Barry had successfully outsmarted the authorities. His strategy of leaving the ankle monitor in a different location had worked, securing him precious hours for his sick revenge.
"So that's how it is... It's just as I expected: Barry is the kidnapper," the detective said, turning to the men accompanying him. "We're on the clock. There's nowhere else Barry could have gone but his own house."
The detective pocketed the monitor and, along with his men, rushed to take the quickest route back to Barry's home.
Meanwhile, another group of agents tasked with coordinating the effort continued to log every piece of information related to the case. Both Ima's and Vanesa's parents waited in agonizing anticipation, a deep, suppressed hysteria making their chests and heads throb.
The frantic activity at the station came to a sudden halt at the detective's call. He was made a priority, requesting that a team of agents and a negotiator head immediately to Barry's house.
A giant shadow had swallowed the city by the time a succession of police sirens, one after another, signaled a state of local panic.
II
Barry pulled the soldering iron away from Ima's leg, smiling as he studied the boy's expression. The sight of eyes bloodshot to the point of tears and a half-open mouth gratified him immensely.
"So, what did you think of that?" he asked maliciously, as fragments of necrotic skin slid off the tip of the iron.
"Stop..." Ima's weak voice was yielding to shock.
Vanesa watched the scene in total disbelief. Her mind processed the pain as an impossible nightmare, yet her physiology forced her to sob uncontrollably at the horrific sight.
Once Barry was certain Ima remained conscious, he grabbed a baseball bat from the table and swung it hard enough to make it whistle, testing its weight before acting.
"Don't you go to sleep," he said, grabbing Ima by the hair. "And you—don't even think about looking away," he ordered, turning toward Vanesa.
Seeing Vanesa's broken state, Barry simply smirked and gave no further orders.
He placed the tip of the bat against Ima's right wrist, while Ima watched with eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. Barry rolled the wood around the joint, feeling the bones, and finally raised the bat high.
The sound of the blunt impact made Vanesa tremble as she stifled a scream. Ima felt his entire body seize up, a phantom sensation of cramping spreading through his limbs. The veins in his neck, forehead, and forearm bulged with the strain. Ima's hand hung limp, supported only by the armrest of the chair.
"I honestly thought I'd be more precise," Barry said, holding the hand and intently observing every sign of Ima's suffering. "Well, it's shattered, at the very least."
"B-Barry... st-stop..." Ima whispered hoarsely, unable to finish the sentence.
Barry leapt back and, using the momentum, delivered another blow with the bat to one of Ima's knees. At the impact, the leg gave a pathetic twitch. Barry mocked how strange the movement looked.
"Still conscious, aren't you?" he asked, dropping the bat. "You must be getting sleepy from the shock. But we're not done here yet."
He picked up the soldering iron again and brought it toward Ima's shirt. The fabric began to melt and tear until it finally gave way. Barry smiled and began to delicately touch the tip of the iron to Ima's chest, like some sort of twisted tattoo artist. Immediate burns appeared, the skin turning ashen and gray until it formed the crude shape of a smiley face.
Ima's spasms, his bulging eyes, and his low growls of agony triggered an explosion of reactions in Vanesa that she couldn't suppress. Several times she felt her throat closing up, as if her lungs had failed, and she gasped for air through her tears.
Barry made sure to keep Ima conscious using ice water and slaps. The adrenaline Ima had experienced in response to the pain was now demanding its toll through a total physical collapse. Barry took the left hand of the pathetic soul in the chair while he still struggled to beg for mercy. He pulled a pair of nail clippers from his pocket and, with morbid tenacity, began to clip Ima's nails one by one—deeper and deeper, until they bled and were completely destroyed. Barry's mind had been entirely distorted by ecstasy; there was no longer any doubt that nothing Ima or Vanesa said would make a difference.
Ima's head hung low, his breathing labored and his eyes closed. Barry stood there, pondering what the next method of torture would be with the resources at hand. Before he could decide, the sound of a door alerted him: the agents had finally arrived. Barry gnashed his teeth and, further terrifying Vanesa, reached under his shirt to grab the gun in his waistband—the last personal object his father had forgotten at home.
Vanesa couldn't believe that the defeated, broken figure in front of her was the same man she had been in love with just hours ago. She tried to move and free herself from the ropes the moment Barry disappeared into the shadows of the room, his footsteps echoing up a set of stairs.
We're in a basement... This is horrible, she thought, abandoning her attempt to break free as a sharp sting shot through her heels and wrists.
Above, the shouts piercing through the floor weren't clear enough to understand. She tried to call out to Ima for help, but he didn't react. Finally, heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs.
Barry held the gun with trembling hands. Other footsteps followed, and Barry grabbed Vanesa by the rope, hauling her up and positioning her beside Ima.
A group of three agents finally burst into the basement, aiming their weapons at Barry.
"Stop right there or we will open fire! Let both kids go now!"
"If you get any closer, I promise I'll blow both their heads off!" he screamed, pressing the barrel of his gun against the head of the dying Ima.
A voice familiar to Barry cut through the group of agents.
"That's enough, Barry. You've already gone too far," the detective said, his eyes fixed on the two bound teenagers. "Surrender and this ends now. We won't hurt you."
"Stay back, I said! None of you have the right to ask me for anything!" Barry held the gun with a violent tremor. "I'm going to kill one of them! I'll do it!"
"Barry, we can reach an agreement. You don't need to do this," said one of the agents beside the detective, acting as a negotiator. "We know how you feel..."
"No, you don't know anything at all!" Barry struck the side of Ima's head with the butt of the gun; the boy didn't seem to respond.
This is bad. The kid isn't responding to stimuli and hasn't said a word, the detective thought, sweating. I hope he isn't dead... Barry was positioned so perfectly between the two youths that it was impossible to take a shot. Vanesa realized this, and despite the pain and the crushing pressure of the room, she dared to crawl across the floor and bite Barry's left heel. At his sudden cry of pain, the agents seized the moment and fired at Barry's hand. The gun fell, but he still wouldn't give up.
Despite everything being against him and the agents nearly upon him, he lunged for the weapon in a split second and raised it against Ima's head.
The last words Ima managed to hear before the sensation of heat tore through the back of his neck were spoken by the detective:
"I read your father's letter."
In a matter of seconds, life escaped Ima in one final breath.