36 Hours

This is not who I am, it is who they forced me to become. They are the reason that we are here. It is not in my nature to do what I now do. But I cannot stop.

It is surprisingly delicate work. My eyes need a break, and the knife needs to be sharpened again. Returning to the grinder, sparks begin to fly.

Setting the knife down, I pour a cup of caffeine and sit in my leather chair. A gift from my daughter and wife for my forty fifth birthday. It's comfortable. Taking a sip, I close my eyes and relax. Breathing deeply, I embrace the aromas around me. The heavy smell of oil and wood combine with the lighter fresher smells of the forest, lake, and fields that surrounds our place. I enjoy it all, until the metallic scent of blood assaults my senses. It pulls me out of my peace. I realize there is more work to do.

Downing my coffee, I rise and go to the sink. Splash water on my face and fill up a bucket of water. Approaching the two naked and unconscious individuals tied to the chairs. I sigh and throw water on them. Waking them to the horrors that will commence once more. Their whimpering annoys me. I originally wanted to hear their screams, instead they pleaded and begged. I had no choice but to place duct tape over their mouths. Their eyes bulge out in fear.

"Morning. Congratulations, you survived twenty-four hours. "Lets continue, shall we?" I see their shoulders slump. Muscles begin to shiver uncontrollably. Tears flow from defeated eyes. I should smile, but I only feel disgusted.

Producing two needles, I speak clearly so they understand what is about to happen, or rather, what is about to continue. "This is adrenaline, I don't want you passing out on me anymore. You are going to be awake. You will feel everything that happens to you."

They twist trying to get away from the inevitable. But I have duct tape, zap straps and barb wire holding them. They wriggle like worms caught in the open after a rainstorm. Every time they squirm the wire bites into their flesh. That makes me smile.

Turning the television on, I begin to play the recording again. They have no choice but to watch it, over and over the images appear. This brings more pain then all the tortures I have performed on them. Good.

In the pot belly stove, I heat up two iron bars I created with special brands on the ends. The red-hot coals embrace the metal.

"Tell me why you are here?" I ask again.

Then I chuckle, they still have tape over their mouths. I rip it off them.

"Please, no more." One begs. He is the larger of the two. He probably played football at one time. A front lineman. But he has gone soft. The wrong choices in life, have given them scars of decay and rot. The other horrors on their bodies, I have done. As I said, delicate work.

The smaller one, has more fire in him. Glaring at me he spits and yells. "Fuck you, when I get outta here I am going to ram that rod right up yo..."

I back hand him so hard with my fist a tooth fly’s out and skips across the concrete floor. Retrieving the knife I walk back to him, kneeling I make one quick slice, severing his Achilles tendon. His screams are deafening. It will be hard catching me now. The big guy just stares, too frightened to say a word.

"You think I give a shit about your threats." I growl. "You have no idea what I will do to you."

Throwing 'quick stop powder' on his cut, I quickly cauterize the wound with a blowtorch. The bastard passes out on me. I will give him another shot of adrenaline soon, but I have the other one to keep me busy for a while. Like clockwork he cries when he sees me approaching with the branding iron.

"You know what needs to be said, that is all I ask. Say it and I stop."

Nothing.

Calmly I press the hot metal onto the top of his foot, one of the few spots left. A familiar sizzling sounds fills the room. His scream is loud, not as loud as it once was, he is getting used to the pain.

A beam of early light pierces through the window. I glance out and see the morning mist rolling through the trees and across the darkened water.

Through broken teeth I hear him stutter. "Why… why are you doing this?"

Turning to the blubbering man in the chair I say. "Denying it doesn't mean it never happened, you know the truth and so do I. Say it, I will stop."

I hear gurgling from his partner, he is starting to come around. I give him another shot of adrenaline and wait for him to wake. Walking to the television. I point to the images on the screen. "This is the reason you are here, remember?"

"Why did you come here that night, who planned it, was the outcome what you expected?"

“If I say we did it will you stop hurting me?” The larger man begs.

"Shut up Bruce, shut up." The smaller guy begins to thrash around trying to break the bonds. The wire bites into his flesh. "SHUT UP....he'll kill us, just shut up.”

“I can’t take anymore Dale, I….” That is all he manages before he cries again. His nail-less finger twitches uncontrollably. Drops of blood pool around his toes. He's done, for now.

I place a black canvas bag over the big man’s head. He can only hear what I do to his friend. The noises are intolerable, they are enough to drive a man insane. His imagination must be going wild, knowing that what I am doing to his buddy I will soon be doing to him.

Bruce hears me asking the same questions. Giving the same option. Say it and be free. Dale screams his innocence, nothing more. I drape a black bag over his head, now they are both in the dark.

