying on the floor. He began swinging wildly; first at Micky's legs and then his chest before finally landing a blow to Micky's head.
"Stop!" Claire exclaimed pushing Chucky away from Micky. "You'll kill him! We need him alive if we're going to find those girls!" But from what Mike could see, it was already too late. The boy was slumped in the chair lifelessly; his right leg twisted in the wrong direction and blood streaming down the side of his face.