Nancy Screw and the Coming of Age (18+) Chapter 8

Chapter 8

My Condolences…

Nancy didn’t sleep well that night. The image of Billy and Allie had been burned into her subconscious and now she was afraid she couldn’t get it out. With only four hours of sleep, Nancy went downstairs to get some sympathy food. Her parents were up and doing their routines around the house.

“Oh good morning dear, didn’t think you’d be home,” her father acknowledged her. “We thought you were over at Beth’s.”

“Yea… I guess I got homesick,” Nancy lied as she walked into the kitchen to pour herself a bowl of cereal. As she turned to take it back to her room, her mother interrupted her.

“Oh, sweetie. Billy called about an hour ago. He wants you to call him back as soon as you can.”

Nancy stopped in mid stride. She thought for a moment, fighting the same feeling that she had experienced when she first found out. It felt like it had happened for the first time all over again. Tears began to well up under her eyes.

“Okay. Thanks mom. I’m going to get a few more hours of sleep.”

“You not feeling well,” her mother addressed, concerned.

“Yea, I think it may be my stomach. I’m just going to rest today, okay?”

“Okay, sweets. I’ll hold all your calls should you have any more, okay?”

“Sounds good, mom. Thanks.”

Nancy collected herself and walked up the stairs to her room. Once inside, she shut the door, placed the bowl of cereal down on her desk and threw herself on the bed, fighting an onslaught of tears. She thought to herself.

“What am I going to do? What am I going to do?”

She looked over and saw her book laying there by her pillow.

“You may need this back. I’ve always found that a little reading can perk you right up.”

Janet may be right. She may be brilliant, actually. Nancy thought she should give it a try. She had to do something to distract her from the pain. Perhaps reading was the ticket. Nancy reached for the book, opened it and continued the story.

Everything went black for Charles Turner following that sharp thud. He woke up some time later in a place not unlike a prison cell. It, however, was more spacious that the classic mock ups.

“You got yerself in some shit now, Gennings.” That voice. It sounded familiar to Charles somehow.

….

The phone call! Of course, Turner remembered now. The voice had stated over the phone that it was time for him to pay up. That he needed to slip the money under the headstone labeled MITCHELL on the Southwest corner of the cemetery by 10pm or else.

Turner had thought nothing of it at the time. He, however, wish he had. If this was a prank it had sure as hell worn itself out by now.

“Gennings?” Turner stammered and his voice grew frantic. “You’ve got the wrong guy, I swear! My name’s Turner, Charles Turner.” Turner reached for his wallet but his hands couldn’t move. They were pinned behind him somehow. Bound. The rope rubbed and squeezed uncomfortably against his wrists and he clenched his teeth in protest of the friction.

“I, I could get it if I could, mister. But my hands are tied. Can you check my pockets for me. I have I.D. in there.”

There came a laugh out of the shadows.

“We already did that, Gennings. We wanted to see what measly cash you had.”

“I don’t have— . ”

“Jack shit,” the voice interrupted. “You don’t have jack shit. We counted.”

“I could go get records from my work, have someone who knows me call you, have—.”

“We’ve wasted enough time with you. It’s time to shut up and pay up, you hear?”

Before Turner could reply he was hit hard again from behind. His vision contorted and grew faint for a moment. As it cleared a man suddenly came into view. He was tall and slender in build and appeared meek and malnourished. Surely he couldn’t have packed the punch that compromised his senses? He was waiting to hear from a second. But, from what Turner could make out, there was only one. The slender man seemed a bit older than his voice revealed. He also seemed a bit pale, almost sickly, despite the strength of his abuse. He wore a faded blue suit with a bright yellow tie tucked underneath an airtight blazer. Turner’s head now pulsated in pain. That second hit had sent him over the edge. He tried to think of something to do and say that would deter any more misguided strikes. Then he remembered something. A note he had received from a friend. It came to him in the mail on the evening of his kidnapping and he hadn’t had the opportunity to remove it from his person; to get inside his house and drop it on the table. The gangly man with the yellow tie came to strike at him again.

“Wait!” Turner’s shout caught his assailant off guard and he stopped his fist in mid-air, suspending it just above Turner’s brow.

“Look in the inside pocket of my coat. There’s a letter I have tucked in there. It has my name, address, everything. If it isn’t there you can kill me right here and now.”

The man just stood over him, looming like some bloodthirsty beast. He should know better. He should know that it probably was just some chump trick, some way to give poor ole Turner a few more moments to complete his plan to escape. But abuse hadn’t seemed to get any of his men anywhere. What the hell. His coat was on the floor in the corner out of sight and the man was tied to a chair with no quick way to get the jump on anyone. The man disappeared for a moment into the shadows, presumably to check Turner’s blazer as he had suggested. A few moments later he returned with something in his hand. It was indeed the envelope that he had informed him of. Turner’s eyes beamed a ray of hope into the otherwise dark and dismal room. The man reached into his slacks’ pocket and pulled out a switchblade. It gave Turner a brief flashback to him on the roof being stuck by that thing’s cousin. He trembled a bit and shut his eyes tight only to open them at the generous sound of paper being torn and a knife sliding between them. The man opened up the note and read it softly to himself. Toward its conclusion he turned the front of the letter over to him and studied the writing on the front. His eyes darted from the upper left corner to the center. He then hastily folded both pieces up, slipped them into his pocket, and briskly disappeared into the shadows once more. Turner heard the sound of a door slam shut.

