BENEATH THE NEON MOON
by Theda Black
Published by TKB Books
Smashwords edition
Text copyright July 2010 by Theda Black
Illustration copyright July 2010 by Sonja Triebel
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of either the author's imagination or are used fictiticiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by US copyright law.
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Table of Contents
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HE WAS SIXTEEN and on his own, his dad laid up drunk somewhere, anywhere, if he wasn't dead.
They'd arrived in town nearly a month ago. His dad had rented an old garage apartment painted a peeling blue-gray, three small rooms perched over an alleyway. Zach liked it, mostly because there were no neighbors overhead or to either side. He could breathe easy, feel himself expand in the quiet.
The rooms were tiny but neat, the kitchen and the refrigerator aged and worn but clean. After three days of his dad gone and no sign of when or if he'd be back, they were also empty. The naked white bulb shone bright over the white walls and plastic shelves of the refrigerator, and no matter how many times he opened the door and looked inside it stayed empty. The cabinets, too. He thought about going up to the owner's house and knocking on the door to ask for some food, but in the end he didn't. He was too afraid they'd start asking questions about where his dad was, how long he'd been gone, how often he left him alone, on and on. He'd been through it before and he didn't want to go through it ever again.
Finally his stomach got bad enough that he was forced to go out, try to scavenge or steal something. He went down the stairs and into the alleyway, walking and staring up into the yards at the row of houses on each side, their backs to him.
The relentless rains of June made everything grow green and wild and grasping, morning glory vines and ivy and periwinkle climbing trees or stretching out long over the ground. The heads of fuzzy dandelions perched high, overseeing the grass on either side of the buckling, overwhelmed asphalt.
It was pickup day, trashcans dotting the alleyway. The neighborhood dogs had already made their rounds and pulled some of them over on the ground. Soggy boxes clung to the pavement, plastic bags torn and contents strewn over the grass, smelling of rot. He searched but didn't find anything to eat.
Early the next morning, his dad finally came back. His complexion was sallow and his hands shook. He clutched a greasy bag with four sausage biscuits inside, and Zach ate so fast he nearly threw up.
Just another day and another town, another bar for his dad to lose himself in. It happened all the time after Zach's mother left.
He remembered how his stomach had hurt, so empty. He'd been hungry a lot as a kid, and here it was again, familiar in ways he'd rather not reminisce about. But back then he'd at least always known where he was. Couldn't say the same now.
Zach opened his eyes, blinking, and saw weak yellow light stretching down into darkness. He was on his side. He rolled on his back. For a moment it felt like the room rolled with him. The dizziness passed quickly, but hunger still gnawed at his gut. He wrapped an arm around his stomach and pressed in, which helped not at all.
He looked up at the light. It came from a window set high up in the opposite wall. His fingers brushed over cool, packed dirt beneath him. Maybe … a cellar. Yeah, he thought he was in a cellar.
Somebody put me down here and left me.
His heart raced, but he made himself stay still and quiet. He just needed to think, try and remember where he'd been last. He shut his eyes again and let his mind drift, doing his best to ignore his aching stomach. It was pretty persistent in not wanting to be ignored, growling and making protesting noises.
His head hurt, too, and he felt achy and stiff. This wasn't the first time he'd awakened not knowing where he was, though it wasn't something he was proud of. Party hearty, that's what he did, and too much of it since he lost his job. Getting to be like the old man.
He remembered some of his construction buddies had taken him drinking last night, but try as he might to remember more, the details just weren't there. At least not yet.
The last time he'd eaten, then. Concentrate on that.
A lot of hard thinking brought a fast food restaurant to mind, yellow arches, bland food. But filling. Eating things that filled him up and kept him filled up awhile became important after he'd lost the construction job.
He hadn't been fired, nothing like that. He was a hard worker, always on time, self-motivated, but this summer the tourists had saved money and stayed home.
Tourists were everything to the mountain town where Zach lived, with chalets and cabins and resorts built at a record pace over the last few years. The momentum didn't last. The economy flagged and business fell sharply, to the point where the whole crew saw the cutbacks coming. Zach tried tracking down another job, but there were more people scrambling than there was work to be had, and he soon found himself without a paycheck. Every day he pounded the pavement. As time passed, he spent more than a few nights with a bottle, trying to wash away the rising fear.
