CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE WILL TO LIVE
Benjamin's visits were violent and grotesque, dumping more and more pain into my ragged body, and every time, I sensed my will to live slipping through my reluctant grasp.
Then I’d awake sometime later to find that the silent man in the black suit and plague mask had come yet again to tend to my wounds and offer food and drink, sustaining whatever life was left in me until Ben came to use me again.
It was a cruel and nearly comical carousel I'd found myself on. One where my sense of time was quickly diminishing to nothing while my reasons for hanging on seemed to fade without my permission.
Hell, at this point, even if my body was saved, what the fuck would be left of my mind?
Could I ever face Meg again? My parents, my brother?
What would they see if and when they learned about the torment I'd endured for only God knew how long? I could lie, if found alive, but forensics never would. They’d see the bite marks, the bruises, the cuts. They’d see the truth in the rips and swelling of my flesh.
No, it was better to tell the truth. Wasn’t that how I had gotten here in the first place? Because I'd been living a lie and I could no longer deal?
“You’re quiet tonight,” Ben muttered into my ear, his rancid sweat dripping into my eyes as he drove into my limp, exhausted body, the chains rattling above my head with every erratic movement.
“You’re killing me,” I said, blinking my eyes shut.
“That’s the idea,” he replied before sinking his teeth into my neck.
I winced against the pain, but didn’t cry out. I couldn’t. I didn’t have it in me. I wasn’t aware a person could become so desensitized to the torment, but I believed I had.
A foreign chime rang throughout the space, and I gasped, flinching as if it had the power to hurt me more than Ben.
He cursed angrily, agitated to have gotten interrupted, as he climbed off the bed to grab his phone from the chair.
I turned my head slowly over the mattress to watch as he zipped himself up, cursing again beneath his breath.
“So, you said you're married?” I asked.
I sounded fragile to my ears. Like a strong wind could blow me the fuck away.
“Yeah,” he grunted, stuffing the phone into his jeans pocket.
“Guess not happily,” I dared to joke snidely, slowly blinking. “You know, since you need to use me to get off.”
In a split second, he grabbed my ankles, flipping my body around like a rag doll. Then his hands flew to my throat, grasping and squeezing.
“Remember this, motherfucker?! Takes you back, doesn't it?!” he screamed into my face, spittle landing on my lips, my cheeks. “How ‘bout I break your fuckin' neck right now?! You'd like that, wouldn't you?!”
Wheezing, gasping for breath, I managed, “Ye … yes.”
Oh God, the thought of death … the thought of an end to this …
It didn’t bring fear or dread. All I felt was relief and an endless need.
Then, just like that, he let go, and I sputtered, coughed, fighting to gulp down as much air as possible.
“Well, I'm not fuckin' done with you yet,” he said, then spit onto my chest with vile disgust. “You die when I say you die. Do you understand?”
Still gasping, I choked out, “Fuck you, Ben.”
He laughed, a wicked sound. “You'd fuckin' love that, wouldn't you?” He reached out to grab at my groin, pinching and twisting as I cried out. “I bet you wish I'd let you drill this fuckin' dick into my—”
He was interrupted by the ringing of his phone again. “This fuckin' bitch!” he exclaimed, releasing me before storming out the door without so much as another glance over his shoulder.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I turned toward the window, looking for the moon and the promise that Meg was out there somewhere, thinking of me. I found it, peeking down at me through the dirt-smeared glass, and I held its gaze as if it were hers and waited for sleep to take me.
If I was lucky, I wouldn’t wake up.
But before I had the chance to welcome either, the door opened, and in walked the man in black.
“Ah, look. It's the Grim Reaper again,” I commented, surprised that I had the ability at all to joke around, even if sarcastically.
But, God, I was tired of this game, and as he knelt beside the bed to play doctor, I shook my head.
“No.”
Still, he went to roll me over against the strain of my useless arms, and again, I protested.
