The car stopped, and they heard the sound of a big metal door sliding open. Powell got back into the car and drove it into the warehouse. He got out again and closed the big door behind them.
First he took Gene. This brought new terror to the boys. Julian started to rouse, though. They heard him groan. He struggled for a moment, then seemed to realize that he was being held by the boys.
“Bret? Sam?”
The boys tried to let him know they heard him, patting him.
“Oh, God… Gene?”
Their hands stilled.
“Gene!” he called out.
Bret moved his fingers over his father’s lips, trying to warn him to be silent. He tried to pull the tape away from his father’s eyes, but soon he heard Powell’s angry steps crossing the room.
“I heard you yellin’,” he said, “so I know you’re awake. That’s good. Easier if I don’t have to lift you. Don’t mess around, or I’ll have to shoot one of these little boys.” Julian was hauled off them. “Stand up,” they heard Powell say.
They heard Powell taking Julian away. Bret tried to pull the tape away from his own eyes but was making no progress. There were too many layers. He felt Sam nudging him, pushing him with his hands. As clearly as if Sam were speaking to him, he knew that Sam was urging him out of the car, wanting to escape. Bret was scared, but Sam, as always, was brave.
So without knowing with any certainty what was beyond the car, Bret scooted along the seat until he felt his feet hit the wooden floor. He staggered, then turned toward the back of the car, feeling his way along it. Sam was soon behind him.
Bret remembered the door being shut behind the car. He kept moving toward the back of the car, then tried reaching out with his hands. Nothingness. He crouched down. The whole building reeked of old oil and grease, but this close to the floor, the smell was almost overwhelming.
He came to a wall — no! It was the door. He could feel the cold air coming in from beneath it. He straightened again, tried to call to Sam. But Sam was moving away from him.
“Hey!” Powell’s voice called. “Come here, you little son of a bitch!”
Sam stumbled. Bret heard him fall. Sam made a sound in his throat. Bret knew what Sam meant to tell him. “Run!” he was saying. “Run, Bret!”
Bret fumbled along the door, trying to find a latch, a handle. He pictured himself in the car, hearing the sliding sound. Right to left. Now, from the inside, it would be left to right — the handle would be on the left. He heard Powell laughing.
“Come here,” Powell called, but Bret realized that he was talking to Sam. Bret found the handle and pulled. Nothing. He heard the sound of tape ripping, Sam crying out in pain. He stopped, tried to turn toward the sound.
“Run, Bret!” Sam cried. “Run!”
Bret found the hasp. Miraculously, it seemed to him, no lock was on it.
“Come back here now or I’ll hurt your friend,” Powell said.
“Go, Bret, don’t worry, just go!” Sam commanded.
Powell started laughing. Bret unlatched the door. He felt sick to his stomach, worried about what would happen to Sam and their fathers, but he pulled on the door with all his might. It budged only about an inch.
He heard Powell running straight at him. He tried to duck, but Powell caught him, grabbed him with bruising strength. Powell pulled at the tape around Bret’s eyes, which in turn tore at Bret’s hair and skin.
Bret blinked and looked up into Powell’s dirty, wild-eyed face, which was glowing red. Taillight red. Belatedly Bret realized Powell had left the car lights on. Alone, those lights might not have been enough, but because the car doors were open, the dome light was on — just enough of a soft glow came from the car to illuminate the area near the warehouse door. Had the boys shut the car door, they might not have been seen.
Except for the area illuminated by the dome light and headlights of the car, it was dark in the cavernous brick building. Later they would learn that the building had been used for many purposes, its design changed for each tenant. Most recently it had been used to store surplus machinery; the greasy smell came from lubricants that had drained out of the old machines and soaked into the building’s wooden floor. The warehouse had been abandoned for at least five years.
Powell dragged Bret to the place where Sam, still blindfolded, had been tethered to a post. Powell was hurting Bret, pulling his arm up hard behind him. Bret made a whimpering sound behind the tape over his mouth. Sam heard it and shouted, “Leave him alone!” Powell slapped Sam hard. Sam stopped shouting, but he refused to cry. Powell untied him and made Bret lead him along.
Powell took them to a doorway. It opened onto a set of wooden steps that went into a dimly lit basement. He told them to go down the steps. He shut the thick wooden door behind them.
Gene and Julian were each tied to a post. The posts were about six feet apart in the center of the room, and the men were tied so that they faced one another. Their faces were no longer taped.
When the boys came down the stairs, Bret saw both fear and relief on the faces of their fathers. Gene was crying. Julian tried to smile at Bret, but it didn’t look like a real smile.
The boys were taken to a wall. Leather bands with thick iron rings attached to them were fastened tightly to the boys’ slender wrists and ankles; each iron ring was padlocked to a heavy chain. The other end of each chain was fastened to an eyelet in the wall. Only when all the padlocks were snapped closed did Powell pull the tape off Sam’s eyes and Bret’s mouth. The chains were just long enough to allow some movement, but the boys staggered under their weight. Sam immediately pulled at his, tried to reach his father. Although Gene was tied to the closer of the two posts, the chains were far too short to allow that.