And now he was God knows where, sitting in a dark hole and wondering how the hell he got here.
There was a sound, something like a drawn breath or maybe the rustle of clothing, and then movement right the fuck next to him. Zach's heart kick-started, pounding in his chest. He scrambled up, trying to get away. A chain rattled and his ankle jerked back, throwing him off balance. He fell to his knees. Someone gasped or moaned or something in between, low and hurting.
"Stop," someone said faintly, then made that noise again, only smothered, like whoever spoke tried to cover it up.
"What the fuck?" Zach yelled, sounding like three days worth of grit and no water in sight. He climbed to his feet again.
"Quit pulling on the fucking chain!" This time the voice was raspy, a strange little hitch in it.
"Why the hell should I?" Panic made Zach pull away again, harder.
"Oh God, stop." The pain in the voice sent prickles running down Zach's back. He forced the panic down and turned around to see who was there. The guy sprawled out on the dirt behind him was young, probably a couple of years younger than Zach, his face pale, features drawn tight with pain. He wore faded jeans and a white T-shirt, ripped and dirty, tight enough to show off an impressively muscular chest. A chain ran from his ankle to Zach's in a straight line.
"What are we doing down here?" Zach asked, trying to be calm. "Who are you and what the hell is this?" He pointed to the chain.
"My name's Mal. We're in a cellar, chained together, fuck if I know why, your left and my right ankle. There's a chain on my other leg, too. It's attached to the wall, see it?" Mal's voice was breathy, the words rushing out of his mouth as if to keep Zach from moving. He brought up a hand in entreaty. "I'm not going to hurt you. Don't pull away again, okay? Please." Mal crawled forward until the chain between them relaxed and then came awkwardly to his knees beside Zach. Even on his knees he looked tall, wide-shouldered. "Listen, I just woke up here a few hours ago. I tried everything I could to get the chains off and get free. No go."
Mal had been careful to use only one arm as he climbed to his knees, and now that they were closer, Zach saw why. A bloody mess of punctured flesh and crusted blood started midway on his upper arm and extended down below the elbow.
"Shit, what happened to you?" Zach demanded, forgetting his own fear.
"First just … no quick moves, okay? There are some really sharp prongs on the inside of my ankle chain. You pull on the connecting chain, it tightens and the spikes dig in."
"Jesus, are you kidding me?"
"I really wish I was."
Zach took in a deep breath and sat down on the ground. "I'm sorry, damn. I didn't know. This is fucking insane."
"Thank God," Mal breathed, slumping, arms hanging loose and low at his sides. He came off his knees and carefully maneuvered himself to sit next to Zach, close enough that his knee brushed against Zach's leg. He pulled his pants leg up and looked at his ankle in the low yellow light coming from the dirt-speckled window. "Damn, that hurts."
"Are you—oh fuck, you're bleeding," Zach breathed.
"It's Dr. Horror's dungeon hour, coming to you live," Mal muttered, then chuffed out a dry, humorless laugh. He pushed the leg of his jeans down again before Zach could see much of anything and rubbed long fingers over his eyes. "You gonna tell me your name?"
"Zach." It felt unreal, introducing himself like they were at a party when everything in him was screaming to find a way out. He pushed the feeling aside, trying to settle himself and think. "What happened to you? How'd you get down here?"
"Here's the weird part. I have no idea. I woke up here."
"Yeah, you sure that's the weird part? Because this is pretty fucking weird." Zach was silent a moment. "Shouldn't we do something for your ankle?"
Mal shrugged. "Like what? I'd rather not sit here and watch myself bleed. Makes me queasy."
"How bad is it?"
"It doesn't matter. We can't do jack shit for it, unless you happen to carry a first aid kit in your pocket. No? Just don't pull the chain anymore."
Zach felt himself flush. "I said I'm—I didn't know."
Mal sighed, slumped back against the dirt. "I know, I really do. I'm a dick."
"No, it's got to hurt like hell." Zach pulled his jeans leg up and examined his own ankle. "I've got a cuff, not a chain. With a damned cylinder lock, no less. Right leg's free."
