JACK KILBORN ~ ENDURANCE (14 page)

The people who lived in the area were another story. Not that they were mean, or even particularly cold. A better word for them was
distant
. Over the past twelve months, Felix had talked to dozens of Monk Creek residents. He was usually met with a warm smile or a nod, but once he started asking questions their
demeanor
would change. Felix originally thought it was because small towns were private, wary of talking to strangers.

But now he suspected differently. Now he saw a big conspiracy of silence. There was something going on in Monk Creek no one wanted to discuss.

And John had something to do with it.

Felix drove past the parking lot, onto the unkempt grass alongside the building. He pulled the truck around the back, into a copse of trees behind his room. Once parked, Felix turned off the ignition, wincing as his ruined fingers removed the keys. Then he waited in the darkness, listening to the night, second-guessing himself for the last time.

I can still
go to the cops, turn him in. John tried to kill me. I haven’t broken any laws.

Yet.

Felix considered
starting the truck again. Taking John to the police was the only legal, and moral, course of action. The police had more resources, more manpower. Maybe trying to get John to talk would endanger Maria.

But w
hat if the cops don’t believe me? What if John’s lawyer tells him not to say anything? What if John is well-known in the community? What if he’s friends with the police?

Felix couldn’t risk John not talking.

The only
way to know the truth is to get it from John myself.

Felix grabbed the gun on the dash, opened the door, and climbed out of the truck. He walked around to the flatbed and rapped John on the heel with the butt of his Beretta. John squealed in fright.

“
Out. Now.”

“
Please don’
hurt me.”

Felix hit him again, harder. John moaned and began to inchworm backwards out of the truck on his knees and chest. Felix grabbed the large man’s cuffed wrists and helped him off the tailgate, onto his feet.

The night had gotten colder, the cool breeze pinching Felix’s wounds. John’s face was glossy with sweat, reflecting the light from Felix’s bathroom window. Felix removed the bungee cords wrapped around John’s leg
s and led him to the back porch; a poured slab of concrete with two weathered resin chairs facing the woods. He tried the patio door.

Locked.

Felix squinted through the split in the curtains, saw Cameron lying on the made bed, watching TV. He knocked lightly, and whispered. “Cam, it’s me. Open up.”

Cam’s head jerked at the sound, and a moment later he sprang off the mattress and opened the door. The younger man was dressed for bed, in boxer shorts and a tee shirt, but he still wore those black leather gloves. Felix had never seen Cam take the gloves off, even in the sweltering West Virginia summer when temperatures peaked at a hundred and three.

“
You got one,” Cam said, his eyes getting big when he noticed John. Cam’s voice was high and raspy, as if he’d never finished the last few weeks of puberty, even though he’d just turned twenty. “Christ, Felix. You’re covered with blood.”

“
Get the rope,” Felix said.

Cam did as instructed, and Felix lead a docile John to a battered desk chair, which creaked under his weight as he sat down. When Cam brought the nylon clothesline, he secured John’s body and feet while Felix covered him with the gun.

“
You don’ wanna do this,” John said.

Cam stepped away, looking startled.

“
Cam...” Felix said. He knew Cam’s history, knew that he might not be able to handle what was about to happen. “Maybe you should wait in the—”

Cam’s hand shot out, slapping John across the face. It sounded like a firecracker going off in the small room.

“
Where’s my sister, you son of a bitch!”

Cam raised his hand again, but Felix grabbed his arm, wincing at the pain in his injured fingers. He looked into Cam’s eyes, saw them crackling with fire.

This is a bad, bad idea.

“
Easy, kid,” Felix said, trying to keep his voice even. “John wants to cooperate. Don’t you, John?”

John eyed the floor, saying nothing.

“
Does he know where Maria is?” Cam caught Felix’s forearm and squeezed. He was strong for his slight build.

“
Maybe.” Felix tugged his arm away. “I’m not sure.”

Cam grabbed John’s ears, forcing his head up. “Where is she? Where’s my sister?”

“
You better let me go.” John looked close to crying again. “Y’all be in big trouble if’n you don’t let me go.”

Cam stared hard, and something flashed across his face.

Is
that a smile?

“
Can you count, you big, fat redneck?” Cam asked. “Because I’m going to count to ten. And if you don’t tell me where Maria is, I’m going to kill you.”

Felix felt like he swallowed a bucket of ice. He knew why Cam was in the hospital. Knew what Cam was accused of doing.

Accused of. Never proven.

Still, it was enough to get him committed.

“
Cam,” Felix cleared his throat. “Let’s go in the other room, talk this over.”

Cam ignored him, walking around to the back of John’s chair. “I bet you’re so slow and dumb you count on your fingers, don’t you? Here, let me help you count.”

John’s lips began to tremble.

“
Cam...” Felix said. This situation was
spiraling
way out of control.

“
One,” Cam counted.

CRACK.

It sounded like a branch snapping. But it wasn’t wood. Felix knew that Cam had just broken one of John’s fingers.

John’s face turned bright red, and Felix saw the scream building up in his throat. He managed to grab a dirty sock from the floor and shove it into John’s open mouth a second after the howl began. The sound went on and on, and Felix had never heard anything so pitiable, so awful, in his entire life. It made him sick, all the way down to a cellular level. Like Felix’s entire body had become rotten, making him want to crawl out of his skin and go hide.

But Cam wasn’t finished.

“
Two.”

