The Camp Ch. 03: The Coward

"I'm not certain, but the legal fees are covered under your contract with Rollins," he said. "She may want a portion of whatever settlement you get, but that's between you and her."

"Sounds good," I said. "So when can you have my wife served?"

"In a couple weeks or so," he said. "I'll need to coordinate with a lawyer in your area to get it done."

"What about my boss and the others involved in this?" I asked. "Can't I go after them?"

"Not for alienation of affection," the lawyer said. "However, you may have other avenues. Between Danni and your local attorney, they may be able to come up with something for intentional infliction of emotional distress among other things. Would you like something done along those lines?"

"Do it," I said. "When can that happen?"

"I would advise you to consult with your local attorney when you return," he said.

The training continued and I liked what I saw when I looked in the mirror. For the first time in my life, I felt strong and confident that I could tackle anything that came my way. I still hadn't heard anything from Gloria, but Doug kept sending DVDs.

The day finally came for the "bitch-burning," the ceremony that marked the end of our training at Camp Rollins. The lead sergeant formed the class outside the barracks after dinner. A straw figure lay on the ground in front of a pole secured in the ground. A large pile of wood was arranged around the pole.

"Alright, gang," he said. "Tonight we're going to 'burn the bitch.' When I give the command, take one photo of your spouse and pin it to the figure. Ready? Move!"

All 15 of us pulled out our photos and pinned them to the straw figure. I admit, I got a bit of pleasure out of pushing a pin through the middle of Gloria's face.

"Mount the figure!" the sergeant ordered. Working together, we picked up the straw effigy and tied it securely to the pole.

"Sanders! Front and center!" the sergeant ordered. Mike Sanders, one of the other students in our class, stepped in front of the sergeant, who handed him a lit torch. "Burn the Bitch!" the sergeant ordered after he accepted the torch.

"Sir! Burn the Bitch! Aye, Aye, Sir!" he shouted in response. Walking to the pile of wood below the straw effigy, he set the wood on fire. The flames quickly grew, catching the straw on fire.

"Burn! Burn! BURN!" we all chanted as the straw figure caught fire. As the flames covered the figure, the photos curled up and burned to ash. "BURN! BURN! BURN!" we shouted, pumping our fists in the air.

We continued to chant and pump our fists in the air as the straw figure burned. The chants turned into howls and angry gut-wrenching growls. There was a lot of pent-up hatred and emotion in our little group. Soon, the figure fell off the pole and burned as it lay on the ground. A few of us, myself included, unzipped our trousers and urinated on the figure.

Soon, the fire burned down and the figure was reduced to ash. Strangely enough, we all felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from our shoulders. The sergeant gave us each a beer and we celebrated the burning. That night, we all slept soundly.

Two days later, we stood at attention in freshly-laundered jeans and denim shirts as the camp commander addressed us.

"You men have come a long way since you arrived," he said. "You came here, scared, uncertain about your future, defeated and humiliated by the ones you loved the most. Now, you've gotten your manhood back. You look like men with the confidence to take on the world. You have the tools and the wherewithal to take on and successfully complete whatever you set out to do.

"I wish the best for each one of you. Remember, we're here for you 24 hours a day, seven days a week. If you need anything - anything at all - even someone to talk to, we're here for you. Now, go and take on the world!"

The sergeant stood in front of us for the last time.

"Class, attention! Dis...missed!" We whooped and hollered as we picked up their bags and headed to the bus, stopping long enough to shake the sergeant's hand. We gathered together before entering the bus to exchange contact information, promising to stay in touch with each other.

I wondered what I would walk into when I got home. I knew I would have to buy new clothes since I had gained a lot of muscle mass since I left three months ago. But, I wondered, would Gloria even be there? A part of me really didn't care - I was ready to move forward in my new life.

Of course, Gloria wasn't home - I really wasn't surprised. I know she had received the divorce papers because the envelope was sitting on the kitchen table, opened, and the papers were strewn over the table. I noticed she had signed them where the lawyer indicated. I walked into the master bedroom and saw the bed was unmade. As before, the room reeked of sex. I saw her rings on the dresser, covered with dried gunk, probably from her lover or lovers.

