The Enigma’s Anomaly

If you’re familiar with ice water torture than the events of what happen next may not surprise you. If you aren’t than it’s not going to be a pleasant reading.

“Sup bro, it’s been a while. How are you? How’s the wife, and kids,” I say to Banks, almost annoying myself with the sarcasm. Also I cringe a little thinking about how unfortunate it would be if he had kids. I hope Banks doesn’t have kids. I hope his name is Eugene. I hope he is an heirless divorcee named Eugene.

I stumble forward and I’m grabbed by another minion. What, does Banks just grow minions on trees or something? If I go outside is he going to have a garden of big bulky dudes hanging from branches? I kind of want to see that.

“I thought we made a deal, Banks,” I say when I see his smug little face looking at me from a corner in the sectioned off room.

“I have gone through with everything on my end of the deal. I let your friend go safe, and now you are in my possession.”

“The way you say that makes it sound like I’m an object for bargaining. A roll of duct tape or a bag of milk.”

“We’re all objects in the end, Mr. Iero. Just chips in a giant game of poker. And bagged milk?”

“Have you ever been to Canada?”

Bank gives me this look and I don’t know why I even said anything at all. He’s not the kind of man who wants anything to do with small talk. He’s a kind of down and dirty guy, and I’ve got to say, I don’t like that. I don’t respect it. I don’t respect him, and I don’t respect his ugly suede shoes that don’t match his suit.

“So what do you have planned for me today then? Looks fun!” I say, after being thrown to the ground carelessly in front of a large basin. It’s not big really, but it’s big enough to fill with water and then shove a person’s head in. That’s kind of the purpose of it, so it’d better be able to accomplish that much, or he’ll need to make a return to Walmart.

“What’s really the purpose man? I mean, you’ve stalked me for the last six months or so, and now you want to stick my head in a bucket of ice? What purpose are you trying to serve? Seriously what’s the point?”

“I want to know where to find Gerard,” Banks says as if it’s obvious.

“Okay, now I know that violates our deal.”

“I made a deal with Gerard, not you,” he says.

“But you were gonna do this to Gerard?”

“Oh, of course,” he says.

“And how did I know you were going to say that? My powers of telepathy are growing stronger.”

“You never seem to take things seriously,” Banks says, and I feel my good friend, mister minion, who honestly looks like a giant thumb, tie my hands back with a zip tie that I am all too familiar with.

“No, I just find everything hilarious,” I say.

“So you gonna tell me where Gerard is?” he asks.

“I’m going to die dude, either way. Make it hell. Make it so bad I cry for my mom, I won’t tell you where Gerard is. You seriously think I would tell you?”

“I think you’re underestimating my powers of persuasion,” Banks says.

“No, I think you’re underestimating my love of Gerard. I literally let myself get shot for the guy. I would do it again in a heartbeat. That’s why I’m here,” I say looking up at him, where he’s pacing on the other side of the basin. “I don’t care what you do, I will never give him up.”

“You say that now,” Banks says, and he has his minion assistant pull me up close in personal with the basin in front of me. “You going to tell me where Gerard is?”

“Get a fucking life,” I say, and I get the first taste of how I’m going to die.

It’s much colder than the ocean had been. Not as dark though, but I keep my eyes closed, because opening them would make it worse.

I’m pulled up, by the hair, which does not feel good in case you were wondering, before the cold can really sink in. I could’ve held my breath for a lot longer, but I’m not going to complain. My record is 87 seconds, so I should be good.

“Whoa, that’ll wake you up in the morning,” I say, shaking my head like a wet dog.

“Where’s Gerard?”

“Disneyworld,” I say with a wink, and he gestures his hand. I barely get a breath in before my head is forced back into the water.

“Where’s Gerard?”

“I just fucking told you!” I say, “Disneyworld.”

The hand gesture sends my head into the water, and let me say, it hurts about a million times worse the third time than it does the first and second. The minion holds me down for longer as well, so I feel my lungs start to burn when I can’t breathe.

He doesn’t even ask me this time before I’m telling him about the wonderful vacation spot that is Disneyworld. He doesn’t believe me when I tell him that that’s where Gerard is, so in again, and fucking hell it’s starting to burn.

The ears are the worst I think. It feels like my ears are going to fall off. I’ll get hypothermia before that happens, but hopefully I’ll die before it really starts to kick in. I know enough about ice water torture to know that I’ve got about an hour of juice to keep me conscious, and after that I’ll probably be dead. I’ll definitely be unconscious, but really what’s a man like Banks going to do with an unconscious guy, when it’ll be easier to just kill me.

“You know when you think about it, Banks, this is kind of kinky.”

“You’re kind of an idiot,” Banks says.

“Kind of? What do you mean ‘kind of?’ I’m a full on idiot, get your facts straight!”

Being sassy is not going to be beneficial for my ultimate health, but I take it as it comes. It’s getting harder to get enough breath back into my lungs before going under. That 87 seconds is steadily decreasing with every minute that goes by. Soon the most I’ll be able to take is thirty or so. It might get to be even less.

“Do you have...” I say, trying to breathe, but I can’t get enough air, and I can hear my own wheezing, “Do you have like a fetish for water or something? Or am I just special? Always trying to drown me?”

It’s hard to keep my teeth from clattering, but my body is starting to feel the effect everywhere, not in just the places being dunked into water. It’s quite possibly the most uncomfortable thing in the entire world. I want to climb into a fucking furnace, because it’s that cold. My face is on fire, and I’m probably bright red or something.