"A cylinder lock?"
"Like a deadbolt. You can't pick one of those without tools." He closed his eyes a moment, then looked at the ceiling. "Dammit, I just can't believe this. It's crazy."
"Be glad all you've got is a cuff. Guess I should feel special, huh," Mal said.
The resignation and tiredness in Mal's voice made Zach's stomach tense in sympathy. "What about your left leg?" he asked.
Mal stretched his leg out for Mal to see. "Another cuff. Same as yours, looks like."
Zach nodded, then looked at the chain connecting them together. "We've got a little wiggle room, not much. I'd say around three feet."
"Yeah, you've pretty well got the lay of the land now. So just stay close, okay?" Mal's eyes roamed the room. His features looked stiff and too still, paler than before.
Zach waited until Mal looked at him again. "I will."
Mal pressed his lips together, nodding. Both of them fell quiet until Zach's stomach growled, loud and grumbling.
"Damn." Mal's eyebrows rose as it went on and on. He looked around the cellar, then shrugged. "Have some water?"
Zach dropped his head to his chest and clutched his stomach.
******
ZACH LOOKED INTO a dark corner, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the low light in the darker parts of the cellar. Cellar or unfinished basement, whichever—he never remembered if there was supposed to be a difference between the two, though cellars to him always brought a dim memory of his grandmother's place, the cellar dim and cool, shelves neatly stacked with rows of canned fruit and vegetables.
He and Mal sat on the ground close to the back wall, near the midpoint of the cellar. The floor was packed dirt, scooped low in the middle and rising up the sides before giving way to the smooth river rocks in the house's foundation. Overhead, copper pipes stitched the dim reaches together. An old coal stove squatted in a dark corner to the left, and discarded building materials crowded the corners of the room—paint cans, a table saw, two by fours, and a rolled carpet, its woven underside dry-rotted.
A set of wooden steps rose close to the wall on Zach and Mal's far right, old and gray, flanked by flimsy wooden railing. The window, the only source of light, faced them from high up in the wall, square and squat. Dirt pressed against the glass pane about halfway up on the outside and was barred and wired from the inside.
Bars on the inside. Not the outside. It made Zach's stomach hurt in a whole different way. "Dammit," he muttered.
"What?"
"The bars." Zach pointed at the window.
Mal didn't even look. He lay on his back, legs tented, feet close to Zach's. "Yeah." His voice was flat.
Zach shifted, searching for a more comfortable position. The ground was too damned hard. "So how did you end up in here?"
"I got hurt last night. I was unconscious. I don't remember anything about being brought here." Mal tapped fingers restlessly against his chest. "I need to stretch out my legs, okay?"
Zach nodded, slowly stretched out his left leg. At the same time, Mal stretched out both of his.
"Smooth as synchronized swimmers," Mal said, grinning a little. He folded his good arm behind his head. "You know, it's weird. The details of what happened yesterday before waking up in this shithole are pretty foggy. Fading. Like a dream or … something." He shook his head. "I'm taking an accelerated summer class at UT. The professor and I aren't exactly hitting it off. He made some smart ass comment a few days ago, like he didn't think I was gonna pass yesterday's test. Pissed me off. So I put pedal to the metal and studied. I passed it. I aced it, I know it."
"You like flipping off your professors?"
The corner of Mal's mouth lifted. "Maybe, when they're assholes. So then I went with Kassy and Steve and some other friends to …" Mal's forehead wrinkled, thinking. "We went to their place, celebrated a little. Celebrated a lot. Some smoke, some JD. I didn't feel like crashing at Kassy's afterward, just wanted to head home, so I walked. It wasn't that far. It was late, heading toward dawn. Really quiet. I didn't see anyone else out. I crossed a parking lot and was going down Tyler Street when something knocked me down from behind. I hit the sidewalk in front of a florist shop, rolled over and there was this big, light-colored dog standing right over me. I couldn't believe it."
"A dog on campus?"
