Seized and Treacherous

I hope you enjoyed the story so far. As usual, if you’re looking for a quick release, come back to this later. This one is all about the story and the mystery. Although, I have to admit, this chapter had so much soap it’s not funny

Important disclaimer:
This series contains mature themes, violence, gore and homosexual sex. You must be at least 18 years of age to read this story.
Another important disclaimer:
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to get my bloody HTML to view correctly in IE using hacks. So, please, if you liked this story and are feeling particularly generous towards the author today, switch to a CSS compliant browser (Firefox, Safari, Konqueror, Opera... basically everything but IE). Trust me it’s for the greater good.

Just a side note: this page looks best on a Mac because it renders all my fonts correctly. However, I did work damn hard on making it look the best I can on Windows and Linux as well. Download Safari on Windows if you want to see what I mean. Oh and uh, my apologies to the guys who had to endure bad HTML in the earlier chapters. I went back to the old chapters and fixed them too so you can enjoy them better! Comments and criticisms alike welcomed:

Enjoy the 3rd chapter of this series.

Chapter 3

“What were you doing down there?”

I looked up at the cop. “I was helping Riley.”

“Why was there blood on your knife?”

“It wasn’t my knife — I grabbed it from the table. One of them attacked me just before your cop busted in. I used it to defend myself,” I said flatly. I may be one step away from prison, but I was glad to be back around people who weren’t trying to kill me.

“And the Remington?”


“The shotgun in that room. Whose was it?”

“Oh, that belonged to a construction worker. I took it because I needed to save Riley.”

The officer’s head snapped up. “You were the shooter?”


“Did you realise just admitted to a couple of offences, including manslaughter?”

My anger flared up. “I was trying to save my friend!”

The cop didn’t look convinced. “What was your friend’s and your involvement with that group?”

“What group?” I asked, and then I realised what he meant. “Wait you mean those sick bastards? We were not involved!”

“So what were you both doing there?”

I was about to start yelling at him, but I held back. “I want an attorney.” I was such an idiot. My brother had said countless times that if I ever found myself in the questioning room, I should not say anything without an attorney. Dammit.

The cop sighed. “Very well. Do you have someone in mind, or would you like us to appoint you one?”

“Call my brother, he’ll know what to do.”

The officer only nodded his head and started to leave the room.

“Wait,” I called. “Can I make a phone call?” I had to try. It was dark and crazy down there, it could have been someone else. There was no reason for Pat to be there. He couldn’t be. All I wanted was to hear his voice on the phone, and all the pain in my chest and my head will be gone.

 * * *

I smiled nervously at the officer next to me as I picked up the phone. My fingers were shaking as I dial Pat’s home number. Why was I afraid? I didn’t want to be so afraid. Pat will be there.

“Hello?” Mrs Herrington had picked up the phone.

I froze. I couldn’t say anything. God knows I tried, but my voice wouldn’t come out. The pain in my chest and my head was getting stronger.


I hung up the phone. My tears were spilling down my face. I couldn’t do it. What if Pat hasn’t been home since that night? I didn’t want to believe that Pat had been down there. I didn’t want to believe that the last thing I heard from Pat was his screams.

 * * *


I smiled at that. Only my brother calls me that. “I don’t know what to do, Sam,” I said to him.

He sat beside me and pulled me into a fierce hug. “You have no fucking idea how worried I was.”

Actually, I did. I smiled at that thought. Sam loved me. I had known that since he fought to tooth and nails for custody of me five years ago. If it wasn’t for him I would still be in foster care.

“Did you say anything?” he released me from the fierce hug and asked. My brother had always been like that. Straight to business.

I told Sam what I told the cops and kept my eyes on my lap so I wouldn’t have to know what he thought of me when I told him that I have killed people. He wanted to know the whole story, but I didn’t want to tell him the whole story. I didn’t want to ever remember the whole story.

“One of my bosses is on her way — you have to be ready to tell her everything if you want her to represent you.”

“Can’t you represent me?” I pleaded.

“You know I can’t — I’m not an attorney,” Sam frowned.

“But you’d make a great attorney; you’re so much more than a legal secretary.”

