Before Zoey left with her captive to go to Samsaville, she had convinced the voice to take off the chain and padlock, and instead tie up a sick and weary Thorn with ropes the voice bought at the local hardware store. Not knowing about the strength of a rope, he bought the cheap one, not the three strand nylon rope going for one hundred dollars, because he wasn’t interested in making a large investment. He never looked at how much strength it would take to break the rope, he looked at the cost of it.
Thorn frail and feeble appeared destroyed and defeated.
The voice felt confident the rope couldn’t be breached. He even tried pulling on it a few times and was more than convinced no man could get out of it. Showing the rope to Zoey, she looked pleased at his decision. He was happy that she was happy.
Zoey had that way of convincing a man she hated that she admired him. It was all those years of trying to survive in a world filled with abusive men. And when she had finally found someone to make her feel like a person again, he was taken away from her, and she is left to use what she knows best—survival is all that is important now. Say and do whatever she’s asked to do and smile when she’s doing it. Smile when he’s fucking her. Smile when he kisses her. And smile when she sucks his cock.
Zoey watched as the voice took the rope from the Wilson Hardware Store shopping bag. When he brought it back to show it to her, she gave him a small smile and motion her head that he had done good. He beamed like a child trying to please his mother with flowers he tore from the neighbor’s garden.
Zoey’s eyes didn’t smile because they were filled with dread and nervousness. Then she saw the instructions on the rope, and she knew the voice hadn’t read it. So she quickly discarded the paper into the nearby trash located by the fridge.
When he turned to see what she had been doing, she had the handle of the fridge, opened it reaching for a beer, then handing it to him. He signaled with a shake of his head that he didn’t want it. With a wave of his hand he told her to place it back in the fridge.
“I have to go into the cellar.” She shot him another weak trembling smile. She knew what he had done to Thorn, and she became afraid that one day the voice would go there and come up and announce that Thorn was dead. Then she would be left at the mercy of him.
Each time the voice would go into the cellar he would taunt Thorn, he would inject him with a narcotic of some kind. Thorn was out of his head as the voice gave him more drugs to keep him quiet, and to satisfy the voice’s sick sadistic mind.
With an unconscious Thorn sitting still, the voice was able to place duct tape on his eyes and carefully unlock the chains, then tie him up again all without waking him. He had given him a double dose of narcotic that rendered his entire body inoperative. Even if Thorn woke as he was unchaining him, Thorn wouldn’t be able to move. It was only when the dose had worn off completely that Thorn could move maybe a toe.
“Are you still alive, Mr. Samsa? I gave you something that could kill most men. Very impressive I must say. But then you had some kind of body. I see why Zoey was taken with you. All those muscles and that face.” He placed his hand to raise Thorn’s face. Thorn couldn’t see but he felt the voice’s breath and smelled it.
“You don’t have that body any longer. But most of it is still intact,” the voice said passing his hand along Thorn’s shoulders, “but it won’t be for long.” His voice playful again. Satisfied with himself.
Because the voice couldn’t get a reaction from Thorn, he decided to wait until he could engage him in conversation. Which called for a second visit. He had to tell him of his plans. After he ate and had a beer and before he left for Samsaville, he made one last visit.
“Ah, rich Mr. Samsa, as soon as the money is delivered, I will put you out of your misery, and that little bitch of yours will be mine to do with as I please,” the voice said padding down a flight of stairs only illuminated by the open door with light coming from the hall leading to the kitchen.
Thorn heard every groan of the wooden steps. He counted them and then he counted how many it would take for the voice to stand or crouch in front of him.
“It’s because of Zoey telling me about all your money that I let you live.” He now called her by name. That meant she became a person to him and not just a body to abuse. He stood in front of Thorn and reached for his hair. Thorn’s once shiny dark hair now brown and dry had begun to fall out, but his beard had grown long.
“Shit. You smell terrible and that hair of yours is falling fast, and you smell like an animal.” Stepping back he pulled up Thorn’s head, and it flopped down again as if it was a dead fish bobbing up and washing ashore.
The voice placed his hand under Thorn’s chin pushing his face back up and ripping the tape from his eyes. Thorn’s eyes shot to him. He stared at him with cold blue eyes like a rabid dog. Thorn tried to raise his lips but all that was evident was clenched teeth and a low growl.
The voice jumped back in shock.
“You see it... don’t you?” Thorn said his voice a strangled whisper. “Yes, I know. I smell like a dog. But to be exact. I smell like what I am. A wolf.” And he stared at the voice. For the first time Thorn smelled fear on the voice. It surrounded him like fog on a spring morning.
“What are you?” The voice said not sure he should believe his senses.
“Don’t you know?” Thorn asked deceptively calm but feeble. The voice stood to his right and slapped the tape over Thorn’s eyes. Not wanting to look at him directly again because his eyes gave him a chill that ran the length of his back, and each strand of his hair bristled on his head.
“I don’t care what you are,” his voice cracking. “I know when I return from sending your parents your finger... this souvenir of mine,” he shook the box which held Thorn’s finger. He laughed, “After I get the money, you will cease to exist. And whenever they find you, your mother won’t be able to recognize you.”
Thorn gave out a weak howl. The dogs nearby heard it and echoed it. The voice jerked his head around and his eyes fell down on Thorn. He shook his head and grinned. Then he back up to the stairs and bounded them two at a time. He was clearly shaken. He would take it out on Zoey but not today. He had to drive to Samsaville.