"Yeah, I don't know. It bit me on the arm. I beat it on the head with my fist, I kicked it, but it hung on." Mal hesitated. "It got pretty surreal after that. There's this big neon rose in the window of the florist shop. It was blinking, and I'd hear this electrical sound, you know, like a bug zapper? It kept getting louder. I must have been more messed up than I thought because the dog looked crazy huge, too big to be real." Mal looked at Zach, gauging his reaction, then continued. "The thing was chewing on me like a piece of meat. I stared at its eyes and just … stopped fighting. Kept hearing that damn noise the light made, getting louder and louder, buzzing and popping. I remember thinking something crazy, that it was just the beginning—that I was being eaten alive and it'd never end and I couldn't do anything about it. It hurt, damn but it hurt. His teeth were red. Everything was. It all looked red." Mal blinked as if clearing his head. "Talk about a nightmare. I'm starting to wonder just what was in that weed." He shrugged. "That's all I remember. Just woke up here this morning, like I told you. I heard noises upstairs—people walking across the floor. Then two guys came down. They took me up to the bathroom and tried to give me some food." He shook his head. "They looked at my arm and laughed, said it was a good job or some such shit, the fuckers. I asked why I was here, what they wanted, but all they'd say is that I'd find out later." Mal rubbed a hand absently over his jean-clad thigh. "When they decided it was time to bring me back downstairs, they pushed me toward the basement door. I fought back, tried to get loose. One of them was kind of skinny, didn't look like he'd be very strong, but he knocked me on my ass big time. It surprised the hell out of me. Didn't think he had it in him." He paused. "They were talking to each other about somebody passed out in a bedroom down the hall. Was that you?"
Zach swallowed. "Yeah. I guess it was."
Mal looked puzzled. He sat up again. "You were kidnapped, right? Same as me?"
Zach made himself answer. "They didn't—I was out with my friends. We met these guys. They didn't make me do anything. Not until they threw me down here."
Mal watched him, eyes narrowed and moss green in the streaming light coming through the window. "You were dead to the world when they brought you down. Must have been a hell of a party. Or did they give you something?"
"No, they didn't. Least I don't think they did."
"Zach. What happened?"
Zach looked out of the window. "I woke up here. With you. Look, I was really wasted. I couldn't remember any of it when I woke up."
"I don't give a shit about when you woke up. What do you remember now? What do you know about all this?"
"I don't know why the fuck we're down here, okay!" Zach shouted. He took a deep breath. "Mal, I know you don't know me, all right, so you don't have much reason to believe me, but I'm telling you I have no idea what's going on."
Mal scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "So you don't know these guys?"
Zach flushed, his face hot. "Not really."
"What do you think they want with you?"
"They already got what they wanted. So I thought."
"They get upset with you for any reason?"
"It was a fuck. You get it? It was what it was, no drama. I'd have left right after if I hadn't been so damn drunk."
Mal's eyebrows rose. "Okay, okay. I'm just trying to figure out what in hell's going on."
"Doesn't mean I want to talk about it to a stranger," Zach muttered.
"Yeah?" Mal snapped. "You might just be dying with this stranger, does that make it feel a little more intimate?"
Zach stared at Mal, then put his head down on his knees, shutting out everything—the streaming light, the dankness. The guy he might die with.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, I'm sorry."
Zach rolled his head and looked at Mal from the corners of his eyes. "You think I've got something to do with why you're down here and you're apologizing to me?"
"I didn't say I thought you were to blame. We just both need to know as much as we can about the situation, don't you think? So maybe we can figure out how to get out of here." He paused, then gestured at a white plastic pitcher sitting against a legless, peeling pink dresser on his left. "You want any water yet? I drank a little of it earlier. It's okay. They're not trying to poison us or drug us, in case you're worried."
Zach shook his head. "Not yet. Let me look at your arm, okay?"
Mal's eyebrows rose again. "We've been over this before. Nothing to be done for it, same as the ankle."
Zach straightened, looking Mal in the face. "Have you tried to wash it out?"
"With what?"
"With water. What else?"
"Water won't cut it."
"It's a dog bite, Mal."
"I'm really, really aware of that."
Zach ignored him. "Let me see it, dammit."
