The Summer I Died by Ryan C. Thomas

Author:Ryan C. Thomas [Thomas, Ryan C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Fiction, Horror, Read
ISBN: 9781926712055
Google: ED3LPwAACAAJ
Amazon: 1492988065
Goodreads: 6661596
Publisher: Coscom Entertainment
Published: 2005-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

We worked tirelessly to get the gags out of our mouths, until our jaws were damn near swollen. It was worse for Tooth, because every time he moved his jaw his burnt lips split and bled like squashed cockroaches. And the gags were tight; Skinny Man hadn’t been playing when he tied them. It took about a half hour of mandible work before we loosened them enough to converse coherently. We left them wrapped around our bottom lips so we could put them back in our mouths if we sensed trouble.

First thing I did was call out to Jamie, to see if she was okay. Her faint response was disheartening. She couldn’t tell it was me; I guess she thought I was Skinny Man because she kept begging me to let her go, saying she wouldn’t tell anyone. It was a familiar plea, and I realized how crazy it sounded when I put myself in our maniac’s shoes.

I shouted, “Jamie, it’s me, Roger. I’m in the next room. Can you move?”

She just babbled and cried and told God she hurt. She was alive, but no help to us. I could only imagine what had been done to her. Every time I blinked I saw Butch licking his lips—it made me ill.

“She doesn’t know it’s you. You’re just scaring her,” Tooth said.

“Exactly why I want her to know it’s me.”

“She’s in shock, it won’t register. Worry about the chains first and then we’ll get Jamie.”

“These chains are welded tight,” I said as I yanked on them. “I can’t break ’em. You make any progress?”

“No. Plus I can’t feel my leg anymore, feels like I’m floating on air.”

“Can you move your foot?”

He shifted his foot just a little. “I guess, but I don’t feel myself doing it. We have to stop this guy.”

“I’m way ahead of you. But how, when he’s got us bound like this?”

“I think we’re going about this all wrong. The chains can’t be broken, and he ain’t going to let us out. He wants us tightly wrapped so he can pick at us like leftover turkeys in a fridge. So let’s think about this in a different way. How can we get him while we’re chained up?”

We looked about the room, reevaluating what we had noticed earlier. Nothing had changed; it was the same dank cellar with a couple of future murder victims chained to the wall. The shovel was in the stove, the hedge shears were against the wall near the table. The boiler still droned its incessant hum. The arm that had been on the ground near the dog dish was stripped bare and covered in dirt. But those few items made little difference toward escaping.

“This is useless,” I said, “there’s nothing here to help us. He’s crazy but he’s not stupid. Look, he left those shears there to remind us of what he did to my sister. He knows these chains are foolproof and we can’t get out of them.”

“There’s got to be something.

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