Page 52 of Depraved Truths

Chapter 35

By all appearances, the room resembles a finished basement with a theater system on one side. Decorative stones, varying in size and shape, adorn the adjacent wall. It’s quite beautiful, if I do say so myself.

The keypad on the inside of the basement door gives the illusion that this space could serve as a panic room. It can, but that’s not what I use it for.

I type in the code, and a door behind the stone wall slides open to reveal a small, eight-by-eight-foot space.

The room is soundproof, and on the back wall, shackles and chains are fastened to a wooden rack. On the opposite wall, a collection of torture devices is neatly displayed. I turn around and watch Eli’s face as he takes in the area—and my toys. If I’m not mistaken, his eyes reveal a hint of admiration, which is better than the horror I expected to see.

After I secure Dalton with shackles and chains, I cut away the zip ties and strip him down to his boxer briefs. Stripping someoneof their clothing messes with their psyche. He’s still unconscious, his head lolling forward on his shoulders.

As much as I want to rip his head off right now, I need to bide my time. Eli has questions. He needs answers. In the past, with the exception of Brady, I’ve always felt a sense of detachment from my victims. But this is personal. My emotions are heightened in a way I haven’t felt before. This monster attacked my best friend, and he will suffer in ways he can’t possibly imagine.

Eli is pacing, deep in thought, and his body rigid with tension. “I need to know everything that happened to my sister.”

I give a hard nod in Dalton’s direction. “Let’s find out what he’s hiding.”

He abruptly walks over and punches Dalton in the jaw. “Wake up, motherfucker.”

“What the fuck?” Groggy eyes snap open, and Dalton spits onto the floor as he wakes. He struggles against the shackles, unable to break free. “Where am I?”

“Your own personal hell,” I say coldly.

“Are y’all crazy? You can’t keep me here like this.”

“Can’t we? What are you going to do? Call the police?” Eli taunts, holding up his phone. “There’s a BOLO out, and I know they’d love to know where you are. Here, let me dial the number for you. I’ll put you on speaker.” He types in the number.

“Wait. Stop. What do you want?” Fear flickers across Dalton’s face.

“Answers.” Eli smirks, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “I want to know what happened to my sister.”

Dalton pales. “W-what? Why would I know anything about her?”

Walking over to a shelf on the wall, I reach for a revolver. I load a single bullet, making a show of spinning the cylinder. His eyes widen as I press the barrel to his temple.

“Let’s try this again. He asked you a question. Answer it.”

Dalton swallows, looking at Eli with pleading eyes. “I don’t know what happened to her.”

Click.

“Okay, okay.” He flinches, drawing in a ragged breath. “It was a job. We didn’t know it was your sister.”

Eli’s brows are drawn together in a scowl. “Who’s ‘we’?”

I press the gun harder into the side of his head. “W-Wilson. Wilson Randall.”

“So, what? You two grabbed her, raped, and murdered her?” Eli walks over and places two hands on the chair’s arms, caging Dalton in while he shouts in his face. “Was it just for kicks? A dare?”

“Wait, what?” Dalton says, a puzzled expression on his face. “No! We didn’t kill her.”Click.

Eli glares at me, and I innocently shrug, raising my eyebrows as if to say, 'Oops, sorry.'

“Stop! Listen. We were on an assignment. Each year, we take a couple of girls. All we do is take them. We never killed anybody,” Dalton insists vehemently.

This catches my attention. “What do you mean ‘take them’? Where do you take them?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

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