The Cage (14 page)

A part of his rational mind, which had now been thrown to the back of his consciousness, realized that his friend and partner of many years was gone, but terror had usurped coherent thought. His own screams added to the cacophony of suffering.

After what felt like an eternity, his partner’s thrashing ceased, and only the flames remained. The smell of charred flesh filled the space all around him, adding to the whirlwind of emotions swirling in his mind.

A mixture of terror, grief, and anger consumed his consciousness. He sat on his knees, weeping for his friend and knowing that he would be next. For some time, he had been aware of the man with the shotgun standing behind him in the aisle. Ackerman had used Tom as a distraction, and the ploy had succeeded.

His voice trembled and tears ran down his cheeks. “Why did you do this? You called us here just so you could kill us? Why?”

“Why?” Ackerman said. “That is the eternal question, isn’t it? From the beginning of human existence, we have sought frantically for the answer to one question:
Why?
Well, I’m afraid that I don’t really have an answer for you, other than to say that it is simply who I am. Some people paint beautiful works of art. Some people are doctors, lawyers, butchers and bakers and candlestick makers. I am a predator, a killer. Life’s a game, and I like to play. But I’m not quite through playing with you yet. Give me your wallet.”

“My wallet?”

A kick to the back of the head answered his question. “Your wallet, now. Please.”

He complied, and Ackerman took the proffered item. The killer sifted through the wallet’s contents, pausing to study the driver’s license and a tattered family photo. “You’ve got a beautiful family here, Jim Morgan. I’d love to meet them.”

“Don’t even look at them!” he said as he charged at his best friend’s murderer.

Ackerman used the shotgun as a club to knock him to the floor. Then, the killer pummeled him until blood flowed from several large gashes on his face. He could feel his flesh tearing with every blow, but he could do nothing to stop the barrage.

After a moment, the blows ceased. Ackerman stood over him, aiming the shotgun. “I was just going to toy with you a bit before ending your life, but now . . . I think I’ve got a better idea.”

Ackerman walked behind the counter and retrieved a bottle and a cloth, his eyes never leaving Jim.

He writhed in agony on the floor as he watched Ackerman dump some of the contents of the bottle onto the piece of torn cloth. His vision blurred as his eyes filled with tears. He could taste his own blood in his mouth and still smell the acrid smoke from Tom’s charred remains. His brain couldn’t process the onslaught of information transmitted by his senses, and his mind threatened to shut down.

Ackerman knelt and placed the cloth over his mouth. He tried to fight back, but his efforts were futile. Within a moment, he succumbed to the chemicals and darkness overtook him.

~~*~~

Jim awoke and scanned his surroundings. He noticed that he was home. His first thought was that the entire ordeal at the gas station had been nothing more than a nightmare.

When he saw his wife and daughter, his relief dissipated like a warm breath on a winter’s day.

His wife, Emily, and their young daughter, Ashley, sat across from him in their living room. The chairs from the dining room had been arranged, as if for an intervention, with Emily and Ashley facing him. They were bound, and duct tape covered their mouths. Their disheveled hair matted together and clung to their foreheads, sticking in a mixture of sweat and tears.

“Ashley!” He tried to run to her, but his own restraints held him at bay. He fought with the ropes, and the fibers dug into his skin.

He turned to his wife. Her raven-black hair hung in her face, and fear contorted her features. Her light complexion, one of the traits she had inherited from an odd pairing of an Irish-American grandmother and a Japanese grandfather, had flushed with red. He thought of the countless moments in which he had run his fingers over her smooth, delicate skin. She had always hated her pale pigmentation and complained of how easily she burned in the sun, but he adored her milky complexion. It reminded him of fine porcelain. He had always felt undeserving of her. Although he had never seemed to find the words to tell her, he felt like the luckiest man in the world to have her as his wife.

Tears cascaded down his cheeks, and his heart broke. He wanted to tear the heart from the monster who had done this to his family. He wanted to light the monster on fire, like the killer had done to Tom, and give the psychopath a glimpse of the hell that clearly awaited him.

