Slow Agony (23 page)

“But why does he hate you so much?”

“I don’t know,” said Griffin. “I think maybe some people don’t get a full array of emotions. They only get the bad ones. And they feel them ten times stronger than everyone else because nothing balances it.”

The words hung in the air as we lay close to each other.

“Griffin?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about the baby. I know you wanted—”

“No,” he said. “You don’t apologize for that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I wanted...” I gritted my teeth together. “He stole from us. He took everything. I’m going to kill him.”

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Stay angry, doll. Stay sharp. We’re going to need it.”

We were moving. It seemed as if we’d been in the back of that van for years. There had been no way to measure time, however. We couldn’t see the sun. We didn’t have our phones. But now we were being hauled out of the back of the van.

Strong arms had lifted me. I was being nudged along with the barrel of a gun.

I called out for Griffin, because I didn’t know where he was, but a harsh voice told me to shut up. I’d see Griffin soon enough.

They marched me down a hill. I noted that the temperature here was cooler than it had been in Texas. The inside of the van had been temperature controlled, but out here I could feel that the air was different. It was muggier too.

I stumbled blindly ahead of the gun in my back until the person forcing me forward made me stop.

I heard the creaking of a door opening on its hinges, and then I was shoved inside someplace dank and cool.

I stumbled again, and this time I couldn’t keep my balance. I went face down on the floor. Cold concrete. Hard. It hurt. I made a little noise in the back of my throat.

Someone ripped off my blindfold.

I looked around. I was in a basement somewhere. Not a nice, finished one like Griffin’s family’s either. This one was bare except for a pile of broken-down boxes in one corner and a washer and dryer in the other. There were steps in front of the washer and dryer, which probably led up to the top of the house. In the center of the floor, there was a drain.

It smelled musty. Cobwebs clung to the top of the ceiling. It wasn’t a pleasant place.

Griffin was next to me. They’d removed his blindfold as well.

The door at the top of the steps opened, and Marcel came down the stairs. “Oh, they’ve arrived. Excellent.” He came down the last step and surveyed Griffin and me. “Hi, there, Griffin. Did you miss me?”

Griffin glared at him. “Would it hurt your feelings if I said no?”

Marcel snickered. “Well, I missed you at any rate. Hope you had a nice trip.”

“Oh, it was great,” said Griffin. “We were completely comfortable tied up in the back of a van for hours on end. Thanks.”

“You do look a little worse for wear.” Marcel eyed me especially. “Your girlfriend’s a bloody mess. From the gunshot wound and from, um, looks like feminine issues.”

Griffin stalked forward. “I swear to God, Marcel—”

But the two men who’d brought us into the basement leaped out and restrained Griffin, holding him back.

“Oh Griffin, you’re so grown up,” said Marcel. “I remember how adorable you used to be all those years ago. But now here you are with your own little girlfriend and everything. You must really feel like a man now.”

Griffin closed his eyes.

“I know better, of course,” said Marcel. “I know deep inside you’re the same squealing little pussy.” He nodded at me. “Strip her.”

I felt like someone had reached into my chest and closed a fist around my heart. What had he just said?

I got to my feet, looking around. There had to be somewhere I could run.

Griffin’s head shot backwards, smashing into the face of the man who was holding him.

The man howled, letting go of Griffin. He ran for me.

Marcel intercepted him, pulling out a switchblade. The knife snapped up. Marcel jabbed Griffin under the chin. “Hold it.”

Griffin was seething. He backed away from the knife, blood arcing out.

“I’m only gonna clean her up,” said Marcel. He turned to me, knife first.

I backed away. I backed right into a wall.

Marcel brought the knife to my neck.

Griffin surged forward.

“Stay back, or I’ll cut out her stomach and you can watch her heal without it in there,” Marcel snarled.

Griffin halted, swearing under his breath.

I swallowed. The knife was an inch from my skin. Could I heal without a stomach? I thought I could. Oh God. Oh God.

Marcel pointed with the hand that wasn’t holding the knife. He addressed the men, but he never took his eyes off me. “Tie him up and secure him to that hook on the ceiling.”

