John William’s clothes were cut from his body, and he stood in the damp, dark basement naked and scared. The four men stood around him in a circle, each of them watching him, provoking the same fear that he’d made so many children feel. They knew it would never be possible to match the fear of a helpless child who had been taken from her family, but they wanted him to get as close to that breaking point as possible.
One of the mobsters pushed John William toward the chair. Then the other gangster gave him a hard nudge.
“Please, I told you everything I know,” John William begged. “You said you would let me go if I told you.”
Tony cocked his head to the side and looked at Vincent. “Did we say dat? We never said we’d let him go, did we?”
“Nope, I didn’t hear nobody say nuttin’. Did you two fellas hear me or Tony say we’d let this good-for-nuttin’ little bitch go?” Vincent asked the two mobsters.
They both shook their heads. Their pinched expressions looked set in concrete. They were serious about the work that had to be done.
Tony grabbed John William by the cuffs around his wrists and dragged him close enough to the chair that his knees were touching the edges of the spiked leg rests.
“Now, ya see these spikes? What happens is when ya sit on the chair, those sharp, metal spikes go into your skin. And when dat happens, you’ll start to bleed real slow, ’cause ya see, if you’re strapped down real tight to the chair, which ya will be, those spikes will stick in ya, and it won’t let the blood drain outta ya real fast. Eventually, you’ll bleed to death, but nice and slow, see? And when you move around, or we move ya ourselves, those spikes dat are already stuck in your skin—did I mention that?—they’ll hurt like hell. In fact, I’m sure it’ll feel like you’re actually in hell,” Tony taunted to prolong John William’s anxiety.
Even in the cold basement with its dirt floor and cinder block walls, the sweat was pouring down John William’s face, chest, and back. As he stood with his knees touching the formidable chair, he understood his fate. Tony and Vincent couldn’t know that they had picked the one form of death that John William feared most. His memories of when he was a small boy returned, and he could vividly recall his parents tying him to the metal chair naked and leaving him in the small closet under the stairs for hours. John William was finally feeling the fear and panic that the children he had kidnapped felt when they awakened in the back of his van.
Tony stepped closer to John William, who felt Tony’s hot breath on his face as he said, “It’s time, John William. By the way, who da fuck in their right mind calls themselves by their first and middle name? The only people I can think of who do dat are serial killers. Did ya ever notice that, Vin? Those serial killer motherfuckers use their first and middle names so they always got three fuckin’ names. Probably ’cause they’re all crazy bitches like this sorry-ass slob.”
“You know, Tone, I never thought about dat. You’re right, though…they always got three names,” Vincent said, playing along to extend John William’s discomfort.
Tony took a step away from John William. The two mobsters stepped forward and removed his handcuffs. Then they turned John William so his back was facing the chair. They slammed him down into the staked chair. Screams of terror erupted from John William’s very core. He squirmed, attempting to get off the chair, but that only drove the metal stakes farther into his flesh. Then Tony fastened one of the leather armrest straps as tightly as he could; Vincent did the honors on the other side. They bent down and strapped John William’s ankles as tightly as possible to the legs of the chair, embedding spikes into his calves and thighs. Finally, they fastened the strap around his neck. John William was transported into hell, a hell on earth, as he waited for death.
Tony and Vincent stepped back from the chair and looked at him.
“Holy shit,” Tony bellowed, “that’s gotta really hurt your balls.”
Tony leaned down and put his nose to John William’s nose. “It does hurt your balls, doesn’t it? And uffa, ya probably got one of dose spikes stuck up your ass, too. My suggestion is ya try and stay as still as ya can ’til ya just fuckin’ die.”
Over the next two days, Tony and Vincent stayed with John William. When they leaned down to talk to him, they’d press on his arm or leg, driving the spikes deeper into his body. At one point, Tony took a wooden box filled with old, heavy tools and threw it onto John William’s lap. They didn’t let him sleep; they slapped him in the face or threw water in his face if his eyes closed. Their goal was to make sure he stayed awake to feel every moment of his horrible circumstances.
At the end of the second day, John William died when Vincent grabbed him by the ears and repeatedly slammed his head into the spikes of the headrest. It was an appropriate and torturous death for John William. Tony and Vincent felt as though they had given the rodent a proper send-off into eternal hell.
As they left the property in the middle of the night and dumped John William’s naked body on the side of the road, with his own driver’s license shoved into his mouth, they felt victorious. They left the ogre in a place where they knew his body would be found, and they rejoiced in the work they’d done. There was no greater feeling than punishing those who deserved it the most.
“We did real good, Vincent,” Tony commented as he drove back to Philadelphia.
“I know, Tony. I think it’s one of our best kills yet,” Vincent answered, reflecting back on all the pain associated with the method they’d used to kill John William.
“Now we need to see about this Myles guy,” Tony said thoughtfully.
“Yeah, I already have one of our soldiers on it,” Vincent said.
“Good. One down, one to go.”