The early morning crowd: those who wish to do their pumping before work. Most of these are the serious ones. They have drive, focus and determination. Yes, these are the achievers. Their lives are in balance; their priorities are on the right path.

I pick up my shirt and put it back on. There are witnesses who could say I broke my rule.

The weights call to me. My workout is not done.

Back to TOC.

This tale by Nomar Knight reminded me of the SAW films, and brought to mind one of the other evils of addiction: when some people have their vice taken away, they'll do anything to get it back.

ANYTHING.

Sins of the Flesh.

By Nomar Knight.

A loud screeching sound woke me. At first, I thought my dreams still held my consciousness...

Until a tightening pain around my wrists heightened. I moved my arms and chains rattled.

My heart pounded when I saw a man's b.u.t.ton eyes peering at me through a curtain of hair. His crooked smile did nothing to rea.s.sure me of my safety. With his hands restrained behind his back, I recognized the contraption that held him in place. I blinked in disbelief. His neck was trapped in a guillotine.

"Oh, good, you're awake." His familiar, nasal voice irked me.

I scanned the well lit chamber, noting our captor's taste for ancient torture toys. A wooden table used for stretching body limbs lay empty to my right.

"Tell me, lady. Can you see what's above me?"

"I'm not sure, but it looks like a blade." I broke out in a cold sweat. Then I realized I hadn't gotten high in a couple of days. "What is this place?"

A scream overtook the rattling of chains. The terrible shrill seemed to originate beyond a closed bronze door. I fought to move my limbs. Metal bracelets latched my thin wrists in place. Another pair of shackles held my ankles at bay as I hung on a cinder block wall.

Helpless prey.

Caught in an alien spider's metal webbing.

The man said, "We're in h.e.l.l."

Again, someone screamed. The wail of agony jolted my eardrums like the sudden crack of thunder. I shut my eyes, hoping that when I reopened them the dreaded nightmare would be over. But when I did, the burden brought forth by reality heightened my hunger for crack. Shaking my head I said, "I need to get out of here, now!"

The trapped man struggled to move his head until enough hair brushed out of his eyes. From my vantage point, I noticed he had a pot belly and unusually long arms. "I know you." He sounded as if we were at the supermarket and he was pleased to see me. "Christine?"

"You sound familiar, but I can't place the face," I said, probably because his hair kept falling on it.

"I'm Hadley. We went to high school together."

I recalled the long arms almost reaching the ground as he walked. The kids teased him. They called him 'Magilla Gorilla', after a cartoon character.

"You do remember me. You're smiling."

I wiped the grin off my face and jumped when the unseen man screamed again. "Who is that?"

"That's Potts. Mr. Riverton is doing...G.o.d knows what to him...in the other room."

My stomach churned upon hearing the name of our captor. There was no way the town's most prominent citizen would stoop to torture tactics. "No...you're wrong. Mr. Riverton would never hurt anyone."

Hadley mocked me with his laugh. "Think about it, Christine. What was the last thing you remember before waking up here?"

I recalled visiting the Riverton Estate unannounced. I was surprised when the butler let me in. He guided me to the study where I saw my last source of income and my only chance to get a fix: Peter Riverton.

I had lost everything. I'd sold everything I owned to buy crack, then robbed whatever I could from my husband, until he'd thrown me out. Then I robbed whatever I could from my parents, until they'd thrown me out. I'd been the Prom Queen of 2002, and I was a sc.r.a.pe away from turning tricks out of the back seat of my beat-to-h.e.l.l station wagon.

The scream reached a new decibel. A rancid odor permeated our prison. I said, "I was in Mr. Riverton's study."

Hadley grinned, "What a coincidence! I was in his office at the casino. You'd think to a man like him two thousand dollars would be a drop in the bucket."

Mr. Riverton owned the only casino in town as well as most of its 'legitimate' businesses. Everything I knew about Peter Riverton made my current reality impossible to grasp. Hadley was right. Our incarceration didn't make sense.

Hadley sighed, "How much are you in for?" He grimaced while trying to remove his shackles.

I didn't want to divulge my dealings with the eccentric millionaire. It seemed a distraction was in order. "Why is-" I paused, trying to recall the name-"Potts here?"

Before Hadley could answer, Potts let out another scream, but not as powerful as the last one. I took it as an ominous sign that the poor man was wearing down, or worse.

"I've never seen Potts at the casino." Hadley lowered his head. "I wonder why he's being tortured by that devil."

