Chapter 1-Untitled

I waited in the alley, in the white econolodge van I rented under another name just for the occasion, knuckles white while gripping the steering wheel with a sickening anticipation.This bitch won't know what hit 'er.

Jack is riding passenger, and we have an arrangement. Grab the old hag off the wheelchair, and throw her in the van. Don't be swayed by her inevitable pleas, and show no mercy. Once I hear the thud, Jack has three seconds to jump into the passenger seat, and I will hit the accelerator and speed off to our destination in the woods.

We arrive only a few minutes before the old lady will be zooming by in her powered wheelchair. After careful reconnaissance, Jack and I know Angela, the old hag in the wheelchair, takes her morning stroll around 9 am, and by 9:15 she's driving past the alley to reenter the home she shares with her equally sickly husband. We have no interest in the old man, only Angela. Angela has something I want, she just doesn't know it yet. Angela comes from old money; her great grandpa invented something revolutionary; don't ask me what, because I don't know. What I do know is that it afforded his family the opportunity to never have to work again. After a falling out with her parents, now deceased, they cut Angela out of their will and inheritance. They won't care if we kill Angela, but they will care if their family name gets drug through the mud, and therefore a kidnapped Angela will yield a handsome ransom. She'll assume that's why we're there. It's 9:12 now, and in three minutes it begins.

The house is different than I thought it would be. It's nestled on a small piece of land in a Pennsylvania coal town, one in which you could miss if you blink. The east side of the small, white suburban home is the one that connects to the alley. The neighbors on the east and west side have both died of old age, and unless the old man gives us problems, we should be able to escape undetected. It's dilapidated with the lead paint chipping away to expose the rotting wood. The shutters you can tell used to be the color red that most people think blood is; the bright red you see in the movies. But now from wear they are the deep dark maroon, almost black color, that those of us that have seen pools of blood in real life, know it to actually be. The weeds are choking the life from the last few flowers that have bloomed in the trash and cigarette butt infested yard. Soon there will be no trace of life left in this home, and the old man and woman will have taken everything beautiful from it that once existed, but now is nearly completely dead. This poor fucking house. It's exterior can't even hide how dead it is inside, and even I can still pull that one off sometimes. It's 9:13.

"Man Jack, this mask is so fucking itchy. Do I really have to wear this thing for the next five hours until the cabin? I just wanna rip my face off it itches so much. I always thought if I was wearing this illuminati style number, that I'd at least be doing something cool, instead I'm kidnapping this old bitch."

"Yes, you have to wear it the whole way to the cabin. We've talked about this, we had a plan, let's stick to it. But it's all up to you, you're calling the shots, I'm just along for the ride. Well, and to throw this broad in the van apparently. I know you're nervous; just remember we'll get to see Sammy once all this over."

It's 9:14, and in a minute we'll be headed back to the Bucks County cabin. The modest cabin in which we've accommodated to suit all our needs and in which was built for this exact occasion, sits on roughly a hundred acres of land smack dab in the middle of nowhere. It has a basement with two sound proof rooms, one of which is currently occupied, and the other that's about to be. We talked about not even sound proofing the rooms as the cabin is in such a remote locale that no one would even hear their inevitable screams, but it's best just to be cautious. I never used to be cautious, I've always been reckless. But not anymore, now I have Sammy to think about. Not even my love for Sammy could stop this plan though. This plan has been in motion for the past five years, and even if I wanted to, Jack wouldn't accept me abandoning it. It's 9:14, and 49 seconds. I'm ready, and I can see Jack is scared, but also ready.

I can make out the gray matted hair tuft in the rear view mirror of the van, and before I can alert him, Jack stealthy as ever, has already dove from the van to snatch Angela. No small talk, just grab the bitch and we go, that's what we talked about.

She's clutching the wheel chair as Jack rips her talons from it and chucks her in the van. Her screams are piercing, and it makes me want to slit her throat right here and now. He has one more second to zip tie her hands, and another to dive back in the passenger seat.

"Oh my God, J, come on!"

It's not Jack's fault for the extra few seconds. I should have told him to bind her legs too. I knew it was likely, but I wasn't sure until she kicked him. That wheelchair is a ruse, and I swell with a certainty and reassurance that kidnapping her was necessary. I contemplate slitting her throat for another second, and then reluctantly decide to follow the plan.

The extra few seconds could now mean our demise as a figure has now appeared outside the home, and in which I can now make out in my rear view of Angela's sickly husband waving his cane furiously in the air. He's arrived just in time to have seen Jack, well, Jack donning a Prince Charming mask anyway, tossing Angela into the van.

Jack jumps in the passenger seat, and now it begins. As I press my foot down on the accelerator, the plan along with the vehicle are now in motion, and we will carry it out to it's full execution.

Angela looks even more sickly than I had imagined, with hate in her eyes the fury inside them is palpable. Her eyes dart side to side like a scared horse as she formulates her exit strategy. I've made sure there is no way out for Angela, and like a scared horse, she can buck all she wants, but it will do her no good.

Angela's eyes stop flittering long enough to rest on the body next to her in the van.

"Oh my God", she screams. "Are they dead?!"

I share a sly exchange with Jack as I interact with Angela for the first time after a long anticipated wait that has consumed us for years.

"No, that's Dr. Dev, you'll meet her soon enough."

The sirens sound in the distance, but my thoughts and the miles between us drown them out.

I'd show mercy on a sickly horse by shooting it in the head. Angela won't be so lucky. And all that's really on my mind now is that there's over four hours to the cabin and this goddamn mask is creating a wicked itch almost as sinister as the plan that lie ahead.