Killing the Killer {Silver & Alan23}

[Alan23]

People could say what they liked about sight, thought Ellis "Eeecee" Bridges, or smell, or anything else. And sure, the blood he'd seen in The Middle East, the month old roast-pork stench of dead flesh, these things had been harrowing enough. But the screams of the dying children, these were what stayed with him, had fueled his nightmares ever since, even intruded into his relaxed moments when walking alone, lying drunk on the floor, or simply skimming across the water in a yak. Even when astride a quad bike, in the silence of the bush, they had intruded.

It was the same now, he reflected. The dank, acrid smell of the basement's very stones, the stabbing of the eyes when the man who held him prisoner opened the door at the top of the steps a mere crack, the ever ending Stygian darkness. The sight of the roaches, the rats, other nameless, unidentified things, the stench of their dung. But sound - that was what tore at his fragile psyche, destroyed what little strength of endurance he could otherwise muster, threatened to tear his soul out from its place of peace, undermined what little sanity to which he could still cling. But these he could endure, if he had to. He'd faced worse.

But the sound of her screams...

In the army he'd known guys who held a dichotomous attitude toward blood. Let them see someone else's and they were fine, not reacting in the slightest. But tell them it was their own and they would turn white, scream, sometimes even faint. Yet for him, it was the blood of others that had wrecked him, brought tears to his eyes, tears of which all these years later, he was still ashamed.

Yes, those screams. That was what he would shut out if he could. The screams of which he caught only the tip of the auditory iceberg, filtering down the stairs from some room, he supposed, way at the top of the ramshackle, rambling old house. If his hands were not tied behind him, so that he could cover his ears, desperately attempt to muffle their piercing cacophony of terror. The shrill, desperate cries of pain, of fear, or dread. Female screams (yes, guys could scream high pitched too, at times, but you could always tell those of a woman.) His hands ached to be free, not merely to use them to shut out the sound but to take revenge, strangle the life out of the piece of pond slime who would do the thing to a woman that made her react like that.

It was not even chivalry. Not in the sense most would define the word. He would have had no words of courtly, graceful praise for their the victim. Were he free he would save her, merely from a sense of what was correct, how the world should be. No properly ordered universe should suffer such sounds to exist, allow itself to be rent with cries of such sheer distress.

But all this was academic. He could no more come to the aid of she who screamed than he could fly. His wrists and ankles were shackled with chains, and from those shackled another chain held him firmly to the stout stone wall. He was a captive, a victim, a helpless prisoner. An immobile, impotent animal, helpless in a trap.

Or almost...

It would take, he knew, some time yet. Many hours - perhaps days, or even weeks, possibly months. All he had was the small bobby pin, found on the floor, no doubt left by one of the man's previous victims. Picking a lock really needs two pins, and two free hands. Yet, by curving his lithe body, straining his strong wrists to the ultimate limit, putting up with the pain of such an unnatural posture he had persisted. The tumblers had to be arranged just so, the pressure applied at exactly the right place and moment, his wrist twisted with perfect exactitude. He had made, he had registered before losing count, more than a hundred attempts. All had failed.

But there was one mathematical fact to which he clung. Ultimately, it did not matter how many times he failed. Not if, finally, on the two hundredth attempt, or the five hundredth, or the ten thousandth, or the million-and-ninety-seventh - he succeeded. The number of failures was irrelevant. All that mattered was succeeding on the final attempt.

Suddenly, a jolt of hope shot through his mind. Had it yielded?

By fuck and all his demons... was it a mirage. A hallucination caused by desperate hope? A wish-fulfilment dream, like those he'd had lying, explosions all around, of being back home in London, walking through a green park, the soft rain cooling him?

And yet, as he just managed to still the scream of triumph that erupted from his mouth (thought probably, it would have been drowned out by those screams from a quite different source, and of a much different implication coming from above) he knew. The shackle on his wrist had sprung apart.

Quickly, hardly daring to breathe, he began work on the shackled at his ankles. Now, with his hands free, it was quicker work though still by no means easy.

And when he was no longer shackled - who knew what might happen?