“That’s for my bosses to decide.”

“And you’re my brother. I only trust you.”

Sam ran his hand through my hair. I know I’m way too old to be treated like a child, but it’s Sam. “And I trust Josephine. She’s the best attorney in our office.”

I was aware that I was acting like a spoiled brat. But I swear I am only ever like that with my brother. For some reason, I am always a kid around my brother — I let myself be weak around him because I knew he would take care of me.

When Josephine arrived, the first thing I noticed was she was young and attractive. I was expected something different for the best attorney in Sam’s office.

“How old are you?” was the first question I asked before I could stop myself. I couldn’t believe I was so rude — Sam was so going to lecture me.

But the brunette wasn’t phased. “Twenty six,” she said, her voice was crisp and she turned to my brother. “What’s the situation?”

I saw Josephine wince when my brother mentioned the shotgun. I was not an idiot — I mean I was an idiot for telling the cop about the shotgun, but not an idiot enough to not realise how bad my situation was. The police could not hold a minor if they were not charging the minor with anything. But I had given them more than enough ammunition to charge me with manslaughter. Yes, I was an idiot.

“I assume you and your friend had nothing to do with the butchering?”

I flinched at that word. Butcher. My mind was flooded with images of what I had seen in that split second. “No,” I stammered a little. “We were one of the victims.”

“Survivors,” my brother corrected.

Josephine nodded. I couldn’t tell if she believed me. But I doubt it mattered — it was her job to defend me, not believe me. “Start from the beginning.”

“Last thing I remember,” I said to myself while trying to remember how it all started. “I left home looking for Pat. He hasn’t been home for a day, so I thought I could find him at our hangout spot.”

“Patrick Herrington,” my brother volunteered the information. “His mother filed a missing persons report.”

“I don’t think I managed to get to our hangout spot, because the next thing I remember I woke up naked in a cage.”

My brother looked at me weird at that. “Did they touch you?”

I shook my head, and Sam relaxed a little.

Josephine wanted the details of everything, even the conversation between Riley and me. I told her what I could, and my brother was visibly shaking when I told them what I saw in that room. However, I never told them that I saw Pat. I still didn’t want to believe that it was Pat I saw in that room.

 * * *

When I finished my statement, the questioning officer asked. “So, you went back in to rescue your friend?”

I nodded. “I brought the shotgun with me only as a precaution, because I knew the hooded men were dangerous.” The brunette attorney was the one who instructed me to word things that way.

The large–framed officer raised his eyebrow. “So you never intended to use it?”

“I had never used a gun before that. But there was a large group of them charging at me with knives, I had no choice but to protect myself.”

He nodded in approval. “In that case, you’re lucky you got a Remington Competition Master,” he said to himself more than to me.

“Was that the shotgun I used?”

“It’s one of the few high–capacity semi–automatic shotguns. If you’ve never used a gun before, you probably can’t use a pump–action shotgun. And the one you used had eight shells, twice the capacity of most shotguns.”

“I guess I was lucky.” Truthfully, I had no idea what he just said, but I didn’t think it was important.

“Earlier you mentioned that your captors were—” the officer swallowed audibly. “—cannibalising the victims. How did you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“As in, did you see them in the act? Or was there something else you saw that made you believe that it happened?”

I felt my stomach going sick again. “The layout of the table. They had plates and cutlery, the knives were bloody, and they had—” it was my turn to swallow audibly. “—stuff in the plates. You know, stuff, like raw—”

“Okay, that’s enough, I think I got the idea,” the officer quickly cut me off.

I was glad I didn’t have to finish the sentence. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be reminded of what I saw over and over again. There wasn’t anything left in me to puke.

“There’s one more thing I want you to do for us.”

I looked at Josephine, who gave me the ‘go ahead’ nod. “What do you want me to do?”

The cop pushed a thick file in front of me and opened it.

I looked into the file and I felt myself becoming sick as I saw a bunch of photos of the hooded men in it. Most of them are dead because I shot them. They deserved it, didn’t they? I felt my head reeling with guilt and confusion. It was self–defense, I told myself.

“Do you recognise any of them?”

