Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Wake Me Up When The Nightmare Ends
Trembling with pain, Pete looked down at the man in the mask gazing up at him. Somehow he knew the man was smirking.
“Well, come on Wentz?” the man continued. “I don’t want to ask for too little when I could so easily make much more off you.”
“Go to Hell!” Pete snapped back through gritted teeth, although his voice was now barely audible.
Reaching up, the man grabbed Pete either side of his mouth and gripped hard. There was a tension in his body that Pete could feel through his hand. The two men locked eyes in mutual hatred.
“Answer the fucking question!” he yelled up at the frightened yet equally incensed musician.
“Fuck you!” Pete yelled back defiantly, although even as the words were out of his mouth he knew they were a terrible mistake.
Pulling his hand away, the man slammed his elbow into Pete’s stomach forcing a deep, embittered scream from his lips. Gasping for breath, Pete hung; trying hard to restore his equilibrium and prevent the swing the blow had started. His eyes remained tightly shut not allowing the tears that had welled to spill out. They were not only tears of pain but also of fear; something that his pride wouldn’t let him show.
“One last time, Wentz,” the man continued, barely holding his temper. “And this time, consider the very real possibility that people will pay just as much to recover your body as to get you back alive.”
Pete’s mind reeled under the pressure of the sheer agony he was forced to endure. He could feel blackness slipping over his eyes once more and did nothing to prevent it. It was a decision he would quickly regret, as suddenly he was falling. The sensation lasted a split second only before his feet hit the floor and once again the cuffs on his ankles squeezed tightly against his Achilles Tendons. Sharp flashes of pain raced up and down his legs causing him to collapse instantly to the floor. Landing heavily on his side on the tiled floor, his desperation not to show his fear or pain disappeared in the explosion of what felt like a thousand stinging needles in his shoulder. As the tears slipped silently down his cheeks, the man kicked him over onto his back. Holding his lacerated and still bleeding wrists protectively close to his chest, Pete could only stare up.
“You can scream all you like, Wentz, this is one of many old meat lockers in an abandoned warehouse outside of town. No one’s around, no one knows you’re here except us and no one can hear you. You see,” he gestured with his hands, pointing around the cracked tiled room, “these things are soundproof, not for any reason, just by the way they’re constructed. And we’ve disabled the interior lock so you can’t get out, even if you could reach the door. So, you go ahead and bawl your eyes out, because, I’m in no hurry. I could do this for days, and I’ll enjoy it too.”
“I…” Pete gasped, his voice little more than a whisper. “I know you. Don’t I?”
“Do you now?” he laughed. “And who am I?”
Pete’s brow creased as he tried to remember. The voice seemed so familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Perhaps if he could see his face? But he was already kicking himself for admitting that much. If there was a chance that this man would eventually free him, then that chance would dwindle significantly by recognising him.
“You keep thinking, maybe it’ll come to you? Maybe not. In the meantime, if I get enough money out of you, I might even feed you. What’s it to be, Wentz? What are you worth?”
Pete frowned, his tears halted as he lay, almost comfortably on the floor, the shooting pains suffered earlier reduced to a dull ache. The man was deadly serious and he had no doubt that deadly covered all meanings of the word. He had to suggest his own price tag. It was ludicrous, but he had to get it right, and say something he’d accept.
“Two… two million.”
The man laughed. “Don’t insult me!”
Pete’s eyes widened; he had no idea what to say next. The man clearly had a sum in mind, but was leaving it up to Pete to suggest or surpass the amount. Had he already done so? Was the man just fishing? Hoping for an advance?
“Okay,” the man knelt down at his side. “Let me tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll send a text message to wifey from your cell phone, shall I? Asking her and your brat to meet you somewhere? You won’t be there, but I will.”
“Six million!” Pete blurted, praying it was enough.
“Six?” the man placed an elbow on his knee and, through the mask, ran his fingers across his lips as he looked down at the terrified young man lying beneath him. “I thought you’d say four. You must love them a lot! Let’s call it an even eight and I’ll leave your family out of it. Sound fair?”
