Jonas Saul - The Hostage

She tried to crawl away, but he stayed attached. He crawled on top of her legs. She tried to kick at him, but his weight held her legs hostage.

He produced the needle, still intact.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she yelled and reached beside her to the burning mattress. She had crawled far enough away from the leading edge of the flames that when she pulled hard, the mattress fell out flat, across Elmore’s back.

Instantly he let her go of her lower legs as he tried to spin and lift the burning bed off his back. He screamed an inhuman wail as Sarah got up and ran out of the cell, closing the door behind her.

I’m out!

Elmore had managed to slide out from under the mattress, but as it had burned, the small bed had begun to fall apart in chunks. He could no longer push it off as a single unit. He got to his knees and grabbed at the burning pieces that still clung to him.

His breath came in ragged gasps and his eyes watered like he cried. His face shined red where the fire had kissed his skin, small bits of black in other areas.

Sarah wasted no time. She ran at Drake and Rod’s cell and tried their door. It was locked.

Of course.

“Open this door,” she shouted at Elmore.

“Never.”

His voice grated on her. He wasn’t burned bad, but what had happened would leave marks. It was bad enough to need salve.

She stepped back to her cell door. “The keys,” she said, her hand extended through the bars.

He reached behind him, nodded slightly, panted and moved slowly in obvious pain. When his hand came around, it didn’t hold the keys.

He had a gun. And now he had a smile on his hideous face.

“Sarah!” Drake yelled.

Sarah reacted. Elmore fired, but she’d already hit the stairs running. He fired again and again as she took the stairs two at a time.

Luckily he left the door unlocked at the top of the stairs.

Probably because he came down so quietly earlier he didn’t want to wake us with locking it.

Drake still yelled for her to run. At the top of the stairs, she flicked on all the basement lights.

Elmore was already out of her cell. He pointed his weapon at Drake’s cell door.

Rod dove in front of Drake as the gun fired.

Self-preservation stopped Sarah from running down the stairs and ripping Elmore apart with her hands. He had a gun, and she would have a bullet in the face before she reached him.

Elmore pulled on the trigger of an empty gun and started to reload.

In that moment, she thanked Rod under her breath for saving Drake. But now it was her turn to save him. She never thought in a million years she would call the police to help Rod Howley, but that was what she had to do.

As she ran out the front door of Elmore’s plush home and hit the front driveway, she shouted, “Vivian, where are you when I need you the most?”

Elmore fought to stay on his feet. The pain was more than anything he’d felt before. His mind raced, his heart beat faster. He had to think. He had to move. Things had gone wrong. It was all crashing down.

Why did I enter her cell?

He couldn’t figure out what possessed him to walk into her cell. He had weapons. He could’ve shot her with the tranquilizer gun. The fire wouldn’t have done too much damage against the solid cement wall.

He just couldn’t deal with someone wrecking his property. The fact that Sarah wanted to burn his property had made him angry. He knew, under the influence of rage, he didn’t always do the right things and that’s what Sarah had counted on. He knew now that was what she had wanted from the start. To lure him into her cell. He had been wrong with her. He couldn’t use strong women as hostages. He only had use for the weak. From that moment on, he committed to himself that he would only kidnap young, weak girls.

If I make it out of this alive and intact.

He stepped closer to Drake’s cell and looked in. Rod had taken the bullet to the gut. He lay on the mattress, both hands covering his wound, Drake beside him, adding pressure where he could to his own wound.

Slowly, methodically, Elmore turned for the stairs. Any kind of movement caused pain, so he did his best to go slow.

At the top of the stairs, he stepped into the hallway cautiously in case Sarah waited for him with a weapon of her own. She was nowhere in sight. In the kitchen, he opened his first aid kit and applied aloe vera gel to as many burns as he could locate on his skin. The cool sensation of the salve calmed the constant burning.

He had to get out of the house. Time was running out. Sarah would be back and she’d bring help. They’d have enough information, based on her statement, to enter his home with force and he was in no condition to ward them all off now.

He grabbed his ammunition box, loaded his Mamba and holstered it. After that, he picked up his computer and the black container of nails in his desk drawer and took them out to his car. Once they were loaded, he headed back into the house for a hostage. The choice had been made for him. He would need one of the two men in the basement to help keep him alive and he knew which one would be a more powerful hostage.

In the basement he stepped up to the cell door and looked in at the two men bleeding on his floor.

“You’re both staining my floor,” he said. “Do you realize how much work it is to get blood out? I should know.”

It hit him then. It was truly over. Everything he had built. All the security measures he had taken. The system of stealing girls out of their comfortable lives and placing them into his. All over. Everything changes, but he didn’t think his lifestyle would change this fast. He thought he could go on for years to come. But Sarah Roberts had stopped him by simply escaping.

He would have to move. Not just another city, but another province, maybe even another country, and he would have to do it fast. Within twenty-four hours the police would be hunting him everywhere.

“Fuck!” he shouted.

Sarah will pay dearly for what she had done. At least his company would survive. He had money and it continually flooded into his account on a weekly basis. Maybe he would move to Japan and get lost there for a while.

If Roman Polanski can do it, so can I.

Elmore pushed the button to open Drake’s cell door. He motioned with his Mamba for Drake to stand on his one good leg. Drake did as he was told, hopping, the pain displayed on his face.

The blood coming out between Rod’s fingers seemed to be increasing in speed.

“You’re losing a lot of blood, Rod. I estimate you have an hour left, maybe less. How does that make you feel? Do you regret coming to my home?”

Rod shook his head.

“Why’s that? Why do you not regret it? You’re dying, you fucking pig.”

“Because, I got to see Sarah again. And now she’s free. That’s all that concerns me. She’s my life’s mission.”

Elmore felt confused. “You justify your death this way?”

“It’s complicated.” Rod’s voice weakened.

“How so?” Elmore knew he had to go, but Rod’s statement intrigued him.

Rod looked at Drake. “When you get away from him, take good care of Sarah. She needs a man like you.”

Elmore lifted his weapon and aimed it at Rod’s face. “Don’t talk to Drake. Tell me why it is complicated or you will eat this bullet.”

Rod looked down at his stomach and moved his eyes along the stream of blood. He looked back at Elmore and then to Drake. “I love Sarah. Always have, although she had no idea. That was one of the reasons she became my sole mission. I couldn’t let her out of my sight.” He winced. “Tell her I’m sorry, Drake. I did it to protect her, so nothing like this would happen. She’ll understand. Tell her that was why I got so angry at Rosalie in Hungary. I thought she put Sarah in harm’s way.”