“I–I think I’ve seen him,” I put a finger on one of the photos. “But I’m not sure, it all happened so fast.” I managed to identify at least three more before the cop was satisfied.

He then flipped the page to the back of the file. I glanced at the pictures and I jumped back, knocking my chair off.

“No!” I yelled at him.

“Calm down, I only want you to identify—”

“You can’t make me do this!” I cried. I turned to my brother’s surprised expression. “They can’t make me do this,” I begged him.

Sam put his arm around me protectively. “What were you showing him?” he asked the officer.

“Pictures of the butchered victims,” he replied. When my brother scowled at him, the officer quickly added. “They were cleaned up and only the faces are visible — it’s not as bad as you think.”

My brother let go of me and walked towards the file. “My brother had seen enough. If you want I can try to identify the victims instead.”

“Sam, no,” I whimpered weakly as he went through the pictures. “Don’t do it.”

Then I saw Sam’s eyes widen in shock at one of the pictures.

“No,” I muttered. It’s not true. It can’t be true.

My brother looked at me with his expression of shock and sadness. “Oh my god, Ger,” he said as he slowly walked towards me. “I’m so sorry.”

“No!” I backed away from Sam. “You’re wrong, it’s not him,” my voice was cracking. “It’s not him.”

“Not who?” asked the cop.

My brother tried to comfort me, despite my efforts to push him away. “I’m so sorry,” he said again.

I started to sob loudly as I gave in to Sam, he held me against his chest. I wanted to believe that Pat was okay. I wanted to believe that I had made a mistake. But I wasn’t able to do that anymore. I had to face the truth now.

“Who was it?” I heard Josephine ask.

“It was Pat,” Sam answered softly. He was crying as well.

“Who’s Pat?” the officer asked carefully.

There was a pause, then Josephine replied. “Patrick Herrington. You have him as a missing person.”

 * * *

The police held me for a couple more hours before letting me go without charges. I guess my little scene in the questioning room was evidence for them that I wasn’t one of the butchers. Sam and I walked into Mr and Mrs Herrington on our way out, but they didn’t see us. The were crying softly on each other’s shoulders; the police must have told them about Pat.

I don’t remember much of the journey home, but I knew that Josephine had given Sam and me a lift to our apartment. We hadn’t owned a car ever since our parents passed away. We never had enough money for any luxury of that kind since.

The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. Sam made me pasta on a tomato–based vegetarian sauce because he knew it was usually my favourite. We never named any of his dishes because he rarely cooks the same thing twice. Sam’s cooking talent lies in the improvisation of available (read: cheap and limited) ingredients. Sometimes I believe that my brother can easily be rich by opening a restaurant. Amazing original food and cheaper cost price easily means bigger profit.

“Ger, I’m not letting you shut me out,” my brother suddenly declared over our small dinner table.

I kept quite for a moment. “I’m not,” I said. But Sam did not budge. “I’m just tired. It feels like years since I’ve been home.”

He only nodded at me. “How’s the pasta?” he asked suddenly.

I couldn’t help but smile. “The best I’ve had.”

“I can always make more—”

“Sam,” I interrupted and laughed. “No matter how good you make it, I still only have one stomach.”

My brother chuckled at that. I suddenly realised that it was the first time I’ve seen him smile today. He was usually all smiles. It was then I noticed the eye bags; my brother hadn’t slept much last night, probably because he was worried about me. My chest ached with guilt. Sam was always sacrificing something for me.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

He raised his eyebrow. “For what?”

“For putting you through hell yesterday and today.”

I could see his frown even before he did. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s what you always say,” I said sadly. “I think it’s time we both get some sleep,” I added before he could say anything.

Sam looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he just nodded. After washing the dishes, we wished each other good night and went to our rooms.

I tried to sleep for a good two hours on the bed where Pat and I had slept together. I wondered what had Pat wanted to talk to me about after that morning. Why hadn’t I just let him talk to me about it? I caught myself sniffing my comforter and my pillow, the one that Pat had used that night. I never realised it until now — I had always liked his scent.

