Chapter 11

Eleven

The clank of a generator kicking on echoed through the wall and jerked me out of sleep. The jolt of alertness didn’t do much to clear the fog in my brain. Piece by piece, reality sifted through me.

Numb arms.

Numb legs.

Numb ass.

I tried to lift my hand to wipe the drool from my face, but it was lashed to the arm of the chair.

Right.

I couldn’t move.

Fuuuuuck.

Twitching my fingers didn’t seem to work. Or maybe it was cause I couldn’t feel them. I needed to look at my hands, but it was dark. No, not that dark. There was light against my eyelids.

Shit.

My eyes were closed.

Reality kept telescoping in and out. I was numb, tied to a chair, pain was right there, surging against my consciousness like the tide rolling in.

Open your eyes, I told myself.

Open them.

A part of me didn’t want to and another wasn’t even sure I could. I refused both and went for doing it anyway. If I couldn’t move my hands or my feet, I had to be able to open them unless they’d been taped shut.

They wouldn’t do that. No, they wanted me to see. Taped open for two whole sessions, I couldn’t miss anything. Not their glee and satisfaction nor the way they leered. They’d stripped me down to my bra and panties. I supposed I was lucky to have those left.

While rape hadn’t occurred yet, they made it clear that the option was on the table. Being cold, stripped mostly bare, and left vulnerable? It was assault all the same. It didn’t matter what they stuck inside me.

Those images were imprinted in my brain forever. As if conjured by the thought, I could see both men. My interrogators. Tall, at least from my angle in the chair. One was swarthy with a scar that distorted his upper lip on the right side. Maybe a leftover from a fight or an accident where his teeth went through the lip.

He had dark, shaggy brown hair that desperately needed a cut. It didn’t match the suit he’d been wearing or the air of cold authority that settled over both of them. Wild-eyed, I almost preferred his open cruelty and sadism to his partner.

The second man was all clean, pressed lines, and perfectly manicured. Even his nails had been rounded and neat. Such a small thing to notice, but his suit was immaculate, so were his perfectly white teeth, almost too smooth skin. There wasn’t even a suggestion of stubble.

He reminded me of a mannequin or one of those CGI monstrosities in the movies when they de-aged stars and they looked plastic. His eyes were cold, devoid of any emotion, and his manner was—clinical and detached.

When he took charge of the sessions, I screamed until my throat was raw. What little spit I managed to form wasn’t enough to soothe anything. But my eyes opened, the sudden light, no matter how dim, stung until a suggestion of tears formed.

Not real tears. No, just a little extra moisture. I was dehydrated. I actually couldn’t remember the last time I’d had water. Or food.

The room wavered in my vision. It was a plain room. The smell was rancid. Though that could be me. I needed to take stock of where I was.

Glancing down, I tried not to wince at the bruises on my neck. I’d pulled every muscle or they had. Even breathing hurt. I tried to move my fingers and the flicker of motion was my reward.

Okay, the pins and needles when I got free were gonna suck. I couldn’t see my feet, but I could see my legs. I tried flexing my muscles. Yeah.

Pain rippled through me as the back of my thigh cramped viciously. Charley horses were awful. The fresh surge of pain ripping through me chased away the fog and brought clarity back.

Low potassium, magnesium and calcium could lead to cramps. Check. So could reduced salt, lack of electrolytes, and dehydration. Also check. Without water, a person could survive three days. Five or six days was possible, but it was also miserable.

Six days was the absolute limit. Most wouldn’t make it that far. How long had it been for me?

A broken sound escaped me and I barely recognized the sound of my own laughter. Did I have a lot longer in these miserable conditions? I’d already pissed myself three times.

Good times.

It was only 3 times, right? I didn’t have anything else to waste on urinating. I couldn’t remember my last drink of water.

My last drink of anything.

Fuck, I would kill for coffee right now. I’d even lower my standards and take decaf.

I wanted to cry, but the lack of moisture had me closing my eyes again. They were so dry. No, I needed to keep them open. I needed to focus.

Eyes open once more, I studied my surroundings. Beige, plain room. Concrete floor. Drain in the floor.

That boded well for the future.

No sign of a door, but it could be behind me. I hadn’t seen anything on arrival. They’d had a bag over my head. I’d been drugged too.

That had been wearing off though in the car. It had been a car, not a truck. Cataloging what I could remember helped clear away more of the fog. It distracted me from some of the pain.

Some.

Not all.

I kept trying to flex my muscles to get the blood flowing and it just kept inciting agony. I rode out the cramps and the waves of discomfort that followed. Each time, I discovered a little more sharpness to my focus.

With the view so limited, I concentrated on what I could hear. There was a clang of mechanical equipment. Some kind of air conditioner? It rattled as it came on, followed by a humming whine.

Yeah, air con unit of some kind. A vague rush of air added to the soundtrack of my environment. It moved the mustiness around, but it didn’t detract one iota from the foulness around me.

Great.

Focus, I said. Ugly beige room. Concrete floor. Air con unit. No windows visible from where I was locked to the chair. I tried to turn my head but it just added another set of muscle spasms to ride out.

Then a lock tumbled behind me.

Hey, look, I was right about where the door was. I braced for the arrivals. On each of the previous occasions, I’d woken to them being present. I hadn’t actually had any time to myself.

How many visits had it been?

The scent of coffee drifted over to torment me. The smell of too much cologne followed it and I had to concentrate on breathing through my mouth. Had one of them fallen into a vat of body spray? It was worse than Axe or Hai Karate.

