Wren

Part 31

"I don't give a shit. Tell me." Matteo stood, facing his father. Vincenzo could see the fire in his eyes.

"The man who took Wren-- this isn't confirmed, but it's unlikely after what we found-- " Vincenzo paused, shaking his head. "It's Herrera."

Matteo froze. "Elena's family? Those motherfuckers. . ."

The Herrera family had worked closely with the Sabatinos, and Elena, their daughter, was the one who'd abused Matteo and stormed out on him, causing his cruelty. The whole family and all their underlings had disappeared after her outburst, believing Elena's lies about Matteo abusing her. They had been enraged, but Matteo or Vincenzo could never have imagined they would do something like this.

"And we have proof, you said?" 

"We were finally able to run the plates on the car they took him in. It's registered to Eduardo." 

Matteo fell back into his seat. Eduardo was Elena's father, head of the family. "So this isn't about money then," 

"No. It's revenge. Which means Wren is in more danger than we imagined."

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Wren sat in the dark. He was so exhausted. He'd estimated that the lights and music came on every 30 minutes and lasted the same amount of time, alternating between extreme opposites. 

It was breaking him. He had no idea how long he'd been in here, but he could barely think. A few bowls of food, (always plain grits) had been passed through the door, but with the amount of time in between meals and how painful his belly was, he'd guessed he was only being fed once a day. But that was a long time ago, when he was still able to think properly. 

Matteo had abandoned him. Boss frequently came on the speakers with the blaring music, screaming that Matteo didn't care and had left him. Had sold him because he was a burden. Of course, Wren hadn't believed that at first, but the torture had worn him down. He couldn't fight the doubt  that crept over him, especially since he'd been sold off before.

He wanted to readjust his position, so he put his hands down in the sand. Suddenly a sharp pain sliced across three of his fingers, and he shrieked, scooting away. 

The locks on the door started rattling. Wren panicked as the door opened and two men stormed into the dark room.

He threw his hands up to shield himself. "I'm sorry," he begged as they grabbed him and hauled him to the center of the room, shoving him down. "I got cut and it scared me! I didn't mean to make noise--"

They started kicking and punching him mercilessly. The breath was knocked from his lungs and he sucked in a mouthful of sandy dust, choking on it.

"You're fuckin' makin' noise right now," one of them grunted.

Wren bit his lips as the blows rained down for another minute. He stayed silent, prompting them stop sooner. They left without another word, leaving him wincing in the dirt. Silent tears slid down his face, but he didn't have time to gather himself before the lights burned the air and the music blasted, the onslaught grating on his frazzled nerves. 

He kept his eyes shut as he scrambled to a different corner, accidently slamming his face into the wall. He felt the blood trickle from where his lip had hit the bars of the muzzle, but he didn't feel the pain. He was too busy with the endless loop of thoughts that paraded through his mind. 

'Don't make noise. Be small. He left me. He hates me. Don't make noise. I'm a burden. Don't breath to loud. I'm worthless. Be small. They're going to hurt me.'

Over and over, things Boss had told him, the rules he'd made for himself, and fear rampaged like a flood. All he could do was keep his head tucked into his arms and his hands over his ears, and try to calm his racing heart. He didn't feel the pain from the beating. . . he didn't feel anything. He was numb.

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A few cycles of dark/silent and bright/loud later, he crept over to the door. He knocked three times, the noise of it making him jump. The door opened and someone slipped quickly inside, only letting a beam of light come through for a split second. Wren held still as he was fitted with a blindfold and noise-cancelling headphones that played excruciatingly loud static. It made Wren want to scream. His arm was tied to a stick, and he was led to the bathroom. 

Boss had ordered that Wren not receive a single ounce of skin to skin contact unless it was to hurt him. The men weren't even allowed to guide him to the bathroom by holding his arm; his wrist had to be tied to a wooden stick that was held by the other end by a guard. 

Another stick shoved Wren in the middle of the chest, pushing him until he ran into the glass toilet. He finished, and was dragged back out. The stick was untied and he was back in the darkness.

Many more cycles passed, Wren just lay limp in the sharp sand. The only time he moved was just to weakly pull his arms up to cover his face and ears. 

The lights and music slammed on and Wren covered himself, waiting. . . waiting. . . But a kick to his ribs tore him lucid. He couldn't open his eyes, but now he was aware that someone was in the room. Another kick, and he sat up. The music lowered a few notches, and Wren uncovered his ears. 

"Repeat after me," A voice screamed over the wailing guitars and erratic drumming. It was Boss. "He hates me. I'm worthless."

"He hates me. I'm worthless." Wren repeated without hesitation. He was less human and more animal now, his 'training' had completely broken him. 

"Again. Don't stop." Another kick landed to his stomach, then a slap to his neck. 

"He hates me. I'm worthless. He hates me. I'm worthless. He hates me--" On and on he went, not bothering to try to block the blows that slammed into him. He barely even felt them. "--worthless. He hates me. I'm worthless."

The assault stopped, but Wren didn't. He chanted it over and over; it was the only thing that filled his mind. 

"Don't stop. If I hear you go quiet--" Boss warned, leaving the room. The lights turned off and the music stopped, but Wren didn't. 

"He hates me. I'm worthless. He hates me. I'm worthless." 'He hates me, I'm worthless. He hates me, I'm worthless.'

Over, and over, and over. . . The lights came on and the music slammed into him. . . he felt his ears pop. . . they felt warm and wet. . . his head went fuzzy and he felt himself fall into the sand. 'He hates me, I'm worthless--'

It was dark. He felt thudding as he was kicked. He was too weak to shield himself. "He hates me. I'm worthless." The blows lessened. "He hates me. I'm worthless." His voice was hoarse and broken. The hits stopped, and the door opened momentarily as two men slipped out. 

"He hates me. I'm worthless."    'He hates me, I'm worthless.'

He cracked. His sanity snapped. He screamed like an animal, clawing at the muzzle and thrashing in the sand. It cut into his eyes and slashed across his cheeks, but it was the least of his worries. The men immediately rushed back through the door, resuming Wren's punishment. He was beaten down until he couldn't move or make noise.

He lay gasping in the dirt, his stomach heaved as it tried to vomit from the blows, but there was nothing to purge. His eyes stung and his ears felt. . . trickling? It was dead silent, even his own breathing was muted. He lay there through the many cycles that passed, not even able to cover his head like he had before.

                    Part Thirty-Seven Coming Soon