Skin Game

by Tonia Brown

  Unless you counted the screams.

  At first I thought I was imagining them. They came as muffled puffs of sound from the wall behind me, drifting up to trouble my tired mind. In my grief, they became the ghosts of my ill fated northern party. The spirits of the men who died at Convergence. All those poor boys that rotted on Boudreaux’s farm because I took too long to act; because I didn’t want to get involved. And most of all, I thought I heard her. Sam’s young voice screamed somewhere in the muffled shrieks, haunting me with her endless suffering.

  After hours and hours of this lonely torment, the slot in the door opened. I could hear the screams louder now. They were real shrieks of pain. Suffering lay somewhere in this place, I had no doubt of that. The slot slid closed again and the door opened.

  To my disappointment, it wasn’t Dillon that came to visit. Instead, a young man in his early twenties entered and closed the door behind him. He pounded on it once. There rose the sound of someone barring the other side, and the slot opened again. Someone else was keeping an eye on us. I could see there were no chances taken when dealing with old Theophilus Jackson. The thought of it made me smirk.

  “What’s so funny?” the kid said.

  “Y’all are,” I said. “Big thick door and bricked in room. Don’t you think it’s a bit much?”

  “It’s our orders.” The kid nervously toyed with a water skin as he did his best to look everywhere but at my naked body. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the kid was a bit shy.

  “Where in the hell am I going to go all chained up like this?” I shifted my wrists as best I could to let the chains rattle in their secure spots.

  “Don’t move,” the kid said as he held out his free hand in warning. Genuine fear lay in his eyes. Poor kid.

  “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

  “Are you thirsty?” He held up the water skin.

  I cocked my head to one side and eyed him.

  “It’s just water,” he said.

  “Why should I believe that?” I said.

  “It’s the only water you’re going to get today, so I would drink it if I were you.”

  I smiled at the kid. “I am thirsty, but you got a bigger problem on your hands.”

  He furrowed his brow as he stepped back a bit. “What problem?”

  “I gotta go.”

  Now the kid was thoroughly confused. “Go? You’re not going anywhere—”

  “I gotta go, son.” I flicked my eyes downward, then back to him.

  His eyes went wide at the thought. “Ah. Oh. Right.” He scrambled to one of the darkened corners of the room and returned with a small bucket. He dropped it a foot or so in front of me, and stepped away as he turned his head. Good for him I was already in the buff, lest he had to fish me out of my own pants. I don’t think either of us could’ve bore that shame.

  I let go, aiming for the bucket as best I could. They hadn’t given me much in the way of liquids, so there wasn’t much to get rid of, but the relief of emptying my bladder was a small heaven in this ongoing hell. Once the dregs dripped off I said, “Done.”

  The kid offered me the water skin again without a word.

  “Bring it up here,” I said.

  He poured a generous amount of water into my mouth and I drank with undisguised greed. I wasn’t ashamed to be thirsty, or to drink the water my captor provided. It was useless to turn down food and water while under lock and key. Growing weak or dying of starvation doesn’t see you out of this kind of situation.

  I belched loudly just as the kid pulled the skin away. His deed done, he grabbed the bucket by the handle, crossed the room to the door, and raised his free hand to pound on it.

  “Hey,” I said. “Did Bowden live?”

  The kid hesitated a moment, glancing up to the open slot.

  “Is Bowden alive? Tell me.”

  Over his shoulder he said, “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

  “Too late, we’re already talking.”

  He turned around and eyed me nervously.

  “Kid, I ain’t gonna try and trick you—”

  “Kenneth,” he said over me. “My name is Kenneth.”

  I gave him a nod. The best I could do, all things considered. “Well, Kenneth, I’m Theo. It’s nice to meet—”

  “I know who you are. We all know who you are, sir.”

  Sir? That was a bit more manners than I expected from one of Dillon’s thugs. I looked to the open slot, to the pair of eyes nervously flitting between Kenneth and me. “I suppose you do. You should also know that he is using you. He is using all of you.”

  Kenneth grunted as his face grew hard. So much for manners. He lowered the bucket to the floor. “You think you’re so damned smart just because you’re immune. You just walk around here like nothing is wrong while everyone else is fights for their life. You’re so high and mighty on that pedestal of yours, all alone. At least Dillon is willing to do something about it.”

  “Yeah but at what cost?”

