Blackmail

 

Chapter One: Against the Wall

Nineteen-year-old Billy Benson pressed his back against the cold brick wall of the musty basement, feeling the first drops of sweat beginning to seep through his white undershirt. The masked man held the pistol steady, pointed directly at his chest.

Why me? What the fuck did I do? I was just walking home from work... just walking home like I do every goddamn day. Did I see something? Did I piss someone off? Think, Billy, think... but I can't think of anything. Nothing. I don't owe anybody money. I don't mess with drugs. I don't even really have enemies except maybe Jake from high school but he's not gonna... no, this is serious. This is real. So WHY?

"What's going to happen to me?" Billy's voice cracked.

"Shut up or I'll blow your head off."

Okay, okay, so they don't want to talk. They don't want information from me. So what do they want? Money? But I don't have any money. My family doesn't have money. We're nobody special. We're just... we're just regular people. So why the hell am I here? Why is there a gun pointed at me? What did I DO?

The sweat was beginning to trickle down his chest under the t-shirt, mixing with the dampness of the basement air.

Maybe it's mistaken identity? Maybe they think I'm someone else? But they knew my name when they grabbed me. They said "Billy Benson" like they were sure. So it's not mistaken identity. It's me they want. But WHY? What could I have possibly done to deserve this?

Heavy footsteps echoed down the basement stairs. The accomplice appeared carrying a Home Depot bag, the orange logo stark against the dim light. Through the plastic, Billy could see thick yellow nylon rope coiled like a snake and the silver gleam of heavy-duty duct tape.

Oh shit. Oh shit no. Are they going to lock me in here? Or worse... are they going to tie me up? That's rope. That's real rope. Thick rope. And duct tape. Jesus Christ, they're going to tie me up. This is really happening. This is really fucking happening. But I still don't know WHY.

Chapter Two: Hands Behind Back

"Turn around. Hands behind your back."

Billy's legs felt like water as he slowly rotated to face the wall. The cold brick pressed against his cheek as rough hands yanked his wrists together behind him.

This is really happening. They're actually going to tie me up. But why? What do they want from me? If they're not going to ask me questions, if they're not going to tell me what I did wrong, then what the hell is this about?

The thick white clothesline rope bit into his wrists as they wrapped it around and around, each loop tighter than the last. The half-inch cord cut deep into his skin as they bound his forearms together.

Jesus Christ, this hurts. Why are they making it so tight? They're cutting off my circulation. My fingers are already starting to tingle. This isn't just to keep me from running - this is... this is torture. But I still don't know WHY.

"Now your arms."

They wrapped the clothesline around his biceps, yanking his shoulders back until his chest thrust forward painfully. The rope circled his upper arms again and again, each wrap forcing his shoulder blades together.

I can't move. I can't move my arms at all. The rope is cutting into my muscles. This is insane. What did I do? What could I have possibly done to deserve this? Think, Billy, think... but there's nothing. There's fucking nothing.

"On the floor. Face down."

Billy's knees buckled as they shoved him down onto the cold concrete. They rolled him onto his belly, his bound arms pulled up behind his back as they grabbed his ankles.

No, no, no. Not a hogtie. Please not a hogtie. I've seen this in movies. I know what this is. But why? WHY are they doing this to me?

The clothesline wrapped around his ankles, then up to connect with his wrist bindings, pulling his feet back toward his hands until his back arched painfully.

I can't straighten my legs. I can't move at all. Every muscle in my back is on fire. This is torture. Real torture. But I still don't know what I did wrong.

The blindfold came next, thick fabric blocking out all light. Then the gag, duct tape pressed over his mouth, sealing in his panicked breathing.

Now I can't see. Can't talk. Can't move. I'm completely helpless. And I still don't know why.

Chapter Three: Blindfolded

Time meant nothing in the suffocating darkness. Minutes? Hours? Billy had tried counting heartbeats, but lost track somewhere in the hundreds. The clothesline had worked deeper into his wrists, the circulation in his hands long gone. His back screamed from the arch of the hogtie.

How long have I been here? Feels like forever. Still no questions. No demands. Nothing. What the fuck do they want? If this isn't about money, if they're not going to interrogate me, then what the hell is this? Some kind of sick game? Did I accidentally piss off some psychopath? Did I cut someone off in traffic? Look at someone's girlfriend wrong? There has to be a reason. There has to be.