“No!” I croaked, broken and strained. “No more!”
This time, he listened and sat back on his heels to seemingly study my face through the black lenses where his eyes should’ve been. Waiting, waiting … for what?
He tipped his head in question.
“Fuck, can you speak?!” I demanded, and he remained motionless, silent. Staring at me through that stupid fucking mask. “Goddammit.”
I blinked at the ceiling, shaking my head, thinking about this situation I'd found myself in.
A sexual plaything for a sick psychopath.
A patient for a mute angel of death.
This has to end.
“You wanna help me out, dude? Is that what this is about? You wanna help?” I asked, positioning my head to look at him again.
He gestured with a hand. Go on.
“Then kill me.”
He shook his head.
I laughed bitterly as dry tears burned at my eyes. “You mute asshole! Fucking kill me!”
Again, he shook his head.
“Oh my fucking God,” I cried to the ceiling.
“I can't do this anymore. Do you understand me?
I can't do this. I'm dying. He's fucking killing me, and you're letting him.
Do you get that?! Oh, what the fuck do you care, right?
You don't fucking care. You're just helping to keep me alive and prolong this fucking sick, twisted—”
“Why did you come here?”
My mouth was held agape at the low, gravelly sound of his voice, and slowly, I turned from my view of the black ceiling to stare at his black mask.
“Answer me,” he demanded.
It was an unnatural voice, disguised. Like Batman. A forced gruffness.
I wanted to be Batman once too.
“Wh-where?” I asked, rattled once again by his presence, and I realized I'd somehow grown to trust him in the days since we'd first met. Now, knowing he did possess the ability to speak, I realized I still knew nothing.
“You came snooping around, Officer Noah Mason,” he ground out from between a clenched jaw I couldn’t see. “Why?”
Officer.
That's right. I'm a cop.
How odd it was that I'd somehow forgotten.
“S-snooping around? I-I … I don't—”
“Do not play dumb with me,” he interrupted. “And stop stalling. We never know how much time we have. Answer me quickly and efficiently.”
“Um … I wanted to find him,” I said, then swallowed. “Benjamin.”
“Benjamin,” he repeated in a low growl, like the name tasted bitter on his tongue. “Why?”
“Be-because my father killed his. Twen-twenty years ago. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to …” I blinked away tears as I shook my head at the absurdity of it all now. “I wanted to say I was sorry. I wanted to … I wanted to see … God, I’m so fucking stupid.”
“Speak,” he commanded.
I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears streaming down my cheeks. “I-I-I just wanted to see if he was okay.”
This seemed to give the man in black pause as he lifted his head. “You wanted to apologize,” he said slowly, as if to allow the admission to sink in. “You didn't come here on official business. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct,” I admitted in a whisper.
“The police had no interest in him.”
I opened my eyes to look at him and shook my head. “No.”
He hummed a deep, contemplative sound, then said, “Then you are going to help me, Officer Noah Mason, and you are not going to die.”
Gasping with a sob, I cried, “God, why? I can't do this anymore! I can't! Do you understand that? I can't do it!”
With gloved hands, he grasped my cheeks and held me, bringing the long, hooked beak of his nose to mine and forcing my eyes to stare into the infinite abyss of his.
“Because you are an innocent. You don’t belong here,” he said in a harsh whisper. “I cannot help you if you're dead.”
Realization settled like a redwood coming down in a strong wind. “You want to get me out of here?”
“Very good, Detective,” he replied with the same sarcasm I'd greeted him with.
Detective.
Oh God, Meg.
“Why can't you just let me go then?”
He released my face from his grasp to sit back, regaining his composure. “It's more complicated than that, and you'd be smart to not ask any more questions. Your job, Noah, is to stay alive. That's all.”
I blinked, helpless and all too aware of how weak I was. “How?”
“You do have a beautiful fiancée. Pregnant, isn’t she?”
