SIXTY-FOUR
West Point, Kentucky
23:30 HOURS
A ghostly quiet seized the home at Wildcat Farm when Richard Kilmer and his men finally took their leave. A terrible foreboding filled each of the hostages as they wondered what their fate would be. Ryan sat in the dark room, imagining that the rest of his family was surely just as terrified as he was. Never had he felt so defenseless-bound, gagged, and at the mercy of a man who was unquestionably a psychopath. The odds of getting out of this jam alive were extremely remote. Ryan had never prayed more fervently for a miracle.
Ryan’s eyes were fully dilated, having adapted to the minimal light filtering in from the outside lights, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t locate Farley or determine what he was up to. Sitting amongst his family, wondering what was next in store, he heard Farley’s voice from somewhere in the darkened room say one of the most alarming things he’d ever heard.
“Since you’ll all be dead soon…what d’ya say we have some fun?”
Ryan cocked his head to locate Farley but couldn’t make out where he was. Then he heard the muted sounds of Sarah struggling and of tearing fabric. Farley had cut the cloth of her shirt, ripping it down to the rope secured across her abdomen. Then he put the knife underneath the clasp on the front of her bra and cut it through.
“Nice tits, lady,” Farley said silkily, admiring her bare breasts through the night-vision goggles he wore. He caressed one of her nipples as she indignantly struggled. “Wow…for an old broad, you’ve still got the goods.”
Hearing Sarah’s torment renewed Ryan’s futile struggle to break loose. The rope holding him was much too strong, and the weight of all four people kept him seated. Sweat poured off Ryan’s brow as he strained mightily to tear loose.
Farley walked over to Ryan and forced his head back, grabbing a handful of hair. “Relax, Cochise. You’ll get your turn. I’m saving you for last. You get the added treat of listening to your family endure my unique talents. Now tell me…isn’t that an inviting thought?”
Pausing only briefly, Farley continued. “You surprise me, Marshall. I can tell by the look in your eyes that I’ve frightened you. You’re not really so naive to think we’d let you all go?”
“Mmmph,” Ryan mumbled through the tape, valiantly struggling to mount a defense. Farley retaliated with a stinging blow across the bridge of Ryan’s nose that exploded in a stream of blood.
Farley looked disgustedly at the blood dripping from Ryan’s chin onto his shirt. “Balls. Now look what you made me do. I didn’t want any blood…but too late for that,” he said dispassionately. “Now sit still and behave…I’ve got work to do.”
Farley stepped back to survey his choices, “Let’s see…who gets to be first? Eenie…meenie…miney…mo,” he played in a sing-song voice, relishing the fearful look on the faces of his subjects. He enjoyed the psychological torment this infantile game caused-each secretly hoping against being chosen, but daring not wish the coming pain on the others. “Okay, since I don’t see any volunteers, I think I’ll start with…the youngest,” he said after a theatrical pause.
He rounded quickly on Jer and cut open his shirt with a deft flick of his knife, ripping it past his shoulders to expose a bare chest. Jer didn’t struggle but panicked from the suddenness of being first chosen, his imagination in overdrive from what would happen next. Nothing could prepare him for the horror to come. Farley used a welder’s striker to ignite a small propane torch and an eerie blue light permeated the room.
“Well…let’s see what this will do,” Farley began. “I’ve tried to come up with something fun that won’t cause any blood-letting-it’s really messy and hard to clean up, you know. Yet I wanted something that would inflict a maximum amount of pain. Fire fits the bill, don’t you think? It’s not messy, and except for the nasty stench of burning flesh, isn’t too hard to manage. And look, I found a branding tool in the barn that I think will serve quite nicely,” he said, holding it out, sounding much like he was merely prepping to brand livestock.
He set the propane torch on the table and placed the branding tool directly in the blue flame. In just moments the iron brand started to glow as it drew in the heat and began to look like a small cat, obviously meant to resemble the wildcat mascot for the University of Kentucky. As Farley heated the brand, the hostages stirred uncomfortably, infuriated by what this man was preparing to do. No one dared believe he would actually brand Jer’s bare chest.
He kept the brand in the flame until it was glowing cherry red. “Almost there,” he said, bringing it close so Jer could feel the heat radiating against his face.
“Damn, I bet that’s gonna hurt,” Farley teased. The sadistic look in his eyes was unmistakable, made more so through the goggles he wore and the eerie, dull light from the brand.
“Why so serious, son? Oh, I’m sorry…I can’t hear you. Have you got something to say?” he asked, ruthlessly ripping the tape off Jer’s mouth.
“Jesus, mister, please don’t burn me,” Jer pleaded. “We’ve done everything you’ve asked. You’ve got Uncle Jarrod and you’ll all be rich. Please, Jesus, don’t hurt my folks.”
“ Pleeaassee…Jessuss…don’t hurt my folks,” Farley taunted in a nasal, high-pitched voice. “Sorry, son, it’s not that easy. You see…this is how I get my rocks off. I love inflicting pain,” he said calmly, changing to his regular voice.
“Once, I beat a man’s toes off with a ball-ping hammer,” he said with a malicious grin. “Now that was fun, but much too messy for tonight. The guy actually shit himself…can you believe that? Another time I used a portable drill on a gook chick just to see what a three-sixteenth drill bit through each of her joints would be like. That was messy, too…but delightfully painful. She was a tough ol’ broad, though…she made it all the way to a new ear hole before passing out on me.”
Farley had returned to the torch and was again heating the brand to a bright cherry red color. “Tonight, however, I want to know what it’s like to brand a person. But don’t worry, son, you’ll get it over with the quickest. It’s your mother and auntie I’m really looking forward to. No telling what’ll happen when this hot brand sears their nipples,” he wondered aloud, just as nonchalantly as if he were preparing a barbecue.
“You bastard,” Jer yelled. “Don’t you dare hurt my mother! I’ll hunt you in hell!”
“ You baastarrd,” Farley taunted again in his nasally voice. He came toward Jer with the branding iron, now glowing brighter than before.
“No…no…please…no…aaaghhh!” Jer screamed as the hot brand pressed down on the center of his bare chest. A nauseating acrid smoke curled from the burning flesh and everyone but Farley began to retch. The sizzling sound of the hot iron burning through skin and muscle magnified the torturous cruelty. Finally Jer’s scream abated but only when the brand was mercifully withdrawn. His head slumped forward and he continued to softly moan in agony.
“Shit, howdy, boy…you took that better than I thought. God damned! Okay, who’s next?” Farley asked unfazed, as if nothing at all had taken place.
“Get in there…now! ” Morris urgently radioed to Angelina, knowing that she was standing ready. He could see through the night-scope that Farley was torturing the young man with a hot poker, and even though ten minutes had not elapsed, there was no time to waste.
“I heard the scream; I’m on my way,” Angel replied. “Be ready.”
“Remember…don’t stand in front of the door,” Morris reminded, but there was no reply. Angel had dropped the radio and was running to the front door of the house.
Morris drew a bead on the gunman, but had no clear shot through the plate glass slider. The target was standing either directly in front of the hostages, where the bullet would hit them upon exiting his body, or on the opposite side, where their presence obstructed a good shot. He hoped that Angelina could divert his attention just long enough to get off a kill shot.