Mal raised a brow at him, staring, looking a little startled at Zach's emphatic tone. He nodded reluctantly. Zach scooted carefully down by Mal's feet and turned so he was facing him. He held out his hand, waiting.
Mal slowly stretched out his left arm. "Don't touch it."
Zach huffed out a breath and ignored him, turning the arm and looking closely. He couldn't help the sudden intake of breath.
"It fucking hurts," Mal complained, as if he hadn't tried to ignore it before.
"I bet it does," Zach said softly, trying not to let the shock of it catch in his throat and show in his voice. The skin was swollen, blood trickling sluggishly from the wound. The center looked like hamburger, and above and below were clear bite marks: deep red holes and ugly, glistening tears. "I'm just going to stretch out and grab the jug. I won't let the chain pull, okay?"
"You dump all our water over my arm and we're going to get pretty thirsty."
"If I don't, you're going to be in trouble. They'll bring more." Zach tried to sound confident.
"You don't know what they'll do. Or why we're here. We don't know anything."
"I know they brought water in the first place. They don't want us to die." Yet, he didn't add, though they both heard the implication.
"I think it's a case of too little, too late, to tell you the truth. Water isn't going to fix this. Odds are I'm going to get pretty sick before long."
Zach looked at him but Mal refused to meet his gaze. "It'll help. Just let me, Mal. Okay?"
Mal sighed, a long deep breath out as if he'd been holding it. "Yeah, okay. Don't blame me if you get thirsty later on."
"Ingrate." Zach moved to pick up the jug, keeping his left ankle close to Mal's feet as he could. He settled back into position in front of Mal. "Ready?"
"Set, go." Mal smiled a little. Zach poured a stream of water over the wound, blood and water running onto the dirt below.
A muscle in Mal's cheek jumped. He stared down at his arm. "You probably won't believe this, but it actually looked worse when I first woke up."
Zach kept pouring. "That doesn't make sense. You said you've only been here since this morning."
"I know. Said you wouldn't believe me. I don't believe me, but I swear it looked worse. I thought I might bleed out down here at first, but it slowed. A lot."
Zach pulled the hem of his dark-colored T-shirt up and inspected it doubtfully. "Maybe we'll just let it air dry."
Mal looked at the tail of Zach's shirt and grimaced. "No maybe about it."
"Wish we had more to work with." Zach chewed his lip.
"I know. Feels better," Mal added, voice soft.
"Liar." Zach's brows rose skeptically.
"No, really." Mal nodded his head for emphasis.
"Yeah?" Zach smiled, looking at him. "If you say so."
******
"CAN WE MOVE a little? Lean against the wall or something?" Zach arched his spine, stretching, and put a hand to the small of his back.
"Sure. But I'm here to tell you, those rocks aren't comfortable against your back, even if they are rounded."
Zach groaned. "It doesn't matter, I just need to move. Wanted to warn you."
Mal smiled at him. "I appreciate that. I'll stay close." Both of them crabbed back on their hands until they reached the wall.
Zach leaned against it. The stones stood out round and hard against his back through his T-shirt. He made a face. "Nice."
Mal scratched his back against a rock. "At least they're good for something." He looked up to his left and back at the wall behind them. "Did you notice the way these fuckers have me chained up? The wall bracket, the ring at the end of the chain … hell, even the chain's pretty thick. Talk about overkill. No way I could break that. Though I tried."
"That work out well for you?"
"Smart ass."
Zach craned his neck, looking. He gave a low whistle. "Guess they want to be damn sure you can't get off their leash." He eyed Mal. "If that's what they think it'll take to keep you from escaping, they're giving you way more credit than I would."
"Yeah. Definitely more than they should have," Mal said, and Zach grinned at him. "Look at this setup, though. It just screams that these guys aren't new to the kidnapping business. And since we're here now, I'd say they got away with it before."
Zach shifted restlessly. His ass didn't like the cellar, and in particular the earthen floor, any more than he did. He looked up at the wall bracket again. "Shit. Is that a blood stain?"
Mal glanced up. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure. At first I thought it was rust. Hoped it was. It's harder to spot on the rocks, but it's there, too." His expression was grim.
