“Shhh, you wanna wake the stupid fuck up? He might cast a spell on us or somethin’.” Whiskey roughened, the male voice was filled with fear as he and his companion hurried up the stairs and across the porch to the door. Behind them the first fat drops of rain began to fall, hitting the dusty driveway and kicking up small clouds of dirt with increasing frequency.
“You’re the one makin’ enough noise to wake the dead, Billy.” Spitting a mouthful of tobacco juice onto the floor, Chuck wiped his mouth on his sleeve and glared at his companion. “Now come on.”
“You ain’t gotta be like that, Chuck.”
The old house groaned and creaked as the two men huddled together. The shorter of the two jimmied the lock for a few seconds before cursing and kicking the door in. Grunting when he got a slap to the back of the head, he shot a glare over his shoulder and slid inside the house.
Pale light spilled across the floor as they crept through the hall, the faint sounds of a clock ticking the only noise. The blue glow of a light from a side room drew their attention. The computer screen flashed, casting shadows across the floor. Across the screen a series of letters and numbers scrolled before spinning around and vanishing. From above their heads a floorboard creaked. With muttered curses, they scurried past the room, checking over their shoulders until they stood at the base of the stairs.
“He’s gotta be upstairs.” Billy nudged his companion and headed up the winding stairwell.
Bumbling through the darkness, they crept up the stairs. They paused at the creak of old wood beneath their feet before inching through the inky void toward the top of the stairs. The silence broken only by their ragged breathing and muffled curses.
Checking door after door, they froze as the last door opened to reveal a fluttering light in one corner. Pushing through the doorway, amid jabbing elbows, they stumbled into the room and stared. A massive bed filled the interior of the room, dark dressers lined one wall, along one wall items hung neatly, and the figure under the covers shifted, sighing in his sleep.
“You got it?” Billy grunted, holding out a hand.
“Yeah. Yeah.” Chuck held up a small bottle and looked around. “Just need a rag.”
Billy glanced around, his gaze falling on the elongated pipe on top of a nearby dresser. He shook his head and picked up the long, wooden pipe from the dresser. “Nah, ain’t like it’s a big worry. He ain’t gonna survive, and as long as he’s still breathin’ boss ain’t gonna care.” Billy elbowed Chuck and stepped further into the room.
With snickers of glee they hurried into the room. At the crash of the stool near the end of the bed, Rebel sat up in bed, his eyes widening at the sight of them. They lurched forward as he rolled, the thud of his body hitting the floor loud in the room. The sheets tangled around his ankles, slowing him down. Before he could untangle, the two men were on him. Pummeling him with their fists, one man grunted as Rebel’s kick connected, knocking him back a few feet. Cursing, the man swung the Aboriginal pipe only to hit the floor as Rebel struggled against his partner. He grabbed the back of the old, wooden chair sitting next to the window and swung, connecting with his head.
“Fuckin’ witch got me. Get him!”
“Chuck, be careful.” He swore as his foot connected with Rebel’s belly, the wind escaping his lungs in a brutal, painful exhale. Bent over, he clutched at his stomach, moaning as he struggled to pull in air.
“Fuck!” He swore as he punched him, his knuckles aching as the pale skin along Rebel’s eye split, blood dripping down his face. “Boss is gonna stick you good. Gonna peel your worthless hide from your bones and leave you begging for death.”
“Quit assing around, Chuck.” His partner grunted as he shoved Chuck’s shoulder. He pulled a blanket over Rebel’s head as his partner swung. The wood cracked and splintered with the impact. The pipe splintered, and the bowl flung across the room as he dropped the top.
Standing there, he nudged Rebel with his boot as he lay tangled in the bedding on the floor. Blood oozed from the wounds to stain the sheets. “Well, that went better than I figured it would. Him being a witch and all.”
“Yeah, Chuck, he only kicked your ass and knocked the wind outta ya. Come on, let’s get him into the truck and head over to the farm. The sooner we get him back to the boss, the better I’ll feel. This place is supposed to be haunted.”
“Ooh, you scared of a little, itty-bitty ghost.” Chuck chortled, his belly jiggling as he rolled Rebel’s still body over. He grunted, sweat beading to drip down his face as he struggled to lift him enough to toss his dead weight over his shoulder. “Hey ghosty, there’s someone here to see you. You don’t mind if we take the trash out, do you?” he called out, laughing as he stumbled down the corridor. Sputtering a curse when he dropped the heavier man, Chuck grabbed his ankle and pulled. The soft thudding of Rebel’s head hitting the stairs echoed in the stillness, broken only by the two men’s grunts of exertion.
From the bottom of the stairs a door slammed, and the flame of the candle flickered. Both men shared a terrified glance and darted to the front door. Racing out of the house, they pushed and shoved each other through the door. Chuck stumbled on the blanket as he half-fell, half-ran down the porch steps to the ground. He threw the blanket-wrapped body into the back of the battered, old pickup and jumped into the cab.
His hands shaking, he twisted the key in the ignition as the passenger door opened and Billy jumped in. Without a backward glance, he hit the gas pedal and the truck careened down the driveway and out onto the highway.
“Fuck, what was that?”
“I’ll tell ya what that was, Billy, a ghost. Fuckin’ house is haunted.”
“Ain’t no such thing. You think the boss’ll mind us tossing him in the back?”
“Nah, he said alive, he didn’t say anything about how we got ’im there.”
“You think he’s gonna kill him quick?”
Chuck laughed and shook his head as he patted his pockets for a smoke and lighter. Digging the cigarette out, he made short work of lighting it before turning to Billy. “That man ain’t made a quick kill in twenty years. I don’t reckon he’ll start tonight.”
