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Guardian Song, Chap 19

by Dorain1, Aug 29, 2012, 11:52:22 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Fantasy / Introductions & Chapters

Guardian's Song

By Dorain

Chapter Nineteen: Cory's Ordeal

Disclaimer: This chapter contains accounts of torture being inflicted on minors. If this bothers you, then don't read any further. This is not to be taken as an admission that I support or condone such things actually being done to a real child. This exists only within the realm of fiction.

Joey waited in the cold, open garage. The sounds of Lieutenant Cross' car faded in the distance, leaving just the sound of seagulls and buoys. Nothing changed for a long time, but finally, he heard footsteps coming closer from high up beside him. Someone was coming down the stairs. Without saying a word, whoever it was suddenly started pushing the dolly, towards the other open end of the garage.

"Why are you doing this?" Joey asked.

"If you talk again, the boy won't be released," came the emotionless baritone reply.

Joey kept his mouth shut. So many possibilities ran through his head, about what this kidnapper might want with him. Was it really the Mafia? What would they do with him? His thoughts were interrupted when the dolly started going down a slanted path. The sounds of the bay were getting closer; he could hear the water lapping at the shore.

After a short time, the dolly was pushed up an inclined plane to a flat plateau. Joey realized that he was on some kind of boat. He was picked up off the cart and tossed roughly onto the deck. He couldn't prevent giving a started cry when he was tossed, but his captor didn't say anything about it;… make that captors. Joey could hear several people walking around the deck with his acute hearing.

"Cast off!" someone called out.

A blanket was tossed over Joey. "There. If that doesn't keep you warm enough, then it sucks to be you!" snarled a voice.

The boy didn't say a word; he didn't dare. He just laid still, as his mind conjured up horrible fates that he imagined that Mafia-types might inflict on him.

The last thing Cory Grant had seen was a group of scrambling men in the back of the van. After that, his glasses were ripped off his face, to his whimpered protests, and black fabric pads were placed over his eyes. He then heard the distinctive sound of duct tape being pulled off the roll. He begged and pleaded, but the men went ahead and wrapped duct tape around his head several times, fixing the pads over his eyes and blocking out all light. At the same time, his arms were yanked painfully behind his back and duct taped by someone else. He could hear Todd begging nearby. Suddenly, a loud crunching noise came from the floor nearby him. With a groan, he realized what that sound was.

"Oh, please, don't tell me that someone stepped on my glasses!" he said with a desperate voice. Like all kids who wore glasses, his parents had conditioned him to think of his glasses as the most valuable and important things he owned, and any of those kids would tell you that the worst tragedy that could become them was their glasses getting broken. At this moment, that brainwashing came to the fore, and Cory was more worried about his broken eyewear than about the terrifying situation he was in.

A gruff voice carried on fetid breath brought the boy back to reality, though.

"Hah! Your glasses are the least of your worries, brat!" the man laughed cruelly, getting chuckles of agreement from the other men in the vehicle.

Cory laid quietly, too scared to resist as his ankles and lower legs were taped together. He was set on the rough carpet on the floor of the van, and another body was put down roughly next to him. Suddenly, he heard the door slide shut, as the passenger door closed as well. A dead weight was thrown on him, making him cry out in pain and protest.

"Here, bind this one, too. He won't be giving us much trouble, but they're easier to handle when they're all tied up," said a voice from the front of the van.

The sound of tearing duct tape came again as the weight on top of Cory was jostled around. Then, there was quiet in the vehicle. All Cory could hear was the sound of the van's engine as it drove him and his friends… somewhere. He heard Todd starting to sob gently. Cory couldn't blame him.

The van drove for quite a while, and then stopped. The door was slid open, and the dead weight that the boy was certain was Nate was lifted off of him. The door was slammed shut shortly afterwards, and the van started driving again. After about ten minutes, this happened once again, this time with the bound body next to him being taken away.

"No, don't! What are you doing to him?" Cory cried.

He was answered with a sharp kick to the head. Pain and dizziness overwhelmed him, before he finally passed out.

Cory awoke in a situation significantly worse than what he had been in. Still blinded by the tape, he was hanging from some sort of tight restraints on his wrists, dangling between them. His ankles were likewise bound together somehow, although they didn't seem to be attached to anything. He also realized that it was quite cold. To his distress, he realized that he had been stripped. His coat, shirt, pants and socks had all been removed, leaving him in just his underwear. Ironically, a thought crossed his mind that he was glad that he obeyed his mother's constant adage and had worn clean underwear today.

"Hello? Please, is anyone there?" he called out.

A chair scraped against the floor, and Cory heard loud footsteps head over to him.

"The punk's awake," a cruel voice said as a strong hand grabbed the boy's chin. "We can get started, now."

The men started with beating him, laughing at his cries, swinging him back and forth to each other like children with a tetherball so each could get their turn to punch him in the face or wallop him in the stomach. Cory was sobbing with pain when they finally stopped. They didn't stop there, though.

After allowing him to rest a couple of minutes, the men started crowing and cheering suddenly. The air was split by the sound of whistling wind, followed by a loud crack, making Cory flinch hard. That cracking sound had been very close to his ear.

The sounds only puzzled him for a moment, because another whistling sound preceded unbelievable pain slashing down Cory's back. He screamed in agony, as he swung back and forth gently from the momentum of the strike. He panted and whimpered, astonished. They were actually whipping him; whipping a ten-year-old kid who'd never done anything more than playful boyish pranks. Why?

He didn't get an answer. Instead, he got another stroke from the whip; this one cutting into his side, making him scream anew, and start crying heavily as he begged them to stop. That seemed to amuse the men even more. They even taunted him to scream louder, claiming that no one would ever hear him here. They whipped him until he passed out from the horrible pain.

He awoke to something that smelled horrible being shoved in his face.

"No going to sleep now," one had taunted, "The fun has just begun."

Cory started crying again. His back, sides and even his legs burned with welts from the whipping. He had pleaded for them to stop, but they just laughed and sneered at him. Then, one of them held the boy still, as another one started making small cuts, working from one arm, down to the other, eventually all over his body and even on his face. Cory whimpered the whole time. It hurt bad, but the pain was nothing compared to the pain of the whip marks; at least, not at first. He soon found that the small injuries all over his body stung, creating a symphony of pain all over him. But that was nothing compared to what they did next.

A whole bunch of liquid was dumped over him. Rather than refreshing him, instead, it seemed to turn to liquid fire as it poured down his body. He caught a smell and realized what it was; vinegar. He screamed long and hard as every little cut burned horrendously, and the whip welts were even worse. And throughout the boy's long, agonized screaming, the men around him had just laughed.

Cory wanted his mom so badly. It even got so bad that he started wishing they would kill him and put an end to the pain, but all that came was more laughter.