A Vicious Circle: Chapter 9 / 13

A Secret Place

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Chapter 9

A Secret Place

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Adam hauled himself slowly but surely back to consciousness. Never had he felt so weakened, drained of energy. He thought his head was about to explode, just as the heads of the men he had killed for Dash had.

He tried his best to remember what had happened, to summon any detail that might explain his current predicament. But the only memory he could retrieve was the moment of being attacked while searching for Rector’s drugs. He attempted to rise and escape from wherever he was, but even in that half-crouch he slammed his head into something that could only be the ceiling.

‘Where am I?’ Adam whispered. He looked this way and that but could see nothing at all. Everything around him was as dark as on the eve of creation.

Unless it wasn’t the place that was dark. Maybe he had lost his eyesight when he’d been hit, he wondered. He had heard that could happen after a blow to the back of the head.

Styles had no notion of his current whereabouts. He couldn’t tell whether he was still in Rector’s crummy shack or in some other place entirely. The only thing he could sense was the damp, earthy smell creeping into his nostrils. He tried to make sense of the space, to feel out the dimensions. Still hunched, he moved toward the wall on his right. Keeping his fingertips on its cold surface, he extended both arms to either side. His left hand met nothing.

‘All right,’ he whispered. ‘At least it’s pretty wide in here.’

After a short while, still moving in that same position to his left, he estimated the room to be about ten feet wide.

Next, he repeated the primitive measurement with the other walls. He set his right fingertips on the wall that had been behind him when he woke up, and with his left hand reached out in search of another surface.

Again, nothing.

Moving to his left again, he finally brushed against something, but it wasn’t a wall. It was a thing – a structure, as it were – solid, strange. He explored it with his hands, feeling along every side. After a moment, the answer took shape. He was touching the steps of a staircase.

They were made of wood, but the steps felt slightly damp.

If there are stairs, then there has to be an exit somewhere above them! A way out of this place! Thoughts about a possible escape danced inside his head.

He felt around for a handle or a knob that might belong to a door in the ceiling, but found nothing of the kind. All his fingers met was a flat wooden surface, rough with splinters.

It must open from the other side, Adam figured. That means I would have to…

He tried to force the door with his arm and shoulder, but whoever had put him here had made sure it wouldn’t budge. After several failed attempts, he paused, needing a moment to breathe.

It must have been important for his captors to get rid of him. But for whom exactly, Adam once more wondered. He handled every job Dash threw at him with razor-sharp precision. Flawless work, no bullshit. He was a big earner and a reliable soldier. As for Bobby... Adam had saved his life, and even a cold-blooded animal like him carried that little glint of respect and gratitude in his eyes for what Adam had done for him.

But what if it had been him? Bobby, who never stopped yapping, who always had to fill every silence with his own voice. Yet when he’d driven Adam to the forest, he could hardly speak at all, as if part of him had already known what was waiting for his young accomplice that day.

Hell, it might just as well have been someone else, he thought. One of Dash’s other soldiers, bitter over Styles’s quick rise and the way he’d started slithering into the boss’s good graces.

Adam’s mind was jammed with questions, wild guesses, a whole swarm of conspiracy theories about who might be responsible for his imprisonment. They gnawed at him and refused to give him a moment’s rest. He had to find out who had done it, but where was he supposed to start?

For now, though, there was a far more urgent matter before him: he had to find a way to free himself from this strange, lightless cell. He was shut in a place so mysterious, so utterly confounding, that he could not guess where he was, or how long he had already been trapped.

It was a place from which he had no idea when or how he might ever get free.

If he ever did at all.

And so, with nothing to do and nowhere for his thoughts to go, Adam lay down in the narrow room that now served as his personal cell and drifted into sleep. A little rest, he hoped, would restore enough strength for another chance at forcing the door when he tried again.

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Adam had no idea how long he’d slept. They had taken his watch and his phone before throwing him into this merciless pit of darkness and decay. But of what use would they be? Their batteries would, in all likelihood, be dead by now anyway.