Leaving them, I go for a walk around our lake, breathing in the fresh morning air. The mist stubbornly clings to the shoreline. I watch the ducks paddle around, oblivious. I give an involuntary shiver.

They refuse to confess. Denial is such a powerful thing. In life it seems that if you deny it, the truth stays hidden. Alcoholics and drug addicts are the same. Until you admit there is a problem there isn't one. For them, fear outweighs reality. Part of me is glad they have been strong in their misguided lies.

I hear them talking. One is crying the other is telling him to shut up. We all know who is crying.

I pull off their hoods and throw another bucket of water on them. To an open wound water is pain. Sounds of anguish echo throughout the building. I leave once more, when I return they watch as I drag two empty oil barrels one at a time and place them in front of them. I burn tiny holes throughout the metal. They are wondering what is next.

I sit on my leather chair and stare at them. "Take a look at your coffin boys?" Leaning forward I say. "Of course, you'll still be alive. Stuffed inside, when I throw your useless bodies in the lake.”

Theirs eyes wide, mouths open. The horror on their faces says it all. They Know.

"The hole are tiny for a reason. It will take five minutes for water to slowly fill as you sink deeper. You will feel the icy chill creeping up your body, closing upon your neck past your mouth. You'll tilt you head fighting for that last air pocket before it rises over your nose and eyes. You'll hold your breath, while you claw at the metal hoping to escape. Instead, you’ll be tumbling downward, into the dark. Until you have no choice but to suck in the water, filling your lungs with the cold liquid." Turning to the big guy I add. "Four minutes for you."

I relax back into my chair, “Your bloated bodies will rot at the bottom of this lake.”

"Don't do this man, please. We don't deserve this....we..." That’s all Dale manages, looking to his friend. "Bruce?"

The big guy turns to his friend and sees for the first time what I had been doing to him and starts to scream. The sight of an earless person freaks him out, He pukes. I didn't think he had anything left in him.

I press a button on the table next to me. An electric current flows down wires attached to the metal chairs. They both seize, muscles spasming. Voices silenced. Eyes vacant. Drool trickles from theirs mouths, shallow breathes shows me they are alive. The adrenaline is working.

I decide to make myself a breakfast, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. I pour myself another coffee. I wash the dishes after eating.

Relaxing in my leather chair, I wait for them to wake. I'm so tired.

Eventually, sunken eyes flutter in ghastly recognition of their surroundings.

I spend the next few hours questioning them, asking 'Why?' They say nothing new. I place plastic bags over their heads, till they thrash around. Pleading, the big guy wants his mommy. Do they not remember?

I need a break, to think and gather my thoughts. I go for another walk. When I return, I bring them water from the lake to drink, they thank me. I realize I have only one thing left to do. Picking up my cell phone I dial. They hear my voice but not my words. I finish my conversation.

"I called the police, they are on their way." You can see the relief. I’ve given them hope. The police arrested them three years earlier, for the reason they are here. I heard a slimy Lawyer got them off.

"They’re not here yet. It will take them at least an hour to arrive." I smile. "That gives us more time to spend together."

Their signs of relief quickly vanish, replaced with fear once more. I open my medial kit and produce two needles. Their eyes widen. I shake my head. "No, this isn't more adrenaline, this is a special treat."

I flick the needle and squirt a little liquid. "This is a concoction of mine, Once I inject this in you it is a death sentence, very slow and agonizing."

I have their attention.

"If you fail to confess before the police arrive, I shoot this into you. First it will feel like your skin is burning as your veins dissolve. You will bleed from every orifice of your body, as your insides slowly melt. The pain will be long lasting and excruciating. More than what I have done to you."

I let that sink in.

"Or confess, admit what you did, and I let the police take me away. Everyone will know what you are, but you will live."

I switch on some monitors that show the countryside, the house, and the building that we are currently in. I explain, "I have cameras set up so we can watch the police approach." They stare at the screen like it’s a lifeline.

”So, let’s have one last discussion.”

Pointing to the other screen with the images playing, " Tell me what you did."

Dale still protests, through swollen lips he mumbles "Told you … didn't do anything… we’re innocent."

I correct him. "No, you got off because of an error with the arrest. A mistake that released two assholes. You are not innocent"

Dale shakes his head, drool, and blood drip from his mouth as he speaks. “I understand why you’re doing this. What happened to you was terrible…. we didn’t do it man. I swear. You’re the asshole.”

Bruce looks up and babbles. “Why us? Everyone knows…your memory's not right…don’t remember anything from that night. Please, I wanna go.”