What could he say? As tears of relief ran from the corners of his eyes, Pete nodded, praying that the man would hold to his promise and stay well away from Ashlee and Bronx.
“Well, come on Wentz?” the man continued. “I don’t want to ask for too little when I could so easily make much more off you.”
“Go to Hell!” Pete snapped back through gritted teeth, although his voice was now barely audible.
Reaching up, the man grabbed Pete either side of his mouth and gripped hard. There was a tension in his body that Pete could feel through his hand. The two men locked eyes in mutual hatred.
“Answer the fucking question!” he yelled up at the frightened yet equally incensed musician.
“Fuck you!” Pete yelled back defiantly, although even as the words were out of his mouth he knew they were a terrible mistake.
Pulling his hand away, the man slammed his elbow into Pete’s stomach forcing a deep, embittered scream from his lips. Gasping for breath, Pete hung; trying hard to restore his equilibrium and prevent the swing the blow had started. His eyes remained tightly shut not allowing the tears that had welled to spill out. They were not only tears of pain but also of fear; something that his pride wouldn’t let him show.
“One last time, Wentz,” the man continued, barely holding his temper. “And this time, consider the very real possibility that people will pay just as much to recover your body as to get you back alive.”
Pete’s mind reeled under the pressure of the sheer agony he was forced to endure. He could feel blackness slipping over his eyes once more and did nothing to prevent it. It was a decision he would quickly regret, as suddenly he was falling. The sensation lasted a split second only before his feet hit the floor and once again the cuffs on his ankles squeezed tightly against his Achilles Tendons. Sharp flashes of pain raced up and down his legs causing him to collapse instantly to the floor. Landing heavily on his side on the tiled floor, his desperation not to show his fear or pain disappeared in the explosion of what felt like a thousand stinging needles in his shoulder. As the tears slipped silently down his cheeks, the man kicked him over onto his back. Holding his lacerated and still bleeding wrists protectively close to his chest, Pete could only stare up.
“You can scream all you like, Wentz, this is one of many old meat lockers in an abandoned warehouse outside of town. No one’s around, no one knows you’re here except us and no one can hear you. You see,” he gestured with his hands, pointing around the cracked tiled room, “these things are soundproof, not for any reason, just by the way they’re constructed. And we’ve disabled the interior lock so you can’t get out, even if you could reach the door. So, you go ahead and bawl your eyes out, because, I’m in no hurry. I could do this for days, and I’ll enjoy it too.”
“I…” Pete gasped, his voice little more than a whisper. “I know you. Don’t I?”
“Do you now?” he laughed. “And who am I?”
Pete’s brow creased as he tried to remember. The voice seemed so familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Perhaps if he could see his face? But he was already kicking himself for admitting that much. If there was a chance that this man would eventually free him, then that chance would dwindle significantly by recognising him.
“You keep thinking, maybe it’ll come to you? Maybe not. In the meantime, if I get enough money out of you, I might even feed you. What’s it to be, Wentz? What are you worth?”
Pete frowned, his tears halted as he lay, almost comfortably on the floor, the shooting pains suffered earlier reduced to a dull ache. The man was deadly serious and he had no doubt that deadly covered all meanings of the word. He had to suggest his own price tag. It was ludicrous, but he had to get it right, and say something he’d accept.
“Two… two million.”
The man laughed. “Don’t insult me!”
Pete’s eyes widened; he had no idea what to say next. The man clearly had a sum in mind, but was leaving it up to Pete to suggest or surpass the amount. Had he already done so? Was the man just fishing? Hoping for an advance?
“Okay,” the man knelt down at his side. “Let me tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll send a text message to wifey from your cell phone, shall I? Asking her and your brat to meet you somewhere? You won’t be there, but I will.”
“Six million!” Pete blurted, praying it was enough.
“Six?” the man placed an elbow on his knee and, through the mask, ran his fingers across his lips as he looked down at the terrified young man lying beneath him. “I thought you’d say four. You must love them a lot! Let’s call it an even eight and I’ll leave your family out of it. Sound fair?”
What could he say? As tears of relief ran from the corners of his eyes, Pete nodded, praying that the man would hold to his promise and stay well away from Ashlee and Bronx.
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