Shaggy drifted into view with his unkempt hair and rumpled suit. Mr. Cold was with him. He was as neat as Shaggy was messy. They were like the Odd Couple. Fuck—what were the character names?

“Well, you’re awake.” Shaggy lit a cigarette after his announcement. Wonderful, he was going to add the smell of acrid tobacco to the powerful aroma wafting off of them. I almost wished I could go back to my own stink.

“Miss Brady,” Mr. Cold said. “I will once again offer you the opportunity to cooperate.”

I just stared at him. My options were limited. Cooperate and they would probably just put a bullet in me. Continue to resist and I might survive another day.

Granted, it would be painful survival. But living afforded me a chance to escape, maybe. Dying, well it was a one way ticket out just not necessarily in the direction I wanted to go.

“He asked you a question,” Shaggy informed me, then backhanded me hard enough to send what little spit I’d managed flying out of my mouth.

I did cut my tongue and the inside of my cheek. The taste of blood filled my mouth. As gross as it was, I swallowed it. Moisture was moisture. Straightening, I managed to look up at them in time to get a face full of smoke.

“Actually,” I said in a hoarse voice. “He made a statement, not a question. The implication being I could accept or decline.”

Shaggy glared at me then slapped me again, this time the open hand of his palm knocking my face the other way. My neck popped and it was both painful and almost orgasmic. Oh, something went back into spot.

“Everyone’s a critic,” I managed to mutter, but it sounded raspy as hell.

“Get her water,” Mr. Cold ordered before he took a sip from the cup he held. Oh, the bastard had the coffee. I really wanted the coffee.

“She doesn’t deserve water.” Shaggy’s expression was nothing but contempt.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Cold informed him. “Get her water. Now.”

With a venomous look in my direction, Shaggy stalked out of the room and left me with Mr. Cold.

“Miss Brady, you must have reached the same conclusion that we have. Yes?”

“That you smell like bad aftershave with clinical depression and a skin infection?”

His bland look was not amused.

Granted, it wasn’t my best work. Still, I didn’t want to die quick. Living wasn’t going to feel pretty. So…I needed to focus on not being here for a while. Sooner or later, they were going to make good on their promise of physical violence.

They always did.

He shook his head, then took a sip of his coffee. He walked behind me cup in hand and I concentrated on slow, deep breaths. I might not hear him or see him coming. So I needed to relax everything and slip away.

The mind was a wonderful thing. The code I was working on—it would be perfectly elegant. It would create the best environment…

A chair hit the ground in front of me and I blinked to find Mr. Cold had set up a chair and a table. He put his coffee cup on the table before he stripped off his jacket. Then he rolled up his sleeves.

I went back to my code. Line after line, if/then statements with perfect definitions ready to act. I liked coding, streamlining it, particularly when it would let me craft a tool or a setting or a world.

Maybe I needed to get out of the business and become a video game developer. The work paid well, and I doubted it came with torture beyond what I could do to myself.

“Open up.” A splash of water against my face pulled me back to the present and I found Shaggy leaning over me. A bottle of water in hand.

I stared at him. He had a burning cigarette in his other hand, and the water bottle in the other. It could be drugged.

Sniffing carefully, I tried to detect something alcoholic or medicinal around the rotting scent of me and them. The cigarette smoke didn’t help but it looked like water. I parted my lips a little.

A hand fisted my hair and yanked my head backward. Pain shot down my neck and pooled between my shoulder blades. I forgot about Mr. Cold briefly.

Lips parted, I wasn’t quite ready for the water they poured into my mouth. It was water. It soaked my parched and bloodied tongue. I inhaled some before I could swallow the rest. I fought the urge to cough. I needed more water, if I give into the reflex, they’d take it away from me. Chances were I wouldn’t get it again.

At least not for hours.

So I swallowed, and swallowed, until the bottle was empty. Only when they let go of my hair and Shaggy backed off a step did I give into the cough. My eyes were burning and so was my throat.

But that water had been like ambrosia.

“Good,” Mr. Cold said, almost petting my hair. “I like when you cooperate, Fallon. May I call you Fallon?”

Oh, that was a question. “No,” I told him. “You can drop dead though.”

“Bitch,” Shaggy said, but all Mr. Cold did was yank my hair again and haul my head backward. He locked his hand under my jaw, forcing my mouth closed. I could breathe through my nose, but that was about it.

“Hit her in the stomach.”

This was going to suck, Shaggy didn’t hesitate. His fist plowed into me and I fought the gag sending the water back up my throat. Was he going to drown me this way?

Mr. Cold kept me in place as I fought the struggle. He tilted his head like some scientist trying to figure out what I was.

“Now,” he murmured, dipping his head closer as if he were a lover. A shiver of revulsion went through me. “Are you ready to tell me where the files are?”

The files.

Don’t think about them.

I didn’t have any files here.

Just me and my brain and my code.

“No,” I croaked when he let go of my head and my mouth. I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready. Don’t think about the files. Just the code. I rolled my head around while I had the time.

“Pity,” he said. “It’s a real pity, Fallon, cause we’ve been discussing what to do to break you if you won’t cooperate.”

Shaggy put out his cigarette on my arm and the pins and needles came to life even as the smell of burning hair and flesh hit me.

I swallowed my screams.

“You win,” Mr. Cold said as he retreated to his chair. “We’re going to do it the hard way.”

That was when I saw the glass bottle.

Shaggy was reaching for my panties and I closed my eyes. This was going to hurt, but I needed to focus on the code.

Just the code.

Don’t think about anything else. Just the code.