An excerpt from My
Name is Sam Benton, Part 3: In the Box.
By John W. Vander Velden
A
bit of background: Sam Benton is held
captive by those that are trying to convince him he is Thomas Weir, the heir of
a billionaire. The prison he finds
himself is a concrete box in an abandoned building’s basement. The tight space offers no real facilities, no
running water, no light etc. This scene
follows a moment when he has lost control and shouted at his unknown
captors. In the Box…
The
fatigue of the morning overtook him. All
the screaming, all the cursing…all the crying, left him exhausted. The light from the window seemed to indicate
the day yet full light when he awoke.
Lunch was waiting on the table, a couple of hamburgers and a large order
of fries. There must be an “Arches”
nearby…another piece to the puzzle. His
impulse was to ignore the food…a small act of defiance. But his gut told him he was hungry…and that
starving the wrong battle to wage. He
compromised. He would eat later…not much
later, but later. He stretched best he
was able. Though the bucket had been
emptied the stench still filled the air.
Sam moved to the window, breathing in the soft breeze coming through the
upturned corner of flexi-glass, even the smell of the city a preference.
Later,
across the room he ate…slowly. It took
determination not to just wolf down the greasy meal, but he would play his
pieces carefully. Sam wondered if he
should thank them for the meal. He knew
they could hear. But would that not be
playing into their hand? Perhaps
not. “I am only getting McDonalds?” He asked sarcastically.
“Why,
does not the food please you?” Came the
clam voice…flatter…he was not there…there outside the door. Somewhere the man watched, somewhere warm and
comfortable, Sam was sure. He in his
soft chair spoke into a microphone that connected to a speaker in the
hallway. Why would they not mount a
speaker in this room? Oh, Sam would tear
it down. But he hadn’t torn down the
cameras. Benton felt the threats made
real enough he avoided the devices.
Later…soon…he would see if he could determine just how far away his
“keepers” remained as they watched him.
Later.
“Oh,
the burgers were OK,” he answered slowly, “but I would kinda’ like a steak now and
then.”
The
chuckle eliminated any doubt to the sound coming from a speaker to the right of
the doorway. “You are so amusing,
Tom. But perhaps later, if you
cooperate, something can be arranged.”
“Cooperate? How?”
Sam considered the choice of words.
Trapped in this concrete box how could he not cooperate. He had done his best to remain calm…well most
of the time anyway. He had not tried to
escape…mostly because escaping was impossible…at the moment. So he wondered…what did they need?
“Tut,
tut, with time, Tom, with time.”
Sam
looked toward the doorway. He would play
along…for now. “Hey if it gets me out of
here I’ll…” Sam allowed his voice to
trail off.
“You
will do what, Tom?” The voices pitch
rose slightly.
“Hey,
you got me here, this is not such a great place ya know. I mean there’s no real heat and we won’t even
talk about the bathroom. If you let me
out of this box, I might do almost anything.”
Sam hoped he was convincing.
That
chuckle again. “Oh Mr. Weir, you are
such a comedian.” Then the voice changed
became softer, deeper. “You will
cooperate, Mr. Weir of that there is no question. You will do what we tell you, when we tell
you. Or…”
“Or
you’ll kill me.” Sam shouted.
“This
ordeal will end as you wish.” The
deepened calm voice went on. “Something
to think about.” Then silence, only the
sound of heater filled Sam’s ears.
Benton
had pressed himself against the door, looking out through the grated portal
into the dark hallway. He had seen
nothing but this room since he closed his eyes in the Corry Street
Mission. But he had heard a great
deal. Returning to the bed he began to
think about what he had heard. He moved
backwards from the sound of the door closing.
Footsteps, Sam had heard the footsteps of three people…men likely…in the
hall as they came to this place. That
made sense. It would have been him with
the two guys holding him by the arms.
But not more just three. But
there had to be more. He remembered the
steps, counting the steps remembering the turns. Sam could visualize the way out. Out this door, to the left, maybe a hundred
feet of hall way…he remembered the echoes…to the right, up six steps a landing,
left and left again, six steps, a landing, a yard maybe two, left again and
back the way they had come. That hallway
was directly above this one. That
hallway was longer a lot longer maybe twice as long. A right turn a short distance, the sound
different there…an open space a door and then steps. The steps seemed odd. Three short steps, not that the treads were
short. No, there was very little lift
one to the other. The outside steps were
shorter than the stairs with the landings…only half as high. It seemed to Sam they could have made it just
two steps or one for that matter. In
truth, if he could see he likely could have bypassed the steps entirely, just
stepped up to the platform at the doorway.
Sam
sat back on the bed again. He thought
about those steps. They were
unusual…awkward. Not likely a way
traveled by many. Perhaps some brick had
been stacked for his benefit. Sam shook
his head as he dwelt upon that particular anomaly.
“What
are you thinking about, Tom?” The clam
voice asked?
“How
the water in the shower was cold again this morning. Can’t you get the Super to fix that worthless
water heater?”
Chuckling
again.
“I’m
glad you find my situation so funny. You
know it doesn’t feel so funny from in here.”
“And
here I thought you were enjoying your stay with us. You must admit it is better than the
streets.”
“Is
it?”
“Certainly. Here you have a bed and food. Surely that is better than sharing a sidewalk
grate with that big black man.”
“At
least on the street I knew who my friends were.” Sam scowled.
“You
have no friends, Tom. You have never had
friends. Your whole life has been a
lie.”
“And
this,” Sam shouted, “this is the truth.”
“More
truth than you realize.” The calm voice
returned.
“And
next you are going to tell me you’re my friend.” Sam huffed.
“I
could be.” The voice smooth. “Your first real friend.”
“Leave
me alone!” Sam shouted. “I’m tired of
your lies.”
Sam
refused to hear what the calm voice said next.
Moving nearer the heater he allowed the thrumming to drown out the
sickly sweet words…the lies meant to break him.
Sam pushed his face against the window grate allowing the musty scents
to fill his nostrils as he blanked out the noise that filled his space.