Nancy adjusted her position on the bed and took another bite of cereal, her eyes glued to the coming plot twist. Had she been aware of her feelings, she would have noted that Janet’s suggestion had worked and, in a way, she was feeling better already. Nancy turned the page.

Little did anyone know that the man with the yellow tie’s suspicions may have been accurate and the aforementioned thought of Turner biding his time to escape came to pass with his effort of loosening the ropes binding his wrists. Time was on his side now. It seemed to go on forever. He didn’t know for sure just how long had passed.

Turner winced in pain and he suffered the consequence of friction upon fragile flesh, but it was worth every second of it and soon it paid off. To his relief he was able to pull one arm free and, with that, the other. The loose rope fell to the floor and Turner mended his new injuries with the gentle massaging and rotation that was allowed. But as Turner stood up to make his exit, he realized how stupid he really was. He hadn’t a clue of where he was, how many men may be out there or if he was even been monitored at this very moment. Quickly, Turner scrambled to assemble his constraints once more to the likeness that his captors could remember. Anything to throw them off. To make his escape, he’d had to show a little gratitude. And the only thing he had going for him at this moment was surprise. As far as he knew, no one knew that he had gotten himself out of the chair. As far as anyone knew, he was as helpless as a kitten. But he was sharpening his claws.

But a minute later Turner heard a door open and shut. Soon after, there appeared the man with the yellow tie. Then a second man came in. This one was much broader and stronger than the one preceding him. In his hand he held a knife.

“What, what’s going on?”

The man with the yellow tie looked back over at the broader one and silently motioned. Turner swallowed hard.

“Are you going to cut me free?” Turner was still hopeful. It was a stupid thing to be, but that was just about all he had going for him at the moment.

The man with the yellow tie smiled as the other one advanced.

“Not exactly. You see, we can’t find the guy who owes us the money. So, since he can’t pay up, we gotta kill him. And since we can’t find him to kill him and you look an awful lot like him, we’re going to do a little gambling of our own. Kind of ironic, as that other asshole got into this mess that way, don’t you think?”

Turner began to laugh. A combination of nerves, shock, terror and disbelief had given him a case of the giggles.

“You’re going to kill me because you assholes can’t find some moron who owes you money?” Go out swinging, Turner told himself. What do you have to lose now besides everything?

“Shut this chump up, would ya?”

The broader man went to grab Turner by the head; to tilt it back and cut his throat.

“Go out swinging.” Turner let it slip out load this time.

“Huh.” His words served as a distraction and the bigger thug hesitated for a moment to comprehend his words. There was his opportunity. Turner pulled off the ropes and slung it around the broad thug’s neck. He squeezed tight, tighter than he ever had before. His fingers turned white from the strain of the rope and the thug’s eyes bulged. His tongue hung loose and his hands clawed at the air, desperately seeking Turner’s vitals. He tried to whimper but couldn’t and, in his clumsy effort, dropped his blade.

“What the!?” The man with the yellow tie pulled out his switchblade once more, no doubt in an attempt to open up Turner like the letter he had before. He lunged for him but, in an effort to wiggle himself free, the bigger thug, in his disorientation, placed his stomach directly in the path of his partner’s blade. The knife sunk in with a shungk. There was a sickening sound of flesh tearing and the deep, guttural slapping of the man’s fist against the others’ flesh. The broader thug ceased his struggling and gripped his wound. Turner, in his surprise, released his grip on the thug’s neck and, remembering that the thug had been disarmed, desperately looked for the discarded blade. The man with the yellow tie pulled his weapon out of the other thug’s stomach. The same sickening sound followed closely after. The bigger thug shrieked hoarsely and pitched himself forward, crawling on his free arm, the other trying to hold in his blood.

Turner backed up in reaction to the able man’s advance. He heard the sound of metal scrape against concrete and looked down momentarily to find the knife coming to a stop by his right foot. Turner caught eyes with the man with the yellow tie for a brief second. The man’s eyes looked down at the blade and then back at Turner’s, as if daring him to go for it. He did. The man with the yellow tie lunged at Turner and sunk his blade part-way into Turner’s shoulder, but not more. Turner looked up and saw that his assailant’s face was frozen in an unsettling grimace. Turner smelled blood. He looked down and then looked up again. The man’s mouth now moved slowly. It appeared as though he were mouthing something to Turner. But no sense could be made of it. Turner then saw a small pooling of blood begin at the right side of the man’s mouth. Turner looked down again and pushed the man off of him. He rested upon his back, the broader thug’s blade sticking out of his chest. Turner shook his head. How could it have happened? In short, Turner concluded that he had, in a reaction for survival, grabbed the blade and stuck the thug a split second before he could injure him further. Must be my lucky day. Turner laughed to himself the same nervous laughter he let out not five minutes before. A brief second flew by and Turner shook the excitement out of his head. He wasn’t out of the woods yet.