Burt and Jeff and Not Darci

Jeff and Burt are two sick-in-the-head individuals, who met, saw the psycho in each other and became fast friends. As their friendship grew, they opened up to each other, candidly discussing their darker sides. Over the years they came to the conclusion that both of them wanted to kidnap torture and murder someone, and on a sunny Saturday in September, they decided it was time.

They were almost giddy as they chatted, taking their time as they dressed the kill room. They draped the walls and floors with plastic sheeting and cleaned and sharpened and polished and organized.

“So, we both agree that you can’t go straight to cutting their fingers off? Right?”

“Totally,” Burt agreed with a thoughtful nod.

Jeff held up a finger. “But you want them to know you’re serious right off the bat, right?”

Burt nodded.

“But you can’t start with a feather in their shoe or some inside joke that they’re totally confused by.”

“I say keep it simple.” Burt waved a hand of assurance. “Tie them up too tight. Beat them up a little bit and then you start cutting, after that you do fingers and toes and stuff.”

“Sounds pretty good.” Jeff rubbed his chin. “What kind of vibe are we going for?”

“Vibe?” Burt wrinkled his nose as he straightened the scalpels. 

“You know.” Jeff held up a hammer and shook it. “Do we act all crazy and shout and swear and stuff? Do we get intellectual with it?” Then to himself, “Maybe I should get some cool quotes together.”

“Maybe it’s even scarier to not say anything at all,” Burt suggested casually, even though he knew it was a really cool idea. 

Jeff scoffed, “The whole time?” and threw up a hand. “What if I need you to hand me something or hold something or I have a really cool idea for you to try? What if we’re able to keep them alive for a day or two.” He shrugged. “I don’t think I could keep that up.”

“Yeah. I don’t think I could either.” Burt shook his head. “Maybe we just don’t worry about it and act like ourselves.”

“Isn’t that kind of boring?”

“She doesn’t know us. It’s all going to be new to her.”

“That’s true.” Jeff looked off in thought before turning to Burt in excitement. “I think you’re right. Acting nonchalant would scare me more than bouncing around.” Burt brought his shoulders back and stood straighter and brought the tip of his finger to the tip of his knife, and with a flick rang the blade like a bell. He stared at his friend straight-faced. “You have nine fingers left. That’s nine more chances… for you to scream.”

“Echh.” Burt cleared his throat with an embarrassed-for-you cough. “You’re going to do ‘witty’ lines?” He held out his hands, a gleaming buoy knife in his right. “You don’t think that’s a little cheesy?”

Jeff considered. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He fell silent, an air of disappointment lingering. 

Burt gave Jeff an affectionate glance and smiled warmly. “This is just our first time. We’re going to get better at this.”

Jeff nodded along, gratefully.

“I say we just improvise the whole thing and take notes as we go.”

“I’ll get the whiteboard from the office.”

“Yes.” Burt shot him a finger-gun, letting him know he nailed it. “Wheel that in here and I’ll finish this up,” He glanced around the room, “and then I think we’re pretty much ready to go.” 

"Be right back.” Jeff shot out of the room.

Burt smiled to himself as he tidied the tray. 

Jeff came bursting in, wheeling the dry-erase board and a volley of new ideas. “I think we should get her take on the whole thing.” He pushed the board against the far wall, plastic curtains wafted as he pulled a felt pen from the basket, popped the cap off with his teeth and muttered as he scrawled two underlined words on the board. “Scary. Lame/Hackey.”

“Hackey?” Burt scowled. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Jeff shrugged. “Like…” he hummed as he thought, “anything racist.”

Burt chuckled at the irony, “She’s white. We’re all white.”

“I know.” He added in his defense, “You can still be racist even though she’s white.”

Burt held up a palm. “Alright. I’ll be sure not to call her a cracker.”

Jeff flashed him a patiently scolding glance. “And no politics.”

Burt agreed less sarcastically. “Yeah, no. I agree with that.”

“Ok. so, we agree.” He sounded out the words as he scrawled on the board. “Nooo rac-is-im.” and then under that, “Nooo pol-i-tics.” 

Burt threw a hand out. “How about, no movie quotes?”

Jeff thought and shook his head. “What if it’s a perfect line?”

“No,” Burt’s expression was adamant.

Jeff saw a glint of doubt. “I’m not going to write it down, but I won’t start doing Scarface or anything.”

“Yeah,” Burt agreed.

Jeff taped the butt of the pen against the board, staring at the empty column. “Scary. Scary. Scary.” 

“I think just being matter of fact about it is scary as hell.”

“You don’t want to create some kind of back-story or something?”

Burt shrugged in exasperation. “I don’t know.” He nodded to the side. “Let’s see what she thinks.”