I looked in the closet and saw that some of her clothes were gone, so I figured she was off on another fuck-fest somewhere. I really didn't care at that point. I took inventory of my own wardrobe and just as I suspected, nothing fit. So I went out and bought myself some new clothes. While I was out, I dropped the signed divorce papers off at the attorney's office and was told they would be filed. When I got back home, I tore the master bed apart, throwing it in the front yard with a sign that read, "Free." It was gone within a couple hours.

I took the rest of Gloria's things and tossed them into trash bags, placing them in the garage. I called a locksmith and had all of the locks changed on the house and changed the garage door code. I took her wedding dress along with all of the pictures of her and I and tossed them in the fireplace. I enjoyed watching as they were reduced to ashes.

Having done all that, I decided to skim the DVDs Doug had sent while I was at Camp Rollins. All of them showed Gloria taking on large groups of men, often three at a time. None of them used protection and they all filled her with their semen. Gloria seemed to love what they were doing to her and begged for more. I felt like throwing up when I saw them smear their cum on her wedding ring. Doug was in most of the DVDs and he ended the last one he sent with a message.

"See, Mike," he said, looking into the camera as Gloria moaned in the background. "Your wife belongs to me now and she'll do whatever I say, with whomever I say. She doesn't even remember you anymore. Hell, I could sell her to the highest bidder if I want to and there's not a damn thing you can do about it." He laughed as the video faded to black.

I sat there for a moment and thought about what he said. Yes, I thought to myself, the bastard needs to die.

The next day, I went to work and noted the looks I got from everyone I met. Many of my co-workers oohed and ahhed over my new appearance and several of the women even flirted with me, openly. I flirted back with some of them, something I had never done before.

A few minutes after getting to my office, Doug sent a message over Skype, asking me to report to his office. Showtime, I thought to myself. I got up and made my way to his office. His receptionist smiled as she looked me over.

"Mr. Carson is expecting you," she said. I went into Doug's office and he appeared shocked as he took in the new me.

"I see the brisk northern air has done you some good," he said. "Care for something to drink?"

"Coffee. Black," I said. He nodded his head and spoke into his intercom.

"Julie, would you please bring Mr. Bradley a cup of coffee - black?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," I heard her say on the intercom. Within seconds, she was in the office and handed me a small cup of coffee on a saucer. I smiled as she handed it to me and took a sip.

"Where's Gloria?" I asked. "I got home yesterday and she wasn't there."

"We'll get to that in a minute," Doug said. "What's this about a divorce? I thought we had an understanding."

"No," I said. "You ordered me not to divorce her, but I've had a change of heart."

"I should fire you for that," he said. I chuckled.

"So?" I asked. "Go ahead and fire me, asshole. I really don't care. I was looking for a job when I got this one. Remember, you came to me, I didn't come to you. Now, where's my soon-to-be ex-wife?" Doug wasn't used to me standing up for myself and I could see he was taken aback.

"I see you've gotten some balls to go with those new muscles," he said. "I'm rather pleased to see that. The truth is, Gloria recently died."

"What?" I asked. "How? When?"

"She was on a company jet flying back from New York over the weekend," he said. "The plane went down and everyone on board was lost. I'm sorry."

"You bastard," I growled. "I ought to..." Suddenly, my vision became blurry and by the time I realized my coffee had been drugged I was unconscious.

...

When I came to, I found myself shackled to a metal bed in a small room with no windows Except for the bed, the only item in the tiny room was a combination toilet/water fountain which was standard in many prisons. My clothes had been removed and I was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, the kind given to prisoners. Not only were there handcuffs securing my wrists to the metal headboard, my ankles were also shackled to the foot of the bed. I tugged on the chains, but soon realized I wasn't going anywhere. I yelled out.

"Get me out of here!" I yelled. After a few minutes, I heard a key in the metal door. It opened, and Doug was there, looking down at me.

"What the fuck is going on?" I yelled. "Get me out of here." Doug smiled as he looked at me. Then he drove his fist into my stomach. Yeah, it hurt, but my abdominal muscles had hardened up considerably over the last three months and it didn't hurt as much as it would have before.

