Fairy Tale: Winter's Bite

Chapter 3: Leverage (Part 1)

The jab barely registered because Chris's attention darted to the two men in gray who sat down by the fire outside the bars. He immediately charged toward them. "Hey, you! Yeah, I'm talking to you! Why don't you pick up your sorry asses and let us out of here?"

The prison guards didn't even look away from the greasy bones they were sucking.

Chris hit the bars with his palms and began to prowl like a caged lion that just realized its roar was useless.

Then Joe stepped forward. "Yeah, um, hi. I'm Joe, and you've met my brother, Chris," he said, pointing over his shoulder. "And these are his kids, Morgan and Ryan. We don't know why we're here, but while we're waiting to find out, we're pretty much sitting around in our underwear. Do you think you could get us some blankets and maybe some food and water, and then we can discuss our circumstances like rational human beings?"

The guards grunted to each other in another language. French maybe? Chris thought.

One of them wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform and walked away. He returned with a couple of dingy blankets.

"Food will come later," the guard snarled. "If you are lucky."

Joe slipped the blankets between the bars. "Thanks." When Joe turned around, Chris had a glare full of shock and disgust waiting for him. "What?" Joe chucked him a blanket. "At least we won't freeze to death."

Chris squatted down and wrapped the blanket around his children. It smelled like it had been in a cave for a thousand years and had been peeled off a hundred corpses. And he wasn't sure if Joe was right—the blanket had almost as many holes as it had stitches, so they still might freeze to death.

"Dad, I'm thirsty," Ryan said.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I am too. We'll have to wait a little while, though," Chris replied while smoothing out his son's dark hair. "Why don't you two try to rest?"

"Daddy, is Mommy coming soon?" Morgan asked this time.

"No, she's probably back at the house, but I'm sure she misses you very much." Chris didn't want to say anything to dampen their spirits. "Stay warm and stay here. Can you two do that for me?"

Ryan and Morgan nodded in unison. Then they tented the blanket over themselves and began to peek out through the holes.

Chris took a seat next to his brother on the opposite side of the cage and watched his children play, envious that they needed only each other and a blanket fort to pass the time.

"Man, they really did a number on you." Joe lightly touched the side of Chris's head. "No wonder you were the last to wake up."

Chris shrugged, but he knew from the throbbing sting that there must be a decent-sized gash there. He had cuts and bruises all over his hands, wrists, and the portions of his arms not covered by his scrunched-up sweatshirt. Joe's scrutiny and a sudden whole-body shiver compelled Chris to pull his sleeves down over his battered fingers.

Joe then snapped open the second blanket and offered a portion. Chris declined with a wave. He would rather freeze.

Just as Chris closed his eyes to allow himself to focus, Joe asked, "What do you think this is all about anyway? Did some terrorists follow you home or something?"

"Terrorists with helmets and swords? I doubt it. Maybe this is your fault. Did you piss off any sadistic theater freaks in the City of Angels?"

"Relax. I was just trying to make conversation," Joe put forward.

Chris sighed in an effort to calm his misdirected anger. "I know. Sorry. We obviously need to be on the same team, even if it's the first time in our lives."

"Agreed. So how did Alana get out of all of this fun? Did she escape maybe?" After a long pause, he said, "Chris?" Then Joe didn't press further. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. . ."

Chris shrugged again. Without knowing for sure, he'd rather say nothing.

The rattle of keys interrupted the silence, and their heads turned toward the bars.

"You there." A fat guard pointed at Joe. "The queen wants to see you first."

The color left Joe's face. He looked to Chris with wide eyes and then made a move to get up.

Chris pulled him back down and stood in his place. "I'll go instead."

His younger brother was good at many things, but withstanding intimidation and violence? It wasn't likely among his talents.

"The queen's orders are not to be contradicted," the fat guard countered.

"It's cool, Chris. I'll go," Joe murmured.

"No, it's not!" Chris blocked his brother's passage with his arm.

The guard paused and gave a signal. Footsteps rumbled down the corridor. When the lock clicked open, there were more guards streaming into their cell than Chris could take on.

He circled his arm around Joe's neck and backed away from the door to buy himself a few moments. His advice to Joe might be the only hope they had.

"Stay calm," Chris urged. "Lie if you have to, and don't give them what they want or we're all dead!"

And that was all he could say before they were dragged apart. Chris caught one last glimpse of his brother being taken out of the cell by the scruff of his T-shirt.

Then, Chris had his feet taken out from under him. His cheek hit rock and his eyes met only darkness. He wished it were due to unconsciousness, but unfortunately, a giant boot had his face pinned toward the black hole of the cave.

His hands were bound at the wrist, his mouth gagged.  He couldn't speak, see, move. He was drowning . . . in the scent of his own blood and fear . . . amid the screams of his children, those he could do nothing to protect.

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