"None of this makes any damned sense. So what, they kidnap us, keep us down here, give us food and water and then kill us?" Zach's voice grew louder as he spoke. "It's like some fucked up horror movie—you get that, right?" His fingers dug into the packed earthen floor.
"Yeah, I do." Mal's voice was soft and even. He watched Zach.
"And I slept with the guys holding us. Way to go, me." Zach slumped back into himself and rubbed a hand over his face.
Mal was quiet a moment. He bumped Zach's shoulder with his own. "No worries, man. Long as you used a condom."
Zach stared at him. "Will you shut up?"
"Okay." Mal yawned.
"How can you be sleepy? We're in the middle of a kidnapping!"
"You want me to scream and tear out my hair?"
"Please. No."
Mal didn't crack a smile. "I'm exhausted. Everything hurts. I don't have a lot left over for hysterics, but if you change your mind and want a show I could give it a shot."
"I won't. What I want is for you not to be hurt at all." Zach felt as startled as Mal looked. It just slipped out of his mouth before he could think. "Uh, why don't you try to sleep anyway? Get some rest."
"Don't think I can. We're in the middle of a kidnapping."
Zach threw him an exasperated look.
Mal ignored it. "The weird thing is, I don't feel as shitty as I did. Relatively speaking. The dog attacked me just last night, we're not in exactly sanitary conditions, we only have water to clean the bites … and I feel better than I did when I woke up, even with the ankle messed up on top of everything else. It's crazy. It worries me."
"Quit looking a gift horse in the mouth."
Mal looked irritated. "What the fuck is that stupid saying anyway."
"You really want to know? I can tell you."
"I said I didn't want to sleep now, thanks."
Zach bumped his shoulder back. "No? So we'll talk about something else. Why would kidnappers let me keep my wallet?"
Mal shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. You got anything in there that'll help us?"
Zach dug into the back of his jeans pocket and opened his billfold. "Let's see. There's a five, three ones, and a … never mind … and a penknife."
"You're kidding."
"Nope."
"You've actually got a knife on you?"
"Sort of?" Zach pulled it out of a credit card slot and held it up. Folded up, it was about the length of his index finger, the handle ridged and black. "I could try and stab someone in the eye with it, I guess. Maybe. If they didn't check my wallet, they don't even know I have it." He put the knife back where he had it, then shoved the wallet into his back pocket.
"That's good. That little penknife is our ace in the hole. We'll catch them unawares with it and we'll do … uh … what will we do with it?"
"Stab them in the eye, remember?" Zach said helpfully. He tapped his fingers on the ground. "You're distracting me. We need to look at your ankle."
"What, pour water over it? Not going to help much with the prongs still sticking into my skin. Back to what we were talking about. We've been kidnapped, it was planned, been done before, we're doomed…."
"You're not funny."
Mal was silent a moment. "I think I am."
"Unfuckingfunny. I mean it. "
"What do you want from me? Told you panic isn't going to help." Mal hitched a shoulder and rubbed against one of the protruding rocks again.
"Well, if it's something that's happened before—somebody missing, somebody held hostage—the news would have picked it up, right? We'd probably have heard something."
Mal shrugged. "I don't know. Not necessarily, not if somebody just went missing. It'd be different if somebody saw something suspicious, saw someone dragged away or something like that, but if they just disappeared, well, people take off all the time. But maybe I'm way off, thinking we're not the first. I hope so." Mal leaned over and looked at his ankle. After a moment, he blotted carefully at the blood oozing from under the chain with the hem of his jeans. He sat back and looked at Zach. "Yeah, that fucking helped. Not."
"I'm sorry," Zach said again. He couldn't help it, though it felt useless to say so.
"I told you before. You didn't do this. Shut up about it, okay?"
Zach cleared his throat. "I don't know about you, but I don't have money. I don't have any family to speak of, either. Hell, I'm the next thing to homeless." He gestured at Mal's ankle. "And even if we were being held for ransom, nothing explains that piece of work."
"I'm thinking that being held for ransom's got to be the lesser of evils at this point, but my family's not rich. They're not exactly poor, either, but still. There's plenty of better targets to pick if this were just about money." Mal sighed. "Any other ideas?"
