Trouble in Hell (Hell Night 1)

I’m don’t know if it’s just me seeing things or if she looks a little stiff as she walks away. I’m sure it’s because she’s just worried that the boy could have gotten hurt. I put the thought out of my mind and turn back to the stove to finish dinner.

TROUBLE

THE PAST

HOT BREATH TICKLES MY EAR, and I wish I could lift my shoulder to rub against it, then think the idea is stupid in my current situation. My ear tickling is the least of my worries, considering the pain radiating through my body. I flinch, and my legs stiffen when a sharp stabbing pain shoots into my stomach.

Soft cries can be heard all over the large room, mixing in with other sounds. Sounds that turn my stomach at the same time causes my body to shake with anger.

A familiar voice comes from my left, and despite the weight on my back, I manage to lift my head and look.

“Why in the hell do you keep fighting this, boy?” a tall man says, glaring down at Emo with his fists at his side. “We go through this every month and it always ends the same fucking way, no matter how much you fight. Now get your ass over there and give me what I want.”

Emo doesn’t move or speak. His small body stays locked tight as he faces his father, Mr. Masters. Emo is small for his age, so standing up to his father is dangerous and stupid, but I admire his bravery. He’s the only one of us who still fights. He’s the only one who hasn’t given up in a helpless situation. And that’s exactly what this is. A helpless situation. We’re kids surrounded by adults with sick perversions in a town as dark as hell. Even the older and stronger kids have stopped trying to escape. In order to survive, you have to become immune, you have to set your mind free and no longer feel.

When Emo doesn’t do as his father says, Mr. Masters reaches out and wraps his fingers around his neck. Lifting him off the ground, he starts marching. Emo, his face turning red from being chocked, doesn’t struggle against the hold. My eyes quickly dart to the short table only ten feet away. My little sister lays there whimpering with tears soaking her cheeks, her white dress pushed up to her waist. When Mr. Masters is standing at the end of the table, he drops Emo and spins him around. His sweat pants are yanked down to his knees and he’s shoved forward until his thighs hit the edge.

My eyes lock on Emo’s erect penis. I know he’s not hard because of my sister or the situation. It’s the special medicine the adults give the kids when they need them to perform.

I start struggling against the weight on my back. I grunt and snarl as I try to push up from the table I’m bent over. I may have accepted my fate in life, but I’ll never accept Rella’s.

More breath fans across my ear as Mr. Leland whispers, “Either watch it and enjoy it like everyone else, or close your eyes. You can’t help your sister, Elijah.”

He snarls and slams his hips forward, forcing my hip bones to hit the table. Bile rises in my throat with the pain that comes with it. Not only in my pelvis, but also my backside. My wrists are captured and brought to my back, stopping my efforts to move. Tears prick my eyes as I realize once again, there’s not a damn thing I can do to help Rella. No matter how much I try, I can never help her.

I do what Mr. Leland says. I watch, but not because I enjoy it. I watch because I can’t tear my eyes away, even though the act shreds my insides and has vomit rushing to my mouth. I watch because it fuels the anger that steadily builds inside me. I watch because it’ll give me the strength to one day kill.

Mr. Masters grabs Rella’s feet and pulls her so her butt is at the end of the table. She struggles and cries out, but he slaps the inside of her thigh and she stops. He bends and whispers something in Emo’s ear. Emo stiffens and his eyes close for a moment. He’s never told me what his father says to him each time to make him comply, but I know whatever it is, it’s bad. I know without a doubt Emo would never willingly hurt Rella.

He opens his eyes and his head turns to the side. His dark gaze meets mine. Through the dead look, I see regret, shame, remorse, and pain. I lose his eyes when he faces forward again, and Mr. Masters grabs his penis and guides it toward Rella. Once he’s finished and has Emo where he wants him, Mr. Masters pushes down his own pants and lines his penis up against Emo’s backside.

When he brutally shoves forward, a hand slaps over my mouth as the first scream escapes my lips. I buck my hips and use every bit of strength I have to try and get free. Pain shoots into my shoulder and I hear a loud pop. It doesn’t stop me though. I’ll never stop, no matter what happens to me.

One day… one day I’ll get free and these bastards will pay with their lives.

AFTER FINISHING MY NOTES, I click the x and close out of Devin’s file. Poor kid has strep throat. It’s always the hardest when it’s kids who are the patient. Even something so simple as strep throat rattles my emotions.

Becoming a doctor was

never something I wanted to be until I was fifteen and witnessed a car wreck while out with my brothers one Friday night. The car in front of us lost control and went off the road, where it flipped three times before coming to a stop on its roof. We all scrambled out to see if we could help, along with several other people. One happened to be a doctor. Running up to the car, it was soon discovered that the man and woman were already dead, the top of the car had crushed them to death. Minutes later, there was a scream. A child had been thrown from the car and was somehow still alive. My brothers and I watch with rapt attention as the doctor worked over the child for several minutes until the ambulance showed up. The EMTs said it was the doctor’s smart thinking and fast reactions that saved the little girl. Since that night, I knew that’s what I wanted to do. I worked hard to graduate early at sixteen and at the top of my class. From there, I took accelerated classes and got my degree in pre-med and medical school in six years instead of the normal eight.

My phone rings, taking me out of the past, and I snatch it up, seeing Judge’s name.

“We got a lock on Ryland,” he says.

Instant adrenaline rushes through my veins, but I rein in the energy.

“Where?”

“You’re never gonna fuckin’ believe it, but he’s been holed up in Amarillo the last eleven years. Guess the fucker just couldn’t stay away from the great state of Texas. Been using the name Charles Crosward.”

My teeth grind at the knowledge he’s been so close.

“I’ll pack a bag and be ready to go this evening.”

“JW wants in,” he says quietly.

“Tell him to be ready in three hours. We leave at sunset.”