Birdcage

Warning: MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY

Contains: adult language, violence, molestation, rape, sexual encounters, homosexual encounters.

Legend: "speaking",

"thoughts"

Please post your thoughts, including criticism, at the end of this chapter.

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A single pair of headlights and the roar of an engine moving rapidly southbound broke the midnight stillness of the lonely highway. The white Lexus shifted gears and picked up speed, far above the local speed limit. The driver knew that the road was rarely patrolled at this time of night, and he was more than capable of outrunning the police if he needed to. But the police were the least of his worries right now. He twisted his head from left to right, looking for a place to hide. Finally, he found it: a narrow dirt road leading to an old wooden shed, just before the tree line into the woods. He made a quick turn, nearly overshooting the corner, tore up the driveway, and pulled alongside and just behind the shed. Stones crunched under the tires as he brought his car to a short stop. Once he was satisfied that he couldn't be seen immediately from the highway, he shut off the engine and battery, twisted his head once again to look out the back window, and waited.

After a few moments, which to him felt like an agonizingly long eternity, another pair of headlights began to brighten the stretch of highway he was just on. Hearing the familiar engine, his heart began to pound, and he put his hand over his chest, as if to suppress the noise that might be heard by the occupants of the other car. As it came closer, more of the highway became visible. He prayed that they wouldn't notice the dirt road and the shed, or if they did, that they would ignore it. The engine was becoming louder and louder. He sweated, wondering what kind of fool he was and what he would do if he were caught. His brown eyes strained for any clue if the other car was trying to slow down.

Just when he was about to restart the engine and launch his car into the woods, the other car came into view. The Hummer didn't even make an attempt to turn onto the dirt road; instead it continued straight down the highway, shooting past him and into the night. He watched the light fade on the highway and waited until he could no longer hear the engine before letting out the breath he had been holding.

Aaron sighed, leaned forward and rested his arms and head on the steering wheel, his short, brown hair shadowing his face. They would probably be out all night looking for him in the next town, so he would have at least six hours of a head start in any direction he wanted to go. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe away any remains of his tears from less than an hour ago. Just turned nineteen, he had moved back in with his parents after he and his girlfriend split up a month ago, and he'd quit college soon after. He had plenty of friends; his family's wealth saw to that. He drowned out his misery of his unfair life in beer and parties, and didn't try looking for a job. Aaron's dismayed parents had tried to encourage him back into a normal life for a few weeks, but now his father, fed up with his only son sulking around the house by day and partying by night, had decided to pay for his schooling in a college over in Europe.

Aaron had been absolutely livid. Going overseas meant he would lose the friends he had made during his short stay in college, and he didn't want to start over in a place totally unfamiliar to him. His mother had tried to calmly explain the need for him to finish school, and his father gruffly mentioned that he also need to learn not to be so dependent on his family. The argument had escalated to his father recalling all the times his son had disappointed him over the past few weeks and why he 'so badly needed to be taught to live like a Renald, not a spoiled brat'. Moments later, Aaron had grabbed his jacket and was speeding away from his parent's mountainside home. His mother called his cell phone and begged him to come back home; Aaron had told her exactly what he thought of his father and turned the phone off.

He took in a deep breath in, held it, and let it out. Sitting back up, he brushed his hair out of his eyes with his fingers. He started the car and began to circle it in the grass behind the wooden shed. No one should be at the house now, he would have time to pack up all his belongings and leave before sunrise. The Lexus was his. The money for college was his. And he wasn't a minor; if he ran away the police wouldn't look for him. He made a mental note of the directions to his friend's house a few hours away; he could crash there until he was back on his feet.

The Lexus finished its circle, headed cautiously back down the dirt road, stopped for one last look for any chance of the Hummer returning, then turned northbound on the highway. This time he was going only 5 or 10 miles an hour over the speed limit; he had plenty of time.

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"Damnit!"

The huge bay window rattled, but still refused to budge. The black-clad man shook the window once more just for the hell of it, then kicked the house siding and took a few steps back. He cursed again and glared at the living room bay window. He swore that it was mocking him.

