Denouement (The Darkness Series Book 3) (4 page)

Piling his plate high with drumsticks and coleslaw, he poured himself a healthy glass of Pepsi and moved to the living room to take up his usual dining spot in front of the TV. Flipping on the sports channel, he settled in his seat and dug into the delicious, greasy chicken.

A bucket and a half and two glasses of Pepsi later, he was well on his way into a food coma. Sitting with his pants unzipped, he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. “Oh, come on, you idiots! This is a hockey game! You should have brought your damn skates, not ballet slippers! Unbelievable. Bloody Maple Leafs can’t hang onto a lead to save their lives,” he yelled out in disgust. If only he’d kept up with the sport, he may have been one of those players on the ice, instead of watching the game from his couch; alone.

Letting out a loud belch, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Maybe those last couple pieces of chicken had been a bad idea. Feeling his eyelids start to droop, he got up to go to bed rather than spend another night sleeping on his couch.

Holding his pants up with one hand, he stepped into his short hallway, intent on hitting the bathroom before bed. A shadow crossed the corner of his eye and he had a split second to think
what the fuck?
before a bat was swinging towards his face. He ducked, catching himself and his attacker by surprise when he tackled him at the waist, sending them both crashing to the linoleum floor. Grunting, he caught an elbow in the gut as he struggled to get to his feet. Managing to untangle himself, he got upright to run to his bedroom where his own baseball bat was hidden. He barely made it a step before he crashed to the floor once again, this time bashing his head off the wall on the way down. He’d tripped on his pants that had fell down around his ankles.

His large frame made his movements sluggish, but he did manage to roll onto his back and attempt to regain his footing. Sitting up, he spotted the baseball bat laying on the floor a few feet in front of him. The assailant was unmoving so he quickly moved to reach for it, stumbling back when the figure lurched to life in front of him, snatching the bat out of his grasp.

He was dressed all in black and a knit ski-mask withheld his identity. “What?” he croaked out before the man swung the bat, catching him on the chin and drowning him into the pitch black darkness.

Jeffrey opened his eyes, unsure why his wrists and ankles were throbbing. Attempting to move, he realized he was restrained. His mouth was firmly sealed shut with thick duct tape spread across it and he was handcuffed to his own damn kitchenette chair. He fought and rocked but all that resulted in was the cuffs digging in harder, breaking the skin and causing blood to drip onto the beige carpet in his living room.

Shaking his head back and forth to clear the fog, he remembered the break-in and the ensuing struggle that happened after the fact. The fucker had tied him up here and then left him to rot! No one would be checking on him until Monday when he didn’t show up for his afternoon shift at the school. That was two days that he’d be trapped in this fucking chair. Starting to panic, he hopped in the seat, trying to move towards the apartment door. If he could make it over there, he could maybe make enough of a racket to alert the neighbours.

Less than five minutes into his task, he was dripping with sweat and struggling to breathe. His breath wheezed in and out of his nose, he couldn’t seem to suck enough air in with his mouth being taped shut. Pausing to give his heart a chance to stop hammering in his chest, he again wiggled his arms and legs but it was no use. Despite his size, he didn’t have the strength to snap the chain on the handcuff, who knew if that was even possible or just something they did in the movies. When the black dots stopped dancing in front of his eyes, he started again; hopping towards the door. Several agonizing minutes later, he made it to his destination, exhaling in relief.

Anger filled him as he stared at the door, unsure how he was going to make enough noise to be heard. Who the fuck would break into someone’s house just to tie them up and leave them there? None of it made any sense. He didn’t have the type of friends that would play a practical joke on him, he didn’t have any friends at all. Ever since his wife Linda left him; he’d lived a quiet existence—just him, his fast food and his TV.

Well he’d be damned if he was trapped in this state all weekend with no way of getting any help. Shuffling the chair sideways, he decided to rock from side to side and hopefully bang his head on the door with enough force to be heard; but not so hard that it would further aggravate his already pounding skull.

He leaned as much of his body weight to the right as he could without toppling over, and then he didn’t move. He was trapped suspended on the chair’s two legs. Just balancing. Bewildered, he swiveled his head, eyes widening when he spotted his attacker behind him.

