Page 42 of The Trap

I can feel Colson’s judgment burning through my skin, but he says nothing. No one says a thing, and my question echoes around us before silence fills the air in response. The eerie calm lasts for a few seconds until it’s replaced by a scratching sound at the speaker, filling the room with irritating static until a voice—myvoice—leaks through the speakers. Muffled music–Puddle of Mudd’s “Control,” to be exact--sounds, just loud enough to hear the lyrics.

“Bring back any memories?” the voice asks.

“You sick fuck!” I shout as the tall, masked man taps my shoulder with a picture in his grip. One taken from my bedroom window, my legs spread wide, fucking myself with a dildo. I crumple the picture in my hand, tossing it to the floor. “So, you’re a kidnapper and a voyeur too, huh? Cool, I like it kinky, sowhy don’t you fucking come out here and show yourself. We can have a fun time together instead of all these exhausting games.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. We…Well,Ihave been watching you for quite a long time. The both of you, actually. It’s so cute how the two of you have an affliction for moaning each other’s names when you fuck yourselves, dreaming of the other. But when you’re together, you’re like water and oil. You two want to coexist, but you simply can’t.” The second the voice finishes its lame taunt, Colson leans into my ear.

“Am I going to hear it?” he asks cryptically.

I turn to him, not in the mood for another set of drawn-out verbal games. “Hear what?” I scoff.

“My name, if that audio keeps playing? Do you really moan my name when you touch yourself?” he asks, unable to contain his boyish glee.

I swear to god, it’s obvious that whoever brought us here isn’t lying. They’ve been watching us. Which means that aside from the fact that Colson and I are masochists for one another even in the privacy of our own bedrooms, they probably have a lot more they can use against us.

“Can you focus, Colson? That’s not important right now.” I can see how deflated he is by the harsh reality of my words. I roll my eyes, almost feeling bad. “Listen, if we get out of here,” I pause to direct my attention towards the camera in the corner by the large speaker. I brush my tongue piercing at my lips before sticking two middle fingers up in the air. “Which, wewillget out of here,” I lower my hands and my voice, directing my attention back to him, “then I’ll let you take the place of the dildo, okay?” I wink. The red of the mask that half conceals his face does little to disguise the flush riddling his cheeks.

“Promise?” he asks, looking a little too eager.

I roll my eyes. “If it gets you to focus, then yes.”

He smirks. “Fuck yes.”

And for some reason that simple and genuine excitement gives me butterflies.

The recording stops as the voice replies to me. “So glad I can play matchmaker, but the reason I played that audio and let you see that I always have eyes on those I need to have eyes on, is so you realize that for you both this is a game, but for me…esto es venganza.”

Colson taps at my arm. “What does that mean?” he asks, worry ripe within his voice.

“It means this is revenge, Mr. Cromwell. Cold, hard, unrelenting revenge,” the speaker declares.

“Why?” Colson asks, as the worried tone of his voice shifts to molten anger.

A grating cackle leaks through the speaker before they answer. “If I told you, then where’s the fun in that? As you can tell, I know much more than you think I do. And Ms. Ramos, if you want your cousin to live, you will do exactly as I say.”

“I don’t believe you. How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Very well,” the voice sighs, exasperated.

The Jigsaw-wannabe says something again in that unrecognizable language, signaling both the masked man and woman to the side of the room they entered. The woman raises her hand to a hidden panel, opening the small compartment and pressing a code, revealing a sliding door. The two of them slink out of the room just as a burst of white fur emerges from the doorway running toward me.

“Nada?” I ask out loud, staring at my cousin Carmine’s all white Pitbull. I kneel, calling for Nada to come to me. I scratch behind his ears, inspecting him, only to find him to be his usual happy self. That doesn’t do anything to put my worries at ease, though. Carmine loves Nada, and even when he’s working at his bar in the city, he has the dog with him at all times.

“It’s funny how attached animals get to their owners. Yet he came with me no problem after Carmine was, let’s say, unavailable.” The voice is taunting me.

Colson looks at me, unsure if he should console me or if he should take the lead. I want neither. Tears threaten my eyes, but I swallow thickly, fighting the urge to cry. They’re messing with me. I need to ignore it, since this is all a game to them.

A whistle sounds as the sliding door opens once more and Nada jumps from my lap. I rise, joining Colson, both of us staring after Nada trotting happily down the revealed path.

“Raiden, do you smell that?” he asks, his nostrils flaring.

Of course, I do. But I don’t tell him that. That smell…that fucking stench. That’s the unmistakable aroma of death. Abundant, iron-soaked death. Fear like I’ve never experienced before grips me, taking my throat hostage, making swallowing impossible. It feels like knives are stabbing into me. I want to speak but I can’t. Fuck. All I can think is that Carmine would be so disappointed in me. This is the opposite of how he trained me to be. But the reality that he may not be alive and that we are only pawns in this sick game feels overwhelming.

My mouth falls open, but no words come out. Instead, the smooth baritone of Colson’s surprisingly steady voice teases my ears. I look at his icy stare only for a moment, because my attention is stolen by his outstretched palm.

Suddenly the bitterness I’ve had this whole time…with him…with the game…all of it dwindles.

“Hate me all you want, but we’re getting out of this the way we came in.” He reaches for my hand, locking it in his grip. “Together, Raiden, that’s how we’re getting out of here,” he says as if he’s reading my mind.

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