Wormwood Dawn (Episode IV) Read Online Free PDF

uncomfortable in his damp pants, but lacking the shakes or nausea. He plodded across the cold floor to the window, closing his eyes as the warmth of the sun shined on his face. There was still no way out, he saw, but the light was comforting and rejuvenating.
    He turned, scanning the room again. The bare stone was still as oppressive as it had always been, but he felt drawn to the alcove. The chair looked comfortable, and he was curious as to what the end table contained.
    It was not only an end table, he noticed, but had two drawers and a small shelf at the bottom. On the table’s surface was a small ramekin with six white pills, which caught his attention immediately. Next to that stood a fifth of decent whiskey, two sealed bottles of drinking water, another bag of off-brand beef jerky, two candy bars, and a folded piece of paper.
    He picked up the paper and unfolded it, surprised to see a handwritten note.
     
    Dan,
     
    As a reward for the amusing display last night, I am giving you the day off. Here, you will find a collection of lovely things that will chase away your sorrows for a day. I have left you several Vicodin, a bottle of whiskey, and some food and water. In the drawers you will find some clean, dry clothes, and a blanket. Behind the chair, you will find a pair of nice work boots. Wear them if you wish. But other than their capacity to keep your feet dry, they are of no use to you.
    Enjoy your day. We shall resume our game after dark.
     
    Sincerely,
    R
     
    R? Who was R? Dan assumed it was the first letter of the psycho’s real name. Or maybe it stood for reaper. Either way, he didn’t give a shit. He quickly stripped off his damp jeans and opened the top drawer. There was a pair of brand new khakis, a sweat shirt, and a pair of wool socks; all still adorned with their store tags. He donned them eagerly, enjoying the feeling of the brand new fabric against his skin.
    He then sat in the chair, grabbing two Vicodin from the ramekin, and leaned back to relax. The Vicodin went down easily with a swig of water, and the whiskey, though cheap, was delicious. As he sat there waiting for the warm feeling to come over him, he chuckled to himself. The situation reminded him of a particular phrase he had heard when referring to captives.
    Stockholm Syndrome.
    Oh well, he thought. Who gives a shit?
    It began to rain outside, he noticed. It was a heavy rain, sure to cause some minor flooding, but that didn’t matter, either. What mattered was that he was dry, warm, and had some comforts to ease his mind. It made him wonder what kind of person this R was. Obviously he was a psychotic serial killer, but why the games?
    Was his captor enjoying his plight? Why not just kill him? There had to be a reason. Dan wondered if the guy had toyed with his other victims this way. He hadn’t toyed with Shirley, or any of the dead people he had seen strapped up in this very room. They had simply been slaughtered without mercy, and dismembered for some sickening reason.
    The one thing that weighed on Dan’s mind was the journal entry he had read during his last day of freedom. The psycho had mentioned that he was infected. So how was he still coherent? Shouldn’t he be a raving, slobbering mutant zombie by now? Or one of those Stalkers? Was the fact that he was already a psycho a factor? What would the pathogen do to someone who was already insane?
    It was an interesting question.
    As he pondered the possibilities, he watched the window. There was a small amount of water dripping in around the metal frame. It ran down the stone in a tiny little rivulet and pooled on the floor in a mortar joint. Once it filled up enough, it snaked over to the next one. Eventually, it would make its way to the drain and disappear somewhere; probably to a cistern or even a sump pump powered by the unknown electrical source.
    But that wasn’t the point. The stone was leaking there by the window, and that meant it was weakened; possibly enough to break