Aftermath (16 page)

Austin didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered. "What's that supposed to mean?" Okay, so it came out a bit defensive.

"At ease, soldier," Cam drawled with a lazy smirk. "I'm just saying you're not as, uh, mellow? I don’t fucking know. You just come off a little more stiff than some handyman." He nodded as he thought of something. "I could see you in a suit."

Austin decided he was definitely offended. The image of a man in a suit wasn’t usually followed by the words fun, adventurous, or carefree. Or mellow. A suit came with labels of dull, starched, and uptight.

Then again, wasn’t Austin all those things? Maybe not uptight, but he did find his life rather calm and on-schedule. But at the same time, he couldn’t recall missing any action. He led a safe life. Contentment and comfort.

Cam would probably add "boring as fuck."

"I'm an accountant," Austin muttered and sat down on his cot.

"Oh, yeah," Cam chuckled. "Now,
that
fits." He grinned and scratched his brow. "I bet you wear suits for that."

Austin gave him a wry look. "Well, it wouldn’t look good if the office managing partner showed up in a Hawaiian shirt."

"Partner, huh?" Cam nodded. "Fancy."

Austin shrugged modestly. Numbers had always come easily for him. He liked the occasional challenge, and since tax laws always changed, he had to stay on top of things. His years in college weren’t exactly enough. There was always something new to study.

His passion for his job had fizzled and died years ago, but he found comfort in structure and order.

"It's really not," Austin replied eventually. "The company's based in LA, so it's just a field office we have in Bakersfield." And there was only one client: Kern County. "Anyway…" He wanted to change the topic now. "What about you? Mechanic?" He jerked his chin at Cam's coveralls.

In retrospect, the men could say this was where their friendship began. After months of being locked up together, they started to get to know each other. To pass time, they shared memories and told one another about family members and hobbies.

Austin particularly enjoyed hearing the stories behind Cam's tattoos, mainly the ones that represented his disorder. There was a snowflake because it was said that people who had autism and Asperger's were like snowflakes—unique, one of a kind. The two words "wired differently" described Cam. It was also a part of a quote about Asperger's. Cam said, "We're not stupid. We're just wired differently." There were a few dark puzzle pieces that represented autism awareness. There were lyrics, sheet music, and instruments…everything came with an anecdote, a memory, or a reason.

*

Austin shifted between nightmares, more pleasant memories, and consciousness. Too upset to find rest, too exhausted to rouse fully, too overwhelmed to make sense of everything that rolled like a movie behind his closed lids.

In one dream, his fingers brushed over Cam's tattoos. In another, he was on the floor in that cell, and he was fucking Cam brutally, which had certainly never happened in reality. Then the dreams morphed into group sessions with Gale where they all tried to make sense of their kidnapper's motives. Even with a profiler from the FBI on the case, they still only had an educated guess as to why that madman had kidnapped them.

Before long, the dream became a nightmare once more. The torture always came back.

Torture and death.

*

Chris had been silent in his cell for two days before the other guys found out he had killed himself the same way James had—by slitting his wrists and swallowing the blades.

One cell was now empty. Chris and Pete both gone. Lance had been alone in his cell after James's death.

Their captor whistled a happy tune as he dragged Chris's body out of the basement, and before he disappeared, he told the others he had a performance review meeting planned with "Scott" later.

Scott's real name was Sean, and he shared a cell with Tim right next to Cam and Austin.

They all knew the outcome.

Not a thing to be done about that.

To be sure, though, Austin did search their cell for the umpteenth time, and this time Cam actually helped. Was there really no way out? Was it possible for a single man to keep ten others hostage? Now seven…

"Do you think we're still in Bakersfield?" Cam asked quietly, checking the bolts by the toilet. He tried to wiggle the toilet, but the solid chrome didn’t budge a millimeter.

"No idea, but I have a better question for you." Austin was on his back on the floor, looking under his cot. "Do you think people are still searching for us?"

"Dude, they fucking better be."

*

Names and blurry faces danced in the edges of Austin's vision; the nightmares held him hostage much like the madman had. Cam, Evan, Austin, Sam, Chase, Remy, Sean, Scott…there were too many names, and only half of them belonged to the guys in captivity.

The other names…well, they'd gotten their answers about that.

But why didn’t the insane fucker torture the real Sam? Why didn’t he beat the real Evan senseless instead of Cam? Why pretend with ten innocent men?

*

Hours later, a nearly unconscious Sean was returned to his cell.

What hit Austin the hardest was how Sean cried out for his children while Tim tended to his wounds.

Sitting down on the floor, Austin pulled up his knees and dropped his forehead to them. He wanted Sean to stop—to shut up and suffer silently. Because all he did now was make Austin want to cry for his own daughter.

While Austin missed his wife, too, it was different when it came to his child. It wasn’t until Riley was born that Austin understood his mother's words about the bond between a child and a parent being unbreakable. Friends could leave, wives and husbands could divorce, passion could fade, but the love you felt for your child was forever.

Maggie rarely spoke about the youngest son she lost to leukemia when Austin was ten years old, but that didn’t mean he was forgotten. She religiously visited Riley's grave, the photos were never coming off the walls, and she loved him as if he were still alive.

The day Austin's daughter was born and he announced he was naming her after his younger brother, Maggie had been proud, not sad.

"You can't lose hope, man," Cam said, sitting down next to him. "Keep hoping you'll see her soon."

Austin was thankful Cam didn’t make any promises. He wasn’t sure he was strong enough to listen to vows neither man could keep.

"I think I've missed her birthday," he mumbled, discreetly tilting his head to wipe away tears on his shoulder.