Realising that tossing and turning wasn’t helping me, I put on my sweats and sneaked out of my room. I stopped at my brother’s door for a moment, wondering if I should wake him to tell him that I was going out. But I decided against it; Sam needs his rest. He has work tomorrow. I slowly tiptoed out of our apartment and did my routine check on my wallet and my keys before closing the door.

I didn’t know where I was going. Maybe I only wanted the fresh air. The moon was bright and full, and there was no one around, which I wasn’t surprised because it was 1 a.m. in the morning. It was only after I walked past the playground when I realised that I was walking to the hangout spot Pat, my brother and I used to go.

I went into full alert when I heard footsteps behind me. Feeling my heart lurch at the thought of being seized again, I started to walk faster. After about half a minute I decided that I was being followed, so I quickly dashed into an alley and broke the leg off an old wooden chair next to the dumpster. The bastard was going to pay for Pat.

My heart was thumping as I readied my wooden chair leg while listening to the footsteps. When the figure came in sight, I started to swing my weapon, but stopped just short of the person’s face when I realised who it was.

“Jesus, Ger!” my had brother lifted his arms to protect his face.

“Sam?” I dropped my weapon. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t home, so I thought maybe you went to the hangout.”

“Shit, you really scared me.”

My brother scowled at me. “And I wasn’t scared? You left the house without telling me.”

I couldn’t say anything to that. I felt bad that I had made Sam worry about me, again. However, before I could apologise, Sam told me to not worry about it and asked me to walk with him. I didn’t know where we were going, but later on I found out — we were going to our hangout.

“I come to the Red Giant to clear my thoughts sometimes too,” my brother stated as we sat underneath our favourite maple tree by the lake.

We had named the huge tree ‘Red Giant’ because we discovered it many autumns ago when the leaves were bright red. When we were kids we used to climb the tree and sit on the branches, but now we were content just sitting underneath it. Our mum used to bring us here all the time when she was still alive.

“I know how much you miss him. I don’t want you to hold it in,” Sam put an arm around my shoulder.

I stayed silent for awhile. “I shouldn’t have been so stubborn,” I said suddenly.

“About what?”

“Pat wanted to talk, but I didn’t, that was why we got into a fight.”

I felt him squeeze my shoulder. “Friends fight all the time, Ger. I’m sure he understood that.”

“But if we never got into a fight, he would still be alive,” I finally said what I was afraid to think. I didn’t wait for my brother to reply, I simply buried my face in his shoulder.

“What happened was not your fault — I don’t ever want you to think that.”

“It wasn’t just his life I took, Sam. You could have stayed in school and gone to college on scholarship. You could have done anything you wanted. But because of me you had to give it all up. I took away your life too.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” my brother knocked me in my head. “My life is not school or college. My life is you. My brother. My only family.”

 * * *

The moment I walked out of my room I could smell breakfast. I could hear Sam frying something on the pan, which I suspected was bacon and egg. We live in a small apartment in the outskirts of the city, where I could cycle to school and Sam could walk to work. From my room door I could get to anywhere in our house in five steps — we couldn’t afford a bigger place.

If you think that was small, you should have seen the old place; my brother rented that one right after he got me out of foster care. The bedroom, the living room and the kitchen were all mashed into the same small space, and we had to share the mattress for awhile. The only part of the house which had a room was the bathroom. It wasn’t my favourite place, but I was too happy to be out of foster care back then to care.

So yeah, I was really glad when we moved here last month; I even have my own room! Ever since we moved I had been bugging Pat everyday to stay over, which he eventually did, but I already told you about that.

We used the remaining unsold furniture from our parents’ house to furnish the place, which made me feel like I was in my parents’ house again. Although, now that I am much older, I am able to appreciate my mum’s taste in furniture. Well it could be my dad’s, or both, but that wasn’t the point. I thought the furniture looked great and were in amazing condition, considering they were at least five years old. While we sold most of our parents’ stuff, we never threw out any of their worthless junk. I’d like to think that Sam secretly kept them because he wanted something to remember them by, even though he tells me he hates them for leaving us.

“Morning,” my brother greeted me with his back to me. He was still cooking breakfast. God it smelled good.

