Whispers From The Dark by Bryan Hall Read Free Book Online Page B

steps measured and punctuated by brief moments of concentration.  His eyes were trained on the light seeping out from beneath the door, his ears straining to hear something.
    Rick stopped and cocked his head towards the door, holding his breath.  Finally, he hissed his companion’s name through clenched teeth.
    “James?”
    Silence. 
    He took a final step and reached the door, placing his hand on the handle. “James?”
    Clutching his flashlight like a club, Rick turned the handle and pushed open the door.  The room beyond was only a shade less dim than the rest of the house.  The source of the light that had escaped underneath the door was James’ flashlight, laying in thick beige carpet at Rick’s feet now, shining between his legs and down the hallway behind him.  A few inches from the flashlight was a hand.  A motionless heap of shadow, James lay silent on the floor.
    His adrenaline barely had time to surge at the sight of his partner before a dark shape charged from one side of the room, swinging something down through the darkness as it came.  Rick felt a flash of pain before blackness swallowed him.
     
    ***
     
    The pain woke him in waves so vivid they brought flashes of color behind his closed eyes.  He lingered in that half-awake state for a moment, mind trying to sort out dream and reality.
    Out of reality came the metallic taste of blood, triggering a domino like surge of realizations.
    The left side of his head was agony incarnate, a high pitched squeal slicing through his mind.
    He was sitting upright, head hanging like a bobble head doll with a busted spring. 
    He couldn’t move his arms or legs. 
    That last thought stirred his body into action.  He jerked his head upward, forcing himself to open his eyes as he made the motion.
    His left eye would barely obey and he felt the numb, alien sensation of massive swelling there.  The vision through it was blurred and dim, like peering through moving water.
    There was light now - too much of it.  He was tied to a wooden chair, his arms lashed to the chair’s arms, in a room that seemed another dimension from the one he had left.  Plain cinder block walls, a pale and naked concrete floor, raw exposed rafters stretching from wall to wall.  A basement that seemed more like a tomb.
    On the floor ten feet or so away lay James’ body, still an unmoving mound.  He was facing Rick, eyes closed.  There was dried blood caked around his nose and mouth and a fresh rivulet dripping from each.  Much of his face and head was swollen and discolored, black and blue and yellow.  His chest moved shallowly, irregularly.  As bad as Rick felt, he was sure that James was in far worse shape.
    Behind him Rick could hear movement.  Shuffling footsteps, heavy breathing.
    “You sure fucked up, friend.”  The voice came with a light chuckle for accompaniment.  “You guys saved me a lot of trouble, though.”
    Rick sat silent, staring at James’ mangled face.
    “I said you fucked up.”  The chuckle was gone.
    Rick wasn’t sure of what to do.
    Something blunt and hard poked into his shoulder forcefully.  “Tell me!”  The man said loudly.
    “Yeah.”  Rick’s voice was weak, a whisper that still seemed to echo off the cold grey walls. 
     The man walked from behind Rick and squatted down before him, clutching a wooden baseball bat in one hand.  He was middle-aged and balding with a thick five ‘o clock shadow covering his face. The scent of alcohol hung heavy on his breath.  He studied Rick’s face as if searching for the answer to some centuries-old riddle.  “When I was a kid, one of the first things my Dad told me was that there was nothing lower on earth than a thief.  Except a liar.”
    Rick stared at him, heart pounding in his head with so much intensity that he had to focus just to hear the man as he talked.
    “But…desperate times, you know?”  The man smiled faintly and cocked his head to one side.
    A silence passed between the