Them

Janelle stepped off the last stair to the basement and looked at the guy currently guarding her captives. Her heart rate sped up at what she saw in his hand. “What are you doing? I told you no pictures or videos!” “I won’t share anything until after we’re gone, I swear. I don’t want to get in trouble any more than you do.” “You better not,” Janelle said. “Especially if you want a chance of me hiring you again in the future for other jobs.” “No worries, ma’am. We’re following your orders to the letter.” Although Janelle’s paranoid side worried about all the things that could go wrong, she tried to push her fears aside. After all, they had stuck to the rules thus far, and anything they wanted to change, they discussed with her first. Agreeing that the diaper changes were disgusting, they decided to allow them to use the toilet, threatening to slap them back in diapers if they tried to resist or fight in any way. Janelle made sure not to feed them much. She did so not only because she wanted them to feel what it was like to be hungry all the time from being forced on a diet—something Lauren definitely didn’t need—but also to weaken them. Allowed little movement and little food, there was no doubt they couldn’t overpower either of them if they put up a fight. Janelle had already proven this with Boris over a decade ago. She was sure to bring that up too, and rub it in his face, because she knew how much it embarrassed him and pissed him off. They made sure there were very few things the captives could get their hands on. They were kept in a cleared-out corner of the basement, which happened to be near the bathroom, and they weren’t allowed anywhere else. They were gagged and shackled at all times. Fortunately, the shower stall was easy enough to get into, even while shackled with its low base. One of the guys suggested putting chains around their waists and securing their dominant hands to the chains, which they assumed were their right hands. This meant they had to brush their teeth, shower, and wipe their asses with only their non-dominant hands. It would definitely make it more challenging for them to try anything. When they were on their cots, their left arms were secured to the rails. They used zip ties to fasten the legs of the cots together so that if one tried to jerk their body around to move it, they’d not only be zapped instantly, but the weight of the other cot and person in it would make it much harder to do so. Dismissing the young man who had been watching her prey, Janelle sat between Boris and Lauren and opened a bag of potato chips. “Remember these things?” she said, focusing on Lauren and raising one before putting it in her mouth and crunching noisily. “You’re never going to get away with this, Stone,” Lauren snarled through her gag. “I know, you’ve said that already a million times. But you know what, Lauren? I am going to get away with it. I mean, think about it. Would you have thought I’d be set free and even paid millions of dollars? Now don’t get me wrong—had I managed to get sucked into your vengeful plan, I would’ve escaped jail. It may have taken a little time, but I would’ve gotten out one way or another. So not sticking to your so-called deal wouldn’t have gotten you guys very far or lasted very long, anyway. I have a strength and determination most people don’t have.” Lauren’s brown eyes fixed on her hatefully. Janelle looked down at her bag of chips, plucked another one out, and placed it in her mouth, moaning loudly with pleasure. After she swallowed, she said, “Yeah, it’s really fucking rude when someone is stuck in a hospital and forced to eat food that’s bland as fuck and very little of it, while some little bitch who claims to like you chomps away on chips right in front of you.” Lauren said nothing. She now held that familiar poker face, staring in stony silence at the ceiling above her. “You know,” Janelle began, almost heartfelt, “I really tried to believe you guys actually cared. I tried to believe you were going to let bygones be bygones and see things for what they were in the present moment.” Janelle looked over to see Boris glance at her and then back up at the ceiling with a slight eye roll and shake of his head. “I thought you were going to look at the big picture and keep in mind all I’d been put through legally on account of nothing but words on paper. I thought you really meant it when I reached out for help—not only saving myself but dozens of others—and you said the rest of my probation was scrapped and that I would testify against my kidnappers. I should’ve known you were full of shit, claiming some had gotten away and I was going to be taken to a safehouse after leaving the hospital, blah blah blah. All you really wanted was your sick revenge. You wanted to slap me with an absconding charge no matter what. You wanted to make me pay for unpaid fees despite breaking your own rules along the way, which cost me even more money. You wanted me to confess and pay for Stephanie and her bitch of a mother’s drowning. And then you wanted to hit me with a murder charge—or at least manslaughter—for defending myself against your loser of a friend, Boris, that I didn’t even know I’d killed.” She could see Boris now breathing heavily, his eyes darkened with rage. She smiled. “I could sit here and tell you whether or not I did or didn’t have anything to do with Stephanie and Ramona, but I won’t. You know why? Because one, you’ve already decided the answer to that, and two, it’s got absolutely nothing to do with what’s going on now, even if I did attack them. Neither does your twisted little pal,” Janelle said, rising from her chair and hovering over a very angry Boris. She put another chip in her mouth as she stood over him. Through his gag, he muttered, “You just wait, bitch. Your luck’s going to run out, and I’m going to rip you apart limb by limb.” Janelle laughed hysterically. “That’s rich coming from you, Boris. You couldn’t even handle me at the hospital when I was slimmer and not nearly as healthy. Need I remind you of that?” Boris was breathing so heavily with rage that she thought he might hyperventilate. “Hey, I didn’t know I hit your friend hard enough to kill him, okay?” Boris’s gray eyes shifted to her again as he muttered unintelligibly in anger. “Why did he have to get in my face in the first place? Why was it so important to him? Why did he have to taunt me because the courts wouldn’t do the right thing and remove your obsessive ass from my life? Why did he care? It had nothing to do with him. If he hadn’t taken swings at me—mock swings or not—he’d still be alive. How was I to know his true intentions at the time? How was I to know he wasn’t going to start swinging at me harder? A lot harder. When someone gets in your face like that, instinct usually kicks in, and you fight back, and that’s exactly what I did. I make absolutely no apologies for it whatsoever. Had he thought his actions through to begin with, it never would’ve happened. I just wanted to get away from him, and when trying to walk away and ward him off didn’t do any good, I lashed out, just like anyone would have. “So do I feel bad for his wife and kids? Yeah, maybe a little. But again, he was responsible for his own actions. He made them a widow and fatherless.” The fury on Boris’s face was almost palpable. “The punch was delivered, but his death was an accident. As the video clearly showed, I turned and walked away as soon as I threw the punch, never looking back. I had no idea I’d killed the asshole, but you know what? Maybe it will serve as a reminder to others of what can happen when you get in someone’s face since the media has taken it upon itself to share it with the world.” Again, Boris glared at her with rage, and if looks could kill, she’d have been dead ten times over. “Don’t look at me like that, you damn cock. Your own actions put you right here in this room.” Boris’s angry breathing got louder and faster once again. “It’s people like you that make people like me,” Janelle said. “First, the obsessive home visits as if I’d been accused of murder instead of just writing something no one wanted to hear. Popping up in my face in public all the time, wherever I'd be, knowing you were stalking and obsessed with me, but also that I couldn't stop you from being there. Then the lies, and this was no little white lie. You don’t play with someone’s life and head like that, Bor. You don’t tell them they’re going to a safehouse to testify and then get on with their life when you really intend to throw them in jail for no less than twelve to fifteen years—maybe even twenty—if somebody hadn’t finally cared enough to do the right thing and call your ass out on your unprofessionalism, your obsession, your corruption, and every single law you and your fellow law enforcement cronies broke.”