Chapter 4

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep but when I wake up she’s still sleeping in front of me and cartoons are still running. It’s a Marvin the Martian episode. God, I do a great impression of Marvin. I remember my first pair of boxers were Marvin’s. I thought I was so cool. I went right over to Trace’s and pulled down my pants and showed them to him. I was ten and he was still embarrassed because he still wore little briefs. A few days later momma brought me another pair that were Spiderman. I gave them to him.

I think it was then when we realized that we were best friends and always would be. Before that we hung out together all the time, but I don’t think we realized how much we meant to one another until then.

I pull up a bit and stretch out my legs in front of me, pointing my toes in my now fucked up shoes and trying to pull my ass off the floor. It’s like, numb as hell. I can’t even feel it. It’s deep. I can feel the numbness all over my lower half. It’s in my arms, too. I roll my neck around and hear it pop five times. God, I need to go get a massage from Courtney at that spa place Cameron always goes to. She gives the best ones.

But no, there’s a damn good chance I’m never going to get a massage from Courtney again, or anyone for that matter. I’m still locked in a basement. Sarah the baby-woman freak is still lying in front of me, perfectly asleep. Its funny, every girlfriend I’ve ever had has always told me I look like a child when I sleep. It always made me self conscious but they said it was cute. I’ve heard people say it about other guys, too- and girls, that when you sleep you look younger.

But, she doesn’t. She sleeps with a womanly face, peaceful and young, but not childlike. When she first fell asleep she was clutching her Abu and covered in cheese crumbs. But now, she is holding the pillow just like Britney use to. Britney always slept on her stomach, or half on top of me. She said she loved holding things while she slept. Cameron sleeps on her side or on her back. She’s too long and lean to crouch up in a ball or cramp her body up. And whenever she’s sleeps on her stomach she always complains about her back hurting the next day. I have that problem, too. I like to stretch out in bed. God, I’d give anything for a bed, or damn, just to be able to stretch out.

I look over at Trace. He’s head is hanging down and I know that the poor guy is gonna have a hell of a neck ache when he wakes up. I almost want to wake him up now and tell him to lean back against the wall, but I know if I wake him up he’ll never get back to sleep.

I hope he’s dreaming of Elisha. I hope he’s happy wherever he’s at now and far, far away from here.

Suddenly, he jerks awake and I sit up as well. I was kind of just dazing around the room but now, now I’m staring at the door. The little light on the alarm keypad switches from red to green and the door slowly opens.

There’s the bastard.

He saunters down the steps coolly, followed by those two big goon guys, Bernie and the other. He smiles at us, still dressed in his white suit. I wonder how long we’ve been down here. I want to ask, but as his slick smile fades from us and travels down to her body, I’m too scared to ask. I’m too scared to breathe. It’s weird, too. He’s not that big of a man. He’s really not that intimidating. If we were back home I know me and Trace could put a beating on him.

But of course, we’re not home.

“Who wants to go first?” Bernie asks us, and I glance at Trace real quick. Oh God, it’s fucking over. They’re gonna make us choose who dies first. He stares at me and I know he’s about to cry. Shit man, don’t cry. I say it to myself as well.

Bernie starts to laugh with the other guy, “Who wants to go take a piss first, mates? We gotta get some money before we kill ya!” He shakes his head like he’s disappointed in us. What the hell does the asshole expect? We’re fucking tied to a wall and he wants to make jokes. He’s such a fucking punk.

“I’ll go.” Trace says in a weak voice. I look at him and try to give him some encouragement as the other guy reaches behind him and unhooks him from the wall. The guy pulls Trace up to his feet and I see him wobble a little bit. His legs must be asleep, too. I glance at the wall and see the hook really is just a loop hoop bolted into the wall. God, I hope the bastard never hooked up that poor girl like he does us. Probably has though.

I watch as they take Trace into the bathroom, him shuffling with his feet still chained. They close the door. Bernie went in with him, a hand on his back and his other carrying a small paper bag. The other guy stays right by the door. He stares at me. He looks kinda like Mike or Tiny use to look, standing outside of doorways, preventing any harm that could come to me.

I wish they were here.

“You a sleepy girl?"

I look over and see the asshole kneeling in front of Sarah. She’s turned over on her back looking up at him. He looks at her sweetly, lovingly, but not like a relative would. He looks at her like…no, no, that’s just sick.

She rubs her eyes a little and then reaches up and latches her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He smiles. “Ok, let’s get you into your bed. Do you want to wear some pajamas?”