Zach shrugged. "I can't figure any reason why anybody'd be after me. You?"
"Not a clue." Mal rolled his head against one of the rocks in the wall and looked up at the ceiling. "Not one fucking clue." He looked at Zach. "Time to move again, okay?"
Zach took a deep, sighing breath and sneezed. The air smelled musty, heavy with age and cold earth and things too long in the dark. "Okay. Which way we going?"
"Forward again. Away from the wall. You have allergies?"
"Nah." Zach sneezed again.
"They develop at any time, you know."
Zach pulled a breath in and thought about it. "If you look in a horse's mouth you can tell if it's young or old or sick, stuff like that. Somebody gives you a horse, you don't look in its mouth because that'd make you an ingrate."
"And you're telling me this because why?"
"I thought we were trading useless information."
"Damn, I like you." Mal's grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. "So, your turn. Tell me what you were doing last night. Shit, not the part where you—not that," he said hurriedly when Zach gave him a look. "Before."
"I've been laid off for a few weeks from my job. Some of my friends thought I needed a night out drinking. I had a few too many." Zach rubbed his nose and thought about it. "More than a few."
"Laid off, huh? It's a damn good reason to throw a few back. All the good college boys do it."
"I wouldn't know. Never went." Zach looked down at their feet. "And you're not putting me off anymore. I'm gonna look at that ankle, okay? Grab the water jug."
Mal rolled his eyes and leaned over, grabbing the pitcher by the handle. He put it by Zach on the ground. "Okay, Nurse Nightingale. But you pull that chain and I'll show you some real hysterics."
Zach nodded impatiently, then moved closer and bent over Mal's ankle. "They took your sock."
"Easier to carve the turkey that way, I guess. The turkey being me of course. Nice of them to give me my shoe back."
"Man, you don't ever stop. Don't move." The chain was thinner than the wall chain and the same thickness as the chain that ran between them. Zach tried easing his little finger in between it and Mal's skin. "Damn, that's tight." He gave up almost immediately. He'd hoped to try and work the jean material from Mal's pants leg in under the prongs, but nothing was going to wedge in there without gouging him further.
He leaned down again and studied Mal's ankle more closely, saw the metal prongs disappearing into swollen, bloody skin. "Damn it," he swore, couldn't help himself. "I don't see how you're sitting upright, much less talking through all this."
"Doesn't hurt too bad if I don't think about it," Mal said softly.
Zach shook his head, giving him a dubious look. There was blood all over Zach's hand. Blood caked on Mal's ankles and down below, into his sneaker. Zach winced, remembering how he'd pulled away from Mal earlier.
He picked up the jug and looked at Mal, making sure he was ready. Mal nodded, and Zach tipped water out of the jug. He heard Mal's breath hiss between his teeth. His hand jerked, splashing water over Mal's shin.
"Sorry," he said, not looking up. He kept pouring, a careful, slow flow.
"The water's making the prongs cold. Are you almost done?"
Zach stopped, looking up again. "Does it hurt?"
"I don't like it. Feels weird. Like I feel them cooling inside my skin."
"Almost done." Zach resumed pouring, stopping when the runoff was finally clear. The water was nearly gone. He put the jug down, then settled his hand on Mal's knee, looking at him intently. "I just don't understand why anyone would do this to you. What's the purpose here?"
Mal scratched his nose. "Don't know. We can ask them again next time they come down."
"Don't joke. This is so, so far from funny. They've got this shit rigged specifically to hurt you. I'd like to know why."
"I know it's not funny, damn it, but they didn't give me any answers. You're the one that spent time with these guys, not me. I'm sorry to ask, but do you remember anything at all from last night that might help us figure out what's going on? What they want from us?" He paused. "Not that I want to think about you with those guys, but if there's anything—"
"Sorry to offend you, man," Zach interrupted, ice in his voice. "This is fucking stupid."
"No, you're stupid. Or blind, maybe. I'm not offended. I was kind of wishing I'd met you first."
Zach stared at Mal, taking in the high cheek bones, the eyes tip-tilted like a fox, green-brown, alive. There was no revulsion there, only an openness to being seen that Zach envied, and suddenly he felt that Mal deserved to know whatever it was he could tell him.