The cold groundwater had seeped through the concrete, creating puddles of filthy, stagnant water that soaked through his white undershirt and jeans. The musty smell of mold and decay filled his nostrils. His clothes clung to his body, heavy and freezing, the dirty water chilling him to the bone.

Maybe it's about Dad? Maybe it's something from his past? Or Mom? But they're both dead. So what could... wait. What about my brother? Tommy's always been into sketchy stuff. Always had questionable friends. But he wouldn't... he wouldn't let this happen to me. Would he? No. No, Tommy would never...

---

Twenty-four miles away, Tommy Benson's phone buzzed with an unknown number. The image that appeared made his blood freeze. His little brother, hogtied and blindfolded on a concrete floor, rope cutting into his white undershirt.

The message was simple: "You know what you did. 24 hours."

Tommy's hands shook as he stared at the photo. The blackmail. The fucking blackmail. He'd thought he was so smart, so careful. But they'd found him anyway.

And now Billy was paying for his mistake.

---

Why won't they just tell me what they want? I'd give them anything. I'd do anything. But they won't even talk to me. They just... they just leave me here. Like I'm nothing. Like I'm just...

Footsteps on the stairs. Multiple sets. Billy's heart hammered as he heard voices, muffled movement.

Finally. Maybe now they'll tell me what this is about. Maybe now I'll get answers.

Rough hands grabbed his head, stuffing foam plugs deep into his ears. The basement sounds disappeared, replaced by the muffled thrum of his own pulse. Then noise-cancelling headphones clamped over his ears, sealing him in complete silence.

No. No, no, no. Why are they taking away my hearing? I need to hear what's happening. I need to understand.

The duct tape ripped away from his eyes, taking skin with it. Billy blinked in the dim light, his vision adjusting slowly.

A man was being dragged down the stairs. Shirtless. Hands bound behind his back with the same white clothesline.

Tommy.

Oh God. Oh God, it's Tommy. They have Tommy. But why? What did he do? What did we do?

His brother's eyes found his across the basement, wide with terror and something else. Guilt.

Tommy knows. Tommy knows why we're here.

Chapter Four: Silence

Billy could only watch in horror as they forced his brother into a metal chair. Tommy's hands were already bound behind his back with the same white clothesline. They wrapped rope around his biceps, lashing them tight to the sides of the chair, then bound his legs to the front chair legs. The noise-cancelling headphones turned everything into a nightmare silent movie.

Tommy, Tommy, look at me! I'm here! But he can't hear me through the gag. He can't hear anything. What are they doing to him? What are they asking him?

One of the men held up a car battery with jumper cables. The other attached the clamps to Tommy's nipples. Billy watched his brother's mouth open in a scream he couldn't hear, his body straining against the ropes.

Jesus Christ, they're electrocuting him! Stop it! STOP IT! But I can't move, I can't do anything, I can't even scream through this fucking gag. Tommy, just tell them what they want to know! Whatever it is, just tell them!

Billy thrashed against his bonds, his body writhing on the filthy concrete. The clothesline cut deeper into his wrists, but he didn't care. He had to get free. He had to help his brother.

Move, Billy, fucking MOVE! Get out of these ropes! But I can't, I can't move at all. I'm useless. I'm completely fucking useless.

The men noticed his struggling. One walked over with more clothesline, kneeling beside Billy's hogtied form. The rope circled his chest, then his gut, each loop pulled tight. They connected the new bonds to his existing arm restraints, forcing his bound arms deeper into his spine.

Oh God, oh God, I can't breathe. The rope is crushing my ribs. My arms feel like they're going to break. But Tommy... I have to watch Tommy. I have to be here for him even if I can't help.

Through the silent chaos, Billy saw his brother's lips moving frantically. Begging. Pleading. But the men weren't satisfied with whatever he was saying. As Tommy struggled against the electric shocks, the rope around his biceps cut deeper, blood starting to spray as the clothesline crushed down to the bone.

Oh God, he's bleeding! The rope is cutting into him! What do they want from him? What did he do? Why won't they just tell me what this is about? Are they going to kill him? Are they going to kill both of us? I still don't know WHY any of this is happening!

