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Chapter 22

July 8, 2007

But not death…
Death doesn’t hurt this much.

I rolled my head side to side slightly and felt something jolt against the side of it. I thought my eyes were open, but I couldn’t see anything, not that I needed eyes to know where I was; the low hum of the motor gave it away.

The left side of my head hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. It took me a few minutes to replay my last memories back.

He didn’t pull the trigger. He didn’t pull the trigger.

I tried moving my fingers…success. They could easily touch one another.

Next, the hands; I could feel them against my back. The palms were against one another. I was bound at the wrists. It was few inches wide, and didn’t cut like rope. He must have used duct tape…

But how did he get me out of the building. And what about Chad?

He was drugged, but what happened after I was knocked out? God, why is this happening to him, to me, to us…

A sudden jolt through the car snapped me out of my worrying…damn potholes.

A few more minutes passed before the ride became even more jumpy; we were definitely no longer on the main roads anymore. Not that knowing that helped any; I had been out for so long that there was no way for me to retrace my steps. We could be hundreds of miles away for all I knew.

Ten minutes or so must have passed before the car began to slow down and eventually came to a complete spot. I felt heard and felt a car door open and close. I tried wriggling a few times, but to no avail. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.

Footsteps began to approach the trunk; I knew what to do. For my own survival it was necessary for him to think I was still out cold. I let my body go limp and closed my eyes. The trunk popped open and I felt a cold wind blow on me. It took all my focus to not shiver or open my eyes. I felt two hands reach under my arm pits and pull me up and out of the trunk.

He began dragging me along the ground, my body propped up against him. I opened my eyes ever so slightly and saw that it was still pitch black, so I couldn’t have been out too long. There were evergreen trees surrounding the area primarily. The car I had been taken in was a four door mid sized. It had to be at least twenty years old, as there were several rust stains and dents along the side that I had quickly seen. I was being dragged with ease, so whoever was doing this was rather strong too.

One hand left my arm and reached to open a door. As I was dragged inside, I could tell this was a cabin of some sort; the floors were wooden, as were the walls. The room was still dark as he placed me in a chair of some sort. The chair was made of aluminum or some other metal; it was so cold against my bare flesh. I still dared not to move.

My feet were quickly duct taped to the legs of the chair, and then I was surprised to feel a woolen blanket placed upon me.

“You can stop faking and open your eyes,” the voice said coldly.

I obliged and opened them slowly. A light switch had been turned on and I took a quick look at my surroundings. The room was simply decorated, several chairs, an old kitchenette, a bearskin rug about five feet in front of me on the floor.

“Can you guess why I took you here?” The voice said from behind me.

“Well you said to finish what you started, I imagine that means killing me,” I said without fear. I knew if I showed fear, it would only enable him. Then it hit me, for a split second, something seemed wrong; well, relatively considering the situation.

“Let me see your face,” I said to the voice behind me.

“That’s pretty bold, and foolish.”

“Is it? You could have blindfolded me, but you didn’t. You told me to open my eyes; you want me to see.” That psyche class last year was paying off.

I heard the footsteps approach before I saw the person. He turned toward me after standing in front of me and bent down so his face was inches away from mine.

“Remember me?” he said with an evil grin.

It all made sense, the shot outside the restaurant, the kidnapping now, the insult in the hall of the high school over a year ago. It was all the same person, the man staring me in the face right now.

“I doubt you knew my name, I didn’t hang around with your kind. You can call me Jim.”

“Hello Jim,” I said coldly.

“Now, you never full answered my question. Why are you here, out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Well if you wanted to kill me, you could have done it back at the apartment.”

“Good…what else?”

“But, when you shot me, you did so very publicly. You wanted people to see, to be afraid. So if you are going to kill me, why do it out here, where there’s no one to see your…work.”

“You just keep guessing don’t you? Too bad every guess is wrong. The reason you’re out here, is so no one can interrupt me before I’m completely done with you. We have a long night ahead of us…”

He turned around, turned off the lightswitch, and walked out the door into the night.


I had begun to fall asleep. My mind raced through everything that had lead up to this point. I had one fear now, and it wasn’t him.

I was afraid of myself, that I would resign myself to the thought that I would not make it out of here alive. I had to hang on. I had to believe.

A loud bang awoke me from my fearful half-slumber. I looked up and saw the door rattling on its hinges and Jim walking towards the fireplace with a armful of logs. He placed them one by one into the stone fireplace without either one of us saying a word.

A small bottle of lighter fluid lied next to the fireplace. He spread an abnormally large amount on the logs and pulled a book of matches from the back pocket of his worn and dirty jeans. He struck the match and took a step back as the blaze burst forth. Heat and light filled the room within seconds. He took a rusted poker which stood against the edge of the fireplace and poked the center of the logs several times. Sparks flew upward into the chimney. He left the poker in the flames.