Another snap. John thrashed his head back and forth, the tendons in his neck sticking out, his throat vibrating with muffled cries.

Felix’s stomach clenched like a fist. He stumbled into the bathroom, dropping the gun in the sink, vomit spewing up and spraying the toilet. He sunk to his knees and held the bowl, trembling. The steely resolve of a year-long search seeped out of Felix’s body, replaced by pain, fear, and regret over what was happening.

I have to stop this. Now.

But John’s a killer. He had something to do with Maria’s disappearance.

He’s also a human being.

A human being who tried to kill me.

So that means we can torture him?

He may still have Maria.

That last thought gave Felix the strength to stand up and return the bedroom, albeit on wobbly legs. John was thrashing back and forth, his muffled screams making the hair on Felix’s neck stand up. Cam hyperextended another one of the man’s fingers, twirling it around and around like he was stirring a cookie batter.

“
Cam.” The spectacle before Felix was surreal.

“
I got this, Felix.” Cam grinned at him. “Least I can do, since you busted me out of the loony bin.”

Cam grabbed another finger, and Felix yelled, “Enough!”

Cam’s head shot up, looking like a teenager scolded for bad grades.

“
Back off,” Felix ordered. His voice was shaky, but he held Cam’s gaze until the younger man slunk away.

Felix glanced quickly at John’s hands—most of his fingers were stuck out at odd angles—and walked around to face him. John was bright red, his face wet with tears. Felix yanked the sock out of his mouth and was rewarded with a soul-wrenching moan.

“
Am... am I bleedin’?” John said.

Felix swallowed. “Not yet. But if you don’t answer my questions, my partner is going to start cutting off your fingers. Do you understand?”

John nodded, his chin trembling. Felix leaned down over him.

“
Tell me, John. Is Maria alive?”

John stared, but stayed quiet. Drool leaked out of the corner of his mouth. Felix had once jammed a finger catching a football, and it hurt like hell. To have five broken fingers, misshapen and manhandled, must have been unbearable.

“
Answer me. Is Maria alive?”

“
You... hurt me bad,” John cried.

Felix felt his stomach turning again. But he managed to keep it under control when he said, “Cam, go out to the truck and get this bastard’s hunting knife.”

Cam nodded and hurried off. Felix considered his prisoner. Maybe John didn’t want to talk, because he thought if he did, he’d be killed. Killed because he was no longer useful. Or killed in retribution for the things he’d done to Maria.

“
I’m not going to kill you,” Felix said. He knew it sounded hollow. Lame. But the alternative was letting Cam start slicing off fingers; something Cam seemed disturbingly eager to do. This was a slippery slope, and unless Felix could convince John he’d live through this, the situation would get a lot messier.

Could I allow Cam to keep hurting John?

Felix closed his eyes. He saw Maria’s face. If John had something to do with her disappearance, Felix would let Cam roast the guy over hot coals in order to get answers. Felix could have a crisis of conscious after John talked.

If
John talked.

“
Got it,” Felix said, hurrying back in. “Man, this knife is wicked.”

John began to blubber uncontrollably at the sight of Cam, and Felix felt ready to do the same.

Be strong. It’s for Maria.

Cam positioned himself behind John.

“
Don’t cut me... please don’t cut me.”

e knew it sounded hollow,

“
I just want to know what happened to my fiancé,” Felix said. He forced himself to maintain eye contact.

“
He’s... he’s gonna cut my fingers off.”

“
Not if you tell me the truth. If you tell me the truth, I promise he won’t cut you. We won’t hurt you any more if you tell me.” He crouched down, staring into John’s face. “Is Maria still alive?”

John’s lips trembled, but he stayed silent.

Anger surged up in Felix like the vomit had moments ago, and the last vestiges of sanity left him as he reared back and slapped John across the face, hard as he could.

“
Goddammit, tell me!”

John’s whispered answer was the most important thing anyone had ever said to Felix.

“
Your woman is... alive.”

# # #

Maria allows herself to be led out of her cell by George. He’s
one of the largest of her captors, close to seven feet tall, and among the most sadistic. He’s not as deformed as the others, though his head is a little too big for his body, and his arms are too long, like a gorilla. The cattle prod he has in his hand is used for amusement as much as persuasion.

But today George seems distant. He straps on her ball gag without saying a word, and the nudge he gives her with the stick lacks electricity.

He puts the black cloth bag over her head, grabs her elbow, and leads her through the underground tunnels. As usual, Maria counts her steps. The first dozen times, they’d been clever, having her walk in circles. All the better to keep her disoriented. But lately they’d slipped into a routine. At exactly a hundred and fifteen paces, they come to the door to the Room.

She hears it open, feels George push her from behind. Maria’s legs lock. As terrible as her captivity has been, her times in the Room were the low points. What happens in the Room goes beyond pain, beyond sickness, beyond desperation.

What happens in the Room is an abomination.

George nudges her, but she still refuses to enter. She braces herself, expecting the jolt, anticipating the hurt.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, she’s shoved inside, many hands grabbing her, pulling her to the chair, strapping her down. Then the bag is pulled off her head, and Maria stares into the bulging eyes of Eleanor Roosevelt. She’s surrounded by a menagerie of freaks. Practically all of them. Deformed, twisted, grotesque, some half-naked, some fully nude. They form a large circle around Maria, smiling, drooling, grunting.

Eleanor holds a cupcake in her hand, a lit candle jabbed into the pink frosting.