"Show time," Riker said. He hit another switch, and two of the monitors flickered to life. Black and white film of cells. At first, all I saw was Russell's back in one room, and the Amazon Amanda's back in the other room. Then my eyes saw legs sticking out from around the woman. Legs in jeans and jogging shoes, ankles tied together. Too big for Becca. Had to be Peter.
She'd stripped down to the waist, and that broad muscular back made everyone in this room look frail except for Mickey. It was only the length of her hair that made me guess her. She leaned forward, revealing more of Peter's body. She'd pulled his jeans and underwear down to his knees. She was playing with him.
I looked at the floor, then back up.
She tried to kiss him, and when he turned his head away, she slapped him twice hard, first one cheek then the other. There was already blood on his mouth, as if it wasn't the first time she'd hit him. She leaned back in for the kiss, revealing small tight breasts to the camera. She kissed him and this time he let her. Her hand never stopped working on his body.
I turned slowly to look at the other monitor. Please, God, please, don't let Russell be doing the same thing to Becca. He wasn't, and I was grateful. He'd turned with her on his lap, as if he knew he had an audience to play to now. He cradled her like you'd hold any small child, but he'd pinned one small arm, and two of the fingers on the tiny hand were at a bad angle. He broke a third finger while we watched, and her mouth opened in a soundless scream.
"Shall we have sound?" Riker asked.
Becca was screaming high and piteous. Russell cradled her and murmured soothing things. He stroked her hair and looked directly at the camera. His nose was still packed and bandaged. He knew we were there.
Peter's voice came high. He'd never sounded more like a little boy. "Please, don't. Please stop!" His arms were tied behind his back, but he was still struggling.
She slapped him. "It'll feel good, I promise."
I looked at Edward. Simon had the gun against his head. The hat was on the ground. The medium-looking man had conjured a knife from somewhere and had it pressed to Edward's throat. A trickle of blood slid down his skin. I met his eyes, and I knew that everyone in this room, everyone in this house was dead. They just didn't know it yet.
Edward started to say something, but Simon said, "No, no talking from you or Shooter will slit your throat."
The medium guy must be Shooter. The name didn't suit him. He looked more like a Tom, Dick, or Harry.
They wouldn't let Edward talk, so it was my play, but we both knew where the game would end. Sudden death.
"Get them out of there, Riker."
"The children?" He gave a questioning lilt to his voice.
"Order them to leave the kids alone, now."
"And if I don't?"
I smiled. "Then the monster is going to come in here and gut you."
His eyes flinched. That bothered him. Good. "Knowing what is happening to them should speed up the spell of protection, I think."
"If you don't stop it, Riker, there won't be anything left to salvage."
"I don't know. I think the boy is enjoying himself, from the sound of things."
I'd been trying not to hear, but Peter's breath was coming faster and faster, frantic, but it wasn't the sound of pain. He screamed, "Don't, please don't."
I looked and I wished I hadn't. Some sights cut through your mind leaving a scar behind that never really heals. Watching Peter writhe caught between his first pleasure and the horror of it all, was one of those sights. I pride myself on never flinching. If someone is being tortured I don't look away. To look away only saves me pain, not them. If I can't save them the pain, then I watch as a kind of respect and as a punishment for myself, to remind me what happens to people when I fail them. But I failed Peter twice because I looked away just before a wordless scream tore form his mouth. It wasn't the sound of pain.
I turned away, and maybe I moved too fast for the head injury, or maybe it was something else, because the room swam in streamers of color. I tried to go to my knees, and the knife man jerked my arm, kept me on my feet. Fine, I threw up on him.
He jerked back, actually let go of my arm. I fell to my knees grateful to be low to the ground. Throwing up had brought a roaring headache. Riker's voice came through the next wave of nausea.
"Amanda, Russell, be so good as to leave the children alone. Our Ms. Blake is too squeamish to do her work while she fears for their safety."
I looked up at the monitors to make sure they actually left the rooms. Russell kissed Becca on the head, then left her huddled in the corner, crying for her mommy. Amanda blindfolded Peter while he begged her not to. She whispered something in his ear that caused him to curl into a ball. She left his pants down, picked up her shirt from the floor and walked out.
I huddled into my own version of a ball on the floor. I stayed on my knees while I tried to decide whether I was going to throw up again or not. Nausea like this is usually a sign of a concussion. The headache was another. But I think sheer nerves had pushed me over the edge. I used to throw up at crime scenes quite a bit. Apparently, there were still things I couldn't handle, like child abuse. Dear God, please give us some help here. Help us get them out of here safe.
There was a beeping, and Riker hit another button on his desk. "What is it?"
"We've got two dead down here. They were fucking butchered."
Riker went pale. "The monster."
"Knives, some kind of fucking big knife."
"You're sure of that?" Riker asked. "You are positive?"
"Yes, sir."
"It seems we have intruders." He looked at Simon. "What are you going to do about our company, Simon?"
"Kill them, sir."
"Then do it."
"Shooter, Rooster, stay with him and kill him as soon as Riker gives the word. Mickey, you're with me." He looked across at the two men by me. "You stay with her. Make sure no one else hits her. Harold, Newt, come with me."
Then they were gone, and we were down to two bad guys a piece, and Riker. It would never get better than this.
"Is there a bathroom?" I asked.
"Are you going to be ill again?"
"It's a thought."
"The two of you take her. And Deuce, if you can come up with something creative that won't leave a mark or physically harm Ms. Blake in any way, but will convince her that the children and Mr. Forrester are not the only ones that can be hurt, do so. Perhaps you can show her your namesake. You've got thirty minutes."
There aren't a lot of things you can do to a person that fulfilled Riker's requirements. The ones I could think of were mostly sexual. Usually, the talk of my impending rape upsets me, but all I could think of now was that I had thirty minutes with two men who might want to fuck me more than kill me. All I wanted to do was kill them. It made my options easier. But I said, "Is there a reason for torturing me, too, or is it just a hobby?"
He smiled, pleasant, confident. "I thought you would be worthy of my men, but I find you weak, Ms. Blake. Weakness should be punished. But it must be done carefully, so you can still do the spell, because I do want that."
"Isn't the line, these things must be done delicately or you injure the spell?"
Deuce laughed. Riker frowned at me. "It's from The Wizard of Oz," Deuce said. "The Wicked Witch of the West says it to Dorothy."
"Take her away, Deuce," he wrinkled his nose, "and clean yourself up, Blade. You're welcome to help in the punishment, but Deuce is in charge. I don't want her damaged."
Deuce grabbed my arm almost gently and helped me to my feet. The guy I'd thrown up on, Blade, followed us by a few steps. Evidently, he was taking no chances. At the door a man appeared. He was darkly Hispanic with longish hair, a shoulder holster, complete with 9 millimeter automatic. He looked like local hired muscle, but he wasn't. He vibrated with power. A shimmering energy flowed off of him. Psychic or maybe more.