Dominus (Book I: parts 1-3)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 The car lurches forward until it is parallel with the old speaker box before coming to a complete stop. The dark tint of the window disappears down into the door. A leather gloved hand reaches out the opened window and punches in the code. The rusty chains grind together as the rickety security fence slides slowly open. The car creeps forward, avoiding all the pot holes, rolling carefully over the speed bumps.  Underneath the moonlight, the structure waiting in the distance is eerily haunting, like a castle whose walls have been besieged by time. The vegetation on the property has grown wild and free and has overtaken much of the drive and walkways. The building is dark, save for the single light above the entryway. You can almost make out the name on the building. Only an 'S, R, R and W' remain. The car comes to a halt in front of the building. Victor steps from the driver's side and opens the rear passenger door. Dominus emerges in full leather like a deviant queen. Leather boots climb her thighs and blend into the leather body suit. She has on her mask from the Craftsman and a hooded cloak.

 Even standing in front of the trunk, the desperation and terror is evident. The thuds from the trunk grow louder and with greater frequency now that the car has stopped. The muffled screams dissipate in the night air like smoke from a cigarette. When the trunk lifts open, Dominus stands over a gagged, bound and blindfolded man in the fetal position. Leonardo Catullo feels the air on his skin and senses someone standing over him.

 "Where am I? What are you doing?" He is frantic and bewildered, but his inquiries are unrecognizable. His mind is swirling with questions, but the ball gag muffles his words.   "Get up," she commands. She leads him by the leashed collar into the building without uttering a word. The inside is still in pretty good condition considering it has been left forgotten for the past several years.

 The now vacant building was once a Sparrow Energy Regional Distribution Center, before all the jobs were outsourced. It hasn't been in use since then. They enter through the main door, past the crescent shaped reception desk. The air is musty and lacks proper circulation. "Don't breathe too deeply," she says to him. There was a break in. A group of kids, presumably runaways, squatted here and vandalized the inside. The paint has a tinge of yellow and lifts slightly from the walls. Underneath the graffiti, the color fades from yellow to the black of the mold that speckles the baseboards. As they make their way through the ghost town of cubicles to the service elevator, the carpet squishes underneath their feet from when the kids pulled the fire alarm. She has to lean into the bar with her butt to open the double doors that separate the offices from the warehouse.  Time in a federal detention center has made Leonardo hypersensitive to certain things - like doors slamming behind him. The echo of the double doors closing behind him made him almost physically ill.

 "Where was this woman taking me? What exactly am I paying for?"  His mind races with questions like these. The business card didn't come with a name or instructions, just the phone number Chloe told him to call. He is no stranger to these types of services, but this woman, this Dominus, has upped the ante and he's regretting making that call.

 The elevator doors open up on the basement level.  Three long rows of rusty iron columns that support the weight of the structure span the massive area. The sparse bit of lighting comes from the halogen domes that buzz and cast shadows of the old machinery against the cinder block walls of the dungeon. Water traverses the cracks in the foundation and pool on the floor. She navigates the pools like a minefield and pulls Leonardo along, but he shuffles through a puddle. The water scales the hem of his suit like ivy climbing brick until the soggy fabric begins to cling to his calf. "That's far enough," she says, bringing an abrupt end to his shuffle.

 She slings the ropes over a structure erected of black metal pipe and wood beams and loops it through the metal ring on the floor. The Man from Portugal has far exceeded her expectations in design and construction. She pulls the rope mightily and his arms slowly begin to raise above his head. She repeats the tossing and looping then fastens a knot, securing the ropes and stretching his arms above head. The pain burning through Leonardo shoulders rival only the questions burning through his mind.