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Folks is depressed. I’m savin’ the gov’ment from payin’ these doctors to pump ‘em full of pills. ‘Stead of worryin’ ‘bout me liftin’ people’s spirits with a little weed, y’all ought to fix the economy.”
    It was funny then, but now Rainey faced the added guilt of placing Mackie in his current position. Had she heeded his warning, he would not be a wounded hostage, and she would not be rushing to his side, praying she could bring them all out safely.
    She added to her last statement, “I know it’s my fault, Wiley. Now, help me fix this.”
    “Well, all right then. You bring it on to the house. We got some work to do.”
    Rainey could see the blue emergency lights flashing on the overpass as she approached. “Keep her calm and tell her I’m coming.” She paused, and then added, “You tell Maybelline I said this, and I mean you tell her as soon as you hang up with me. Tell her Billy Bell always did right by her and his daughter will, too, but she can’t let anything happen to Mackie. If it does, I’ll shoot her myself.”

Chapter Two
     
    A laptop glowed out of the darkness. Voices came out of small speakers on the desk in the corner, the sound a garbled reverberation against her eardrums. Opening her swollen eyes, Bladen peered through the tiny slits she was barely able to create. No longer hanging from her wrists, for which she was grateful, her head and hands now protruded from the holes of a medieval pillory. He constructed the device by hand, he told her, lovingly sanding the hinged, thick wooden planks that now securely locked her in place. He left her standing there, naked, and unable to move, but at least he was gone.
    Not long ago, he forced her into a shower stall to wash her blood and his body fluids from her skin. He snatched the stiff brush from her hands, when he deemed she wasn’t scrubbing hard enough. He was in the process of rubbing her skin raw and repeating to her what a “dirty bitch” she was, when he suddenly stopped, handcuffed her to a metal bar attached to the tiled wall, and exited the room. He left her there long past the hot water turning icy cold. Bladen didn’t care. She stood fast under the freezing spray, shivering, but determined to wash the last few hours away.
    The shower was in a small bathroom adjacent to the maniac’s chamber of homemade and “collectible” horrors. He was quite versed in the art of torture. He enjoyed telling Bladen the history of each device, its origin and uses, while he demonstrated how it worked on her. He was particularly fond of one ancient horror.
    “Now, I’m going to show you the pièce de résistance of my collection,” he had said, his yellow contact lenses seeming to glow behind the black leather mask.
    She could see only his eyes and mouth, but it was enough to distinguish his ghoulish expression of delight. He was squatting on the floor in front of her while she was tied face down to the ladder rack that he was especially proud of. He had meticulously reconstructed it from medieval drawings, he explained.
    “You’re the first one to get to use this museum quality reproduction of mine. Sadly, my last guest departed before it was completed. I’ll always remember you were the first,” he said, as if they had just shared a ride in his new car. He wiped tears away from one of Bladen’s cheeks. “Sorry about the whip, but you have to learn. Have you learned, Bladen?”
    Bladen had learned. She learned to respond quickly and with the right answer. “Yes, sir,” trembled from her lips.
    “And what have you learned?”
    Bladen looked him in the eyes, because that’s what he had instructed her to do. She took a shaky breath and repeated verbatim what he taught her, careful not to make a mistake. Mistakes caused pain.
    “I will do what you say, when you say it. I will take my punishment and learn to like it. You are the master.”
    “Good girl,” he said, smiling. Then he held up a pear-shaped metal object with an