by Lee, Edward
Sophia, holding a leather strap, looked terrified, her flesh pallid, sweat creating a sheen on her as well. Her long red hair was pulled into a tight ponytail.
The man was unseen, but she knew he was there. She knew what he looked like, so she wondered why he bothered hiding. No need to hide. She’d hired him, after all.
She knew what he wanted.
Still, he needed to speak, explain, because knowing and doing weren’t the same thing.
“Do it,” he said simply. “Do it, Sophia,” he repeated, slightly louder.
Sophia raised the strap, feeling it in her palms. Lightweight for the most part, but with some substance. She glanced in his direction, but he was still hidden by shadow. She heard his chair creak beneath his weight.
Sophia chewed her lip and lowered her eyes. There was no way she could do this. No way she could inflict pain on another person no matter what she’d done. He had to be joking.
“This isn’t a game,” he said, following the natural and logical procession of her thoughts. His voice increased in volume and tone.
She nodded. Her nose ran, and she wiped the snot away with her forearm.
His voice seemed to echo in the large room, reverberate off the walls. “Do it!” he said, pissed.
She cowered. No. She couldn’t do it. She’d have to take her chances and—
“I’m not fucking around here.”
“I know!” she cried, but she didn’t know. Because this was just plain nuts. “I can’t! I’m not—”
“Not what? That kind of person? Not a monster?”
Tears dripped off her chin. “I’m not.”
“So you can hire people to do your dirty work, and you think your hands aren’t dirty?”
He approached her in the dim lighting. His thin body seemed to become one with the shadows.
He snatched the belt from her hand. He raised it and struck the bound woman with it three times, across her breast, across an arm, on the back of her neck. She cried out but kept her mouth closed, emitting a sort of garbled hmmph.
“You see? This is easy.” He offered it back to Sophia.
She blanched. “I-I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. “I can’t! Please, Mr. Tony—please.”
Mr. Tony seemed to weigh his options. He wiped a handkerchief across his mouth and exhaled deeply, calming his breathing. He stared into Sophia’s eyes, leaning closer.
“You’d be surprised”—he reached into his pocket—“what a person is capable of with the right motivation.”
He pulled out a small device that Sophia couldn’t discern.
He fingered the object. “It’s downright amazing what a person can accomplish.”
This is it, Sophia thought miserably. Her price for disobeying. This was what she got for inviting this psychopath into her life.
The woman in the chair barely moved, even when she’d been struck. Her complexion was the color of rice, marred only by pink stripes that were slowly fading.
Mr. Tony trailed the reed across the woman’s flesh, goose bumps forming in response. He twisted a nipple, hard. She screamed out loud this time.
“Your turn,” he said to Sofia.
She didn’t want to do this. It wasn’t fair—this wasn’t what she signed up for. This wasn’t why she’d answered that fucking ad. She wanted revenge, but she didn’t want to cause the pain.
Mr. Tony smirked. An unsettling giddiness lingered behind those cold, dead eyes. “Last chance,” he said.
Once again she was the coward, able to hire the attack but unable to carry it out. This was bullshit anyway—just what was she paying for?
Mr. Tony lifted the device and pressed a button. “There are people listening to me right now. Waiting on my command. People willing to do everything I tell them. Do you understand?”
Of course not. She stared at him, her mouth slightly agape.
He said into the device, “Break the first one.”
Sophia heard a snap—and then something that drained every drop of blood from her body.
Her little girl wailed.
She knew her child’s sounds, knew every grunt and groan and whimper and cry to ever come from her tiny body. She knew the horrified, desperate cry of pain that came from her baby.
“What did you do?” Sophia shrieked. She threw her palms over her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the unimaginable sound.
He handed her the reed. She reluctantly accepted it in her shaking hand and it dangled from her fingers.
“Oh nonononononononono…” she babbled. “Not my baby. Please…”
“Three strikes. Now!”
Sophia lashed out, striking the woman in rapid succession across the back. The woman didn’t flinch.
“There wasn’t much strength in that,” he said, lifting the device. “Number two.”
He held it up for Sophia to hear. Invisible faces broke another bone on her child’s body.
“No!” she screeched, anguish making her look deranged, a wild animal. The look of hatred on her face made Mr. Tony smirk. Such frustration! Delicious. Desirous.
This was more like it. It was what they wanted.
“Why are you making me do these things?” she demanded.
“Because people don’t know what they’re asking. They don’t understand the damage”—he waved at the blonde—“at the—”
“Who cares?” she cried. “That’s why people hire you! So we don’t have to do this ourselves! Fuuuuuck! I could have done this myself! I didn’t need you!”
“Yet you hired me.”
“I didn’t know!”
“Now you do.”
Her fury seemed to frustrate her even further. “You’re fucking fired!”
“Ah,” he said, shaking his head, “you don’t want to do that. If I’m no longer in your employ, there’s no telling what might happen. No one would be safe!”
“She…she didn’t do anything all that bad.”
“Yet you hired me to torture her.”
“I thought—I thought it was worse! At the time. I imagined it was worse. I, I—”
“Now comes the double talk and backpedaling.”