Billy's panic built like a scream in his chest. His brother was being tortured to death, and he still had no idea what had started this nightmare.

Tommy, please, just give them what they want! I don't care what you did, I don't care what this is about, just make it stop! But what if he can't give them what they want? What if they kill him anyway? What if they kill me too and I'll never know why I had to die?

The helplessness was crushing him worse than the ropes. He was watching his brother bleed and suffer, and he couldn't do anything to help or even understand why.

I'll kill them. I'll fucking kill them all. But first I have to get free. I have to find a way out of these ropes. I have to save Tommy before they kill him.

Chapter Five: Only Pain

One of the men pulled out a gun, the black metal gleaming under the basement's dim light. Billy's heart hammered as he watched them aim it at his brother's legs.

No, no, no! They're going to shoot him! They're going to shoot Tommy! Oh God, they're going to kill him! Tommy, please, just tell them what they want!

The first shot hit Tommy's right knee through his jeans. His body jerked against the ropes, mouth opening in a silent scream. Then another. And another. Billy watched in horror as his brother's body convulsed with each impact.

They're shooting him! They're actually shooting my brother! Stop it! STOP IT! You're going to kill him! What do you want from him? What did he do? Just tell me what this is about!

Billy thrashed wildly against his bonds, the rope cutting deeper into his chest and gut. His hogtied arms felt like they were breaking against his spine, but he didn't care. He had to get free. He had to help his brother.

Move, Billy, fucking MOVE! Get out of these ropes! But I can't, I can't do anything. I'm completely useless. Tommy's being shot and I can't even help him.

They switched to his left knee, the shots pounding into the joint until blood seeped through the torn denim. Tommy's legs shook uncontrollably against the chair restraints, the rope around his biceps cutting deeper as he struggled.

Wait... he's not dying. They keep shooting him but he's not dying. What kind of gun... oh God, it's not bullets. It's a BB gun. They're torturing him with a BB gun. They're not trying to kill him, they're trying to make him suffer.

The man with the gun aimed higher, firing into Tommy's gut. Each shot made him double over as much as the ropes allowed. Then they moved to his shoulders, the BBs tearing into his skin.

They're torturing him. This is all torture. But why? What did Tommy do? What could he have possibly done to deserve this?

Suddenly, Tommy's head dropped forward. His lips moved frantically, words Billy couldn't hear but could see were desperate, pleading. One of the men leaned in close, listening.

Finally! Finally he's telling them something! But what? What is he saying? What did he do?

The men exchanged glances. One nodded. They gathered their equipment and headed for the stairs, leaving Tommy slumped in the chair, still bound by the ropes, blood seeping through his torn clothes.

They're leaving. They got what they wanted. But what was it? What did Tommy tell them? And they're leaving him tied up. They're leaving both of us here. Are we going to die down here?

As their footsteps faded up the stairs, Billy was left alone on the filthy concrete floor, still hogtied, still gagged, watching his semiconscious brother bleeding in the chair across the basement.

Tommy... Tommy, I need to know why. But first I have to get us out of here.Chapter Six: Freedom

Billy had been working at the rope for what felt like hours, using the rough concrete to fray the clothesline where it connected his ankles to his wrists. The dirty water had made the rope slippery, and finally - finally - he felt it give way.

The hogtie's loose. I can straighten my legs. Oh God, that feels... but my wrists are still tied. And my arms. I can barely move my arms.

He rolled onto his side, working his fingers at the knots around his wrists. The rope was swollen from the water, the knots tight from his hours of struggling, but desperation gave him strength. One knot. Then another.

Come on, come on... there! My hands are free! But my arms... the rope around my chest and biceps is still cutting into me. I can barely lift my arms.

Billy looked across the basement at his brother, slumped in the chair, blood seeping through his torn clothes. Tommy's eyes were half-open, watching him.

Tommy. I have to get to Tommy. He's hurt bad.

Billy crawled across the filthy concrete, his arms still bound at the biceps and chest, limiting his movement. He reached the chair and maneuvered behind it, his fingers finding the knots at Tommy's wrists.