“No…” She whines and he laughs as he picks her up a bit and moves to her unmade bed and props her on it.

I watch them closely. I’ve always really enjoyed watching people. I think you can learn a lot about a person by just watching them interact with others. But this, this is puzzling. It’s just like when I’d help Lisa put one of the boys to bed. He treats her just like she acts, like a child. But there’s something else there.

“You’re a silly girl,” He coos and she giggles a bit. It’s really disturbing. “You gonna be a big girl and take your medicine for me?”

“Mmhmm.”

He pats her leg and leans in to kiss her cheek, pulling away very slowly. This is fucking weird. “Ok, let me go get it,” He whispers to her and flicks his pointer finger across her nose, getting another giggle. I look at her and she stares at the guy like he’s fucking Santa Claus. She has huge eyes, those huge brown eyes and a shy, excited smile.

The asshole has brainwashed her to think that he’s God on earth. I gulp down the uncomfortable feeling I feel when I realize I’ve seen that look many times before on my brother’s faces.

He goes into the bathroom for a second and I can hear him and Bernie talking in low voices but I can’t make out any words. He comes out a minute later with a small little bottle in his hand. It’s one of those orange medicine bottles, but I can’t see any label on it. I wonder what she’s taking. Maybe she’s like, got a sickness or something. Maybe that’s why she acts like she does.

That’s it. That’s why he keeps his niece down here. ‘Cause, she’s not all there, ya know? It makes sense now. She’s got some sickness. Poor girl.

He walks over and presses the power button the TV and an Elmer Fudd disappears without ever catching Bugs. The uncle guy then goes to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water and walking back over to her bed, sitting down on it where she’s already tucked herself in. God, I hope Trace is ok. He’s been in there for a while. I hope they’re not…doing anything to him.

"Are the boys being nice to you?"

I turn my attention from the bathroom door and the big black guy to the bed again. "Yes…” She smiles and then it falls. “But one of them called me a psycho...” I turn away when the Irish guy’s head whips to me and his eyes narrow. I wanna scream out that it was Trace, that I didn’t call her anything but her name. But I don’t speak. “What’s a psycho?" She asks in an innocent and unknowing way.

He smiles at her and tickles her sides a bit, making her laugh. “Psycho is the name for the most beautiful girl in the world..." His hands move over to her stomach and he tickles her there. It’s kind of weird. I mean, I know he knows that this girl isn’t five years old anymore. I mean, if she was I guess it would be ok. But she’s not. She’s a grown woman and even though she might act like she’s five, that’s no excuse to tickle her like…

Holy shit.

That mother fucking sicko. I don’t want to watch. I don’t want to see him…touch her, but I’m pretty sure that’s why his hand is in between her legs and he’s leaning down on top of her, his face against her neck. Fucking disgusting sicko. I try to look away. I try my best, but I can’t help it and I stare at them. His other hand slides up over her stomach and up over her breast, touching her there. Oh god, what the fuck is this? Now he’s treating her like she’s his girlfriend. But she’s not. She’s his fucking niece. His fucking fucked up niece that doesn’t realize she’s a twenty year old. And it’s not like he’s fucking alone with her. Why don’t Bernie and that guy stop him? Don’t they see this is…this is…

I think I’m going to throw up.

I close my eyes and try to think of someplace else. I try to think of anything else but what’s happening less than ten feet to my left. I stare at the door, wondering what Trace is doing in there. But it’s no use. My ears deceive me and I hear him whisper, “If you’re a good girl, maybe tomorrow night you can sleep in Uncle’s room.”

She squeals and giggles. “Really?”

I cringe.

She doesn’t even know, does she? She doesn’t even realize what he’s doing to her. The door opens to the bathroom and I glance over to see him kiss her briefly before I turn my attention back to the bathroom door. This is not right. This is just not right.

God, if you have any mercy for me please, show it now. Get me out of here, just go ahead and fucking take me and kill me, but do not make me have to sit here and witness this fucking sick bastard molest this poor innocent…woman.

Trace is plopped down next to me and as he’s secured back in I notice they don’t lock him up like they did before. They actually start to unlock him. Bernie holds him while the other guy works. Part of me prays that this moment of freedom will send some adrenaline through him and he’ll kick both of their asses and get us out of here. But he doesn’t move. He lets them unlock him and move his hands back to his front. I stare at his face. He’s looking at the floor. I wonder what he’s thinking about.