“No! I meant—”
“Stop talking.”
He pulled a rolling cart out of the shadows.
“Revenge is a messy business,” he said matter-of-factly as he pulled away a white cloth, revealing an array of devices. “It’s not what people expect.”
Tears built up around Sophia’s eyes. She stood perfectly still, her brain unable to process what she was seeing. This didn’t make sense. That was the problem—the lack of logic, the lack of sanity and conformity and the everyday.
But those had been her daughter’s screams. There was no mistake there.
The thought sucked her back to the present, still unable to come to terms with what he was saying.
He grinned. “People with money can buy what they want. They hire someone else to do the dirty work—clean the house, raise the kids—amiright?
“But,” he added, holding up a wire hanger, tracing the rounded edge of the handle menacingly across the blonde’s neck. “But sometimes even money doesn’t cut it.” He tapped her cheek with the edge—but then slipped out of his suit jacket and hung it on the hanger.
“But why? Why are you doing this?” she demanded.
“Someone else paid more.”
“What does that even mean?” she yelled. “Paid more to do what? No one even knows about this.”
“Shall we continue?”
“Continue what?” she cried, frustration mounting to impossible levels, terrified he would hurt her, more terrified they would hurt her daughter again. There had to be a way to stop this. Had to be a way to reason with him, to get through to him.
“I’ll double what I paid you if you stop this!”
He smiled. “Not even close. Now, would you like to select your first implement?” He waved his hand dramatically over the table.
“Stop ignoring me!” she shrieked, grabbing
fistfuls of hair and dragging her hands down her temples. “Oh, God, please!”
“Here’s how this will work—”
“Son of a bitch!” She fell to her knees, doubling over, pressing her forehead against the floor.
“Sophia, please. Enough with the dramatics.” He tried to pull her to her feet, but she was a pile on the floor.
“Would you like to go for broken bone number three? I can’t guarantee this one will be a finger.”
Sophia glanced up. “I hate you.”
“You’re nothing if not predictable. Now get up.”
Sophia took a deep breath, stood up, and steadied herself. She stared at the silent blonde—surprisingly silent.
“Is she even alive?” Sophia asked. Hell, if the woman had died already, then maybe all this—
Mr. Tony slapped the blonde in the back of the head and she coughed and tipped forward. “Apparently so.”
He picked up a scalpel and waved it under the blonde’s nose. He gripped Sophia’s elbow and pulled her closer. “Listen to me,” he whispered in her ear. “Let’s slow down. I know you believe I’m for real, that I’ll do what I say.”
She slowly nodded, her heart pumping in the base of her throat. Blood rushed her brain, a confusing waterfall. She fought to hear his words before the blackness could steal her mind.
“You will feel it…” he crooned, “like a lover…caressing you, adoring you…do you understand?”
“No…”
“There’s a fine line…you’re terrified, but you will easily slip into ecstasy. You have to trust me.” He took her hand. He gently, almost erotically pried open her fingers. He laid the scalpel across her palm. He wrapped her fingers around it, squeezing gently.
She shook her head, wanted to stop…but part of her wanted to see this through. Needed this to end.
He guided her hand, a light tough, barely there, in front of the blonde, who finally seemed to realize the reality of her own situation. Whatever state of denial she’d been hiding in was no longer an option.
The blonde screamed even before the scalpel violated her flesh.
Mr. Tony guided the blade, gently directing Sophia’s hand. With precision they severed the nipple and flicked it across the room. Blood streamed from the fresh wound, coating the blonde’s torso in sticky fluid, dripping from their hands and the scalpel.
She wouldn’t stop screaming. Mr. Tony grabbed a ball gag off the table and shoved it in her mouth to muffle her screams.
He released Sophia’s hand.
Sophia stared at the bloody scalpel, at the hysterical woman in the chair, and for a moment she felt pity, compassion, remorse. The violence made her gag.
But just as quickly Sophia imagined this woman fucking her husband, stealing their money through gifts that asshole she’d married had mindlessly handed over, the bitch’s twisted influence on their daughter—and the compassion disappeared.
Slicing into her hadn’t been difficult at all.
“Do it,” he said forcefully, his words throaty, hoarse.
But she wasn’t there yet. The bloodlust dissipated, and she lowered her hand, dropped the scalpel.
He shook his head. “Well, I’ll tell you—you’re starting to get on my last nerve. I’m known for my patience—”
“Clearly,” she muttered.
He coughed into his hand and shot her a look. “—But don’t try me.”
“What do you want?” she asked yet again, hands outstretched in a pleading gesture that even she knew was futile. But what? What? Her mouth was gummy and dry. Her mind and body wanted to separate, as if her mind had abandoned all hope and wanted to get the fuck out of here.
“Sophia.”
His voice snapped her out of her bizarre little fugue. “Can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
But she wasn’t talking to him. “Can’t,” she repeated, barely, but…can’t what? Can’t do this? Or can’t leave? Was there a way to save herself? Maybe if she just walked away…she could get help. Help for her child, help for this miserable cunt tied to the chair.