I looked where he was pointing. There was a hook hanging from the basement ceiling. A low hook. It looked like the kind of hook you might use to hang plants. Wait. I remembered—

“Just going to clean you up, blondie,” said Marcel. His knife slashed down my shirt.

He hadn’t cut my skin—miraculously—but he’d cut through all of my clothes, bra included. He slashed at my pants.

No.

I felt the damp air of the basement on my skin.

No.

I wasn’t going to be naked in front of Marcel, in front of his goons. I wasn’t—

I looked at Griffin.

His face was so red it looked purple. He was fighting, but they had managed to tie him to the hook. His arms were stretched above his head.

Stay angry, doll.
That was what he’d said, right?

I wanted to fall apart. Instead I glared at Marcel. I lifted my head high, refusing to let my shame and fear show.

He kicked the pile of my ruined clothes away and eyed my body. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing with a cunt like Griffin, huh?”

I narrowed my eyes. My nostrils flared.

He laughed. “Oh, that’s good. You’re a lot of fun, blondie.” He sauntered over to the washer and dryer. There was a hose coiled up on the wall. He turned it on and stalked back towards me. “Hope you enjoy this, Griffin.”

The water was freezing.

They hosed Griffin down too. Now we were tied up in the corner of the basement, both wrapped in scratchy green blankets.

I was shivering in my blanket, staring out at the basement. “I know this basement.”

Griffin hadn’t said anything in a long time. He was shaking too. His eyes looked hollow.

“Did you hear me?” I said to him. I was afraid of what was happening to him. I needed him to keep it together. I needed him.

He stared forward, giving no indication he knew I was talking.

“Griffin!”

Nothing.

“This is Naomi’s basement,” I said. “I’ve been down here before. I remember because we talked about why there would be a hook like that down here. She thought it was for hanging plants, but I thought that was silly because there couldn’t be any plants growing down here. There’s no light.”

There were two tiny windows up near the ceiling. They were both foggy and dirty.

“And we were in the van for a long time, Griffin. Long enough to drive all the way back to Thomas. So, I think that’s where we are. I think he brought us back to Naomi’s house. Why would he do that?”

“He wants to break us,” said Griffin.

Oh God. He talked. “Baby, are you okay?”

He shut his eyes.

“Griffin, please talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, doll.”

“Wouldn’t it be dangerous,” I said, “to be in Naomi’s house? I mean, the police must have found her body by now. I had called 911, and I’m sure they’d be watching her house.”

“If Op Wraith is involved, then the police didn’t find any body. It wouldn’t be dangerous. No, he’s hoping that you’ll recognize her house, and that it will upset you. He’ll do anything to upset you. Because he knows that if you’re upset, I’ll be upset.”

I grimaced at the disgustingness of that. “He’s awful.”

Griffin nodded.

I was cold. I peered into the basement. It was dark and damp down here. It was depressing. I took stock of my situation. In the past month, I’d been chased across the country. I’d seen my best friend killed in front of my face. I’d been toyed with by Wolfman. I’d watched him carve a girl up. I’d killed him. I’d been stuck in a basement in Texas for days on end. I’d been captured by a crazy man, miscarried my baby, had my clothes cut off me, been hosed down like an animal.

It was amazing I hadn’t lost my mind.

“We’re going to get out of here,” I said. “And we’re going to stop him. We’re going to kill him.”

Griffin didn’t say anything.

“Griffin?”

“What?”

“Agree with me.”

He turned to look at me. His expression was haggard. “We’ll get out of here.” But his voice was bland, and I knew he didn’t believe it.

I tested the ropes that bound my hands. They were strong, and they dug into my wrist. Still, maybe if I could find something that was sharp enough, I could cut through them. I glanced around the basement again, searching. There had to be something. Maybe amongst those boxes over there.

Of course, I couldn’t walk because my ankles were tied up.

I looked at Griffin. His eyes were closed. Why wasn’t he doing anything? He was the trained assassin here. He had to have some idea of how to get out of a situation like this. But Marcel had hurt him before and the specter of that memory had frozen him. I had to help him.