"You're a real big man, beating up on someone chained to a bed," I said after I got my breath. "Get these restraints off of me and let's see you stand up to me then, asshole." He laughed again and sat down next to me.

"I don't think so, Mike," he said. "I may be a rich asshole who gets off on destroying people's lives, but I'm not stupid. Do you know where you are, by the way?" I shook my head.

"You're still at Acme, but you're just about 50 feet below the surface," he said. "You know we have our fingers in a lot of pies, right?"

"Yeah, so?" I asked.

"Well, one of our research projects involves techniques used to break prisoners," he said. "It's something we've been doing for the CIA for decades. You've heard of black sites and extraordinary rendition, right? Who do you think helped perfect those for the government? And how do you think we developed the techniques they use on their prisoners?"

"You can't do this," I said. "It's fucking illegal."

"Except that your employment contract says the company can use you in any way it sees fit," Doug said. "You might as well embrace your new job. You'll still get the same compensation, you just won't be able to enjoy it."

"What?" I asked. "You're keeping me here as a paid prisoner?"

"Exactly," Doug said. "There's so much we can learn from you. For example, how long can you subsist on just bread and water before you start to waste away? How long will it take for those newfound muscles of yours to atrophy? How much pain and sensory deprivation can you withstand?"

"You're fucking crazy," I said.

"Perhaps," he said. "You see, I did a little research on that Camp Rollins you went to. I spent some time looking into the men who completed that course. Very interesting reading, I must say. That got me to wondering just what it would take to break someone who had been trained by the best of the best."

"How long do you intend to keep me here?" I asked. He smirked before answering.

"I would've thought a smart man like you would have already figured that out," he said. "Your employment contract is for life, you know. You do the math. Let's just say, you're never going to see the outside of this facility ever again. And when you die, you'll be cremated right here and your ashes dumped down the toilet."

"You fucking bastard," I said. "I'm going to fucking rip your head off and shit down your throat." Doug laughed.

"Good," he said. "Keep thinking that, please. Just so you know, I'm not completely heartless. You'll be fed once a day and allowed to shower every few days. You'll even be allowed the odd visitor from time to time. Oh, and there's this, just for you." He pointed a remote control at a monitor embedded in the wall near the ceiling and pressed a button. As I watched, the monitor came to life, showing video Doug had taken of Gloria having sex. "See," he smirked. "I even provided you with some entertainment to keep your mind off your problems."

"You motherfucking piece of shit," I screamed. "I'll fucking kill you. You hear me? I'll KILL your fucking ass!" Doug laughed as he walked out the door. After the door was closed and locked, my restraints instantly opened up and I was free to get up.

I paced the floor, wondering how I would be able to get out. Surely, someone would take notice that I was gone and come looking for me. But how long would that take. It was hard to think with the audio of Gloria being fucked filling the small room. I wanted to smash the monitor, but it was too high up for me to reach.

I kept pacing, thinking that someone would let me out. I swore I would personally rip Doug's heart out of his chest. I heard a noise at the door and realized that a small slit had been opened at the bottom. A small metal tray containing a slice of bread and a small paper cup filled with water was slid into my cell.

"Dinner," the guard said, laughing. I was a bit hungry, so I ate the tasteless bread and washed it down with water. I slid the tray back through the slit and had an idea. Doug said I would be fed once a day, so I made a mark in the wall with my thumbnail. Since I didn't have a clock or anything to tell when it was night or day, I decided that would at least help me keep track of how long I had been there.

I laid down and tried to relax, thinking I would feel better once I got some sleep. Unfortunately, I had a very difficult time sleeping with the bright light and the audio from the non-stop fuck video playing on the monitor. I didn't even have a pillow to put over my head. Fuck!

I awoke to the most god-awful pain I had ever felt in my life. A guard saw me asleep on my bunk and entered the cell, waking me with what appeared to be an electric cattle prod.

"No one said you could sleep, prisoner," he shouted in my face. "You sleep when we tell you and not one second before. Got it?"

I was still shaking from the shock and found that I couldn't move my arms for several minutes after the guard left. That's when I noticed another tray being slid into the cell. Had it already been a full day? I ate the bread, drank the water and slid the tray back outside. Feeling the urge to piss, I relieved myself, then made another mark on the wall.

