The Confession Of Zakary Jameson

Chapter 27

Zakary Jameson

(Ten years ago - Mount Prospect, Il.)

In the dampness of the dark cellar, I cold see my breath in a smokey white mist that disappeared within seconds. My plaid pajama pants, bare chest, and sockless feet did nothing to keep out the 15 degrees fahrenheit (and plummeting) air that had settled over me. My entire body was shivering and numb. Painfully stabs of cold shot from the concrete ground, through the soles of my feet, and through the rest of my body.

But the cold wasn't the worst of my problems.

I struggled against the leather strap that bound my wrists to the AC unit planted in the wall. It had been turned on, which only made things worse. My binds would have begun to chaff my wrists hours ago, but my tormentor had wrapped plastic wrap around them to prevent any evidence of abuse or struggle that would end up with me being taken to the hospital. I doubted that would have made him stop, though. If He were to leave a mark anywhere on my body, which had happened before, He would just force me to cover up with layers of clothing, using some excuse towards my mother so she would comply.

'It's too dang cold for t-shirts!', for example, 'The boy is too skinny to not bundle up. I only want what's best for him.'

Right.

Now, my heart was racing. I wasn't going to last in this cold. I was gonna freeze to death, and then they would never find me. He would hide me somewhere, throw me in the river, claim I was kidnapped...

I pulled desperately against the bindings, wondering if the tear streaks on my face would freeze. A desperate cry echoed hoarsely from my throat, but I knew it wouldn't do any good. Mother was on a work trip. Ben and Mason were frightened into staying in their bedrooms. No one was going to help me.

It was just me.

And Him.

Suddenly, as if my fear was what conjured him, the door at the top of the wooden stairs creaked open, flooding the warm light that I wanted to get back to into the room for a split moment before it shut again. For a moment, I thought that my heart had stopped.

For a moment, I wished that it had. Either it stopped, or He wouldn't.

Heavy footsteps caused each individual stair to groan as He slowly made his way down them, plotting in his head what he would do to me.

I tried to melt into the wall, pressing against it to appear as small as I could, but to no avail. Instead, I put my head between my bound arms, like hiding from Him would send Him away.

Finally, His feet landed on the concrete, on the same level as me. The same level where he had put me. Foolishly, I dared to peak at Him.

He was a monster of a man. Tall and stocky with a thick brown/gray beard and evil, beady eyes. Three layers of coats kept him warm. Carpenter boots protected his feet, and work gloves his hands. He sneered at me, amused at my suffereing.

When my eyes met His, I began to panic, and fresh tears ran over the ones that were iminent to freeze. I tugged again at my binds, looking quickly from them to Him.

"Please, no," My voice was shaky and hoarse, "Let me go!"

He only laughed at me.

"Let you go?" He teased, "That would be such a shame, now, wouldn't it? I haven't even started!"

I only cried harder, not caring that any other 15-year-old would be told to 'man up'. "Please! I won't tell Mom!"

He took a step closer. "No, you won't. That would be very naughty of you." His voice was like the sharp edge of a knife, always threatening to break me down and cut out my soul. He leaned down to look into my watery eyes. I had to look back. It was the rules. "You will NOT tell Mother. Will you, Zakary?"