"You're wrong! Peter-uhh-Mr. Riverton would never harm a person."

"I don't know what your relationship is with that monster, but who do you think escorted Potts to the other room?"

Hadley's words stung. I couldn't believe how fast my world came crumbling down. My desire to be rid of the restraints added to my need of a hit. Somewhere amidst the smell of rotted meat was the delicious odor of smoke. I swore I smelled crack cocaine's tantalizing fragrance. "Get me out of this f.u.c.king h.e.l.lhole!"

"What happened to you?" Disappointment rang in Hadley's voice. "You look like s.h.i.t."

Beads of sweat clung to my skin as if I had been locked in a sauna. "f.u.c.k you!" I hated being trapped, hated not having my drug, and I couldn't stand how Hadley scoffed at me.

"For heaven's sake, you were the prom queen! In the old days the guys bragged about banging your blond a.s.s. I didn't particularly care for your type... although you did have a nice rack, back in the day."

"Shut up, Hadley!" The smell drove me nuts. I tried writhing free, but the steel bracelets cut into my skin. "s.h.i.t!"

Hadley laughed. "You look like a stringed puppet that's being electrocuted." Then he fell silent, maintaining his uncovered right eye on me. "You have sad eyes, Christine. I'll admit, though, your sunken eye sockets are a turn on."

"I swear, Hadley, if I get out of here; I'll make sure that blade chops your f.u.c.king head off!"

"Shush!" He turned his head slightly to his left, toward the door. "Do you hear that?"

I hung loose, too exhausted to move. "Hear what?"

"Nothing." When he glanced back I was able to see both orbs. For the first time since I regained consciousness, I saw fear in those eyes. I wasn't sure, but I thought I smelled urine.

The lights flickered until they went out. A silent darkness draped over us as if an evil ent.i.ty entered the room, ready to witness our demise. I pulled my left arm up as far as it could stretch. The metal bracelet slid further on my hand. I almost laughed when I realized sweat could be the catalyst to my escape.

Footsteps echoed throughout the darkness. Hadley became a silhouette crouched in the ultimate position of inferiority. I wondered how much longer his knees would support his weight. The smell that promised to cure my pain lingered closer, gaining my attention. A low murmur escaped my chapped lips. "Please, give it to me."

I couldn't make out any particular shapes, but something akin to despair pressed its weight against my chest. Again I pulled my arm up and the steel bracelet dug deeper into my hand. I cried out as the adrenaline rushed forward. Liquid trickled down my hand and up my arm. It smelled acrid, like blood. I yelled, "Let me out of here!"

Footsteps echoed away from me. The lights went on. Hadley's hair draped over his face. He shivered and wept. As I watched the chubby man lose hope, remorse washed over me, forcing me to take account of my past transgressions. I believed Peter when he said he'd divorce his wife. "I'm so stupid."

The door opened. The need for crack stirred in my gut, but my heart ached, invigorating a renewed anger inside me. Standing before both of us in a black lab coat was the man I was forced to share. His penetrating stare sprayed shame on me. I didn't understand how I went from loving mistress to disgusting insect.

"Which do you miss more?" Peter waved a smoking gla.s.s pipe under my nostrils. Some of the dealers had called that kind of pipe the Devil's d.i.c.k. The familiar scent fueled my l.u.s.t for a fix. At that moment I wished for superhuman strength so I could break the chains and yank the pipe out of his hands. He continued, "Me, or crack?"

"Please, Peter, put it in my mouth." I needed him to save me again, to make me whole again. I was salivating.

"Put what in your mouth, Christine?" There was mockery in the question.

Something broke inside me; the remnant of anything like pride, self-control or even humanity. "The pipe...and then...W-whatever you want, Peter." Tears welled up.

I hadn't noticed Hadley stopped weeping until he spoke, "You're a sick b.i.t.c.h."

He said aloud what my former lover expressed with his eyes. It was true, but no one had the right to judge me. Not mister high and mighty rich man and certainly not the dumb-a.s.s gambler. I managed to allow my anger to deviate my desire long enough to answer Hadley. "Who's the one on his knees? b.i.t.c.h!"

Peter lowered the pipe. "I'm sorry, darling, but I need you fully aware of your surroundings. This would kill reality for you, right?"

I was a slave to the trip and he knew it. If I couldn't escape one way, then the drug-induced journey was the only other thing that could save me. I shouted, "Give me a hit!"

He shook his head. "Perhaps I'll give you some later, if you're good."

