Chapter 33
Jake lay there, his ankle throbbing from the bite. He was concerned about rabies, but that thought was in the back of his mind. What had he gotten himself into, and who had him bound? What had he done to cause this to happen? What was going to happen next? How was he going to get out of this situation and get away from here? Would he be able to start his new life or was he just going to be kept here until he rotted and died? His mind raced. He started to become scared. His fear was changing into paranoia and his paranoia into terror, terror at the unknown, terror of dark spaces, terror at the helplessness that was beginning to consume and overwhelm him.
His thoughts were interrupted by the creaking of the door. He tried to withdraw into the corner, but he couldn’t move because of the ropes tying him. The door opened fully and standing there, in the doorway was the man with the pustules on his face, and two others he had not seen before. The stench was the first thing that he noticed. It didn’t seem that any of them had had a bath in ages. That was the first thing. It was quickly forgotten when he noticed the knife dangling from one of their hands.
As the trio approached, the older man’s odor almost made Jake gag. They were taking their time, seemingly enjoying his torment. When they got nearer, Jake could see the older man’s face more clearly now. The sore seemed to ooze some sort of yellowy-greenish liquid, and flies buzzed around it. The smell didn’t bother them at all; they were relishing it as a matter of fact. One of them landed on it and Jake thought he could hear it lapping at the putrid stuff.
Jake felt the vomit rising in his throat and tried to hold it back, but couldn’t stop himself from throwing up. He managed to turn his head to the side so that most of it missed him. A small amount remained on his chin, and it hung there for a moment before dripping onto his shirt. Now he added to the stink of the room, but he didn’t seem to notice any more.
He was too occupied keeping his eyes glued to the three who were now within arm’s reach of him. All three were now grinning at him through brown stubs where the teeth used to be. The older one spit some of his tobacco and it landed on Jake’s pants. Jake’s terror now was to the point where he was paralyzed with fear. He couldn’t move even if he had wanted to.
To Jake, everything seemed surreal. It was like he had taken a wrong turn somewhere and had ended in a nightmare that he couldn’t wake up from. Any minute now, he thought, this is all going to end. I’ll wake up and everything is going to be fine. But it was no dream. It was all too real.
“Pick him up.” The old coot ordered.
The other two grabbed him and yanked him roughly to his feet. His hands were still tied behind his back and he felt like his arm had been yanked out of its socket. He let out a yell and one of the younger men hit him with the back of his hand. Jake could taste blood. Everything started to spin. His vision blurred for a moment, but he shook his head to clear it. He was about to curse the old fart but he stopped short before he had said anything.
Right in front of his face about an inch or two from his eye, was the ugliest knife he had ever seen. It was being waved menacingly back and forth. Jake couldn’t seem to catch his breath and he started to hyperventilate. The old man’s hand went back, and as quick as a snake, had swept forward and etched a gash about three inches long into Jake’s left cheek just below the eye. The blood gushed out from the wound. Now Jake did start to scream.
The old man hit again, this time slicing into Jake’s lip, almost severing a piece off. The copper taste of blood poured down his throat. He gagged and spit, covering the three with his blood.
“You piece of shit,” croaked the old one. “Now look what you’ve gone and done. You covered me and my boys with your foulness. You’ll pay for that. I’ll teach you and your kind to come around here spying on us all the time.”
Jake hoped for some way to escape this madness, but for him, it would be the longest day of his life. He screamed agonizingly as he was slashed again and again. Mercifully, he passed out.
When he awoke, possibly hours later, possibly minutes, he was slumped in a corner. Surprisingly he was still alive. Several cuts were on his face and he lay in a pool of his own blood. His tormentors were no where to be seen. He was by himself, or so he thought. What he didn’t notice was the pair of black eyes, watching his every move. Its nose twitched, getting the scent of blood in its nostrils, incensing it into a fit of hunger and a thirst for a taste of the sweet red stuff. The rat crept closer and closer, ready to once again lunge at its unsuspecting prey. It needed to feed.
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