These knots are tight. So tight. But I have to get him free. I have to help him.

Billy's fingers worked at the rope binding Tommy's wrists, picking at the knots with his nails. The clothesline was crusted with dried blood, making it stiff and difficult to work with.

There. One knot loose. Now the other one...

Tommy's hands came free. Billy immediately moved to his brother's side, working at the rope that bound Tommy's biceps to the chair. His own restricted arm movement made it awkward, but slowly, gradually, he loosened the knots.

Almost there... almost...

Tommy's arms came free from the chair, and he immediately reached up to his face, pulling the duct tape gag from his mouth. He winced as it tore away from his skin.

"Billy," Tommy gasped, his voice hoarse. Then he reached forward, his fingers finding the edge of Billy's gag. He carefully peeled the duct tape away from his brother's mouth.

Billy worked his jaw, his voice cracking as he spoke for the first time in hours. "Tommy... are you okay?"

"I'm here," Tommy whispered, then reached behind Billy, his shaking hands finding the rope around Billy's chest.

"Your turn," Tommy said, his fingers working at the knots despite his injuries. "God, Billy, they really tied you up."

He's freeing me. Finally, finally I'll be able to move my arms properly.

The rope around Billy's chest loosened, then Tommy worked on the bindings around his biceps, and finally the rope around his elbows. Billy felt his shoulders drop as the pressure released, blood rushing back into his arms.

I can move. I can actually move.

Billy immediately knelt in front of Tommy, working at the rope binding his brother's legs to the chair. These knots came easier now that he had full use of his hands.

There. He's free. We're both free.

Tommy tried to stand but collapsed back into the chair, his legs unable to support his weight.

"I can't... my knees are destroyed," Tommy said, looking down at his bloody legs.

Billy pulled off his filthy white undershirt, tearing it into strips. He wrapped the makeshift bandages around Tommy's wounded knees, then around the BB wounds in his shoulders and gut.

This isn't enough. He needs real medical help. I have to get help.

"Tommy, I need to go get help. I'll be right back."

"Wait," Tommy grabbed Billy's arm. "You need to know... you need to know why this happened."

Finally. Finally he's going to tell me.

"I was blackmailing someone," Tommy said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I had photos... compromising photos of this guy. A married guy with kids. I thought I could make some easy money."

Billy stared at his brother. "Blackmail? Tommy, how could you..."

"I know, I know it was stupid. But I never thought... I never thought they'd come after you. I'm so sorry, Billy. This is all my fault."

All of this... all of this torture, all of this pain... because Tommy was blackmailing someone? But it doesn't matter now. He's my brother. He's still my brother.

"It's okay," Billy said, squeezing Tommy's hand. "We're going to be okay. But I need to get you help."

Billy climbed the basement stairs, his legs shaking. The door at the top was unlocked - the men had left it open when they departed. He stumbled outside into the daylight, squinting in the brightness.

A pickup truck was coming down the road. Billy ran into the street, waving his arms frantically.

"Help! Please help! My brother's hurt!"

The truck screeched to a halt. The driver, a middle-aged man in work clothes, jumped out.

"Jesus, son, what happened to you?"

"My brother... he's in the basement... he's been shot... please help..."

The driver followed Billy back down to the basement, taking one look at Tommy before pulling out his phone.

"I'm calling 911. Don't worry, son, we're going to get him to a hospital."

As they waited for the ambulance, the truck driver used his first aid kit to replace Billy's makeshift bandages with proper ones. Tommy drifted in and out of consciousness, but he kept squeezing Billy's hand.

We made it. We actually made it out alive.

When the paramedics arrived, they stabilized Tommy and loaded him into the ambulance. Billy rode with him, holding his brother's hand as the sirens wailed.

"Billy," Tommy whispered as they raced toward the hospital. "I'll never... I'll never do anything like that again. I promise."

Billy squeezed his hand. "I know. We're going to be okay. We're going to be okay."

Whatever he did, whatever mistakes he made, he's still my brother. We survived this together. And we're stronger now because of it.

The ordeal had tested them both, but it had also proven something Billy had always known - that family loyalty ran deeper than any mistake, any poor judgment, any moment of weakness.

They would heal together. They would move forward together. And they would never let anything come between them again.