The Killing House

45

Jimmy Weeks was thinking about water. When he wasn’t thinking about it, he was dreaming about it. The only thing he cared about right now was something cold to drink. Yes, it was crazy — bat-shit crazy, given his circumstances — but, for whatever reason, his mind had fixed on it, despite the terror of being locked away in the dark.

Every once in a while he’d hear the big, steel door outside his cage swing open. A moment of darkness would follow and then he’d hear the click of a light switch and the bare bulb would expose the small room, with its concrete walls and floor. Erected on either side of him were two more cages, both empty.

The woman who had pretended to be an FBI agent smiled every time she came to bring him food. The first time she visited, she gave him a plastic Wal-Mart bag holding someone else’s clothing: a pair of tight-fitting black sweatpants, wool socks and a big crimson sweatshirt that had the Harvard emblem printed on the front and a tear along the collar.

The food was either hard dinner rolls or Wonder Bread smeared with peanut butter, a bottle of Gatorade or water. He had tried to speak to her, asking her questions, but she simply ignored him. She gave him his food, left and shut the door. There had been no showers, and he hadn’t brushed his teeth.

She hadn’t hurt him or threatened him in any way — which made sense, because this was nothing more than a cut-and-dry kidnapping. Jimmy had seen enough movies and TV shows to know the procedure: the woman would keep him locked up in here until the time came to bring him to the drop-off point, where he would be traded for some gym bag stuffed full of cash. Do what he was told and everything would be fine.

That inner voice kept disagreeing with him, and it spoke up again now: You’re wrong, Jimmy.

No, he replied. No, I’m not.

Let’s review some key facts, then. Let’s start with -

No, I don’t want to -

Fact number one: every time she comes in here, she’s not wearing a mask. Why would she let you see her face? If she lets you go, she knows the police are going to question you. She knows you’ve seen her all up close and personal. You can describe her from head to toe. You think she doesn’t know that?

Shut up, please, just shut -

And here’s fact number two: you’re not alone. You know what I’m talking about.

Jimmy forced himself not to think about it, but his mind had this really shitty way of making him see things that he didn’t want to see. Every time the heavy door opened, he’d heard someone moaning, the sound near and yet far away at the same time — from a room close by, he thought.

Not just one voice, Jimmy. Several. You’re not the only person here.

He hugged his knees to his chest, swallowing.

I know that scares the living shit out of you, but you know as well as I do this isn’t a kidnapping. A kidnapper wouldn’t lock you naked inside a goddamn dog crate — and then there’s the matter of that wound on your back. I don’t know what that’s about, and I’m not going to bullshit you and say I have the first clue as to what’s going on here, but there’s one thing I do know, and you need to hear it. And I’m going to keep repeating it until it sinks into your head.

He jumped at the sound of the deadbolt sliding back.

You’re going to have to find a way to kill this woman.

A key was moving inside the lock.

You need to escape from this place, Jimmy. If you don’t, you’re going to die a horrible death down here.