The guards would check on me periodically and tell me when I could sleep, waking me by pounding on the metal door with their nightsticks. The light in my cell never went off so I had no idea how long I had slept. I didn't even know what time of day or night it was. Of course, the video never stopped, but over time I learned to block it out of my mind.

I passed the time by exercising - I did bends and thrusts, pushups, situps, and even ran in place. I closed my eyes and pretended I was back at Camp Rollins doing my daily routines. The never-ending moaning from the porn video made it difficult to concentrate, but not completely impossible.

I was taken out of my cell periodically for an ice-cold shower. The guards gave me less than a minute to clean myself up and laughed as I recoiled from the shock of the cold water. It was difficult, to say the least, but I gritted my teeth and got through it. I could feel the stubble on my face and knew I would be sporting a fairly wild beard in a few days.

Every few days, the guards would pull me out of the cell in shackles to torment me. One time, they laid me down on a long plank with my hands shackled above my head and my feet secured to iron rings at the bottom of the plank. I wondered what they were going to do, then I realized what was happening - they had fastened me to some kind of medieval stretching device. I screamed as the pain became too much to endure. It felt as if they were going to rip my arms out of their sockets and every joint in my body ached.

Suddenly, the stretching stopped and the plank was adjusted so my head was below my feet. Suddenly a towel was thrown over my face and water was dumped on me. My God, I thought! They're waterboarding me. I thought I was going to drown, but the torture ended. I only had a few moments respite, however, as they began again.

After being waterboarded three times while stretched out on the rack, they released me and dragged me back to my cell. A few minutes later, the slot opened and another tray with the usual bread and water was pushed through. It hurt like hell to move as every joint in my body ached, but I managed to finish the "meal." I made another scratch on the wall and counted 60 such marks.

If this was correct, I had been there two full months. And it became clear to me that no one was even looking for me. I was doomed to die in this awful place. I wondered if my divorce was final and if my bills were still being paid. A hell of a thing to think about now, I thought.

I sat back down and did something I hadn't done since I was a child - I prayed, for real. "God," I quietly said to the empty room, "please help me."

A few minutes later, a guard banged on my door.

"You have a visitor," the guard said. "Get up." I managed to get to my feet as the guard opened the door. Another guard stood by with a shotgun aimed at my head as two other guards shackled my hands and feet. They half-dragged me out of the cell and put me in another small room, securing my hands to a ring in the middle of a small table. My feet were connected to the metal chair I was sitting in.

I looked up as a tall, lanky man in western garb entered the room. He had chiseled features, a square jaw with just a hint of a five o'clock shadow and squinty eyes that looked like they had seen just a bit too much sun. He wore denim jeans with a white shirt covered by a floor-length duster. The spurs on his boots jangled as he stepped in the room. His battered Stetson sat low on his forehead. I saw a round badge on his shirt as the top part of the duster he wore opened up and figured he was some kind of a police officer. Was this another form of torture, I wondered.

He sat across from me and looked at me for a few seconds. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one after running a match over his jeans. He placed the lit cigarette in my mouth and encouraged me to take a drag, which I did. Surprisingly, I didn't cough or choke. As I inhaled the smoke, I began to feel some of my strength come back.

"Name's Peace," he said in a southern drawl. "Justice O. Peace. You asked for help. I'm here to help ya. No one's gonna hurt ya any more. I promise."

I put my head down on the table and cried realizing the significance of what he just said. He patted me on the shoulder and comforted me for a few moments.

"Don't worry, pardner," he said. "My posse and I will have ya out of here in no time. One way or another." I looked up at him, the lit cigarette still in my mouth.

"Carson," I croaked. "He took my wife. Destroyed my life. Killed her."

"Don't worry about Carson," he said. "He's gon' pay. I promise you that. Think you can hang tough for a few more days?" I nodded my head, hoping he wasn't yanking my chain. He smiled as he looked at me.

"Good," he said. "When the time comes, you'll get your shot at him." He patted me on the shoulder as he stood up. "We'll meet again, pardner," he said before signaling the guards. As I watched, he spoke to them quietly and left. I'm not sure what he said, but their attitude toward me changed significantly.