Aric Davis - The Fort

He had seen two people in the woods that afternoon, two boys a couple of years older than he, smoking cigarettes and laughing, passing a few hundred feet from the fort without noticing it. Luke had enjoyed watching them as a hunter, even though they were not prey. There was something to be said for going unnoticed. It was a thrill, even though he was doing nothing more than sitting in a wooden box.

Luke leaned back against one of the walls. A quick nap wouldn’t hurt anything. He let impossible thoughts take him to slumber. A clean trailer, a sober mother, the heartfelt apology from Van Endel. It was going to be good.

He slept for a couple of hours, as the calculator watch told him when he finally came to around six o’clock. Had Luke been awake, he might have seen that there was another person in the woods that day, a man carrying binoculars and walking with a limp. Unlike Luke, that man was hunting and was quite sure that he had found out exactly where his quarry had been roosting.

33

Hooper woke on the couch. Looking back and forth between the clock on the wall and the light coming through the blinds, he finally worked out that he had slept in until nearly three in the afternoon.

He stood slowly, testing his weak leg, and was shocked to see that it was feeling a little better than the day before. He hobbled his way to the bathroom, then sat on the toilet like an invalid to urinate. When he was done he turned on the shower and stripped off his underwear. The water felt nice but didn’t bring the clarity he was used to. His leg was far too distracting, the water on it felt like someone running broken glass across his skin. Giving up after just a few short and decidedly unsatisfying minutes, Hooper dried off and opened the medicine cabinet. He poured three aspirin into his mouth from the bottle and chewed them into a bitter powder, then swallowed. It was time to check on Amy.

He made toast and carried it with him to the steps, then made his way down them, careful not to spill the bread. She was awake, he saw when he reached the bottom, with her back to the pole. He felt cruel setting the plate next to her. She was gagged and bound, after all, and had to be starving, but there was one more thing to be done before she could eat. He tried to avoid her eyes as he said, “I’ll be right back,” before slowly making his way back up the stairs. Once at the top, he went to the garage to get the chain and locks from his car, and then headed back downstairs.

When he was finally in the basement again, he undid one of Amy’s arms and then the other, then refastened them in front of her. He half expected her to fight, and took her passivity as a good sign. Everyone has a breaking point, and hopefully she was getting closer to hers, perhaps was even there already. He wound the chain around the pole five times, then locked two links together, so that it made a very solid five-foot-long leash. Amy would be able to stand, but barely. He took the other end of the chain, looped the lock through it, and attached it to the metal ring on the collar around her neck.

“I’m going to take your gag off now,” said Hooper. “And if you scream, no one is going to hear you, but you will be punished. I already owe you a lashing for yesterday, so think it through.” He gently loosened the straps on the back of the gag, and she fell upon the water he’d cruelly left her the night before. In his injured state, he hadn’t realized the glass would just provide torment, as she would have been unable to drink it. She drank greedily at first, and then seemed to consider the idea that she should make it last. She set the cup down half empty, then began to eat the dry toast.

“This will be our arrangement for a few days,” said Hooper. “If you keep up the good behavior, I’ll bring you more to eat than just bread and water.” He looked at the slowly drying spot on the floor where she had pissed, and grabbed an empty five-gallon bucket from under the steps. “You can use this as a toilet—again, at least until I know I can trust you.”

“Does your leg hurt?” Amy asked him in a timid, kind-sounding voice.

“It does,” he said. “I was hurt in the war, by shrapnel, and this feels a little bit like that,” he said, then chuckled. “Maybe a little worse. I was a much younger man then, and they had me on painkillers almost immediately. Walking is easier than I expected it to be, so that’s a blessing.”

“What are you going to do with me? If you let me go, I won’t tell anyone what’s happened, and I don’t even know where I am, not really.” She was smiling at Hooper, but unlike when she kindly asked after his injury, this was not a smile to be nice. She was trying to manipulate him. He walked behind her. She didn’t turn to follow him, though he was sure she must have wanted to. Hooper grabbed the chain with both hands and yanked, jerking her back into the pole and making Amy grunt with pain. He dropped the chain and walked to where she could see him again. She was crying, looking at the floor while sobs wracked her body. It’s not my fault that I need to discipline her. She tried to run away, that’s how this whole mess started, and if I’m not stern enough, problems like that will persist.

Hooper knelt in front of her, then tenderly lifted her head by the chin. “You need to understand some things, Amy. You belong to me now. There is no going back to what you had before. This is your life now. The sooner you accept that, the better for both of us.” He smiled, and she smiled back, but he knew it was forced. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face bruised slightly from the fall down the steps, he assumed. “Do what you’re told, and things will get better, do you understand?”

She nodded and said quietly, “Yes.”

“Good. Now I’m going to go back upstairs, so give me your hands and then sit against the pole.” She did as instructed, and as a reward, he cuffed them behind her, but not around the pole. She was plenty well secured to it without that, anyway. Next, he replaced the ball gag in her mouth and then tightened the straps. When she looked at him now, all defiance, all hope even, was gone from her face. Hooper smiled at her and then shuffled up the steps, returning her to darkness and locking the door behind him.

The business with Amy taken care of, Hooper walked to his room. He’d decided that there was something else that needed doing, regardless of his injured state. He went to his closet and pulled out a set of olive drab fatigues, pants, and a long-sleeved shirt. He put the pants on slowly, then pulled on and buttoned the shirt, before taking a matching flat-brimmed hat down from the top of the closet and mashing it onto his head. If someone saw him, he might think Hooper was being a little nutty, but if pressed on the matter, Hooper planned to ask if that guy could still fit into his clothes from twenty years ago. His neighbors were good folks; they’d just think he was screwing around. He tucked the small revolver into a pocket and headed for the sliding door.

It was odd being in the backyard again. The last time, leading Amy with the gun, still seemed surreal. He walked to the gate, opened it, and walked into the woods. Someone had been hunting him yesterday, and he wanted to know who. There was a bullet in his calf, and Hooper deserved to know who had put it there. He backtracked his steps as well as he could remember, following the broken path of popples back to where he’d been shot. There was no blood to show him where it had happened, the rain would have seen to that, but somehow Hooper just knew when he was in the spot.

The moment had been frozen into his memory, and he could picture the day before with astonishing clarity. This was where he’d forced Amy into the thick trees, his calf burning with pain. Turning slowly, he oriented himself both to where he had been and to where his back would have been facing. Hooper almost jumped when he saw the fort through the trees. How did I not see it before? The stress of the day must have dulled his normally excellent situational awareness.