"Fucker, I'll show you!"

He grabbed a good-sized rock from some rubble next to him, walked back to the window, and smashed in a hole at the bottom. A satisfactory clinkle of broke the silence. Bits of glass flew all over the rug. Behind the ski mask that covered everything except his eyes, he smirked. He had been watching this house for quite some time now, and just his luck, the family had left and forgotten to turn on the alarms. Less than an hour ago, as he was busily knawing away the remains of a hamburger in the woods, a door being slammed and shouting had interrupted his meal. Apparently the parents had royally pissed off their brat of a son. He had watched the boy speed away in his Lexus, and the parents follow in a Hummer shortly after. Abandoning the burger, he had equipped himself and made tracks for the back windows. He didn't know how much time he had, but he could make to most out of even half an hour. His arm snaked inside through the hole he just made, and he reached for the window's turn handle a few inches away.

Suddenly, he heard the lights of a car returning up the driveway on the opposite side of the house. He froze with his hand in the air, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Shit!"

He pulled his arm back quickly, almost cutting himself on the broken glass. He charged across the grass and dove behind the trees that hid his small moving van. Straightening up, he pressed his back to one of the trees and glanced around its trunk. The engine sounded lighter than the Hummer, it must be the kid in his Lexus. The car was moving really fast. He listened for the Hummer too, but didn't hear a second engine.

'That's weird. Why is the kid coming back by himself?'

The man was even more surprised when the Lexus, instead of parking in the driveway or pulling into the garage, drove onto the grass and around the house, thankfully on the far side, not on the one with the broken window. The car pulled to a stop, and the engine was cut. Curious, the man risked moving just behind the tree line to the far back of the house. As he took a position behind a thick bush, he saw the kid scramble over the rail of the deck overlooking the forest. The boy defiantly wasn't a fat ass, that's for sure.

Peering through the twigs, he watched as the kid fished his keys out of his pocket opened the back door and hurried inside. A moment later, lights turned on in one of the rooms close to the deck. He assumed this must be the kid's room. One of the windows was flung open, and a sleeping bag was hurled out in the general direction of the car.

'Ah. A runaway.'

He quickly but quietly made his way back to his original position by his van. If the kid's parents didn't know he was back for his stuff, then he still might be able to pull this off. He only carried a flashlight and a few screwdrivers on his belt during a raid, so he pulled open the door of his van and grabbed a few emergency items: a roll of duct tape, a cloth and a handgun. He pushed the duct tape roll up his arm as far as his biceps would let it go, then wedged the gun and cloth between his waistband and the back of his pants.

He was confident that the smaller boy would be no match for him, but he couldn't be too careful, especially if his parents made a surprise visit home, or, at worst, if the police were summoned. He crouched down and cautiously made his way back to the bay window he had broken earlier. Quietly, his hand went in and turned the window handle, opening the frame more than halfway out. Climbing in through the now adequate space, he made sure not to break any of the glass on the floor with his heavy boots. He observed the kitchen doorway directly to his right, the kid's backpack on the breakfast table, and another doorway on the opposite side leading towards the center hallway. He expertly walked through the kitchen without making a sound, looking for a hiding spot.

'Way too easy.'

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Aaron finished with the first suitcase, zipped it up and tossed it out his window, then pulled out a second from his closet. He yanked it open and began stuffing it with clothes from his drawers and hangers. He didn't care if they were folded neatly or not; time was of the essence. They could always be ironed later.

He had also taken to tearing his bedroom apart. Since he wouldn't be returning, there was no need to keep so many things that only reminded him of pain. Besides, the destruction and the accompanying adrenaline rush was making him feel much better. The picture frame of his ex-girlfriend was shattered on the opposite wall. Business books from his father were torn up and strewn everywhere. He picked up his chair and smashed it on the headboard of his bed. It looked like a bomb had gone off in the room and incinerated everything except the rug. Luckily the nearest neighbors were miles away; no one could hear his tantrum or would find out about it until his parents returned.