Adam realized he had accidentally nudged some unfamiliar object lying beside him on the floor with his forearm. As he had done with the stairs earlier, he felt it carefully, trying to determine what it might be.

He guessed it was a bowl filled with a warm liquid that smelled faintly of soup. Something fluid, perhaps even edible.

But who had brought it down here? And when?

Apparently, they still need me, and they don’t want me to starve to death, Adam thought, comforting himself with the stubborn belief that he would go on living.

Hunger.

Yes… The importunate stomach pangs were, without question, the thing that tormented him the most during his time in the cramped cell.

Styles resolved to eat what he’d found. With no spoon of any kind nearby, he drank the soup straight from the bowl. It certainly wasn’t the meal of Adam’s dreams, nor anything his mother would have made, but he would rather eat what he had than go hungry for the next, what, days? Months?

The single bowl was nowhere near enough to satisfy him. Hunger still clung to him, nipping and nagging. He had only eased it slightly, but even that small relief made him content under the circumstances.

After finishing the liquid meal, Adam once again found his thoughts circling around the same question: who could have thrown him into this cramped cell, and why? He entertained the possibility that it wasn’t any of Dash’s people at all. On the contrary, perhaps it was Rector’s goons who wanted to avenge their leader’s death. Were they going to kill him? Or would they torture him first, squeeze him for information about Dash’s future plans before putting another hole through his head?

Those, however, were but vain speculations, rising and dying as swiftly as a meager flame.

How could he possibly have known why he’d been brought here, or what fate might be waiting for him?

Adam’s thoughts shattered under a sudden stomachache that worsened by the second. He didn’t scream – he howled like a sick dog. Curled on the damp floor, he clutched his lower belly, thinking his bowels had turned into a nest of furious hornets.

‘Oh no! Not this! Not now!’ Adam groaned, the words barely able to leave his throat.

It didn’t take him long to realize there was only one solution to stop the pain, as quick as it was humiliating. But how was he supposed to do that here? He hammered on the small wooden door in the ceiling, begging to be let out, but there was no answer.

If anyone was on the other side, they had no intention of opening it.

In the corner opposite the stairs, Adam felt a shallow indentation in the ground that could serve as a makeshift latrine if things grew bad enough. But he refused to let himself be degraded that far. So he kept pounding on the door, hoping someone would open it, if only to silence the racket, or that the hinges might finally give way if he kept at it long enough.

Once he’d done what he had to do, Adam felt a humiliation deeper than anything he had known. He wiped at the tears with trembling, clenched fists. The tight wooden walls trapped the stench, letting it accumulate – ferment, even – in the tiny cell’s already stale air. He tried to stir the smell by blowing and fanning with his hands, but to no avail; it only wore him out and made him gulp more of the foul air. The next moment, he vomited.

As if that weren’t enough, the mix of filth pooling on the floor made the stench so overpowering that it knocked the exhausted young prisoner out.

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As before, Adam woke without any sense of how long he’d been sleeping in the fetid room.

Despair held him in a tight, crushing grip; he had lost all hope of ever getting out of this place. He had given up on fighting the door, too. He knew there was no way in hell he could force it open, so why bother? Still, some impulse deep inside him, as if in defiance of reason, pushed him toward the door to see if someone might have opened it while he’d been lying there like long-forgotten roadkill.

But no one had.

It was now clear that he could not count on a single careless mistake from his meticulous captors.

Couldn’t they just have killed me instead of leaving me to rot in the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where?

He crawled back to the wall and sat curled up.

Again, his mind was swarming with thoughts about the choices he had made – choices that had cost him so much and stripped him of everything: his honor, his dignity, and, ultimately, his freedom.