"What do I have to do? I'll suck your c.o.c.k right now, Peter, I'll suck you dry. You can f.u.c.k me however you want, as long as you want. I'll f.u.c.k you and your wife...who do I have to kill? Do you want me to kill him? I'll do it. I'll do anything for you, baby." I was sobbing in an ecstasy of groveling; I couldn't make insane offers fast enough. If I'd had a teenage daughter, I would have sold her to him. f.u.c.k! Teenage daughter? I would have sold him my baby for a hit.

Hadley chimed, "G.o.d, you're pathetic!"

"f.u.c.k you!" I yelled, straining my throat, "I'll kill you, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

Peter Riverton smirked, as though disappointed, and went back to the other room with my only chance at freedom.

Hadley said, "If you ask me, I hope he takes you next. You're a useless c.u.n.t."

I wanted to shave his head, claw his eyes out and shove them down his throat. I didn't know when it happened, but my breathing became erratic. I was on the verge of a panic attack.

Hadley sighed, "What an actress!"

The door reopened and our captor stopped in front of Hadley. He stared at me. "Hadley is right about one thing. You were beautiful...once."

"Sir," Hadley kept his head lowered, "Permission to speak, Sir."

Peter grinned, as though amused by a dog performing tricks. "What is it, Hadley?"

"Something's been bothering me all this time. I heard rumors about Potts and I see this skinny b.i.t.c.h for what she really is."

"What are you saying?" Riverton sounded impatient. His fingers fidgeted with papers.

"I understand they have addictions." Hadley shook the hair off his eyes. "Potts was addicted to having his way with children and Christine is a drug addict, but I'm not addicted to gambling. The only habit I have is my affinity for beer."

Peter cleared his throat, "Are you confessing to being an alcoholic?"

"h.e.l.l no!"

Peter waved what looked like photos and gazed at me. "It's a shame you won't be able to see what happens between his legs."

I had no idea what he was talking about. My ex-lover was a madman who refused to feed my needs. I didn't care about Hadley or Potts. When he looked away, I pulled my hand again, disappointed that unlike before, the bracelet didn't budge.

Peter spread pictures across the floor so Hadley would have no choice but to look at them. The trapped man gazed up at his captor. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Somehow, Hadley found enough courage to insult the man who held his life by a string.

Peter laughed. "Christine, right now this wretched p.r.i.c.k has a hard-on." He picked up one of the photos. A naked brunette lay on a table. Upon closer inspection, I realized the girl in the picture was dead. Peter slammed the picture against Hadley's head and said, "You worked in the funeral parlor I own. Did you really think you could f.u.c.k my dead niece and get away with it?"

A thick air of dread filled the chamber. It was as if I could sense other souls lingering, waiting for me to die. I didn't know if my mind was playing tricks on me, but I heard whispers and someone weeping.

"You thought crack was a rush?" Peter grabbed my cheeks. "Now you'll see what gets me off."

He flashed a small skeleton key and released my shackles. With my arms free, I thought I would have enough strength to hit him. I tried to pound my fists into his broad back. I attempted to kick him when he released my feet, but in the end; he carried me like he did on our first night together, like a fragile child in a father's arms. He took me to the other room and placed me on a table. He fastened my arms and legs again. In my mind I wanted to fight him, but my ninety-pound body didn't respond.

Peter Riverton leaned his face close to mine. He studied my eyes and said, "I know the real Christine is somewhere in that sh.e.l.l of a body. If it's worth anything to you, I'm sorry you chose poison over our love."

I tried to speak, but my tongue was numb. I didn't recall him sticking me with a needle, yet I couldn't control parts of my body. I felt his fingers glide along my right cheek. The disappointment he showed earlier gave way to a loving gaze. The fact he still cared about me renewed my hunger to survive. I understood that as long as there was love, then hope followed. He opened my mouth with his tongue and kissed me.

When I regained consciousness, I was naked and cold.

The room seemed brighter. Hadley was strapped to a vertical table. His naked body was on full display. Next to him was another table, with an a.s.sortment of knives and two empty dinner plates.

"Ah, Christine's awake." Peter said, "We can now begin."

He lit a blowtorch.

And walked toward Hadley.

I begged, "No, Peter. Don't do it."

Peter placed the rushing fire against Hadley's arm. Burning flesh mixed with smoke, added to the sick man's screams. He pulled the torch away and waited for Hadley to quiet down.

"Peter," I said, "please...don't do it."

Peter gazed at me with raised eyebrows, "Don't tell me you feel sorry for this sc.u.m?!"