Page 40 of Aftermath

Two whole days went by without a glimpse of the madman. That meant two days without food and water. Two days that had been spent pacing, stewing in filth and boredom, and throwing out theories about their kidnapper's motives.

Austin was frustrated, feeling like there was more info to be had if they just hit the right angle.

They were all mostly on the same page, and they had been from the beginning. But with time, more things had surfaced. From the get-go, everyone had been assigned a character, and it hadn't taken long for the men to understand that each character represented someone from the torturer's real life. There was a father, two brothers, an old boss, a high school nemesis, a friend who had apparently betrayed him, a guy who was seemingly married to an old crush of the kidnapper, an uncle, and two cousins.

It all looked like vengeance, but it was executed on the wrong people. Instead of taking his anger out on those he'd grown up with or whatever, the insane man had kidnapped ten innocent strangers.

During these past two days, to pass time, a few of the remaining men had delved deeper into their theories. They went at it from different perspectives, first coming up with things that might tie them together—both to each other and to the kidnapper's family. It couldn’t be age, though. Because Pete, who'd been shot in the head and had been assigned the character of the kidnapper's father, had to have been more than ten years younger than the crazy man himself.

They guessed he was around fifty years old, and Pete had been thirty-six. In fact, all of the men were most likely younger than Psycho, as Cam had named him months ago.

Chris, who had killed himself not long ago, had been the oldest at forty-four, still younger than the kidnapper.

"Where did you all grow up?" Chase asked, and so they continued trying to piece everything together. One had grown up in New York, most were from Bakersfield, a couple were from LA, and one guy was from Portland.

No connections there, unless it fit with the kidnapper's family and friends.

"Our fucking jobs," Cam blurted out with a frown. "Yeah, think about it." He snapped his fingers. "What kinds of jobs do we all hold?"

But before anyone could ponder further, the madman was back in the basement.

"Attention, little minions!" he shouted. "It seems we've got a problem on our hands, and like a good boss, I'm here so we can fix it."

Austin and Cam exchanged a wary look as they leaned forward on their cots and rested their elbows on their knees, listening intently.

"Who has college experience?" the madman asked impatiently.

There was a brief silence before one spoke up. "Why the fuck should we answer, you twisted—"

Mr. Whoever-the-hell cut the man off. "I shoot! How about that, you brainless lowlife?"

Another silence ensued, this one tense.

Then the men began to answer—one by one, hesitantly. Most of them had gone off to college at some point. A few to two-year programs at community colleges to get associate's degrees, another few held bachelor's degrees. When Cam quietly announced he had a bachelor's, too, Austin curiously asked in what.

He was more than a little surprised when he heard Cam's answer.

"Theology," he mumbled, appearing slightly embarrassed. Just a second later, he squared his shoulders, as if getting ready to defend himself.

But Austin wasn’t about to go on the offensive. He was just surprised and intrigued. Besides, the madman was waiting for his response, so he sighed and said, "Did my undergrad at USC Marshall, then got my MBA at Duke." Back in his day, it wasn’t named Marshall School of Business, but it was what people knew it as today. Which made him feel a little old.

The last one to answer was Tim. "I have one year left to get my master's in engineering."

That made the madman explode for some reason. "But you're a fucking mailman!" he roared. "You're wearing your uniform!"

Austin eyed Cam's work clothes and couldn’t help but wonder if they were all wearing some kind of uniform. But then he remembered two of the guys didn’t have jobs, so there couldn’t be a connection there, either.

What the hell was the crazy guy's obsession with work and education, though?

"It's to pay for school, idiot," Tim grunted. "I decided to change careers when I already had a family. I needed a fuckin' income. Christ."

Outside the cells, the men could hear the sounds of furious pacing, some kicking around, and a few fists being slammed into walls.

Cam was rigid.

Austin was exhausted. They were being toyed with, and there was only so much he could take before he broke. Or gave up. It had been months with no glimpse of freedom in sight.

"Looks like I have to rework a few things," their captor said flatly. "It will take too long to replace all of you, but…" It appeared he was talking to himself, and Austin didn’t know what to make of his words. "Sam and Frank are done, that much is clear." He spoke of Austin's and Tim's characters, which terrified both men, not to mention Cam, judging by the look on his face. "Then…bachelor's degrees…fairly good, but most have failed later. Still…educated…" He let out a growl. "I'll have to start over. This cannot be half-assed."

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