In the Box an Excerpt from, My Name is Sam Benton

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.