Thorn didn’t know where he was, but he knew the voice had to travel if he wanted to deliver the package to his family. It would take time to get to Samsaville and find the ranch. He had to pull himself together by then. Maybe the time between shots would sober him up, he thought.
When Thorn woke again he could feel ropes instead of chains. He didn’t know which were worse. But he soon knew the difference. His hands had been tied so tight that he had rope burns on both wrists and across his chest. He looked down to see his own blood oozing on to the cement floor. Thorn bent forward to try to bite the ropes on his wrists. But he couldn’t.
After two hours, he began to feel his arms and fingers and after another hour he felt his legs coming back to life. His sense of smell returned. Now all he needed was strength and he could bite through the ropes.
He was tied back against the back of the chair. He had to push his chest out to try to break free of the ropes, but they wouldn’t budge. Then he rocked himself until the chair turned over and he landed on his back, his body still secure in the chair. Then he heard the door open and someone shouted.
“What’s going on down there? Cut the noise. We’re trying to watch a football game. Don’t let me have to come down there.” Thorn heard voices laughing and then the door closed. He didn’t know what time it was, but he did know he had to do something. He lay on the cement like a turtle on his back.
The feeling and strength returned to his legs. He knew the sheer power of his thighs could break the ropes if he could get momentum. Struggling and moving in the chair, the ropes were loosening and his legs were winning the fight.
One more push and the ropes would break. He swung his legs upward and the rope gave way. But when he tried to stand he couldn’t. His legs, thighs, and back hurt, and his entire body felt lifeless. He didn’t know how he looked, but he felt like shit.
Thorn had never felt pain or weakness in his life. This had been a first for him. And it was all because of venturing out into the world of men. This is what he had been warned against by his father, but this was all he wanted until now. He wanted to live among men and be with Zoey. He still wanted Zoey, but he didn’t want this world of men anymore.
The werewolf’s world was dangerous enough, but at least you could live in isolation with a pack without the threat of danger to werewolves from men.
The pack would be there to help and protect each other. It took this for Thorn to understand what Wilder had said and wanted. He wanted a strong pack to be able to stand against men or other rebellious shifters and werewolves bent on destroying each other.
“The only way to guard against men and rebellious werewolves were to grow the pack with fertile alpha females,” Wilder had said when the question came up about the looming threat posed by the Alaskan Werewolves.
Now Thorn on his knees had to call attention to the men upstairs. He needed to know how many there were and whether they had guns. But of course they had guns. Thorn wasn’t himself yet and may never be again. He didn’t know because he didn’t feel like himself. His body had lost most of his muscle. Breathing loud he managed to get to his feet.
Thorn didn’t know if it was night or day but it was something that the voice said which made him know that the voice would be back that night. Thorn stood on his wobbly legs. He tried shifting but had no strength to shift, and that made him vulnerable.
He hadn’t eaten much since he last saw Zoey when she said she would convince the voice to tie Thorn with a rope. She had done that and Thorn knew he had to find a way to defeat the men upstairs before the voice returned with Zoey. He didn’t want anything to happen to her when the voice found out that he had gotten loose.
First he needed to get someone to unlock and open the door. He didn’t have the energy to burst open the door. He had to save it because he didn’t know how long it would take to strengthen himself.
Thorn raised his head, sucked in air, and let out a howl. It was a faint and a pathetic howl. It wasn’t one a young werewolf yearling would be proud of, but a howl nonetheless. He listened in the dark. His eyes had become used to the dark more so than it had ever been as a werewolf. Werewolves hunt mostly at night but this experience had heightened his senses not dulled them.
Just as he thought, he heard three latches and then the door swung wide open and a figure of a man stood in the glow of the yellow light streaming down the stairs, and making it pass a few steps, but not enough for him to see Thorn in the corner near the stairs.
Thorn yelped and howled. “Shut up. I’m trying to watch this game and it’s the fourth quarter. Shut the fuck up.” But Thorn growled in a low tone as he stood waiting under the stairs to the left. Thorn felt the numbness leave his legs. He was getting back his strength.
Feeling better Thorn became relentless with his howls. Then he heard the door close but not lock. And then it open again and he heard shoes plodding down the stairs. Thorn knew when he reached the bottom, he would be able to see whether the man had a handgun. He had a gun in one hand and a stick in the other.
“What the fuck? Where are you?” Thorn came from behind him and reached into the man’s darkness and placed his arm around his neck. The man began shooting into the darkness, and hitting the shelves containing canned food.
Thorn reached around for the man’s hand and broke his wrist and his arms. Thomas screamed, it was more of a shriek, and the gun fell to the cement floor discharging a bullet. Thorn stomped on Thomas’s arms and back.
After a sudden cry from Thomas, Thorn heard the rumble of footsteps as three men rushed to the entrance to see what was going on.
“It not a good thing to interfere with a man’s football. Now get the fuck up here Thomas and stop playing around with that poor soul. He’ll be dead before long, and we’d like to see this game to its ending. Thomas?”
Another voice said, “Thomas. This isn’t funny. Get the fuck up here.” One tried flicking on the light but the voice hadn’t replaced it when it burned out. All he needed was the light flittering down from the upper floor when the door was open. The voice had no plans to spend a lot of time down there and he didn’t want to spend in money on a light that couldn’t benefit him when he decided to leave the place. With the money he would get for Thorn he could buy him a home in Arizona where he and Zoey could live.
The voice had plans. Maybe five hundred thousand wasn’t enough for what he wanted to do. So he had a change of plans.
When Thomas didn’t reply, like clockwork, another came down into the dark basement to check on Thomas.