"When is it?"

"May fifth."

There was a smile in Cam's voice when he spoke next. "A Mexican celebration kid, huh?" He cautiously placed his arm around Austin's shoulders.

"Yeah." Austin sniffled and managed to pull off a small smile, but he kept his eyes downcast. "She loves Mexican food, too. And we wouldn’t hear the end of it if her birthday didn’t come with a piñata."

In fact, it was only recently Riley found out
Cinco de Mayo
wasn’t all about her. That had been a glum day, but it had brightened when Austin took her out for chips and salsa and queso. The girl was crazy about her queso.

All this hurt to think about, especially when it felt like he had one foot in the grave already.

In a moment of defeat and despair, Austin leaned back and sought out Cam's shoulder to rest his head on. All curled up, he felt small and weak.

The thought didn’t cross his mind, but it was Cam's bad shoulder. However, Cam didn’t say a word; instead he silently encouraged Austin to lean on him, take comfort from
him
for once, and rested his cheek on the top of Austin's head.

*

Austin had of course missed Riley's tenth birthday. He didn’t know what he'd been doing the day Riley turned ten, because time didn’t give the men anything in that basement. Time only took from them. It had taken hope, strength, dignity, and humanity.

It wasn’t until toward the end that things changed, and that was where clothes and professions played the biggest part. It was what finally gave the men something to mull over. Reasons, motives…but still more questions.

Cam's nickname for Austin had been coined one day…

*

"Breakfast!" Mr. Insane bellowed.

"I'd like to see the menu," Cam muttered as he got up from his cot to wait for the hatch to open. "I swear to Christ, I ain't never having chicken soup again if I ever get outta this place."

He flexed his bicep and shoulder, wincing at the lingering pain, but at least it was getting better. Slowly—too damn slowly, though what could he expect without proper medical attention?

"I think I've forgotten what pizza tastes like," Austin sighed and emptied the bucket of water into the toilet.

They'd already washed their clothes as well as they could, and Cam's coveralls and Austin's torn sweats were currently drying on the floor. These days, though, they did it without soap. It had been a while since that one bar they'd been given was gone, and they hadn't been supplied with more.

The toothpaste was also gone, but they still had their toothbrushes.

"Even my shit smells like chicken nowadays," Cam said.

Austin didn’t know whether to scoff or laugh. "No, it doesn’t." He limped over to Cam, his right thigh still killing him, and gave him a sideways look. "Trust me. It does
not
smell like chicken."

Cam chuckled. "Fuck you."

Austin smirked and turned to the door as Psycho slid open the hatch.

"Evan. Sam." The crazy man smiled like a creep. "You seem to be recovering nicely." Austin held up the empty bucket, and Mr. Crazy started filling it with the garden hose. "That’s good—means I can plan our next meetings soon."

Cam gritted his teeth and glared, struggling not to show the fact that he was afraid. Another round in that room upstairs would probably kill him.

"I think one
meeting
was enough," Austin said flatly, setting down the filled bucket on the floor.

"Oh, but it never is with uneducated simpletons." The man laughed and extended two bowls of steaming chicken broth. "I am your boss, fellas. I know what's best for you. After all, I didn’t get this position by being stupid."

Cam took the bowls and huffed quietly. "No, just criminally insane."

"Yeah, and I thought having an MBA from Duke would save me from being called an uneducated simpleton," Austin drawled, only for Cam to hear.

Evidently, he hadn't been quiet enough.

"A what from where?" their kidnapper growled. His beady eyes turned murderous, and they were fixed on Austin.

Cam stiffened.

Austin frowned, but before he could respond, the hatch closed and they were left in a wake of furious screaming about ruined plans and how only accomplished people deserved to live.

"What the hell just happened?" He turned to Cam with a confused expression.

"You're asking
me
, Mr. MBA?" Cam snorted and shook his head. "Sometimes I find it hard to understand
sane
people."

*

Austin whimpered in his sleep. Tears rolled down, unbeknownst to him. His body was tense with frustration.

Between the moments where the nightmares took over, family members asked him questions he couldn’t answer. If given the choice, would he go back in time and put on a suit, hence saving himself from being kidnapped? It was his wife who asked. His mother asked if this could ever be worth it. His daughter just cried and cried and cried. Austin tried to reach out to her, but the image of Riley vanished with her heart-wrenching sobs.

*

Two whole days went by without a glimpse of the madman. That meant two days without food and water. Two days that had been spent pacing, stewing in filth and boredom, and throwing out theories about their kidnapper's motives.

Austin was frustrated, feeling like there was more info to be had if they just hit the right angle.

They were all mostly on the same page, and they had been from the beginning. But with time, more things had surfaced. From the get-go, everyone had been assigned a character, and it hadn't taken long for the men to understand that each character represented someone from the torturer's real life. There was a father, two brothers, an old boss, a high school nemesis, a friend who had apparently betrayed him, a guy who was seemingly married to an old crush of the kidnapper, an uncle, and two cousins.

It all looked like vengeance, but it was executed on the wrong people. Instead of taking his anger out on those he'd grown up with or whatever, the insane man had kidnapped ten innocent strangers.

During these past two days, to pass time, a few of the remaining men had delved deeper into their theories. They went at it from different perspectives, first coming up with things that might tie them together—both to each other and to the kidnapper's family. It couldn’t be age, though. Because Pete, who'd been shot in the head and had been assigned the character of the kidnapper's father, had to have been more ten years younger than the crazy man himself.

They guessed he was around fifty years old, and Pete had been thirty-six. In fact, all of the men were most likely younger than Psycho, as Cam had named him months ago.