A terror I'd never known before jostled something in my soul as the chains above my head and around my ankles rattled, an involuntary need to fight and protect the greatest loves of my life.
“Stay the hell away from her!” I screamed, wrenching and writhing. Fighting for the first time in days. “I swear to God, you creepy fucking bastard, if you touch her, I will kill you.”
He nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I believe you,” he replied. “Use that fire to keep yourself alive.”
“What?” I gasped with exasperation.
Then he placed a palm on the crown of my head. “Find the safest places you can think of in here, Noah. Find yourself in those memories, survive, and let me worry about the rest. I'll work as quickly as I can.”
I looked up at the black sleeve of his suit, looking for a clue, anything that might identify this man to me.
“What does that mean?” I asked desperately.
But he didn't reply.
Instead, he tended to my broken, battered body, and this time, I let him.
Survive, I told myself. Hide in the safest places.
He meant during the beatings, the rape, I realized.
He meant to hide and dissociate. I wondered, had he read my mind?
Had he known I was scared I'd be unrecognizable to everyone …
including myself? There was nothing I could do to save my body—I knew that—but I could preserve whatever was left of my spirit, my mind.
Benjamin couldn't take that from me unless I allowed it.
I had a little power left, and it filled me with a silly sense of shame to realize that was exactly what was happening.
I’d been allowing him to take it—all of my power, my spirit, and will to live—away.
Not anymore, I silently promised, believing the man in black.
What other choice do I have?
After cleaning me up and applying whatever antiseptic ointment he used for my wounds, he stood to retrieve a bag of water bottles and food he'd left beside the door.
And like all the visits before, he presented the patience needed to feed and water me, giving me the gift of sustenance and life, but for the first time, I felt I understood why.
He wasn't keeping me alive to prolong Ben's fun.
He was buying me—and himself—time.
“Thank you,” I uttered, as I always did when the food was eaten and the bottles were empty.
He nodded, silent again, and as he always did, he produced the bottle of Oxy, tipping his head in question.
I accepted with a curt nod and gratefully swallowed the pill that would take the pain and awareness away, even if just for a little while.
The man in black stood to leave. I knew I'd see him again, a promise I now looked forward to with certainty. But before he reached the door, I stopped him.
“Wait. One more question.”
He turned, giving me his full attention as he replied, “This is the last time you will hear my voice. Please, make it a good one.”
“Who are you?”
He had the balls to laugh. “Of all the questions you could've asked, that's the one you chose to waste your breath on.”
I narrowed my eyes, my mind bright with renewed suspicion and awareness. “We've met, haven’t we? But where? What's your name?”
The man in black took a step toward the bed I was chained to, the leather of his mask aglow in the moon's silvery beams. “My name,” he muttered in that low, phony voice.
“Some call me the devil. Some call me the angel of death, the villain. But right now, in your life, Detective, I am the only savior you have, so if you must call me anything, let it be God.”
I snorted at the theatrical way he spoke. “No offense, man, but there's nothing holy about you.”
He seemed to find that funny as well, and he emitted a low chuckle, heading toward the door with a steady stride, crossing the small room in one, two steps.
“Genesis 18:23.”
I furrowed my brow. “What the fuck? What does that mean—”
“Stay alive, Detective,” he ordered casually, opening the door and crossing the threshold to blend into the darkness outside.
He closed the door behind him to leave me alone with my thoughts and a thousand new questions.
Genesis 18:23, I thought, staring at the ceiling. It was a Bible verse—I knew that much—but what that verse was, I didn’t have the slightest clue.
I'll look it up when I get out of here.
And I am getting out of here, I promised myself, Meg, our baby. Everyone else that mattered. The Grim Reaper.
But most of all, Benjamin.
“I'm getting out of here, Benny,” I threatened, though he couldn't hear me. “And when I do …”
Sleep took me before I could finish that sentence, and in my dreams, I curled inside my safe space and found myself again.
And there, I found Meg.