“Did you think I’d abandoned you to fend for yourself? I’d never do such a thing. Although you did provide me some entertainment for the past half hour, so thanks for that,” the stranger mocked.

Fury filled Jeffrey. He’d been there the whole time! Watching him as he struggled to get free and plan an escape. Only to reappear and thwart him as soon as he’d reached his goal. He screamed behind the tape, demanding to be released.

The man dragged the chair backwards, back to the center of the room where he’d started. With each step, the door grew smaller; his freedom being ripped away from his fingertips. The crazy fuck kept a constant stream of chatter as he moved him, as though they were old pals catching up.

“I know you’re probably dying for a drink of water after all that exertion, but unfortunately that isn’t in the plans.” He moved to stand in front of him, leaning down until they were eye level. His cold, dark stare met Jeffrey’s and there was no humanity in it. It was like staring at a blank canvas. Zero emotion flowed from him, not even pleasure at torturing him, allowing him to think he had a chance at escaping was reflected in his eyes. This man was a statue in human form.

“Now since we seem to be so comfortable here in your home, I thought we’d get started before I move you to accommodations that are more my style.” Jeffrey didn’t have any idea what he was talking about.
Get started with what? This guy’s a fucking lunatic.

He walked over to a black leather bag that was laying on the floor and rummaged through it, coming back to him with a small object in his hands. Jeffrey peered at him, trying to make sense of what was happening. Was that—matches? His mind raced, and suddenly all the pieces fell into place.

“Holy fuck!” His curse came out muffled behind the tape. This guy was the Matchstick Man, the psycho that had been setting random fires and leaving behind victim after victim. The deputies and Sheriff were completely stumped as to who this guy was, and now he was here! In his apartment. And Jeffrey was at his mercy.

The man chuckled, watching him squirm in the chair. “Ah, so you’ve figured out who I am. That didn’t take long.” He struck a match, his eyes glued to the tiny flame. “Was it because of this? Is that what gave me away?”

Jeffrey’s eyes were locked on the blaze as well, unable to look away. He yelped and writhed in pain when the sick fuck brought the flame to his upper arm, holding it there firmly. The stranger inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, a spark had lit behind them, a flare of something that Jeffrey couldn’t quite place, momentarily distracting him from the pain. Was it…lust?

“That smell. The scent of your flesh burning—there’s nothing like it in the world. I crave it,” he admitted. He held the match to Jeffrey’s arm until it burned out and then he tossed it down onto the carpet.

Glancing down at his arm, Jeffrey recoiled when he saw the top layer of skin had been singed away, revealing an exposed pink area in an oval shape. Seeing the wound made the pain increase, sharpening to a torturous ache. Unashamedly, a tear escaped the corner of his eye. There was no way out, this man in the mask was going to kill him and Jeffrey knew without a doubt it wasn’t going to be quick and easy. He was going to suffer.

“How does it feel?” The question came from nowhere, catching him off guard. “Do you find pleasure in the pain? Does the burn fill you with life? Tell me!” he shouted, pressing his thumb down roughly against the burn. Jeffrey squealed behind the tape and his back arched off the chair, his wrists and ankles straining against the cuffs.

The man looked deep into his eyes and what he saw there must have satisfied him as he backed off. “Yes. Yes, that’s how I thought it felt,” he muttered.

He lit another match and repeated the same process on the opposite arm, not even flinching when Jeffrey writhed and shook his head from side to side. “You know, when I saw you I knew you’d be a perfect experiment. All this extra skin, it’s like you called to me. I can hold the flame on you much longer than a female. It’s simply fascinating,” he nodded to emphasize his point.

Eighteen matches later, Jeffrey was a blubbering mess. Tears mixed in with the snot running down his face and he was certain when the flame struck his earlobe, he had lost control of his bladder; a fact that didn’t even faze the lunatic torturing him. He’d even gone as far as burning off tufts of his hair.

“I have one thing I want to try before we go. Will you indulge me a little longer?” he asked. Jeffrey imagined that if he could see his entire face, he’d be raising his eyebrows in expectation of an answer. He furiously shook his head no, unable to withstand any more torture. What else was he hiding in that horrible black bag?

