Chapter 17
Samantha struggled, swimming through water so thick and dark it felt like molasses, straining to reach the surface before choking to death. But every time she seemed close to reaching the light, something would wrap itself around her body and drag her back down into the darkness again.
A little voice in the back of her mind whispered that this was just a bad dream, that if she relaxed and stopped fighting, she’d wake up fine and happy in the morning. But there was another part, one of pure instinct, that screamed out in warning, telling her that if she gave up now, she might never see the light of day again. So she fought with everything she had, clawing her way back to the light.
She jerked upright with a gasp, her heading pounding so hard that the edges of her vision began to gray out again. Having no desire to pass out, she kept her eyes closed and tried to breathe through the moment. Remaining calm became a bit difficult when she started remembering the string of events that had brought her here—wherever the hell here was.
It had been bad enough discovering Hugh was involved in the Butcher case. But finding out Louis had something to do with all of this crap as well before being held down and chloroformed? It was more than she could wrap her head around at the moment.
It was the sound of movement and a slamming door from somewhere above that pulled Samantha out of her slow-motion tailspin, bringing her back to the reality that she didn’t have a clue where she was, who else might be in here, or what they planned to do with her.
She slowly opened her eyes, expecting her headache to worsen the second she did. But wherever she was being held was poorly lit, which helped calm the throbbing at her temples a bit. Black metal grating was the first thing she could make out when her eyes cleared, and all it took was a quick glance left and right to confirm she was in some kind of cell. Or a cage. She forced herself to focus on the details around her, rather than give in to the panic attack threatening to creep up and overwhelm her.
The cage was no more than six-foot square but had a ceiling that was high enough that at least it didn’t feel too claustrophobic. There was a door in the grating directly ahead of her, closed with some kind of hasp and lock on the outside that she couldn’t make out from where she sat on the rough concrete floor. Windowless stone walls behind and to her left made her think she was in a basement, which suggested this was an industrial building, since residential basements definitely weren’t common in this part of Texas. But the heavy wood beams that crisscrossed the ceiling, with the antique-looking planks above that, suggested something not quite so industrial. Maybe a do-it-yourself basement? Constructed by her psycho boss as a place to lock up his kidnapping victims?
Deciding it didn’t matter where she was, Samantha edged closer to the door, reaching out to give it a soft nudge, just to see what happened. It rattled a little in its frame but didn’t give much. Taking a deep breath, she laced her fingers in the grating and use it to help her stand. Her knees shook a little, not sure they liked the idea of being vertical right then. She stood there holding on, breathing slowly, and waiting for the weakness to pass.
When she could finally managed to move, Samantha leaned forward and peeked through the openings in the grating, trying to see what was keeping the door locked. It took a bit of work, twisting her head this way and that, mashing her face right into the grating and pressing hard. But in the end, she got the idea that the only thing actually keeping her in was a bolt dropped through the locking mechanism of the latch. Not that knowing that helped any. There was no way she’d ever be able to get her fingers far enough through the openings of the grating to reach the bolt. It might as well have been on the other side of the planet.
Turning her attention to where she might be, Samantha peered through the grating at the rest of the room, trying to see what was beyond her cage. There was a lot more stone and heavy wooden support columns. After catching a glimpse of large glass jars with human parts floating in them along with the stainless steel table and the trays of surgical equipment, her first impressions was that Louis had created his own twisted version of an autopsy lab down here. But then she saw the glass cylinders of thick neon-green liquid mounted to the wall, right next to a rack full of electrical gear. That’s when she realized there was definitely something else going on.
The rack held dozens of exposed coils of copper wire, some running upward to fragile-looking ceramic electrodes, while others ran into the liquid-filled cylinders. Heavy black cables snaked all over the place, connecting everything together, ultimately, in a series of junction boxes along the far side of the steel table. What the bizarre arrangement was supposed to do was beyond her. It looked like nothing she’d ever seen in a hospital or ME’s office.
The area directly opposite her cage was draped in shadows so heavy she had a hard time making out the large rectangular shape draped in dark plastic sheeting. But when she saw the half-dressed man standing to the left of the big box and caught sight of large glassy eyes staring at her, she jumped back so fast she almost fell on her butt.
It took a few second to realize the man wasn’t really standing. Instead he was reclined back against a metal bed frame attached to the wall, held in place by massive steel bands across his chest, waist, forearms, and lower legs. Another bracket of lighter metal, covered with more of those heavy-duty cables she’d seen before, was strapped around his head, holding it in place. His whole body was completely motionless, so still she might have thought him dead if not for the slight rise and fall of his massive chest. It was beyond creepy.
That’s when Sam figured out the man wasn’t staring at her. Yes, his eyes were open, but they were glazed over and distant, like he was unconscious. That shouldn’t have been possible. All she could think was that it had something to do with that thing around his head.
Moving closer to the door of her cage again, she gazed at the huge man. He was the guy she and Trey had assumed to be the Butcher. He was the one witnesses had seen near the homeless camp dumping those body parts. And he was the one who’d nearly caved in Trey’s chest. But if this man was the Butcher and strong enough to take on someone’s Trey’s size, how had he ended up strapped to a table like this, nearly dead to the world by all appearances?
Deep, violent scars covered his chest and stomach, wrists, and upper arms, and circled his neck. If the monster of a man hadn’t been wearing pants, something told her that she’d see more scars along his legs. What the hell had happened to this man to leave him scarred this badly?
Samantha ran her gaze down the man’s arms to his huge hands, wondering for a moment if those were the ones that had held the chloroform cloth over her face. She dismissed that idea immediately. The hand that had covered her face had been rather small, almost dainty. Definitely not as big as this guy’s. Had it been Hugh? But that didn’t seem right, either, leaving her to wonder if there was yet another person involved in this nightmare with them.
She stared at the man’s face, trying to remember where she’d seen him before, because there was no doubting he was familiar. The fading yellow bruising, likely from the fight he had with Trey, made her unsure, and for a moment she thought maybe she was wrong. Then it hit her.