When he finished, he stood their, sweat drenched and looking like a madman. He decided he would need something else to wear; his friends might not let him just from the appearance and smell. He stripped down to his gray boxers, and pulled from the remaining clothes at the bottom of his closet blue jeans, sneakers and a red jersey. He tugged these on. A shower would have to wait for now.

Aaron zippered and tossed the second suitcase out the window, then hurried downstairs to get the last few things he would need: food and supplies. He jumped the last five steps of the stairs and took off towards the kitchen. He couldn't believe how alive he felt; sure, he might never speak to his parents again, but soon he would be free, free to make his own decision, live his own life. His father would never again be breathing down his neck, judging his every move and telling him what an ass he was turning out to be.

His backpack was right where he left it, on the breakfast table. Aaron grabbed it with his left hand, pulling open the refrigerator door with his right. Setting the backpack on the floor for a second, he scanned the shelves for stuff to take with him.

'Milk, orange juice, strawberries, vegetables

..........

.beer and sandwiches! Score!'

He tossed the cans of beer into the backpack, followed by his mother's pre-made and wrapped sandwiches. As he grabbed the last turkey-on-rye, he decided instead to open and eat it right now. The plastic wrap was torn off, and he threw it in the general direction of the garbage can. A flash of doubt hit him as he greedily bit in. His mother wouldn't be too happy..........no matter how old Aaron got, or what kind of trouble he got into, his mother always had a few sandwiches waiting for him when he returned home. She'd made them for him since he was a little kid, just the way he liked it. Lots of meat and mayo, a little mustard and pepper, most of them on rye. Since he was rarely home at the same time as her, it was sort of her daily reminder to him that she still loved him. He had long since stopped thanking her each time he took one, taking for granted that they'd always be there. Now he was stealing them and running off, maybe to never see her again. He quickly shrugged off the guilt. No, maybe he would talk to her again someday, just to tell her that he was still well and alive. But after what his father said, he would never be coming back.

Something caught his eye as he returned to shoveling through the sandwich. He glanced to the left; something was sparkling at him from the rug in the living room.

'Did someone drop their change? Wait a minute, it's all over the rug

.........'

Pausing in mid-chew, Aaron slowly pulled himself up and walked to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, sandwich still in hand. It looked like someone had poured glitter all over the rug........no, it wasn't. It was bits of broken glass, and it was only around one wall. It was then he noticed gapping hole at the bottom of one of the huge bay windows, and the window itself was pulled open most of the way. He gasped.

Suddenly, something solid and heavy smashed into Aaron's back. He fell forward, sandwich flying out of his hand. The landing knocked the wind out of Aaron's lungs, the glass bits cut sharply into his hands and face. He coughed up any remains of the sandwich in his mouth onto the rug next to him and pushed up, but the heavy thing had his back pinned to the floor. Squirming around, Aaron tried to get it off of him, but a gloved hand grabbed his head and shoved it into the rug, right into the glass.

"Keep quiet kid, and I won't hurt you."

Aaron's eye's bulged.

'Jesus Christ.'

Instinctively, his right hand lashed out at the man sitting on him, but the same gloved hand grabbed his wrist and held it over his head, the other hand immediately follow with his other wrist.

"Fuck, get off of me!" Aaron shouted, bucking and rolling around as much as he could. The glass bits stuck mercilessly into his arms. The man tightened his already vise-like grip on his wrists and shifted so his left knee dug into the small of Aaron's back.

"I said keep quiet!"

Aaron refused to obey and continued to struggle. The combination of pain from the man's weight and the glass in his arms and face hurt like hell, but if he gave up, who knows what this guy would do to him. After a few moments, it became obvious to him that the man was much bigger and stronger than he was; there was no way he could wiggle out. He instead tried putting his naturally wiry body to work; he brought up his right leg up and struck his foot out at the man's right knee, which was still on the floor. The man grunted and shifted again to get out of it's way, but Aaron fought and landed solid hits on his knee no matter where he moved.