‘Just why the fuck did I say yes to Dash in the first place?’ Adam asked the surrounding darkness. ‘Every idiot knows chasing big money means chasing big fucking trouble! That old-timey godfather’s done nothing but make my life miserable. It’s his fault I’m stuck in this shit-reeking hole! It’s his fault–’

‘…that Peter’s dead?’ an unfamiliar voice finished for him.

Adam looked up and rose into a crouch.

‘Hello? Is there anybody here?’ Adam called. His heartbeat surged up into his throat.

‘But of course. Surely you do not believe that you have been alone here for all this time?’ The voice, despite its high pitch, was unmistakingly that of a man.

‘Who are you?’ Adam asked, his lips quivering.

‘Who I am? Ah, that tired little inquiry. I have heard it to utter exhaustion. Ask me something worthy of my time.’

Adam hesitated but finally asked. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I have come to remind you.’

‘About what? Who are you?’

‘Here we go again…’ A raspy chuckle. ‘I am the one who comes to remind you that the light you so ardently seek, you shall never behold.’

‘What? What light? Why?’

‘Because you killed Peter Berne.’

Adam couldn’t believe the words he’d just heard. ‘That’s insane! I didn’t kill him! It was–’

‘Who?’ The stranger interrupted. ‘You let him die! His blood rests upon your hands!’

‘That’s not true!’ Through a strangled sob he whispered, ‘It’s not true. I’m innocent…’

‘Is that so? And pray tell, just how many lives have you taken thus far?’

‘They…’

‘Well? Speak, damn you!’

‘They deserved to die!’ Adam yelled, forcing his voice as loud as it would go.

‘And you deserve to rot in this hole for the rest of your pitiful existence!’ His final syllable lingered in the fetid air until it was swallowed by the weighty silence.

The voice was gone now. Adam couldn’t help but ask himself why this critter, this thing, had visited him. Was it real, or only a figment of his imagination?

‘Hello?’ Adam drove the word into the unyielding silence, as though trying to pry it open. ‘Hey! Where are you?’

No one answered the call.

Shocked as he was, Adam wondered whether the hostile stranger might hold any answers as to why he had been locked away and how he could get out of this cramped, squalid room.

After a little while, the same cryptic voice began to rise out of nowhere, growing until Adam was forced to cover his ears.

‘ALL OF YOU ARE NOTHING BUT NUMBERS IN MY WING!’

Adam, overcome by the deafening scream, lost consciousness. He collapsed into the indentation, his hair sinking in the putrid puddle of his own filth.

And once more Adam lay on the ground, oblivious to the movements above him, unaware that, in the meantime, unseen figures were opening and closing the door several times

His chances of escaping his cell had been all but foreclosed.

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When he came to, Adam struggled to sit in the same cramped posture as before. Slouching like that for who knew how long was its own kind of torment, yet there was no alternative; lying on the uneven, filthy floor became unbearable just as quickly. His bones and joints burned with soreness, and he was sure that one or two discs had already slipped from his overtaxed spine.

He nearly kicked the object set by the stairs again. The moment he touched it, he knew it was the same bowl, filled with the same sickening broth that had ravaged his stomach earlier. He snatched it up and hurled it against the wall, only for half of its contents to splash back across his own body.

On all fours, he screamed, ‘What the fuck!’ at the top of his lungs, tears running over his lips already wet with spit. ‘I didn’t do anything! I don’t deserve to rot down here! You sick fucks! You fucking bastards!’

Styles broke off his outburst at the hint of a sound. He sat down and remained motionless, forcing his ears to hunt for the curious noise, but nothing came. At last he gave up and lowered his forehead onto his crossed forearms.

But there was something else he noticed – the smell.

Or rather, the strange absence of it. The unbearable stench had vanished – but how was that even possible, he asked himself. No mere opening and closing of the door a few times could have cleared it away.

Adam figured there had to be some other opening in one of the walls that allowed the foul reek to escape. He ran his hands over each and every inch of them, searching for even the smallest crack.

