"They're all dead, sir. Our guys made sure everything was destroyed before the pigs even got there. We got the guy; the prick that's been giving you hell for all those years. They found him down in some underground room. He bled out."
"The evidence?"
"Our guys took care of everything, boss. If that poor excuse for a private eye was hiding anything out there. It's torched."
"Where is the girl?"
"That's the only thing, sir. No one ever saw her. We're thinking she wasn't even there. Maybe she got blown up?"
"I don't live on chance, boy. I know she was with her bastard father before the incident. How could you miss her?!" Irritation crept into the shadowy man's voice. It terrified the young informant.
"W-what can I do, boss?"
"Find her," he hissed, and slid back into the darkness.
"But, uh, sir. We got a big shipment coming in tonight. We need all the men we can get."
The middle-aged man's extremely disfigured body appeared from obscurity. He raised the cane he was using, and struck the guy across his handsome, boyish face.
"Find the fucking girl! Bring her to me, or shipments will be the last of your worries!!"
"Yes, sir!"
He ran out, gripping his bloodied face, while another man walked in past him. This man was older, with a much deeper voice than the kid, "The cells are ready for tonight, but we're still havin' troubles with that one bitch."
"Kill her."
"Excuse me, sir? I thought she was for Dr.--"
"You can't handle her, kill her. Or give her to me," the evil man taunted.
"Do you need one, boss?"
"Not yet. I was trying to save myself for the one I thought we'd catch last night." He seemed genuinely disappointed.
His face looked sort-of normal at first glance, but with more attention, it was apparent that something was off. The skin on his face was too thick to be skin at all, and had an eerie shine to it. With even closer inspection, it was obviously a mask; a badly smoothed mask, made to look like skin. His eyes were sunken in, because of the thickness on his face; without proper lighting, they were just black holes.
His entire neck was covered in deep purple and scarlet red scar tissue, which continued down to every exposed body part. Even the hand that held the cane was horribly mangled with craters and scars; his fingers were stumps.
"I heard she wasn't even there. That Corvette drivin' asshole prolly stashed her somewhere. We'll find her, boss. She ain't got Daddy's protection no more; she's as good as dead."
"NO!!" The homicidal psycho screamed, and hit his cane against the wall. "Not dead! I need her. I need her to see me. I want to see her lose all hope."
He grinned wildly, but it was barely noticed under his plaster-of-paris surface.
"Sorry, sir. T-they know to bring her alive. I'll go make sure Chuck's got someone out lookin' for her."
"Good, and I changed my mind. Bring me the youngest brat you have down there."
"You got it, sir!"
The maimed man turned away, and limped into a dark corner, through a doorway, and into a closet-sized room. It contained various devices of torture, some of which, attached to the end of his cane.
YOU ARE READING
Anxious
Mystery / ThrillerLeslie was raised solely by her loving, but mysterious mother, Sheryl Locks. They seemed to be all each other had in the whole world, until Leslie was 18, and her mother was killed in a fiery car accident. The young woman felt absolutely alone--unti...