“Bacon and scrambled eggs?”

“Yeah, I thought we’d try something different today.”

“You mean normal,” I laughed. “I’m pretty sure the other kids have that everyday.” We usually have a simple fruit for breakfast. Like a banana, or an apple, or a tomato. Well okay, I’ve never tried the tomato, but my brother eats it plain and raw all the time.

“Complaining to the cook?” my brother said almost cheekily.

“No, of course not, I wouldn’t dare,” I answered quickly and grinned.

He pulled the pan over and scooped some of his bacon and egg onto my plate. “Slept well?”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said as I waited for my brother to sit. It was a lie, of course. I dreamt about Pat last night and I woke up several times swimming in my sweat. I had to run to the bathroom twice to vomit in two of those episodes. But I didn’t want my brother to worry.

“There, hopefully it’s good,” he said referring to the breakfast.

“You’ve never made anything short of amazing, Sam.”

“Not true. There was once I tried making this cream sauce with—oh my god this is amazing,” he licked his fingers enthusiastically before looking back up at me. “What was I saying again?”

I only howled in laughter in response. “I love you Sam,” I told him instead.

My brother rolled his eyes but I could see him smiling behind his coffee. “Anyway, Ger, we have some extra money saved up right now,” my brother suddenly said carefully.

He waited for me to nod before going on.

“You know my bosses, they have a great network of contacts, and I’ve talked to them about something.”

I nodded again. Where was this going?

“And I think we can afford a weekly thing with a therapist. He don’t usually gives discounts, but as I said, my bosses are amazing.”

I stared at Sam for a minute. “I don’t need a shrink, Sam.”

“I want you to.”

“I don’t need to! I’m fine,” I started to raise my voice a little.

“You can’t even eat your breakfast, Ger,” Sam said sharply.

I looked down at my food and realised he was right. I had been playing with it instead of eating it. I had no idea why — I was starving. “I’m just not really hungry right now,” I lied again, and I don’t usually lie to Sam. “And we can really use the extra money for more important things.”

“I want you to,” he persisted. “At least consider it. For me.”

I was silent for awhile. “Okay,” I gave in finally. Only for Sam, I thought.

“Thanks,” he smiled at me. “I’ll call up my boss now. Do you want anything else to eat?”

I thought to myself for a moment. I was starving, but I couldn’t eat my brother’s ridiculously delicious bacon and egg. “I’ll have the apple.”

 * * *

“Sam, have you seen the paper?” I called from the couch. I had already missed two classes in school and I was still home, it was crazy. My brother had asked me to not go to school that morning, which I had readily agreed at that time.

He appeared at his room door with the newspaper in his hands. “Sorry, I took it into the room to read earlier.”

I rolled my eyes. He obviously took it into the room because he didn’t want me to see something. But I could already guess what was on the paper. I grabbed the paper from him and saw it on the front page.

Cannibals Roam Port Green
Yesterday, the police responded to an unusual distress call from the upcoming Gladeview docks at about 8 a.m. The police discovered that it came from a victim of arguably the most horrific kidnapping incident in the United States. The kidnappers had allegedly cannibalised their victims in an underground ruins of a 16th century fort. “We have never seen anything like this,” said Sheriff McGraw. When asked if the kidnappers were behind bars, the sheriff failed to comment. The victims were identified as students of Port Green High School, and there were only two known survivors of the incident. The police will not release the names of the victims or the two survivors at this time.

“Don’t worry, they’re not going to release any names ever. Josephine made sure of that.”

I tossed the paper aside as casually as I could. “Sam, I’m going to school.”

My brother eyed me carefully. “Isn’t it too early?”

“I thought it was, but then I realise I just can’t sit around at home and do nothing.” And I needed the distraction at school, I thought to myself. “Besides, if I’m not at school again people are gonna wonder if I had anything to do with that,” I pointed at the story on the paper.

Sam looked like he was about to protest, but he held back. “Okay, just give me a call if you’re not coming back right after school. And don’t wander around by yourself.”

Then I realised something. “Sam, why aren’t you at work today?” I asked even though I already knew the answer. I could knock myself in my head right now. “Shit, Sam, I’m so sorry. Don’t worry about me, just go to work.”