“Yeah, but he ain’t never done a man…maybe—”
“Nah, he’ll take his time. He likes the screams. He’s gonna wanna take his time, the son of a bitch interfered in his fun.”
Chuck nodded and fell silent as they sped through the darkness. The uneasy feeling clung to him like a sweat-soaked shirt. Even if the boss killed the tattooed man, it wouldn’t stop anyone. There were too many loose ends, and he could sense someone knew too much; someone who could cause even more problems.
His hands shook, the palms sweaty against the wheel as he pulled into the driveway of the old farmstead and headed up it. The headlights cut through the night, lighting the way as he parked in front of the old building and opened the door.
“Did you bring what I told you to?” The distinct baritone was filled with an icy anger and an unspoken threat.
Shuddering, his stomach clenching with fear, Chuck nodded rapidly. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” The shadow moved through the darkness and back into the barn.
Chuck got out of the truck, a chill racing up his back as he glanced into the bed of his pickup. Inside, a tiny voice whispered, the fury in the voiced threats haunting as he swallowed against the rising tide of fear. Dragging Rebel’s limp body out of the truck and dumping him on the ground, he glanced around and felt his heart stop. From the edge of the pasture he could see glowing embers in the darkness, too high off the ground for it to be fire.
* * * *
Rebel groaned at the splitting agony pounding behind his eyes. His head felt as though someone was using it for a drum—a steady, rhythmic pulse from the inside out. Sharp pain radiated from every inch of his body, weaving a harsh, agonizing net wrapping itself around him. Darkness swam around him, spots dancing before his eyes as he struggled through the fog. The metallic taste of blood lay heavy on his tongue, trickling down his throat.
His stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat to burn his tongue. Gagging, he spat, his body awash in agony. His ribs burned, a phantom memory of broken bones filling his mind. Damp and cold, the ground beneath his bare feet chilled him to the bone. It soaked the thin material of his shorts and left his hip cold and knotted from where he’d obviously been on the ground.
His teeth chattering, Rebel tried to regulate his breathing, to calm his racing pulse. The air hung heavy, stale, the stench of rotting vegetation and flesh sticking in his nose. Blinking, his eyes nearly swollen shut, he struggled to see through the flickering shadows. Moonlight filtered through the floorboards above the crawlspace he was crowded in, brightened by the steady beams of a pair of headlights. Bodies moved through the light, the faint sounds of male voices reaching him.
Their voices muffled by the steady buzzing in his ears made him uneasy. Unable to hear, and barely able to see, he felt disconnected. Panic swelled, pushing at his control. He twisted, tugging on his bindings, the chains digging into his wrists, burning as flesh split and tore, blood welling and oozing down his arms.
He used his body to figure out how much space he had to move. Above the rattle of his chains a faint moan had him looking around. Light filtered through the rotted boards above him, illuminating the space in a sick irony. A glance up revealed rusted shackles covered in dried blood, short chains hung from a hook, pulling his arms up, the muscles aching in his shoulders.
“For fuck’s sake.” Snarling, he jerked on the iron. The links rattled but held, the hook they were on too sharply bent for him to slip them off it.
The cold metal bit into the tender skin of his wrists, blood and flesh streaming down his arms. Sickeningly sweet agony bloomed along his arms, a scalding throb as he felt flesh tearing. Sharp edges dug into muscle, into tendons, dragging a pained groan from his lips.
A soft groan drew his attention, and Rebel twisted in the direction of the sound. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision, his eyes widening in horror as he took in the battered body of a young woman. His heart dropped as he recognized her. “Oh no, Lauren.” He reached toward the woman who hung from a similar set of chains, his fists clenching when the chains kept him from moving too far.
Gone was the impeccably dressed young woman he remembered. Instead, her body was covered in bruises and blood, her clothes shredded and stained. Her hair hung in tangled clumps around her face, a painful wheeze escaping with each breath.
“We’ll get out of here.” The words sounded hollow, as though Rebel’s whispered promise held no weight. “Damn it, Sara, where are you? Don’t let this be for nothing,” he whispered into the silence, his voice cracking as he choked back his emotions.
The thunder of his heart pounding echoed in his ears, nearly drowning out every sound. From a distance he could hear the shuffle of booted feet, the distinct sounds of male voices growing in volume. Sniffing, he rested his forehead against his upraised arms for a moment.
The future was certain. Death walked the night, and he would be lucky if he saw the rising sun. “But by God, I’m gonna take some of ’em with me.”
Curling his legs beneath him, Rebel shifted, pushing until he was stretched up on his toes. Wiggling the chain, he cursed when it refused to budge. He tugged on the metal, ignoring the sharp pain as it tore into tender skin.
Repeatedly, he yanked on the metal links, pulling and twisting the cold metal, the blood flowing freely as he worked. With a muted gasp of pain, he pulled one hand free of a shackle and hunched over to catch his breath. Stars spun around his head as he struggled to contain the pain ripping through him.
“Mother…that hurt.” Rebel twisted his hand to check the damage. He winced as he probed the raw flesh.
With a sharp exhale, he turned his attention to the other occupant of the crawlspace. Trembling fingers touched her neck for a pulse. Rebel sighed in relief at the realization Lauren was alive. At least that’s working out for me. Still, getting out of the hellhole would be difficult.
“Well well well, lookee here. Looks like our guest is awake.”
Rebel froze at the familiar drawl and slowly turned. The light from above cast giant shadows that danced across the small cell. Standing, he stared at the familiar figure, and he felt his heart drop and a chill wrap itself around him. “Fuck, you sick son of a bitch.”