But how could I do that? I didn’t know what to do against this madman that held us captive. I didn’t have the knowledge or the skills. I felt terrified and vulnerable. Here I was in this cold, dank basement, shivering and naked under the thin blanket wrapped around my body. I was tired and used up, just as much as Griffin. We’d been running for so long. If he was giving up, then how could I do anything?

Griffin’s fears were amplified because of what Marcel had done to him in the past. I needed to be just a tiny bit stronger because I hadn’t been abused by this man before. I needed to dig down...

Stay sharp. We’re going to need it.

I took a deep breath. Okay, I was the sharp one. What could we do to get out of these ropes?

Suddenly, it seemed obvious.

“Griffin, we need to get back to back.”

“It’s not going to be warmer that way, doll. I know you’re cold. I can see you shivering. But we’re just going to have to do the best we can to handle it.”

“No,” I said. “Not for warmth. To get free. If we can sit back to back, we might be able to untie each other’s ropes.”

His eyes widened. “Good thinking. Let’s try it.”

It took a lot of maneuvering to get in the right positions, but eventually, I was able to feel around and find Griffin’s ropes. The knots were very tight, but my fingers were small and deft. I was pretty sure I could get the knot undone. It was just going to take time. I’d have to be patient.

I set to work at once, keeping up a constant steady stream of chatter while I did so. I told Griffin all about my classes from the spring semester and about people we both knew in Thomas. I needed to fill in the emptiness with something. I needed to keep us feeling like we had normal lives. I needed to do it, because it made me feel like there was hope.

But Griffin’s fingers weren’t working as eagerly on my knots as mine were on his.

After I finished telling him all about how our mutual acquaintance Bobby Aaron had dropped all his classes except one and would be back in the fall, starting his seventh year at school, Griffin sighed. “I’m not going to be able to get this untied.”

“But we’ve barely even started trying,” I said.

“My fingers are too big and the knots are too small.”

“Keep trying.” My fingers were busy at his knots. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought that I was definitely making progress.

Griffin’s fingers brushed the insides of my wrists. They went still. “When he cut off your clothes... I thought he was going to rape you in front of me. I-I thought...”

I stopped working at the knots too. I had been afraid as well. And if that had happened, it I’d been violated that way, would I have been able to function afterwards? I couldn’t think about it. “He didn’t.”

“I couldn’t get away from them,” he said. “There you were, right there, so close. I could see you were afraid, and I
couldn’t
—”

“Baby, I don’t blame you. I’m okay. Let’s concentrate on the knots, all right?” I picked at a particularly stubborn one with my fingernail.

“That’s what he does to me,” said Griffin. “He makes me helpless.”

“You aren’t helpless,” I said. “You can untie me. We can get out of here.”

But Griffin didn’t move. “He’s going to kill us both. He’s going to kill you, and he’s going to make me watch.”

“No,” I said. “That’s not what’s going to happen. We’re going to get free.” And, as if to punctuate my point, I loosened the knot on Griffin’s wrist. Two tugs, and he was untied. “See?”

“You did it.” He was amazed.

I could hear him shifting behind me, turning so that he was facing the knots. He started to work on the knots at my wrists again.

We were both quiet for a bit. I wished I could help him, but I couldn’t reach my own knots. I chewed on my lip, trying not to make any noise when he pulled on the rope, and it bit painfully into my skin.

He worked at it for a long time.

Outside, we could see that it was getting darker. Night was coming. It made the basement even gloomier.

“Doll, I can’t,” he finally said.

“Well, maybe if you could get your feet untied, then you could find something in the basement that you could use to cut me free?”

“Maybe.” I heard him shift again.

And then the basement door opened.

We could hear the sounds of several people on the steps, and then Marcel and two of the men came into view. One of the men was carrying a drill. The other held several packages of padlocks.

They went to work installing them on the outside of the basement door.

Marcel came over to us, brandishing his switchblade. He cut the ropes holding me. When he noticed that Griffin’s hands were free, he laughed.

Apparently, he’d only intended to tie us up until he could secure the basement door. With the padlocks on the outside, ropes were no longer necessary.