Angel's Pain

“Here, give me your hands.” Matt tugged the key from his jeans pocket and waited. When the man lifted his hands, Matt slid the key into the little lock, wincing at the blood that was all over it, and popped the wrist shackles open.

They were not handcuffs. Handcuffs would have been worse. These things had wide metal bands that had cut into his skin as he’d hung there, but Matt was pretty sure handcuffs would have cut him clean to the bone.

The guy peeled off one manacle, then the other, grating his teeth and baring them in a grimace of pain.

“Can you walk, do you think?”

“Not very far. Why? Where are you takin’ me?”

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to take you anywhere. Just patch you up and leave you locked in here. But it’s daylight, and my father didn’t come back, so he won’t be home until dark. And I’m all alone, ’cause the drones are all sleeping, too. Not that they’re any fun, anyway.” He knew he was talking a mile a minute. His father would have cuffed him upside the head and told him to slow down, be quiet, say only what needed saying and then shut the hell up. But this old man seemed to be listening with interest, and maybe even a little amusement.

“So you can come upstairs if you want. I can bandage you up way better up there. And you can take a shower or a bath—if you think it won’t hurt too much. And then we can eat—I never have anyone to eat with. ’Cause, you know, they don’t eat.”

“I know.”

Matt took the man’s hand and led the way out of the room, through the basement and to the stair-way that led up to the rest of the mansion.

“Why do you think your father didn’t come home before sunrise?” the prisoner asked.

“Prob’ly just got too busy. I’m sure he found shelter in time.”

“Would you be terribly upset if he didn’t?”

Matt paused on the stairs and stared up at the man. “Well, I’d be an orphan then, and I don’t really want to be an orphan.”

“He told you your mother is dead, then?”

“Yeah.” They reached the top of the stairs and entered the main level of the mansion. “What should I call you?”

“You can call me Derry, if you want.”

“Derry. I like that. You can call me Matt. It’s what Mom used to call me.”

“All right, Matt. I don’t want you to get into trouble for this, you know. Are you sure you won’t?”

“He’ll never know.”

Derry nodded. “Well, first things first, Matt. I think we’d better tend to these wounds. Some ointment, some bandages, a nice washup, and maybe some pain relievers, if you have any in the house.”

“We have all that. I’m in charge of making the shopping lists. Father never lets me go out to the grocery store, but I make the lists. It’s one of my jobs. The downstairs bathroom will be easier for you. It’s this way.”

The man was smiling at him as they made their way into the bathroom. “Does your father ever let you go anywhere, Matt?”

“Oh, he takes me out sometimes. But only at night, of course, and never around other people.”

“It must get pretty borin’ and lonely.”

“Yeah. Well, you know, I have tons of stuff. An Xbox and a PS3 and a Wii, and every game they ever invented for any of them. So not so much boring, but yeah on the lonely, and I get crazy being in this house all the time.”

“Hmm.” They entered the bathroom, and Derry took a seat on the toilet—lid closed, of course. Matt got all the first-aid supplies from the cabinet and laid them out on the sink counter for him. He soaked a gauze pad in peroxide and handed it to Derry, then soaked another and kept it for himself. “You work on those wrists. I’ll get started on your back.”

“Okay.” Derry turned, then winced as Matt began cleaning the welts and cuts with the soaked pad. Matt tried to be careful, but he knew it had to hurt like mad.

“I…wonder,” Derry said, in between sucking air through his teeth in pain.

“What?”

“Well, if you’re sure your father won’t be back until nightfall…”

Leaning around to face him, Matt said, “He can’t come back before nightfall. Vampire, remember?” He grinned and was happy when Derry grinned back. Then he tossed the gauze pad in the garbage pail and grabbed the tube of triple antibiotic ointment. “This won’t hurt as much,” he promised. He tried to dollop it onto the hurt places without too much contact, then handed it to Derry.

“You know, we could sneak out for a while. Maybe go to the zoo, a fast food joint for burgers and fries, a game arcade, a park. We could have fun, Matt.”

“Are you sure you feel up to it, Derry?” Matt laid the strips of gauze over the wounds, then stuck them in place with adhesive tape. “I don’t know why you didn’t just tell him whatever he wanted to know to begin with.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s always best to do what he says.” Then he finished and came around in front. “You really feel good enough to go out, Derry?”

“Well, I don’t of course, but…you helped me. I owe you one. And this might be our only chance.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure.”

“If only there were a car…oh, wait, there’s my car. Your father brought me here in his, but I heard him tell the drones to bring mine. I wonder if he still has it?”

“Sure he does,” Matt said. He was wrapping gauze around Derry’s ointment-covered left wrist now. “It’s around back.”

“Really? That’s great. I love that car.” Then Derry frowned. “Still, I don’t imagine you know where he keeps the keys.”

“Of course I do,” Matt said. He finished the first wrist, taped the gauze in place, then began wrapping the other.

“So what do you think? Should we do it? Should we get out of here for the day?” Derry asked.

Matt frowned hard, taped off the gauze, then turned to the counter to shake three tablets out of a pain reliever bottle. He handed them to Derry and spoke sternly, making his eyes very serious. “All right, but if you start feeling weak or sick or anything, we’ll just chuck it and come home, okay?”

“Of course that’s okay,” Derry said, and patted Matt on the head.

“And my father can never know.”

“Absolutely,” Derry promised. “You have my word on that.”

So Matthias carefully gathered up all the items he’d used and put them away, and then he took Derry’s hand and led him through the house in search of some clean clothes.

Derrick Dwyer admired the boy. He was mature for his age, probably because he’d been forced to learn to fend for himself. He was smart as well.

Not smart enough to realize, though, that he was about to become a hostage.

Derrick had been pushed beyond the edge of his endurance, and while he liked the kid, he wouldn’t hesitate to use him.

Or even kill him, if necessary.

4