Part of me is hoping, so hard it’s probably pathetic, that Banks will stall enough for someone to find me. I want him to take so long that Gerard calls the cops and they get here. I want someone to find me, honestly I do. I want to stop feeling the effects of drowning. I do not want to die by drowning. I especially don’t want to die in three feet of water, because that would be so degrading. I didn’t want to drown that day so long ago, and I certainly don’t want to now.

This time I’m not by myself though. I’m not alone, I have company. I have company who are going to do anything to make this painful for me.

Banks says, “Gerard.”

“Is that a statement or a question?”

I’m shoved down, and pulled back up. I know the drill by now, it’s really rather repetitive.

“Alright, alright!” I say, “That was a question, not a statement.”

Banks rolls his eyes and makes a wave. I barely close my eyes in time. I feel my hair billowing around my face in the water, and it makes my face itch. My face is pretty much numb, but it’s acutely aware of the temperature of the water. It’s the temperature of ‘holy shit that’s cold.’

My hair is pulled back up, and I’m pretty sure the guy just tore a chunk of it out of my head because it sure feels that way.

“Please, Banks. Please,” I say, and his ears perk up, because the tone I give him makes him think I’m going to tell him something. I ain’t gonna tell him shit.

“Please would you scratch my nose for me?” I say, and his face turns sour at the punch line. I shrug. What else did he expect?

In again, and I scream into the water, because it’s getting to be too much. I can’t even feel my face anymore. I’m not sure my face is even attached. I could be an actual skeleton right now and I wouldn’t be able to tell.

My suspicion that he pulled a piece of my hair out is confirmed when the water stings that particular part of my head especially.

When I pulled back up I actually see the small billowing of red in the basin. It’s faint and fading, but that’s my blood. That’s disconcerting.

“Fine,” I say, heaving for breath, “no nose scratching. Rude.”

Another visit to the water, another tug back to earth, and I’m starting to run out of snarky things to say.

“I feel like this is how Jack from Titanic died,” I say, though it sounds strangled, “I’m going to get as many Oscars for this as Leo did.”

“You think this is a game?” Banks asks.

“I think its a little less fun than scrabble, but yes, still a game,” I say.

“I want to know where Gerard is,” Banks says.

“I want a sandwich,” I say.

“Gerard!”

“Actually my name is Frank.”

“Tell me where Gerard is,” Banks demands.

“What will you give me if I tell you?” I ask, but I’m still resilient that I won’t tell him anything.

“Quicker death. Bullet, right between the ears.”

“Okay, sounds good,” I say, “come here, Banks. I want to whisper it in your ear.”

Banks looks at me skeptically, but decides to entertain me. I wait until he’s leaning over the basin enough for me to reach up right next to him.

It’s probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I stick my tongue in his ear. What can I say? I’m a fucking dick.

I only have a few seconds before he’s pulling me away and pushing me down into the water himself.

This time it’s not only longer, it’s existential. It feels like years. Years of hell, and my head is burning. It feels like fire, not ice. I almost forget where I am. I could be a suspected witch in Salem circa 1692, being burned alive. I could be a resident of Pompeii. I could be Mary Winchester.

I don’t actually know how long it’s been, but it’s long enough for me to feel bubbles around my face so I’m probably screaming out, but I don’t recall deciding to do that. I don’t recall much of anything.

I can’t remember my mother’s first name, or where I was born. I couldn’t even tell you how many fingers I have on my left hand. I can’t feel my fingers at all. I can’t feel any part of my body that isn’t underwater.

My nose feels like it’s been stuck in an icebox, but it’s not the worst of it. My lungs and throat are burning even more than my face. I try to wiggle my fingers or toes, or something, but I don’t know where they are. I’ve lost them. I’ve lost all control of everything.

Centuries, if not millenniums since I was forced into the water, I’m finally pulled out, and the first thing I see is Banks. His face is redder than mine probably is. He looks like the fucking Kool-Aid man.

For a minute I’m pretty sure it’s just the sound of my own hacking and coughing, like I’m trying to rid myself of the lungs that are doing little to help me out right now. I hear my own coughing and feel my throat screaming in pain with every one, because it hurts to cough. My chest has been vacuum packed or at least it feels like it.

“Oh thanks for that. Tasted like earwax. Nasty,” I say, though it takes me practically a minute to get the whole sentence out.

“Tell me. This can all be over, if you’ll just tell me where Gerard is.”

“That... easy?”

“That easy.”

“No way,” I say, and really I’m getting tired of this whole ‘sticking my head into the ice cold water’ thing. It’s so five minutes ago.

I want a break or something. I want a break from this so bad, but I’m not going to get one, and I know that. At least the numbness is starting to make it hurt less. I can’t feel anything at all besides a dull aching, so there’s something to be happy about.

“I will break you,” Banks says.

I giggle at him, because I can’t think of anything else to do. The laugh sounds demented and insane, even to my own ears, and it soon becomes a cough, but it gets the message across.

“Never,” I tell Banks, looking up into his eyes. I never noticed before now how his eyes are dark, and black. They look dead.

“Banks... you’re already deader than me.”

“You are so cocky even at my feet when your death is imminent.”

“I’m always fighting. Fighting,” I wheeze breathlessly, “...fighting for Gerard.”

“Gerard let you come here,” Banks says, getting in real close again to look at me in the eye, “Gerard let you die in his place.”

“No,” I say shaking my head again, though it lolls back because I have barely enough strength to even keep it up. “I chose this. I wanted this.”

“You have a hell of a strange taste in desire.”

“I love Gerard,” I say, and I spit in his face.

Then I’m plunged back into the darkness.