As he fumed with impotent rage, Emily caught his attention, and with her eyes, she indicated for him to look to his right.

He followed her gaze, and the cold gray eyes of a madman greeted him.

The sawed-off shotgun in one hand, Ackerman stood and walked to Jim’s side. “It’s about time you woke up,” Ackerman said, patting him on the shoulder. “We’ve been having a great sleepover so far, Dad, but we’re ready to start the night’s entertainment.”

Ackerman moved behind him and leaned in close to his ear. “You’ve got a real nice family here, Jim. You’ve built a good life for yourself. Nice house, cutest little girl I’ve ever seen, and your wife . . . man, she’s gorgeous. And I don’t mean that in a vulgar or crude way, Jim. I’m just telling you, honestly, she is a beautiful woman. She reminds me of one of those old-time movie stars, with her dark hair and pale skin. You know, from the thirties or forties. Back when the world was black and white. Anyway, I’m just saying that you’re a very lucky man.”

Jim gritted his teeth and shook with rage. He wanted to scream at Ackerman. He wanted to tell him to shut up and go to hell, but he didn’t want to do anything to play into the madman’s fantasies. So he just sat there, praying that his girls would make it through this alive. He didn’t care what happened to himself. If he had to die to save them, then so be it, but he begged God to save his wife and daughter.

“What are your thoughts on death, Jim? Do you believe that our lives flash before our eyes . . . that we relive it all in that final moment? What about the whole light at the end of the tunnel thing, do you buy that? Or what about the spiritual aspects? Do you believe, when I kill your family, that they’ll go to a better place?”

Jim couldn’t contain his fury for another second. He couldn’t listen to another moment of the killer’s musings. He convulsed and tried to wrench his limbs free from his bonds. He screamed at the top of his lungs, but without any words. The English language lacked the ability to convey the emotions that coursed through him. His scream was something more ancient than words, more primal.

After a long moment, the screaming stopped. He took in each breath with fury, his nostrils flaring on every inhalation.

Ackerman patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Jim. I understand your pain.”

He felt defeated and helpless, but he needed to be strong and think. He couldn’t see any means of escape or rescue. They lived in the woods, so no one would hear his screaming. But then, he remembered that he would be missed.
A backup unit will travel to the gas station. They’ll find Tom’s body and realize that I’m missing. Eventually, they’ll check my home. But how long will that take? How much time has already passed?
He needed to stall the killer. He needed to keep him talking. “Why are you doing this?”

Ackerman’s eyes narrowed. “Why? We’ve been over that. The why doesn’t matter. Have you ever heard that old adage about the 10/90 rule? It says that life is ten percent what happens to us, and ninety percent how we react. That’s what’s important. It’s not imperative to think of why this has happened to you and your family. Everyone is always whining. ‘Why me?’ ‘Why did this happen to me?’ They think it’s the end of the world when their forty-thousand-dollar car won’t start, and they can’t make it to that cushy desk job to pay off that family vacation to Hawaii. But they don’t even know the meaning of the word pain. Don’t whine to me, Jim. Why is not important. You need to concentrate on what you’re going to do about it. How are you going to save them? How are you going to stop me?”

Ackerman leaned in close. He could feel the killer’s hot breath on his neck. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’ve been looking for someone to play with . . . a worthy opponent. I
want
you to beat me.”

Ackerman retrieved Jim’s gun from the waistband of his pants and placed it in Jim’s lap. “Here’s the game. Let’s call this one . . .
Two is the Price for One
. Two of you are going to die here tonight. I don’t care which two. If you kill yourself first, then I’ll finish your daughter. If you break the rules or refuse to play, then I’ll make you watch as I kill your wife and child. I will take my time with them. They will pray for death, and you will wish that you had given it to them. You could choose to shoot both of them and save yourself, but I don’t see that happening. If you kill your wife, you can finish yourself or let me do it. Either way, in that scenario, your daughter lives. I’ll call 911 after I leave here and tell them to come get her. She might have some emotional issues, but otherwise she’ll be fine.