"I just needed to blow off some steam. I went with them. They liked things pretty, uh, rough, but I can handle a little enthusiasm." Zach felt his face redden, but he kept talking. "You talked about the smaller guy being strong, but both of them are powerful. Really in sync, too, like they know each other really well. They didn't threaten me. They didn't do anything at all that made me think twice about being with them. I was pretty drunk, like I said, and I passed out afterwards. I woke up here."
"You didn't hear any noise this morning before they brought you down here? Because I put up a fight." Mal laughed, short and bitter. "Lasted about two seconds, but still."
"No," Zach mumbled, rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand. "Been a really shitty week. Month." He sighed. "This is not helping, Mal. Nothing felt off. Nobody acted freaky. It was a pickup, that's all. At least that's all I wanted."
"Did they talk? What'd they say?" Mal asked hesitantly, as if he knew he was pushing it.
Something snapped inside Zach. "Yeah. Spread your legs, turn over, you like it like this?" Zach's voice was fast, impatient.
Mal's mouth fell open. "Shit. Don't do that to me."
"You wanted to know, didn't you." Zach said it flatly, suddenly enraged and knowing it wasn't at Mal, acutely uncomfortable with talking about his sex life with anyone—even this shaggy-headed motormouth who already made Zach feel easier with him than anybody else had managed in a long time.
"I didn't. Not the way you make it sound." Mal's voice was soft.
Zach looked at him sharply. "Yeah. Listen, it's just … I don't talk about this shit, okay? Not anyone else's business." He sighed again, tried to relax. "The dark-haired one's name is Kane, and the bigger guy is Aaron. Not that it helps or anything, but…."
Mal nodded, then stared at the dirt floor, his face expressionless. He rubbed a finger idly in the dirt.
"Mal … guess that's short for something?" It was the first thing Zach could think of to break the awkward silence.
"Yeah. Sometimes my friends call me Malach, too, but it's short for, uh, Malachi."
Zach eyes went wide. "Do your parents even like you?"
Mal's eyes shot up to meet Zach's. His brows drew down. "Hey, now."
"Well, I mean it's a little … unusual."
"They've always acted like they like me, but there's no possible way they'd lay a name like that on a baby if they really did, so no. They do not. And thanks, I was completely unaware that my name was unusual until you so kindly pointed it out."
"Listen, bitch, I like odd. I'm odd. It's Biblical. It's great." Zach smiled.
Mal eyed the smile with suspicion. "Lots more Malachis than what's in the Bible."
"Like who?"
"Never mind. Most of them were pretty creepy. Unlike me."
"Of course."
"So is Zach short for Zachary or what?"
"Isaac."
"Ah. Also Biblical." Mal looked absurdly pleased, as if he felt the playing field were somehow leveled between them.
"Yeah, but Isaac isn't … embarrassing."
"You sure about that?" Mal punched him in the shoulder. "Sounds like somebody's grandpa to me."
Zach grimaced, and Mal smiled at him. It knocked Zach back a little—it was a great smile, complete with dimples.
The smile disappeared as suddenly as it came. "Damn."
"What?"
"Here they come."
Zach looked at Mal, question in his eyes.
"Don't you hear them?"
Zach listened, finally hearing the floor creak close by the stairway. The door opened.
******
LIGHT WIDENED AT the top of the cellar stairs and outlined two silhouettes, one of which followed the other downstairs. Mal's hand found Zach's and held on. Zach jumped a little, nearly jerking away. Mal glanced at him with something unreadable in his expression, then quickly squeezed his hand and let go as Aaron approached. Kane stood back, watching.
"Bathroom break, guys. Mal first," Aaron said, stopping in front of him. "I'm going to unlock you now. Stay still and both of you will be fine. Otherwise Kane will be happy to come over and help me. You won't like it." He knelt at Mal's left side and unlocked the cuff, freeing him from the wall chain, then looked up at Mal and grinned. "In case you're wondering, the other one isn't coming off. It's made to fit really close. I guess you noticed." He stood up. "But don't feel bad. If I took it off, I'd only have to put it back on again. Imagine how that'd feel."