The man decided he'd had enough, and rolled Aaron onto his back. Aaron shouted and cursed again as the glass cut through his jersey, into his back. The man ignored him, released his right wrist and grabbed his neck, squeezing it tightly. Aaron gasped and coughed. His free hand immediately went to the hand on his neck, desperately trying to pull it off. He hadn't managed to get a good breath in when he was flipped over; he needed air, right now.

The man shifted once more so that his left knee was on the ground, the right knee on Aaron's stomach, pushing out any air remaining in his lungs. He sharply brought the boy's left hand down and wedged it under his left knee. Aaron pulled at it, but the man's weight had it pinned to the floor. He struggled anyway, and the man realized it would only be a matter of time before he got it out. Acting quickly, he reached behind his back and grabbed the cloth from his waistband.

Aaron's mouth was wide open as he gasped for air. Spots danced before his eyes, and the man's masked face was moving in and out of focus. His strength beginning to fade, he loosened his grip on the man's hand. The man was taking something out from behind his back. Aaron couldn't see it, and instead focused all his strength on one last pull to get that damn hand off his neck. He pulled and struggled, but the hand remained as heavy as ever. Suddenly, the hand was off, and a balled-up cloth was stuffed into his mouth. Aaron breathed heavily through his nose, not having the energy to fight back any longer and needing the air more. The man pulled off from his arm a roll of duct tape, which Aaron had not noticed before. He ripped a strip off and stuck it firmly across his mouth, sealing the cloth inside.

Not wasting any time, the man flipped Aaron onto his stomach once more. Aaron, feeling the glass biting into his chest and face again, regained some strength and lashed out with his hands blindly. The man grabbed both of his hands and brought them to his back, binding them together with the duct tape. Aaron continued to buck and struggle, but to no avail. The duct tape was wound tightly around his wrists and hands, up to his palms.

The man finally got his knee off of the boy and began binding his ankles together. Aaron tried kicking, and the man, fed up with him, punched him hard in his back. Aaron's pained shout into his gag came out as a throaty gurgling noise instead. He took deep and quick breaths through his nose, again trying desperately for air, the lack of it making him dizzy. He finally stopped struggling and lay still, accepting his loss. The man waited, but did not punch him again. Instead, he sighed, finished with his ankles and stood up, inspecting his work.

Aaron glanced up and finally got a good look at his attacker. The man towering over him must have been a good foot taller than him, at least. He was dressed completely in black: thick black boots, black pants, black sweater and gloves, and a black ski mask. He defiantly worked out, his massive biceps crossed along his chest proving it. Even with the thick sweater on, each muscle along his arms, shoulders and chest stood out. However, he didn't look much older than Aaron, he guessed the man must have been in his twenties. He realized that his small, wiry body was no match for this guy; he must have been an idiot to think he could fight back.

The man's icy green eyes gazed down at the helpless boy in front of him. There were pieces of glass stuck everywhere on his jersey, tiny cuts littered his arms and face. Other than that, not too damaged. The tape was tight enough to keep the boy from moving where he wanted, yet loose enough that he would still get good circulation in his limps. No broken bones for all that wiggling. He was kinda scrawny for a boy his age, more flexible than strong. He caught himself studying the boy's face gagged face, and received a death-glare.

Aaron swore, the man must have been grinning at him from behind the mask. He reached down, grabbing Aaron by his jersey, and dragged him to the wall farthest from the broken window. He groaned as his legs were now pulled through the glass bits. They stuck to his jeans, and as his legs brushed the floor, they cut through and into his legs. The man suddenly picked him up by his armpits and tossed him onto a long couch. Aaron landed on his back with a grunt.

The man pulled something else from his waistband and bent down over him. The green eyes locked unto his brown. Aaron tried to keep his breathing slow and steady, not wanting to admit how frightened he was with the man so close to his face. It picked up quickly though, when he glanced to the right and saw what the man was holding: a handgun. And it was pointed right at his head. Fearfully, Aaron moved his eyes back to the man's.