For Kell, the man of many fears, it would be unbearable. For Miranda, perhaps it would be survivable. After all, she didn’t have that many actual phobias. Kell had identified most of them, with closed-in spaces and the corresponding lack of perceptible air being the only one that was abnormally intense. The others-the dark, bugs, snakes, rodents-would be manageable, given the fact that the dungeon, like the rest of Kell’s home, was relatively spotless.
There were certainly no snakes, although theoretically some could slither in through the window. The walls were old enough to hide holes that rodents could inhabit, but without a source of food, she imagined they had long since abandoned those old nests. She also hadn’t spotted a single spider or web, or any other bug for that matter, during her entire stay at the fortress.
That left claustrophobia, accentuated by the relative darkness. That would definitely freak her out, so she started reassuring herself now that the window, while little, had no glass in it, but rather just a simple screen that would let plenty of air into the dungeon, even if the Brigadier closed the stairwell door. And it would give them light for a few more hours at least. After that, if Carerra wanted to continue torturing them, he’d have to bring in some artificial light for his own uses, so darkness wouldn’t present an overwhelming issue.
She had no clue what kind of phobias Ortega might have, although his success in black ops suggested he had few, if any. He had survived Carerra’s torture before, which was a good sign. Of course, Kell had survived, too, so perhaps Carerra’s tactics included pushing his victims up to, but not over, the edge.
She certainly hoped so for all their sakes.
“Tell your friends here about the effects of the Liquid Fear,” Carerra suggested, moving to stand directly in front of Kell. “It is your most brilliant discovery. And your last. Take a few moments to brag about it.”
Kell looked at him through eyes red from sobbing, and just shook his head, clearly exhausted.
Carerra laughed. “We haven’t even begun yet, and already you’re defeated? Do I frighten you that much, old friend?”
Kell nodded.
“So many memories.” Carerra pulled out a gold-cased lighter and flipped it open, then took a slim cigar from his vest pocket and lit it. Blowing on the tip until it glowed red, he asked Kell playfully, “Remember this?”
The scientist whimpered and drew back against the stone wall.
“Leave him alone!” Miranda shouted.
Carerra turned to her, his expression twisted. “You’re giving me orders? That’s not too intelligent, is it?”
“Intelligent?” She glared. “You spend an hour telling us how hard you studied and how much you quote-unquote elevated yourself? Then you turn around and pick on someone defenseless? I don’t think you really grasp the whole enlightenment concept, Carerra. Enlightened men aren’t bullies.”
“Miranda, shut up,” Ortega whispered.
Carerra walked over to her and said with a sneer, “Enlightened men are scientists. They conduct experiments. That’s the only reason you’re still alive, Miss Cutler. So that I can test Jonathan’s miracle drug on you and your friends. You’ll be a particularly interesting subject for us, isn’t that true, Gresley?”
“I am quite looking forward to it,” the Englishman agreed.
“Let’s get started then, shall we?” Carerra motioned to Carl, who had been standing nearby with a tray containing three cups. Setting his cigar down, he picked up one cup. “Is the dosage correct?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Carl told him. “Kell never let anyone in the lab when he was working.”
“Too much will k-kill us instantly,” Kell insisted.
“We’ll start with you first then, since you’re the least entertaining.” Carerra strode over to him and put a cup to his lips. “Drink!”
Kell gulped it down without protest, and Miranda wondered if that meant he could see the dosage was safe, or knew it was lethal and welcomed the prospect of death compared to torture.
She exchanged looks with Ortega, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was-that perhaps a quick death for Kell was the most they could wish for their friend.
Then the scientist started screaming, his high-pitched shrieks filling the air, his words incomprehensible.
“Jonathan!” she called to him unhappily.
“Kell!” Ortega ordered. “Breathe, goddammit.”
“It’s filling my lungs!” the scientist wailed. “My throat’s closing. The mold! It’s everywhere. And the snakes-”
“There aren’t any snakes!” Miranda told him. “Open your eyes, Jonathan. There aren’t any snakes.”
“Help me! Ortega, help me!”
His shrieks stopped abruptly as Carerra pulled out a pistol and cracked the hysterical man on the back of the head, rendering him unconscious. Then he calmly holstered the weapon and turned to Miranda. “Your turn.”
Oh, God…
She tried for a defiant stare, but already she was scared to death, mostly because Kell’s reaction had been so extreme, even for him. Enhance his phobias? It was more like the drug had fed actual images into his brain. Images of the things he feared most.
“What kind of drug is this?” she asked, speaking aloud, but not to anyone in particular.
“Don’t you know?” Carerra grinned. “It accentuates your fears. Our friend Jonathan has so many, it didn’t take long to drive him insane. I hope you give us a longer show.”
“He saw snakes.”
“Ah, yes.” The megalomaniac paused for the desired effect. “The original formula had intriguing results-a quick burst of abject fear, followed by waves of phobia and paranoia. Just the thing to undermine enemy forces. But something was missing. Something concrete to be afraid of. So I asked Jonathan to add a mild hallucinogen to the drug, on the theory that a picture is worth a thousand words.”
Miranda inhaled sharply, then began cataloguing the room.
No snakes, no rats, no bugs. No snakes, no rats, no bugs. Keep it together, Miranda. There’s nothing scary here except this creep.
“Drink up now,” Carerra murmured, holding a cup to her lips as though she were a fevered child and he a caring parent.
She clamped her lips together, determined to let as little of the green liquid into her system as possible.
Rather than force her mouth open, Carerra simply turned to a guard and said, “Shoot Ortega in the kneecap if she doesn’t cooperate.”
“No!” She opened her mouth and gulped down the entire dose, which seemed to be about a teaspoon full. It had a sweet and sour taste to it, burning a little, but not altogether unpleasant. And to her relief, it didn’t seem to have the instant effect it had had with Kell.
Carerra grinned. Then he stepped aside and motioned to Gresley. “Would you like to play with her now?”
Miranda’s throat tightened at the thought of those disgusting hands on her, and she tried to squirm away despite the futility of it.
“Perhaps we should allow Carl to do the honors,” Gresley murmured. “As a reward for alerting us before these two could do any damage.”
“You’re sure?”
“As Miss Cutler knows, I enjoy watching as well as participating. Carl? Is there anything you’d like to do to our little slut?”
The guard grinned, setting down the tray.
“Carerra!” Ortega’s voice boomed. “You want to test your drug? Test it on me. You never broke me, remember? I know how that bugged you. But here’s your chance. Let’s see how creative you’ve gotten.”
“An excellent reminder. You will enjoy her ordeal much more fully with the drug in your system.” Carerra picked up the last cup and carried it to Ortega, adding over his shoulder, “The same insurance as before. If he struggles or resists, cripple Miss Cutler.”
Miranda cringed, certain her kneecap was about to explode into bits. And the most hideous part was, she knew it wouldn’t stop Carl. His face was already contorted by lust and depravity, as was Gresley’s. Ortega’s antics, while providing a momentary reprieve, were useless. Unspeakable acts were about to take place, probably by each of these monsters in turn, their hands and mouths defiling her with sickening, uninterrupted, unending thoroughness.
And she had only herself to blame. She had wanted this, hadn’t she? She had been so stupidly, stupidly intent