Her daughter—wait. Daughter? What daughter? Nope, there was only Sophia, only her mind desperately wanting to be anyplace but here. Any place. Seriously. Any—
What would he do to Sophia, kill her?
Unlikely. But did it matter?
This was nuts. Things like this didn’t happen when you were rich. When you had stocks and bonds and real estate and Swiss bank accounts and horses and cars and summer homes and jewelry and tons of money in tons of accounts, this shit did not happen. You could buy your way out of any fucking—
“All right, Sophia. Let’s start again. Look at me.”
She refused. Instead, she stretched out her arm, her hand leading the way, searching for a way out. She knew he was right behind her, about to stop her. Breath came in gasps now, sweat trickling down her temples, down the small of her back.
He wasn’t following. She made her way around the circular room, searching for a door, handle, knob, window…ending up where she’d started, where she had once imagined the exit stood.
Now…nothing.
There wasn’t even a knob on the goddamned door. There wasn’t even a real door—just a panel.
“Let me out!” she shrieked, her cheeks almost purple, every ounce of air now expelled from her lungs.
She collapsed to the floor and gasped. “What is this place?” She glanced in his direction but only saw darkness. “Why are we here?” she pressed, confused, distraught. Lost.
“Pain,” he whispered, “comes in all forms.”
“You’re a freak!”
“You don’t know the half of it.” He chuckled. “You have ten seconds to get back here.”
Mr. Tony started the countdown. When he reached five, he said, “This time you’ll get to watch.”
“What?” She raced across the room.
“Fourthreetwoone!”
“Fuck you,” she growled. He was never planning to allow her to make it back in time.
He powered on a small monitor on the table.
An elderly couple were tied to chairs. Both were slumped forward, tight cords of rope holding them up.
Sophia recognized them. “No…” she whispered.
“Let’s start small, shall we? After all, we expect to lose our parents. It’s the natural way of things. Not like losing a child…”
This had to be a trick.
“You choose. Which one lives and which one dies?”
She looked up at him. Huh. What did he say? Oh no…did she leave the garage door open? The goddamned cat was going to get out. And what was she going to make for dinner? Chef was off. Maybe order pizza. Yes, that would work. She had to get going. She looked around for her car keys.
“What are you doing?”
“Car keys…” She looked on the floor behind the sofa. The cat was always batting them under there. Maybe they were on the kitchen table.
Suddenly he was in front of her and slapped her hard across the face. Her head snapped back and she cried out, stumbling a few feet.
“Can’t have you checking out so soon, princess! There’s too much on the line. Now answer my question.”
She looked at him and then at the monitor. “What?”
He slapped her across the face again. “Are you with me?”
She started to cry.
“Who lives and who dies?”
“No! I can’t!”
“Pick one or they both die.
“Go to hell!” she shrieked. “I hate you!”
“Do you?” He smiled. “You have no idea what hate is. What we have here is love. Love! Trust me, there is so much love here. Now pick one.”
“I can’t!”
A hulking masked accomplice appeared on the screen from the background and held up a gun.
Sophia rushed to the screen, touching their faces, as if feeling flesh and bone. “God, no! No!”
“Pick one!”
“I can’t!”
&nbs
p; “Wake them up!”
But the couple on the monitor were already stirring.
The woman looked around and sobbed, finding herself bound to the chair. She begged for her life.
The old man pleaded, offering the gunman anything he wanted.
“Such a shame,” Mr. Tony said. “Clearly they want to live.”
“Please don’t do this. Please have a soul,” Sophia begged.
Mr. Tony slowly shook his head, more in disbelief than in response. “You have five seconds to choose.”
“I’ll kill the blonde!”
“Five, four, three—”
“God I’m so sorry, good-bye, Daddy! I love you forever!”
Mr. Tony rolled his eyes. “Really? Maudlin to the end.”
“Go to hell!”
“My friend,” Mr. Tony said into a receiver, “please begin.” He looked back at Sophia and pointed to a chair. “You might want to sit.”
“Please don’t do this.” But the look in her eye had changed from soft desperation to something else…something feral. Her breaths became pants, but she wasn’t hyperventilating. She was trying to control her rage.
The corner of Mr. Tony’s lip curled.
Sophia plopped in the chair, and Mr. Tony turned the monitor in her direction. He placed the receiver on the table, and when he spoke, the masked man clearly heard him. Mr. Tony stood behind Sophia and rested his hands on her shoulders. She flinched but didn’t move away.
He moved closer, his lips dusting the edge of her ear. “We don’t have much time,” he whispered. “I need you to understand.”
The old couple had not stopped begging for their lives or pleading with the gunman for mercy, but the sounds were muted, in the distance now, barely registering in Sophia’s ear. The scene played out in slow motion but like a movie…she was watching a movie scene, not reality. These were not her parents; they were two old people wearing her patents’ clothing and hair and skin.
“Why are you doing this?” the old woman begged. “Please! Please!”
The masked man lifted a plastic gasoline container and doused the old man with the liquid. The victim coughed and sputtered and screamed when he realized it was gas.
Sophia looked back at Mr. Tony. “Understand what?” she asked in a voice that brought good bumps to his flesh. “What do you need me to understand?”