Stephanie Steele

Vern Kalarjian, bare chested, and wearing nothing but a pair of baggy boxer shorts swigged the last of a mouthful of beer from his can. The room was dark. The only light coming from the vid player screen which was a floating holographic projection in front of him. He was watching a homemade movie of a woman tied to a bed and being beaten by a man who was at the same time having sex with her. The woman was screaming and in obvious pain, the man laughing and enjoying her humiliation. Vern’s other hand was stuffed inside his shorts gently stroking a massive hard on. The phone rang, interrupting his leisure time.

“Damn it! Pause.” The movie paused. “Answer phone. Yeah?”

The outline of a man in a darkened room replaced the movie on the vid screen.

“Mister Kalarjian do you have the girl?” A deep voice enquired on the other end of the phone.

Vern squirmed uneasily in his chair. “Yeah, yeah. She’s sleeping.” He lied.

“What did she tell the police?” The voice had a threatening tone to it.

Vern was clearly uncomfortable. He lifted the can to take another swig. It was empty. He tossed it on the floor where three other cans lay crumpled. “Nothing. We just told them that she’d run away and that’s how she ended up at Archie’s place. The cops think it was her fault that she ended up in that predicament. I swear, they know nothing.” Vern rubbed his bristly chin, anxiously waiting for the caller to say something else. They didn’t. “So we’re good? Obviously I’ll bring her back again. No charge this time.”

“See that you do.” The caller hung up and the screen returned to the movie.

Vern stood and paced in front of the chair, kicking the beer can he’d just discarded. He went to the window and looked out. It was raining outside and the street was empty. A flash of lightning streaked, highlighting his hard features. “When I find her . . .” He turned to the vid screen. “Play.” The movie resumed playing and the woman’s screams once again filled the room.

Vern walked along the gloomy passage to the kitchen. The vid screen floated along in front of him so he didn’t miss a second of the debauchery. He smiled at something on the screen and reached for another beer from the fridge. He popped open the can and took a long guzzle of the cold liquid. A dark trickle ran down his chin interrupted only by his bristles and he wiped it away without taking his eyes from the vid screen. As he turned to walk back the door bell rang. He stopped immediately. “About time. Pause.” The movie paused. “Living room only.” The screen disappeared.

The door bell rang again. “Alright, I’m coming.” Vern made his way to the front door and opened it. “I wasn’t expecting the delivery for another ten . . .” A shot blaster lifted him clean off his feet and threw him into the far wall. A picture fell off its hook in the hallway and crashed to the floor a split second before he did, splinters of glass tinkling on the soiled carpet.

The shooter stepped over Vern’s body and made their way into a child’s bedroom. The bed was empty. They searched the rest of the apartment and were disappointed not to find what they were looking for. The girl.