 

[Silver]

Quietly sitting on a black cushion, a voice would ask for Aruna to pose for the camera and she would oblige while crossing her legs and looking directly into the lens. A three-quarter-length sleeved button uplight sage bodycon dress was worn, showing off the curves had in all of the right places, her back would straighten while slightly wavy hair fell to one side cascading over a shoulder while looking with slightly parted lips before the flash of the camera went off before another flash of another friend's cell phone also went off while taking another picture. The sound of one of the latest pop songs was heard echoing throughout the club, one that Aruna didn't care very much for even though the beat was good yet the lyrics were beyond sorely lacking anything of real meaning for someone who loved music. Once she found a song that was liked it was within Aruna's nature to seek out more information, find out who the artist was, and listen to a few other songs; to go deeper and have a second, third, and fourth taste to see if it would become part of a playlist or better yet a new favorite. But that wasn't the real object of the whole evening for Aruna, it was simply something that came as an added perk to a celebratory Friday night out with a few choice friends before starting a brand new job on Monday.

There was an itch that longed to be scratched but Runa hadn't been drawn to anyone right away, sitting back and nursing an Amarettoi Sour, the third of the evening so far while listening to the idle chitchat of her friends. Work, relationships, and the latest celebrity gossip, among many other topics, had been brought up and her own two cents had been added in when deemed necessary. A long drink was taken by the woman before finding that there was only ice left in her glass, legs uncrossed before she stood up and smoothed down her sage dress so it didn't appear wrinkled before making her way over to the bar to order another drink. Brown eyes would look at a man who was positioned across the bar, a man who appeared a bit older with a brown beard that appeared reddish in the light which caused Aruna to smile quietly to herself. Older men or at least men who were a bit older than herself had always been her major weakness; did it perhaps stem from the fact that she had unresolved 'Daddy Issues', more than likely but people shouldn't judge when from personal experience it seemed that older men always knew what they were doing and always ended up teaching Aruna something new about herself that hadn't been discovered as of yet; at least sexually.

As her finished drink was placed before her by the bartender, Aruna gave a lingering look to the man across the bar before picking up the fresh drink without looking at it first taking a long sip, and walking back to where her friends were situated. "I'm going for a smoke, back in ten.", was announced before leaning forward and grabbing her clutch and cell phone with her hand that was free and walking towards one of the many open doors. While she might have said she would be back in ten minutes, her friends knew of the possibility that she wouldn't be coming back from that smoke break and would be caught up by text or phone call the next morning. It was simply how Aruna worked at times, the belief that a man could be picked up and give much-needed pleasure for the evening before parting company. She made her way into a dark section of the parking lot, putting money on the fact that the man at the bar would follow her outside and if not him then someone else would. However, after taking yet another lengthy drink, Aruna started to feel a little lightheaded, which was strange considering that she had only had four drinks overall and they weren't particularly strong to begin with. "Did Somebo...", was spoken in a slur as the cup dropped from her hand down onto the pavement before closing her eyes and following suit as everything went black.

Never in a million years would Aruna have thought she would be in the current position that she was in. A few months ago she had finished her final year of college, earning a degree doing something that had started as a hobby but evolved into something much more. The search for a job hadn't been hard, not when Aruna had returned to her hometown to be near family and happened upon an open position that seemed to be perfect. She was supposed to be starting a new job, to truly begin her life, a life filled with wants and dreams that were more than likely never going to be realized due to inevitable death at the hands of the man who had taken her and now seemed quite keen upon doing anything and everything in his power to make her suffer before her final breath.

It couldn't be helped as screams escaped her, the feeling of a fingernail being ripped off with the pain that followed being something that Aruna wouldn't want to wish upon anyone. She couldn't help but think back to that faithful night, should a friend been brought along when going outside to smoke? Aruna was aware that time had passed, it had been days if not weeks since she had been taken, evident from superficial cuts, some newer than others on her arms and legs from when this man had inflicted them to get a reaction out of her. After having her hands bound behind her back for what seemed like an eternity, even considering how to get out of this horrible situation seemed like an unreal dream. 'He's going to kill me like the others...', she thought to herself.

It was a known fact that there were others, their screams were so loud and seemed to be never-ending after they had begun until there was simply silence and the known fact that person was gone. Tears streamed down Aruna's face as another scream was released, another nail latched on to and then pulled off in a painfully slow manner, she had lost count of how many nails she was missing now. A hard punch to the face came next that knocked her over to the side before fingers were felt gripping her hair in a manner that Aruna thought was about to be ripped right from her head. Suddenly she was dragged from the room, hands, and feet bonded so there was no way that an escape could be tried but still, she tried to move as if that might do something to help. It was only after being dragged down a series of stairs, which more than likely left bruises that the man paused to open a door before throwing her in and closing it with a slam before the sound of keys could be heard. On her side against the floor, Aruna wouldn't move, her eyes closing as tears continued to fall. She was going to die, it was only a matter of time and there was nothing that could be done about it.

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[Story Continuing in PMs]