The man tossed the empty box of matches onto the carpet and retrieved one last item from his bag. It was a blue cylindrical object with a long brass end. Staring at it, Jeffrey knew what it was but in his frazzled pain-induced haze, he couldn’t place it. Whatever it was, it had the fucker grinning. A fact that had a hard knot of dread forming in the pit of his stomach. Anything that made this crazy sicko grin wouldn’t bode well for him at all.

“Your body is full of adrenaline right now, did you know that? It’s a side effect of feeling pain. Let’s see how much you can withstand, shall we? My last guest…she had a very high tolerance, it was remarkable really. Somehow, I don’t think I’ll ever find someone as resilient as she was. But who am I to deny another the chance?” Jeffrey eyes nearly bulged out of his head when the man flicked the side of the long brass end and it flared to life.
A blowtorch. It’s a fucking blowtorch!
His fight or flight instinct kicked in at the sight of the man approaching him, his steps deliberate and slow. Heaving backwards, he toppled the chair to the ground. The weight of his body coming down on top of it splintered it to pieces. The carpet immediately rubbed at all his open burns, scraping away at more layers of skin.

Desperate to gain freedom, he made it to his knees, ready to crawl to the door if he had to. Sweat dripped down his brow, stinging his eyes as he dragged himself along ignoring the skin that tore from his tattered fingers.

A swift kick on his back from the psycho’s booted foot had him face planting and struggling to breathe as his nose smashed into the carpet. He kept him pinned down there for a minute, purely for the enjoyment of watching him squirm.

The man grabbed him by the upper arm, his fingers digging into his already tender flesh and rolled him over. The torch was still lit and Jeffrey screamed with all his might behind the tape as he lowered it to his face.

“And here I was going easy on you, big guy. You do have a bit of fire in you after all. Let’s see how well you handle this,” he’d barely finished his sentence when he lowered the torch to Jeffery’s eye. He wasted no time, he had a boot on his stomach and an arm slung across his neck snugly holding him in place. It didn’t matter that Jeffrey was three times his size, apparently crazy gave you unlimited strength as he easily kept him from bucking him off.

The agony was immediate, his body convulsed and twitched in shock. It felt as though his whole body had erupted in flames as the torch molded its lick of fire into his socket. Screaming only cut off his air, bucking only caused the torch to move and catch the inner corner of his eye, the outer part of his cheek. The smell of burnt flesh pierced the air, bile rose up the back of his throat, bursting out before he could stop it. He choked and sputtered as he was forced to swallow it back down.

After what felt like hours, his attacker finally switched the torch off and sat back on his heels to admire his handiwork. Jeffrey’s right eye was now nothing more than an empty socket. Juices and blood oozed from the gaping hole, the edges burned to a midnight black.

“Well I must say, I’m impressed, big guy. You actually made it through that better than my little Serena did. I think you’ve earned a reward, don’t you?” he asked, sending him a smile.

Jeffrey was immobile, reducing to jittery twitches and spittle mixed with vomit leaking out of the sides of his taped mouth. The world around him was a fog, not only because he was missing an eye. His good eye was still functioning, but he’d ceased to exist. He’d floated away from his body and was nothing more than a casual observer of his own torture.

Reaching in his pocket, the man withdrew a syringe. Uncapping it, he flicked the needle twice and nodded, satisfied.

“Here we go now,” he said as he slipped it easily into Jeffrey’s neck. “Take a little rest while I get things set here to move you to those better accommodations I was telling you about.” The world around him faded to black once more and this time it was a blissful welcome.

When Jeffrey next was aware, everything was dark. Groggy, he tried to sit up, only to immediately rap his head on a hard surface. Confused, he tried again but had the same outcome. He tentatively stretched out a hand at his left side and felt a smooth, hard surface under his fingertips. Repeating the same on his right side had the same results and it was then that the sick realization dawned on him. He was in a box. He was in a fucking box! Beating his hands on the lid, he tore his lips apart. The tape had been removed, but it’d left behind a sticky film that ripped a layer of skin off when he finally managed to pry his lips open.