“You ok?” I whisper to him, knowing they can still all hear me. I glance over at the bed and I’m disgusted when I see him still kissing and disturbing her, despite the fact that she keeps giggling. I look back at Trace and he stares at me.

“I’m ok.” He says, having to clear his throat. “They let me pee and eat something.”

“Ok.” I say and they push him back down against the wall.

“Be good kid.” Bernie says to him. Trace’s hands are in his lap and the cuffs look a little looser than before. I watch as they put cuffs on his ankles, too. They look a lot like the cuffs that you see people in prison movies wear. They’re cuffs with about a six inch chain in between. Enough to allow movement but restricted so no danger can happen.

I wonder why they are doing this. Trace can probably figure out a way to stand up on his own now, maybe. Are they just being nice and letting us be more comfortable?

Oh, I get it. They are getting us more comfortable…cause, well, we’re gonna be here a while.

Shit.

“You ready popstar?” Bernie asks me and then I can feel the black guy’s breath on my neck as he works to get the handcuffs unhooked from the wall.

I’m grateful for the fact I’m about to get to pee and eat something. It’s probably something gross like a dirt sandwich but I don’t give a shit. I take back my statement from earlier. I can go without water. I just need something to eat. They stand me up pretty forcefully and I see now that I’m about as tall as them. God, maybe I could take them. They’re a lot bigger than me, but I use to not be so far behind them.

I’ve gotten a lot skinnier recently. I’ve been sick a lot, like with sore throats and colds and it puts a damper on my appetite. Plus, Cameron has me into all this new organic health crap.

God, I could kill for a steak.

I don’t know what my problem is. I’m so fucking hungry right now. I’m craving some protein and some carbs, too. A baked potato, damn, with all that melted cheese and butter and those little bacon bits would be heaven. I could kill for that.

Why the hell don’t I?

I feel my wrists come free of metal. This is my chance. It might be a huge risk, but this is the chance.

I don’t think and I let my hand fly. I’m almost surprised when I feel my fist connect with the guy’s jaw. I feel Bernie jumping on me, putting his arms around me, trying to pull me off, but I manage to elbow him and I swing again, coming into contact with anything in my way. I hear Trace say, “Stop, fucking stop!”

But I don’t stop. I swing and I swing, connecting with bone and flesh and muscle and maybe even the wall or the floor. I don’t know. I have my eyes closed and I don’t even realize this until I hear a yell, a dark, rumbling yell and then a gunshot.

Everyone stops and I hear, “pick him up.”

I don’t feel anything at first and I assume I’m dead. Then my eyes open and I think, oh God, they shot Trace. I whip around but he’s still there, eyes opened, staring at me in shock, his face is white. Almost like hers.

Irish bastard is standing nearer now with a gun in his hand and a fierce look in his eyes. He shakes his head and laughs bitterly. “I’m not ready to use this on you yet.” He shakes his head again and walks past me and up the stairs a little bit. I feel metal back around my wrist again, this time tight, biting into my skin. I taste blood in my mouth, its bitter metallic taste makes me want to choke and I do a bit when that guy’s fist collides with my stomach and the wind is knocked out of me.

Fuck this was a bad idea. Not smart, Justin. Not Smart.

I cough a lot and ignore the shit Bernie’s feeding into my ear. He’s holding onto my arms making sure I don’t move. I hear him say Cameron’s name and I hear him talking about fucking her up the ass or something. But I tone it out and stare ahead of me.

She’s lying on her bed looking at me. But, she doesn’t see me. Her eyes are almost half closed and she’s curled up under the covers, hugging her Abu stuff animal again. Her mouth is a little slack and she doesn’t look like she did before when she was asleep.

She looks dead. She didn’t hear the gunshot and she didn’t see me try to beat up these guys. It’s like something snapped in her and she was transformed from the bubbly child in a woman’s body to a mental patient. That’s what she looks like. She looks like one of those half brain dead, drooling retards.

Poor thing.

I glance at Trace and he’s sitting there with his head in his hands, curled up against the wall. He doesn’t look at me and I know he’s thinking I’m an idiot. Doesn’t he understand though? I can’t just sit there and take this. I’m not fucking ready to die. I’m not ready to have my life stripped from me.

I’m not ready to turn into her.

“Bernie, ‘Keem.” I turn and look up at the top of the stairs. Uncle asshole freaking child molester dude is standing there with the door open. He smiles at me and then says, “Bring the fucker upstairs. We’ve got business to discuss.”