Cyclops Road by Jeff Strand

Author:Jeff Strand [Strand, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2016-09-19T06:00:00+00:00

* * *

About an hour later, the door opens again. Maraud and one of the men, who has still not changed out of his bloodstained jumpsuit, walk inside the small room.

"We're all set," says Maraud.

I sit up so quickly that I bang my head on the top of the cage. "Really?"

"Yep. Had to kidnap the dog, but it's all good."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The still-sweaty unshaven guy who'd taken our admission fee tosses some cards onto the desk. It's our driver's licenses and credit cards. Then he tosses Harriett's passport onto the desk, followed by our cell phones.

"That's all you get," he says.

"What about my shirt?" I ask.

"Nope."

"My shirt doesn't have any resale value. Why be needlessly crappy?"

The sweaty guy grins. "Why does it surprise you that people who run to-the-death cage matches are sadistic?"

"Come on, there's a picture of my wife in my wallet, and it's the only copy of that picture I have. I'm a widower. Show some heart."

"Sorry. Already burned it."

"What about my scroll?" Harriett asks.

"No scroll for you, babe."

"Did you burn it?"

"Maybe."

"If you didn't burn it, I'd very much like it back. This is for your benefit as well as mine, because not returning it will work out poorly for you."

The sweaty guy gives her the finger. I'm not sure if Harriett knows what that means.

"We're giving you back the bare minimum you need to get home. You're lucky we did that. When you walk out of here, you're going to forget all about tonight, or it won't just be the picture of his dead wife that gets set on fire. Got it?"

"I completely understand," says Harriett. "But I'd still like my scroll returned."

"You want your scroll back?"

"Yes, please."

The sweaty guy opens his desk drawer and takes it out. "I was going to have it appraised at an antiques place, but if you want it back..."

He holds up the scroll, then slowly tears it in half. He holds those two pieces together and tears them in half. He rips those four pieces into eight, and then the eight into sixteen, and then the sixteen into thirty-two. Harriett's face is expressionless. He lets the pieces sprinkle onto the desk, then pushes them toward her.

"Here you go."

"Thank you," Harriett says, gathering the pieces.

"Now get out of here. Tell anybody, and terrible things will happen. Have a nice day."

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