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Grumbling and muttering, Tommy slid off the rack to the levers. He
touched the one that pulled the legs apart. The legs slid a fraction further, and
the judge began to struggle. Tommy released the wooden pin, and the legs went
flaccid.
Tears were running down Harrison’s face.
Tommy ripped the gag out of Harrison’s mouth. Hoarse from
screaming, Harrison began to plead with Tommy.
“Shut it, fruit. How do I get in the wine cellar?”
“I can show you. Please, master, let me alone. Let me alone,
beloved one.”
With a small grunt, Tommy stared at Harrison. He snapped his
fingers, and Henri appeared.
“Cut the fruit loose and carry him to the wine cellar.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Master. I’m the
master of this friggin house.”
“Yes, sir.”
Henri pulled a switchblade and hacked through the ropes. He
dragged Harrison up, and the man cried out, then began pleading with Henri.
"Make him let me go, Henri. I’ll do anything. I swear it.
I’ll have the collars removed from you and Alma.”
“Sir, this is one of the Elect. How can I dis the man when he
carries the priesthood of the Party?” Henri sighed. “Be punished, me,
shore.”
Henri threw the judge over one shoulder and followed Tommy to the
door.
“Open says-a-me,” Tommy said, pointing at the door.
"A key,” Harrison said. “In a crack in the wall.”
Tommy felt along the wall and grinned. He pulled out a skeleton
key and inserted it in the lock.
“No, no,” Harrison said. “It only acts as a key in the slot
in the frame. It has a computer chip in it and–“
Tommy found the slot. He brushed away a layer of spider webs and
eyed it before inserting the key. The door creaked open.
Tommy glanced at Harrison.
“Take him back to the rack.”
"No, please. Wait–”
“Hey.” Tommy snarled a laugh. “Think of it like this: At
least you got to stretch your legs, hain’a?” Laughing, he opened the door
and a mallet a foot across smashed into his chest.
Henri stared down at the man and then at the mallet. The mallet
swung back into place and Henri said, “Never did care much for Scotch whiskey,
myself.”
He carried a weeping Harrison back to the rack and tied the judge
in place. Henri took the levers. He stilled, one hand trembling on the spokes of
the wheels.
“How do I get the collars off without killing someone?”
“Free me, first,” Harrison cried, tugging on the straps.
Henri smiled. His face was gentle and easy.
“No,” he said. “I done heard enough o’ you lies.” He
spun a wheel ,and Harrison’s arms slapped down and under the bench.
“In the safe in my office. The computer key.”
Henri studied the judge from under narrowed, thoughtful eyes.
“Bull. I looked in there just last week.” He cocked his head
and gave a slight nod, as if telling someone yes.
Taking the judge, Henri carried him up to the den. He went to a
picture of an older, cold woman. The smile on the woman’s face only served to
make the shrewish features more chilling.
Almost loath to touch it, Henri pulled it out from the wall with
one hand. He shoved Harrison against it. He spun the knob several times and
tried to open it. The latch rattled under his hand. Face grim, he glanced down
at Harrison.
“The new combination, please, sir?”
“Three left, one turn right, then around again to six.”
“You do it, judge.”
“I . . . My hands. I can’t move them.”
Henri took the long, slender hands and began to move the fingers.
Harrison cried out and battered at Henri’s face. Henri brushed the fist aside
and continued until the judge was only weeping. Henri shook the man.
“Open it.”
Harrison fumbled with the knob. The numbers he hit weren’t
anywhere near what he told Henri, and Henri nodded again, smiling and listening
to that still, quiet voice. He stepped to one side. As Harrison opened the safe,
the judge ducked. A thin line of heat shot out.
Harrison was staring at Henri.
“I’m old,” Henri said, “Not stupid. Any more surprises?”
Harrison shook his head.
Henri nodded at the safe. “Get the key.”
Harrison reached in. He came back, cried out and stumbled to the
floor. When he looked up, he was grinning through what Tommy had left of his teeth
and holding a remote.
“Now who’s the master, you bastard?” he cried.
In the midst of fear and trying to convince a small spirit to set
a spark in the barn, a chill raced up Anna’s spine. She beheld a nightmare
vision of two cute little girls, carrot-red braids, huge green almond eyes and
snub, freckled noses. The girls were standing in the barn cellar while Animal
Control people were working at a feverish pace. A cold mui of gas swirled on
the floor.
The twins grinned, and Anna could see where baby teeth were falling
out, to be replaced by adult teeth. They linked pinkies. Their eyes glowed, and
more light came from their mouths as they spoke.
We don’t like y’all.
Yeah.
Burn.
Burn.
Go to friggin Hell.
Yeah.
They giggled, and the Harvester van rocked from the force of the
barn’s destruction.
Arms clamped into a plastic yoke behind him, the shotgun
whispered, “Dama, gracious woman?”
Anna leaned close. “Chill, or you’ll feel my boot up your
butt.”
Ducking his head to hide a smile, he nodded.
“Domineh,” he said, “O:tsi:Yu Tsi:sa, wa:do an’ ha:wa,
Adodasè.”
Anna left him to his prayers for the moment to study the yoke.
Made of black plastic, it had a form-fitting mechanism that self-bent until the
arms were twisted up behind the prisoner’s back. The pain would have to be
terrible, but the man showed no sign as he drifted into a trance that took him
to the Forest of the Sun. His face was lit with a joy few knew.
Her finger sought the clip that controlled the yoke. She found it
and, praying she was doing it right, flipped it. In the silence of the van the
click was loud, but the yoke didn’t explode or send a blast of electricity into
her or the man. The van jolted as it moved through the brush over a dirt road,
and she almost fell over the man.
A small trapdoor opened from the cab. It was the one who led the
men in searching the barn. She stilled, but the rod was pointed directly at her.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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