“What do you think I am?” he asked, still staring at the fire.

The question struck and caught me off guard. “What?”

“I said…what do you think I am?” he asked more irritated.\

“Honestly? A total nut job,” I said lifelessly.

“You don’t sound afraid.” He was still staring at the dancing embers.

“Should I be?” Every instinct I had in dealing with an unstable person flew out the window a long time ago.

“I can’t tell you what you should be afraid of. That’s for you to decide.”

“But honestly…”

His head jolted up slightly and he finally turned around and faced me.

“Yes?” For the first time, I detected no malice in his voice.

“I think you are a pitiful thing…and I don’t mean that as an insult. Something happened to you in the past. I have no idea what it was, but it was terrible. Evil people are born, they’re made. And to have gone through whatever you did, to suffer, for that…I pity you.”

His face was devoid of emotion of any kind, he simply…stared at me. After almost a minute of silence, he stepped over to the kitchen area and opened up the refrigerator. He removed a small bottle of something and a long this package. He closed the fridge and stepped over to the counter, placing both of them down.

He picked up the package again, I could see now that it was something plastic. He peeled back one of the corners and removed something that was very easy to identify…a syringe.

He threw the plastic on the floor and picked up the small bottle now. He inverted it and stuck the syringe into the top of the bottle. He pulled back the syringe slowly, looking closely at the measurements. After drawing it about halfway back he pulled it out of the bottle.

He looked straight into my eyes. “I am not some dumbass hick.” He now looked back to the syringe and pushed it in slightly, squirting out a little of the clear liquid. “I pay attention in school, especially chemistry and history. Those were my two favorite classes.”

“Have you ever heard of suxamethonium chloride?”

“No.” I had no idea where this was going.

“I was interested in med-school. I always wanted to be a doctor, especially in the emergency room. I watched the show ER all the time.”

MMMM, George Clooney, though this was certainly not the time.

“When a person can’t breath, they do what’s called an intubation. You see, they stick a tube down your throat to open up a passage way.” He began slowly walking toward me. “The problem though is the gag reflex. It’s kind of hard to stick a big thing down a person’s throat.”

Not that hard, though again, this wasn’t the time.

“So, how does one make a person relax so they don’t cough the tube up? Well that is where this comes in. It’s kind of a favorite in the emergency room. It works almost instantly and completely paralyzes the person. But only paralyzes, it doesn’t numb the pain or anything…that’s the best part.”

He held my right arm with one hand while bringing the needle closer with the other. “Now don’t squeal.” He pushed the needle into my arm and slowly pushed down on the syringe. I felt a cool tingling start in my arms and quickly it quickly spread to the rest of my body. He pulled out the needle and let go of my arm.

“Now let’s see,” he muttered. He brought up his free hand and struck me hard against the face.

The blood rushed to my face and the pain left as soon as it came on. I tried to look back at him…but I couldn’t.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought; it’s already working isn’t it.”

He turned and walked back towards the counter where the bottle lay and set down the now-empty syringe.

He pulled out a drawer underneath the counter and pulled out a small knife. He walked again toward me.

“Hmm, I can see the fear in your eyes. But don’t worry.” He began slicing the duct tape binding my legs and hands. Once he was done, he threw the knife behind him onto the ground. He stepped in front of me and threw his arms around me, picked me up, and threw me over his shoulder. He kicked the lawn chair off to the side, walked a few feet and threw me onto a round wooden table near the far edge of the room. He turned me onto my stomach and faced me toward the fireplace. My chin was propped up against the table.

“So that was the chemistry, now here’s the history.” He walked towards the fireplace, turned around, and faced me. “Have you heard of Edward II?”

SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT! I had and everything was all coming together.

“Stupid question, you can’t answer. Edward was a king of England. He was a fag too. People didn’t like him much, especially his wife. Now, she could have left him in prison, but then he could have come back to power and…well, that would’ve been bad for her. So instead, she decided to have him killed, and in a very fitting way.” He picked up the poker he had left in the fire; the tip was glowing red hot.

“So, they took a red hot poker, shoved it up his ass, and burned him to death from the inside.”


Ryan Petty the author!

I'm an eighteen-year-old college student, what more is there to say? I have been fencing for more than four and a half years and simply love the sport! I'm pretty good academically and do a lot of tutoring. I love playing the saxophone (for more than seven years) and try to learn new ones as well (euphonium is my best alternate now). I have made many new friends since publishing Meet online and am always interested in making new ones.

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