Jeff turned too. 

She stared back at them, Duct Tape across her mouth, a look of confusion across the rest of her face. She nodded and mumbled under the duct tape.

Jeff nodded. “Yeah. you’re right.” He glanced over his shoulder for permission. “You want to see what she’s got to say?”

“What do we have to lose?” Burt shrugged.

Jeff leaned over and tore the duct tape from her mouth.

She took a breath and spat and cleared her throat and leered up at them.

“So, what do you think?” Jeff grinned blithely.

She stared up at Jeff with a moment of disbelief before nodding in consideration. “Well… how are you gonna come in? You’re obviously not going to be pushing a white board and asking your buddy if he’s racist or not.”

“Of course not,” Burt protested automatically. 

“I mean, so far that’s what it looks like—”

Burt stood up fast. “That’s not fair. This is our first time.”

“I can tell.” She rolled her eyes and looked away.

Jeff stood too. “Hold on, man. She’s got a point.”

“What?”

Jeff held his hands out, gesturing at their surroundings. “We thought of all the stuff, but we never came up with a program.”

Burt threw his hands up in frustration. “We’re figuring it out as we go.”

Jeff held up a hand. “I know. I know, Man. I’m not blaming you for anything.” He put a hand to his chest. “I’m still having a really good time.”

Burt softened. “Me too, bro.”

“This is how you’re going to start?” 

They turned to her in surprise, both of them momentarily forgetting she was there.  

She laughed lightly and relaxed in her bindings. “First of all, shouldn’t there be music, or something?”

They looked at each other. Before he could say anything Jeff snapped, “No dubstep.”

Burt hung his head before throwing a nod to his partner. “Not, ‘no EDM,’ though?” a tilt of his head. “Right?”

“I don’t know.” He waved a hand at their captive. “Why don’t you ask…” He turned to her. “Emily, right?”

“Darci,” Darci answered, fast and flat.

“Darci,” Burt repeated as if he had said the same before. “Ask Darci.”

Jeff settled a serious gaze on Darci. ”You think we should have music?”

“Totally.”

In less than twenty minutes, Darci—whose real name is Emily—had Jeff tied up in the chair and Burt handcuffed to one of the heavy metal tables. She scanned the instruments on one of the rolling trays and picked up an awl. 

Jeff rocked against his bindings, squirmed, and relaxed, examining his ties. He turned up to Emily. “I’ve got to tell you, Darc. When you’re right you're right. The looser bindings are scarier.” Jeff mock-struggled, “Help. Help.” and laughed. “It’s the feeling of… hope, I guess. You feel like you can escape, but—”

“Totally,” Emily agreed, pushed the cassette tray closed, and pushed play. The metallic drums and theatrical grunting of the first track on the INXS album Kick, filled the room. She nodded, approvingly.

Burt and Jeff exchanged a smile. 

“They rock,” Burt confirmed their suspicions before continuing to fumble with the lock on his cuff. “I genuinely cannot pick this thing.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Emily pushed an oil can to the side. “Grease it up a little and you just have to have the key to get out of it.” She held up the key and put it in her back pocket. “Keep working at it, though. I’ve popped them before.” She meandered past rolling trays filled with implements, harnesses and contraptions and pushed a curtain of plastic aside to reveal an ascending staircase. She turned back to the boys, Jeff wriggling about in his bindings, Burt, biting the tip of his tongue in concentration as he worked the lock of his cuffs with the paperclip. She shot them with a questioning finger gun. “You guys like Mozart?”

Jeff and Burt exchanged glances, nodded, and shrugged back at her ridiculous question. 

Not-Darci pointed a finger to the sky. “I might have the perfect tape.” She turned back to them and exaggerated a lapse of memory with a giant shrug of her shoulders and a hand to her forehead. “Where’s my car?”

“It’s around back.” Jeff nodded toward the back of the house.

“Keys?”

Burt thought for a moment. “I think I threw them in the bowl by the front door.”

“Great.” She flashed them a warm smile and a wave. “Be right back.”

They nodded and simultaneously returned their attention to their tasks, Jeff struggling to escape his expertly tied bindings and Burt biting the edge of his tongue in concentration as he picked at the greased-up cuff lock.

Emily’s footsteps thumped up the staircase. A jingle of the keys, the thump of a front door, the thump of a car door, and the rev of an engine before the car radio blared in the distance. Burt looked up as the snarl of tires peeling out in gravel faded. They exchanged a glance. Burt thought he saw a look of grave concern in his partner’s eyes until Jeff returned his attention to his bindings. 

“I have got to learn this knot.” He turned back to Jeff. “I hope it’s not disco.”

Burt scoffed, shook his head and started picking at the lock again, a little more frantically this time.