“It’s fine, Ger, my boss gave me the week off. I could really use the break anyway,” he said and smiled at me, like the perfect brother he truly was.

 * * *

By the time I arrived at school it was already lunch break and I had missed half the classes of the day. I figured I should come up with some bullshit excuse for my absence, so I went straight to the principal’s office. Her secretary greeted me with a smile and told me to sit, and almost as soon as she went through that door she came back out again and told me to go in.

I stood up and took a deep breathe before walking towards the office. I wondered what kind of lie should I tell the principal. There was no way I’m telling her the truth.

“Hey Gary,” said the quarterback of my school as soon as I walked through the door.

“Riley?” my jaw dropped.

“Gary, take a seat,” said a stunning middle–aged lady behind the principal’s desk.

“Principal Reynolds,” I greeted her. “I’m here to explain my absence earlier today and yesterday,” I said carefully as I glanced at Riley. What was he doing here?

She only motioned for me to continue. Was she even planning to dismiss Riley, or did I have to do this in front of him? Shit. A thought suddenly occurred to me. Did she already know?

I hesitated a little but then I decided to get on with it. “There was a leak in my apartment yesterday and we spent the whole day saving our furniture. You can call my brother to confirm it.” Sam wasn’t in with the lie, but I knew he would pick up on it and play along just fine.

Sometimes I surprise myself with my ability to improvise a lie on the spot and do it with a straight face. Which was why I was even more surprised when I saw the principal raise her eyebrow. She didn’t believe me. Dammit, Riley told her.

“I didn’t tell her,” he said suddenly, as if sensing my anger. “You can stop glaring at me now.”

“It’s alright, Gary, I know what happened.”

“But if Riley didn’t tell you, how did you know it was me?”

“I saw you yesterday in the police station, when I picked Riley up.”

Picked Riley up? Then I put the two and two together. “Shit, Principal Reynolds is your mother,” I said to Riley, in which he nodded in reply.

“Here’s your slip; you won’t have to explain yourself to your teachers,” said the stunning raven–haired principal, who also happens to be the mother of the quarterback I was stuck naked with for nearly a day, as she handed me my piece of paper of freedom.

My mind was in a daze as I took the slip from her.

Before I could turn to walk out, she stopped me. “Oh, and Riley said you had saved his life. You have my deepest gratitude.”

I only nodded at her and walked out with Riley, still feeling a little dazed.

“How are you?” Riley asked me once we were out of his mother’s office.

“I can’t believe she’s your mother.”

“About that — don’t tell anyone, okay?”


“I just don’t like it when people see me as the principal’s kid, you know.”

“I understand. Does anyone else know?”


After a moment of silence, I decided say it to him. “Thank you for saving my life, when you could have run away instead.”

“Just like you coming back for me with that kickass shotgun when you didn’t have to, Gary.”

We chuckled at that. I still couldn’t believe what I had done myself. I never imagined myself using a shotgun for anything. “You know, when the police was questioning me at the station, I noticed something,” I said to him.

Riley looked at me and waited for me to continue. I never imagined myself saying this, but I actually trusted the guy.

“I had never told you my name, but you still knew it.”

I thought I saw him redden a little. “Yeah, I knew who you were; you and your friend were the noisiest people in the cafeteria — kinda hard to miss when you kept teasing him about my girlfriend,” he smiled at me.

“Damn, you heard that?” I laughed a little. It was then I realised something. I didn’t say anything for awhile, but I decided that I had to know. “You knew Pat, then.”

Riley looked uncomfortable. I think he knew what I was about to ask next.

“Was he— was Pat the last person taken from the cages before I woke up?”

He looked away for a moment. “You don’t want to know.”

I wasn’t sure if Riley realised it, but he had just answered my question, at least indirectly. It was Pat who was screaming in the corridors. It was his pain I had heard when the bastards were... I closed my eyes.

The story in the newspaper had said that the bastards escaped — at least some of them did. I’m going to find them. I’m going to find them and they are going to pay for what they did to my best friend.

 * * *