“But before we begin, I want you to come to the realization that no matter what you choose to do or not to do, two of you don’t leave here alive. And you do not want me to have to finish this for you. Trust me on that. I know you’re thinking that eventually they’ll find the mess at the station and come looking for you. Rest assured that I’ve taken that into consideration, so we’ll have ample time to finish our little game. Now, let’s play.”

Ackerman cut Jim’s hands free. He knew what to do. He saw an opportunity, and he took it. He scooped up the gun from his lap and turned it on his captor.

But the killer was ready.

Ackerman wrenched the gun from his hand and slammed the shotgun into the bridge of his nose. Then, the killer swung the shotgun toward Ashley.

~~*~~

Jim had time to scream, “NO!” before the shotgun blast thundered through the house.

He didn’t want to look. He clenched his eyes shut, but he knew that he couldn’t shut out the monster that had stepped from his nightmares into the real world.

When he opened his eyes, his heart leapt when he saw that the blast had discharged into the floor, and his daughter still lived.

“Are you ready to play nice?”

Tears flowed from his eyes. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll play your game . . . just don’t hurt them.”

“Good. I’ll give you one more chance. But if you try anything this time, I’ll get tired of this game and move on to another. You’ll like that game even less than you like this one. Let’s continue.”

Ackerman slammed the pistol back onto his lap.

This time, he didn’t pick it up. His mind reeled.
There has to be a way out of this. I’m a good cop. I have to find a way to save my family. But what can I do? The madman has a shotgun pointed at my head, and if I fail again, we’re all as good as dead
. From the corner of his mind, the only available path began to take form, but he pushed the thought away. It was too horrible. He couldn’t bring himself to consider the possibility. And yet, he did.

When he looked into his wife’s eyes, he knew that she had followed the same train of thought to the only possible conclusion. If only one of them could survive, it had to be Ashley.

The look in Emily’s eyes conveyed what she was thinking.
I love you. I understand. And it’s okay
. His wife, the love of his life, the woman with whom he planned to grow old, nodded her head and closed her eyes.

He picked up the gun and raised his shaking hand. He placed his finger over the trigger, but he couldn’t bring himself to squeeze. He lowered the gun.

How can I kill the woman I love?
He searched his mind again for an alternative. The only way to save his daughter was to kill her mother. An idea began to take form, but it was such a long shot.

He raised the gun again. He knew that he couldn’t move forward without his wife’s consent, but she had made her feelings clear. Her courage and resolve gave him the strength to do what had to be done.

He took aim and squeezed the trigger.

~~*~~

Jim sobbed into his hands. He prayed and begged for God’s forgiveness. He wanted the pain to end, but his beliefs told him that suicide might keep him from seeing his wife again in the next world. He couldn’t bear the thought of eternity without her.

The gun fell from his hand and struck the hardwood floor with a metallic thud.

Ackerman spoke as he reached down and sliced the rope that restrained Jim’s feet. “Well done. Let’s move onto another game. We’ll call this one . . .
The Easy Way or the Hard Way
. I’m going to give you a choice about how you die. Option number one is a shotgun blast to the back of the head. It would be quick and painless, but you would be very, very dead. Option number two is that I let you run out the backdoor. Of course, this means that you would have to leave your daughter behind, but don’t think about that. You don’t have a choice in the matter. If you stay, I’ll blow your head off, and she’ll be left alone with me anyway. Besides, I don’t care about your daughter. You’re much more fun to play with.

“I’ll give you a head start, and then I’ll come and find you. I won’t use the shotgun. I’ll use a knife. It will not be quick. It will be the most agonizing death that I can give you, but there is always the possibility that I won’t find you or that you could overpower me. That’s the decision that you have to make. Do you give up now and put an end to all your suffering, or do you hold on to the hope of salvation and face the possibility of a gruesome end? You have thirty seconds . . . ”

With one last, long look at his baby girl, he stood and bounded toward the back door. He didn’t want to leave her behind, but he didn’t want her to watch him die either. Ackerman was right. He didn’t have any other choice.

His mind screamed one singular thought:
revenge.
He no longer cared about his own life or how he died, but the killer had given him a chance to avenge his wife’s death, and he would take it.