It’s true what he says. Beaten so badly I lay in a coma for two months. When I awoke my memory was wiped. I was useless in the eyes of the law. Back then all I knew was what I was told and read. Because the law freed them, does that mean they are innocent? There were no other suspects or arrest. They must be the ones, right?

Dale watches me thinking. Staring through swollen eyes he negotiates. “You know this isn’t right. We can help you find the ones you are looking for. We didn't do it. This isn’t who you are.”

Who am I?

Maybe…. Say it enough times and lies become truth. What is true, is I am the man who was beaten and left for dead. I am the man who lost everything.

I simply say, "We will know soon enough." Glancing at the clock forty-four minutes left. I grab the two branding Irons and begin to heat them up again. Now they both begin to cry; a person can only take so much before their spirit breaks.

Placing a different recording on the screen, I turn up the sound. You hear laughter and singing 'Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...' I stand behind them and grab their hair, for the first time I yell. "LOOK AT THIS. Don't you dare turn away or I will slice your eye lids off. LOOK AT THEM."

They see, they watch, a birthday party in progress. A mother and daughter gathered around a man who is removing a ribbon and bow off a leather armchair. They see themselves enter the room, guns pointing at the three people celebrating. They watch as they proceed beating the man in his new leather chair until he appears dead. They grab the women, a scuffle occurs. The cell phone, which was recording the event, gets bumped and falls behind the cabinet upon which it was set. Only darkness shows on the screen. Yet the sounds are clear, there is little left to the imagination as to what is happening. Screams and pleading. The sound of fists beating on flesh. Of clothing being torn. Weeping. Repeatedly till there is no fight left.

Then nothing as the crying voices become choked into silence. They hear bodies dragged along the floor. Muffled words from men who entered a home and destroyed a family. The same men who now sit naked in a chair in the workshop of the man who's family was tossed in frigid waters. A man who no longer has anything. A man who knows longer cares.

The sounds end, there is only blackness on the screen.

Inside the building there is sobbing noises of men who finally see themselves for who they really are.

Guilty.

"My wife was my soul; our daughter was fourteen."

Releasing my grip, slowly make my way to the branding irons. I stir them in the fire, sparks fly in the air.

"When I finally came home, my house was cleaned of all that happened that night. The police tape gone; the blood washed out. It looked like a normal home."

I breath deeply, calming myself.

"But you made sure it would never be a home again. I was leaving, ready to move when I found the phone. I watched and I remembered"

Dale says nothing, he just sits there. Like he finally woke up from a bad dream.

On the monitors, we see two police cruisers driving down the gravel road, dust billowing behind them.

"Four minutes, before they pull into the yard. Four minutes to live or die."

For one full minute the only sound is of the fire crackling in the stove.

I tap the barrels.

"Three minutes, left to breathe.”

Bruce is shaking his head, eying the needles on the table. Shaking uncontrollably. He mumbles. “No…no…no.” The monitor shows the vehicles slowing down as they turn into the long driveway.

A hollow gong of the barrels echoes as I strike them.

"Two minutes left for you to feel the sun on your face." I whisper.

Surprisingly, it is Dale who speaks. “I'll say it man, I’ll say it."

I turn on my camera and record him. He tells it all, their names, and details only the killers would know. They planned it when they saw my daughter and wife in town. Followed them home and waited outside for their opportunity.

"Bruce, do you have anything to say?"

The cruisers race past the empty house, follow a dirt road leading to the shop that backs onto the water.

With his head down he cries out that he is sorry. Sobbing, "I’m sorry man, I am so sorry. It was the drugs." He cries out. "We were stoned man; I don't remember I..."

Finally, the truth. “That’s good, tell me why?"

"We were on a three-day high, we were tripping. That's all I remember, I swear."

We hear sirens in the distance, quickly closing in.

I toy with the needles.

The two men begin to scream, saying they did what I asked. They squirm, the wire cuts into their flesh, down to the bone in places.

The Monitor shows an aerial view of the police out front, approaching the building. The two men begin calling out, pleading for the police to hurry. I turn the monitors off and walk to the large front doors and push them open.

Light from the setting sun burst through, we stare into the yard. Dale and Bruce sit there, numb expressions.

I smile.

It is empty. No cars, no police. The things you can do with a computer and modern technology. "It was all illusion boys, no one is coming to save you."

I replace the recording of that night with what I had playing earlier. Pictures of my wife and daughter. Walking to the stove I pull out the iron rods. Both glowing red, one brand says Rapist the other Murderer.

Glancing at the needles. I say "It is going to be a long night gentleman, welcome to your hell."

I would like to thank you for taking the time to read my story. If you enjoyed it, please leave a heart, and help yourself to view my other writings. Should you decided to leave a tip or share the story with others, it is not expected, but always appreciated.

Jason,