Suddenly, a rustle reached his ears. As he moved to the right, the sound grew clearer. He stopped where it came through the clearest. From there, he groped along the wall, searching for an opening that might allow him to see what was going on outside.

And there it was.

He squinted. Through a thin sliver in the planks he could make out rows of trees, blurred by the weak early light. Morning, then. And, to his relief, he wasn’t blind. The view outside convinced him that he was still in the same shack he’d broken into before. The rustle was caused by the footsteps of an old man in an orange raincoat walking past Rector’s place, a wicker basket swinging from his hand. Probably out foraging for mushrooms or some berries. At first glance, the man looked like Adam’s grampa, or even like that Kenner guy they’d taken out not that long ago. But that had to be his exhausted mind, or his bleary eyes, playing tricks on him.

For the first time in a long damn while, there was hope in sight. That old man was his way out, his one-way ticket to freedom. Once he got out of the hole, Adam would burn every last bridge leading back to Dash and Bobby and start over, whatever the price.

‘Hey! Mister! Over here! Help me!’ Adam screamed as loud as he could. ‘Hey! Here! The shack! Help me!’

The old man stopped and looked around.

‘I’m in here! Why the fuck can’t you hear me… Over here!’ Adam yelled, slamming his hands against the surprisingly solid walls of the obscure chamber.

The man stared straight ahead, his gaze fixed on something a few yards out. He lifted his hands, letting the basket drop into the leaves, then turned around, ever so slowly, and broke away from the shack, running deeper into the forest.

‘The hell?’ Adam muttered. Then he shouted, ‘Where are you going? I’m here! Here! Hey! Come back!’

Adam screamed and yelled until his throat burned out, but the old man didn’t hear him. Not anymore.

‘Wait a minute,’ he whispered. ‘That guy wasn’t just running. He must’ve seen someone in the shack…’ He snapped his head toward the small door and murmured, ‘There’s gotta be someone upstairs.’

Adam moved to the door and hammered at it with all his strength.

‘Let me the fuck out! I know you assholes are up there! Open the damn door!’

Adam was sure he heard footsteps overhead, but the door stayed shut.

Only that old dude could’ve helped me out, and he bailed on me. Coward. Now I’m stuck in this shithole for good, he thought. Still, he tried to steady himself with the idea that maybe all he needed was a little patience.

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Adam had stopped counting the days. As he lay in this lightless pit, he wondered if he’d ever get out of this place at all. What would, say, five more years down here do to him? Leave him half-blind with a hunched back? The last thing he wanted was to look like that decrepit witch back in Keysville. And what if one day they just forgot about him? No family, no friends, or even that lousy soup to keep him going. He knew he’d die someday, but never would he have imagined starving to death in a hole he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

There were sounds drifting in from the outside, much like the ones he’d heard when the old man walked through the forest. He knew someone was close to the shack, but he wasn’t going to call for help. What good would it do? Anyone with half a brain would get scared off by whatever guards were posted, most probably armed to the teeth, intent on making sure he kept having the worst time of his life. But the noises were different now – they didn’t belong to someone simply wandering through the woods.

The noise grew louder.

The footsteps were heavy, no mistaking that.

Apart from the thud of boots beating the old floorboards, Adam heard something heavy being moved.

The door above him began to tremble.

Someone’s opening it. I can’t believe it! Finally! Yes! I’ll start over! No questions asked!

When the door opened, Adam lifted his gaze toward his supposed savior, but his eyes – long accustomed to the darkness – couldn’t bear the sudden light from above, which stabbed and burned them at the first gleam, before he could ever make out a face.

He made it to the stairs with his eyes closed, ready to finally straighten his back and climb out of that filthy pit. But before he could rise, a heavy fist shot out of the light and crashed into his temple.

Adam’s unconscious body, like a limp rag, dropped back into the same dark room. But fortunately – and unbeknownst to the lonely captive – his stay in that makeshift cell was at long last up.

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END OF CHAPTER 9