Richard Laymon - Island

When we asked him about the cage keys, he said, “I’m not telling. If I tell, you got no reason not to kill me. They’re real bastards, these cages. Nobody’s getting out, ever. Not without the keys.”

Billie stood guard over him with the machete while I went away.

I spoke briefly to Connie, who was conscious but confused. She’d been out cold during the action, and had no idea that Kimberly’d been killed. When I told her, she seemed to shrivel. She sank down in a comer of her cage and covered her face.

I went on to Alice and Erin, and explained what had happened. Then I returned to the mansion.

I searched all over the place, looking for the keys. While trying to find them, I came across a few sections of rope which appeared to be our old ropes, taken from the scene of the big batde at the chasm.

Also, I found Kimberly’s Swiss Army knife.

I quickly hid the knife away for later. I didn’t want to use it on Wesley, foul it with him. I wanted it as a keepsake, a reminder of Kimberly to be savored in times to come.

Downstairs, I gathered some food and water for my women.

I returned to the cages. After handing out the provisions, I took over with Wesley. He hadn’t given Billie any trouble. She gave the belt to me, and I dragged him by the neck. He tried to crawl, but it wasn’t easy because of his dislocated leg. He screamed and choked a lot.

It took plenty of effort, but I finally managed to stand him up and tie him to the front door of Kimberly’s cage. He could only stand on one leg, the other being useless. I kept him upright by tossing two ropes over the crossbar at the top of the door and tying them under his armpits. Then I stretched his arms out to the sides and lashed them to upright bars. I took the belt off him, got rid of its two empty knife sheaths, and used it to strap his good leg to the bars.

By then, Billie’s torch had burned itself out.

I wanted light to work by.

So I took a few steps backward from Wesley, and lay down on the ground. Billie called to me a couple of times. I didn’t answer, though. I didn’t want to go to her. She would hold me. We would weep. It would be comforting and nice. I would probably even end up with a hard-on.

I wanted no part of that.

I wanted no part of gentleness or sex or love.

It would ruin me for what I needed to do.

So I lay there on my back, in a position almost the same as Kimberly’s. I pictured how it might look from the air: Kimberly and I stretched out like wings. Airplane wings. Angel wings. Eagle wings.

Wesley between us like the body between our wings. And what did that make us? What did that make him?

I’m starting to ramble.

No more of that.

I stayed on my back, not sleeping, until dawn arrived. Then I got up and went to Wesley.

Billie, Connie, Alice and Erin were already standing in their cages to watch. As if they’d all risen early, afraid they might oversleep and miss out.

Wesley watched my approach.

He was a wreck before I even got started. Aside from his dislocated, swollen leg, he had three spear wounds—the old ones in the boob and buttock, plus the one in the shoulder that I’d given him last night. He was also battered from falling down the stairs last night.

By the look on his face, he must’ve guessed that even worse was on its way.

Then he saw me pull the razor out of my sock.

When I flicked open its blade, he started to sob.

“Hey,” he said. “Look. Don’t. Don’t hurt me.”

Billie called from her corner, “Just tell us where the keys are, Wesley.”

His eyes were latched on the razor. He licked his cracked lips. “I’ll tell. Okay? Put that away. Put it away and I’ll tell.”

I stepped up very close to him. Reaching down with my left hand, I grabbed him. His eyes bulged. I said, “Where’s your fucking boner now, tough guy?”

“Please,” he blubbered.

“Cut his cock off!” Connie shouted. “Make him eat it.”

“Good thing she’s locked up,” I said.

He nodded vigorously. His face dripped sweat and tears. “Don’t… do it,” he said. “Please. I’m begging you. I’ll tell where the keys are. Please.”

“Okay.” I let go.

Thank you.” He sniffled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, and sliced off the underside of his left forearm from wrist to elbow.

While he screamed, I stuffed it into his mouth.

“Eat that,” I said. “You’ll need snacks. This is gonna take awhile.”

He wouldn’t eat it, though. He gasped and choked and managed to spit it out.

“The keys!” he squealed.

Off to my right, Connie vomited. She was hunched over, face between bars, trying to get most of her mess to land outside the cage.

I looked at Billie. She stood with her arms up, hands gripping the bars. I saw where Wesley or Thelma or both of them had left marks on her, and I saw a fierce look in her eyes.

“It’s not just for Kimberly,” I told her.

“I know that, honey.”

I faced Wesley.

“Tell me where the keys are,” I said.

“Bedroom,” he gasped. “Upstairs.”

“Where in the bedroom?”

“Under mattress.”

“Liar,” I said, and sliced him across the left eye. My razor cut in through me closed lid, slit his eyeball and nicked the bridge of his nose.

It took him a long time to stop screaming.

I stood back and waited. Most of my audience had had enough. Making no complaints, they’d simply turned away and gone to far comers of their cages. Only Billie still watched.

When our eyes met, she nodded.

“I told you where me keys are!” Wesley blurted when he was finally capable of speech again.

“Not enough,” I said.

“What do you want? I’ll do anything!”

“Apologize to Billie.”

“I’m sorry!” he cried out. “Billie, I’m sorry! Forgive me!”

I took off one of his ears.

When he could speak again, he gasped, “I did what you wanted!”

“Not enough,” I said.

“What?”

“You didn’t apologize to Connie.”

“But… but… !”

I shoved my razor into the rip across his left boob, made so long ago by Kimberly’s spear but reopened last night. I ran the blade through it, slow and deep.

When Wesley could talk again, he cried out, “I’m sorry, Connie! I’m sorry, Alice! I’m sorry, Erin. Okay? Okay?”

“You forgot a few people,” I explained, and cut off his right nipple.

Had to wait.

Then, “Who? Who?”

“Try to remember.”

I made him scream again.

Had to wait.

Then he shouted, “I’m sorry, Andrew! I’m sorry, Keith! I’m sorry, Dorothy! I’m sorry, James!”

“Finished?”

“No?” he wondered.

“Who, then?” I asked.

“I don’t know! You? I’m sorry, Rupert!”

I hurt him again.

Had to wait.

Then, “Who? Please! Who?”

“Apologize to your wife. Don’t you think Thelma deserves an apology?”

“Yes! I’m sorry, Thelma!” he cried out.

I sliced off a pretty good section down the front of his left thigh, and slapped him across the face with it a couple of times.

Had to wait.

Then, “What? What? Who?”

“You forgot Kimberly.”

“Kimberly? No, I… Yes! I’m sorry, Kimberly! I’m sorry, Kimberly! I’m sorry, everybody! Everybody!”

“Very good,” I said.

He hung there against the bars of the cage door, sobbing wildly, blood all over, and blubbered, “Thank you. Thank you.”

Fool thought I was done.

“One more thing,” I said.

He shuddered. “Yes! Yes! Anything! Please! Whatever you say! Anything!”

“Make Kimberly be alive.”

“What? No! I can’t! I would, but I can’t! Please! I can’t do that! She’s dead! I can’t bring her back to life.”