CHAPTER TWENTY

"He got away. He got away. He got away. Why is he still alive? He shouldn't be alive. He should be dead. Paralyzed with fear." The voice was altered by a small box placed at the throat. The face was covered, the body in a black sweat suit, wearing heavy black ankle boots. The hands were covered in black cloth gloves. You could see nothing. Not even the eyes hidden behind the sunglasses.

"You were told what to do."

"We did do it," said one of the young men. "We bound him, took the cobras from the vet school, anesthetized them, and left them on his chest to awaken."

"Well, they didn't awaken!" screeched the altered voice. Both young men jumped, their anxiety kicking in big time. They'd bonded over that anxiety at one time. Now, they cursed ever speaking it aloud.

Whoever their tormentor was, they had overheard the conversation as well. They knew what anxiety medications they were on. They knew the dosage. They knew what effects it had on their bodies. They knew it all.

What they knew more than anything was their fear of authority or authoritarian figures. Yes, they'd positioned themselves well to portray the ultimate authoritarian, torturer, mind-fucker. Fear overcame that at the sound of that hideous voice machine.

First, it was the order to take the girl and bind her, then fuck her, beat her. Unable to actually do the physical violence, they called the ‘voice' and it hired a few homeless guys to do most of the dirty work for them. When they found she'd escaped, they were terrified that they would be next. Finding her at the ballfield was a total accident.

They'd decided to drag her back but then saw their chance to blame the old man. That backfired on them, and their tormentor had been making it worse for them.

"You did well with the boy at the cabin."

"Well? He died by fire," said one of them. "I don't want to do this any longer."

"Then you must accept your punishment."

"No!"

"You still have more to help me with. Fear grips you, grips them. I need to know all the fears so that I can see how they react."

"Please, just tell us who you are," said one of the young men.

"You don't need to know that." The glint of a weapon appeared beneath the black sweatsuit arm, and they both felt the panic rising in their chest. "I'm very disappointed in you."

Disappointment. The one thing the two young men feared more than anything. Disappointing their parents, their friends, their professors. Anyone.

"You will do better on the next one, or there will be consequences."

"We promise," said one of the boys. He stood and backed toward the door. When the cloaked figure said nothing, they took it as a sign that they could leave. The old shed in the woods had become their personal hell, and all they wanted was to escape.

Walking as quickly as they could, they reached the car and stopped, gasping for air.

"We have to tell someone," his friend said.

"We can't," he said, shaking, visibly distraught. "Don't you get it? We watched those guys rape that girl, and he has it on camera. We watched him beat her. On camera. That guy was tied up by us! We are guilty."

"I don't care anymore. We have to tell the authorities."

"You do, and that will be the end of our lives," he said quietly.

"We already have no life."