What hurt me the most through this horrible experience was thinking about Rusty. He was a detective. What could he possibly unearth about this place? I knew he was putting his all into trying to find me, but I couldn’t think of a single lead that would bring him to this barn. Many times I’d seen him unable to sleep and up in the middle of the night worrying over some case that particularly touched him. Imagining him worried, determined and angry only made my situation worse. I decided my time would be better spent finding a way out.
Every day at feeding time Stern asked the inevitable question, “Come on Cassidy? Are you ready to show me what you’ve got?” He bribed, threatened and sometimes hit me, but I refused to give in to him. No matter what he did I’d never lower myself to his level. He thought that by beating on me and throwing me to the dogs he became superior, but in my mind it didn’t work that way. I tried to maintain an analytical attitude about my situation, watch for opportunities, and take advantage of the smallest ones; but there were moments when I had to admit I was slipping. The loss of the screwdriver had been a hard blow. Now Shadow was in a cage where I couldn’t see him and I didn’t know if he was getting fed. I hoped he was.
The afternoon of the fourth day, Stern showed up at the barn. He tied and gagged both Marissa and myself then led us around the side of the barn and in through another door. It was an office much like the office next to the barn at my parents’ ranch, except this one was full of dog fighting equipment as well as paperwork. I saw heavy leashes, another cattle prod and spiked collars. Stern forced us to the ground and we lay side by side on the office floor. He tied my feet together, then Marissa’s.
“What’s going on?” I asked through the gag.
“Big fight,” Marissa answered, “stay quiet.”
“Why?”
“If anybody suspects we’ll get the shock treatment.”
I started working on the ropes, pulling my feet back and forth. They loosened a little bit but not enough for me to get a foot loose.
We heard the sound of cars pulling up outside and people moving about, their footsteps next to the door.
“Help! Help!” I yelled through the gag.
Marissa stared at me in shock, desperate for me to be quiet. Judging from her reaction she must have experienced Stern’s shock treatment.
“Help!” I yelled anyway.
Stern rushed through the door, slamming it behind him. He glared at Marissa who squirmed away from him whimpering. He jerked me up and said in a low, threatening voice, “One more peep and it’s the pit for you!” Then he slammed me back down on the floor and began jabbing me over and over again with the cattle prod. Then he really became enraged and started hitting me with it, like a bat. The tip stung when it hit and sometimes he’d hit the button when he brought it down giving me a welt and a shock at the same time. After he’d left and I was able to focus again, I could see Marissa was nearly hysterical. It left me wondering what horrors she had seen in her time here.
“It’s okay,” I said, still shaken. “It’s my own fault. I had to try.”
After a while we could hear that Stern’s gold mine was really paying off. We heard the cheers of victory and the moans of despair as people were parted from their money. There were several fights that night but then the sounds changed. There was a wild scuffling like people running for the exits and then Stern rushed into the office. He went to his desk and pulled out a gun.
“Your fucking boyfriend has brought his fucking police buddies in! Damn it Cassidy! There won’t be a dog alive when they get through! And they won’t stop at the dogs either!”
He unbound my feet, removed the gag and stood me in front of him. He held me in front of him and started to open the door. He was going to use me as a shield. My heart sunk. I wouldn’t let him use me against Rusty. He could beat me to a pulp, but I wouldn’t allow him to use me to get out of this. I spun around to face him.
“No. You’re not getting any help from me! I refuse to go out there.”
He glared at me, grabbed my arm and tried dragging me out of the room, but I twisted loose before he could open the door wide enough. His anger flared. He advanced on me until I was up against a wall, then he began hitting me. I dodged but the office was small and my hands were still bound. He knocked me to the floor and began stomping and kicking me. When he almost lost his balance, he switched to pummeling me with his fists. All his rage was focused on me, all the fear of losing his gold mine, all the fear of what the police would do to him was being inflicted on me and I couldn’t do anything about it. I felt a jab of pain from each blow. When would it stop? It seemed to go on forever and then after a while the pain from them grew less and less. I was fading. I could feel the darkness closing in and I fought it. I tried to hide from the blows, turn my face under the desk so he couldn’t reach my head. If only I could use my arms. I had to focus, but it was getting harder and harder to keep track of it all. I squirmed and pulled away. I rolled, hoping he couldn’t kick me in the stomach again. I cried out, but it only came out a mumbled, “No, stop.” The last I saw of Teague Stern was a hate filled, bitter face and a bloodied fist coming at me. I heard a door bust in and then gunfire.
“Oh God.” A pause. “Michaels, get over here.” Longer pause. No, don’t let him see me like this. Marissa crying. A call for the medics. Ten forty-five C. Critical. I imagined what the single letter meant to Rusty. No, I thought, don’t tell him that.
“Cassidy?” Jayce Thompson. I knew the voice, but I couldn’t recognize him under all the riot gear. “Hold on kid. It’s going to be okay.”
I couldn’t respond.
“Look at me, come on, Cassidy, I need you to look at me. Show me you’re there. Come on.”
Nothing. He reached out and I flinched away, instinctively.
A scuffle. Rusty. I could see him. I could see all the pent up rage, all the overwhelming sadness, the fear. I could see it but it barely registered. I wanted to reach out to him, but I couldn’t. He wanted to hug me and he was afraid to touch me. I was so broken. He couldn’t even speak to me. He tried, but the words stuck in his throat, and then someone pulled him away, and the medics filled the room. My hands were untied and the pain of moving my arms took over everything. I pulled my hands up to protect my face from an imagined blow and the pain from that movement sent me over the edge. Tumbling, tumbling in a sea of pain.