  “Cost? You know nothing about the cost of things.” He took a few steps toward me, his fists balled around the water skin so tightly what was left squirted to the floor at his feet. “You know what brought me out here? A dollar. One lousy dollar. I never hurt anyone. I never stole anything in my life. I borrowed a dollar from my brother and couldn’t pay it back. My own flesh and blood reported me to the sheriff and they turned me out here rather than deal with me. My brother took my whole life, my entire existence, just because he wanted my half of the family farm. He cost me everything. At least Dillon is upfront about what he wants. I know he is not a good person, but he doesn’t claim to be. He is exactly what he is.”

  I had to hand it to the kid. He was wise beyond his years. Of course, ending up in a hell hole like this will age you fast. Though, to be fair to my old ornery self, I knew far more about the cost of things than he gave me credit for. If my fifty plus years on this earth alone hadn’t taught me, then my own horrific past was enough to ingrain the lesson deep. I also knew that those who seemed the most upfront about things were often the ones hiding the most behind their backs. In my experience, such profound honesty was usually just a prelude to a grand betrayal. A kind of well placed distraction from a lingering treachery. No one was honest without reward. No one was good for the sake of being good. No one.

  “Ken,” someone said through the slot.

  His piece said, Kenneth headed back to the door and pounded on it three times. The sounds of unbarring the door drifted across the room as the kid waited with his back to me. Just before he lifted he bucket and slid through the door, he said two words that comforted me to the soul.

  “He lived.”

  The lamps winked out as the door closed.

  I closed my eyes and hung my head, the exhaustion finally consuming me. I hadn’t realized just how tired I had become keeping myself sick with worry for the doc. With the assurance of his survival, though not his wellbeing, I allowed the darkness to claim me, drawing me under to empty sleep. I have no idea how long I stayed there, how long I swam in that endless black.

  Eventually I jerked awake to the sounds of the door opening. My arms and legs were numb as was most of the rest of me. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and rolled my head around, cracking the stiff joints in my neck. The gas lamps came to life as a familiar face joined me.

  “Theo!” Dillon shouted. He rubbed his hands together and entered the room. “How are you enjoying your accommodations?”

  “The room is pleasant enough,” I said. “At least it was. Can’t say I care for the company.”

  “Well then, let’s see what we can’t do to improve that for you. After all, I can’t have my most important guest unhappy, can I?” He snapped and waggled his fingers at the door.

  Doctor Chambers dutifully entered, pushing a little trolley much like the one from her own laborator
y. I noticed she stared at me openly, either unimpressed by my nudity or jaded thanks to her medical background. No blushing shyness from her, no sir. The cart was covered in a variety of unpleasant looking instruments. Kitchen knives, gardening implements, and more than one blacksmith tool. Then it was to be torture. I had expected as much, especially after witnessing the madman chop off Bowden’s leg.

  “You after my leg now?” I said.

  Dillon cut his eyes at me, confused for a moment. Understanding came to him and he clapped his hands with a laugh. “Yes. Very droll. You always had good timing. No, the doctor is here to collect some samples. And I just wanted to drop in and check on my favorite person in the whole world.”

  I stared at him with a flat expression for a few heartbeats. A few more. “I’m flattered.”

  “As you should be.” He rubbed his hands together excitedly again. “How have you been holding up?”

  “How is Bowden?” I said.

  “I asked you a question,” Dillon said, ignoring me.

  “Likewise.”

  To my surprise, Dillon struck me soundly on the jaw; a backhanded slap that rang out with almost a gunshot flourish in the little room. Chambers jumped a bit and that was when I got a really good gander at her. The woman was as gray as her sweater, with dark half circles under her right eye, and a ring of purple around the left. Already thin of frame, she was well on her way to becoming skeletal. More than one bruise peeked out from her collar and cuffs. All at once, I felt guilty for my relatively comfortable position. There was no telling what had happened to her while I lay chained to this wall. What torment Dillon had put her through, even if she deserved far worse.

  “Back sassing your master is a bad idea, boy,” Dillon said.

  “Go to hell,” I said.

  Dillon struck me again and I relished the pain. At least I could feel my face. Maybe all this would wake up the rest of me.

  “I would watch that mouth of yours,” Dillon said. “Because I don’t think uncle can stand another amputation right now. It might just be too much for the old man.”

  I gritted my teeth. Damn, but I was hoping he would focus on me for a while. “I am doing fine.”

  “That’s better. You will learn your place eventually. I am certain of it. A few people might need to die first, but you will learn. Now, smile and tell me you understand.”

  Forcing a wide smile I said, “I understand.”

  “I will leave you to it, Doctor Chambers. You have your instructions. I trust you will comply?”

  Chambers nodded without a word.

  “I’ll get going then,” Dillon said, as if speaking to a group of good friends and not his captives. He departed, shutting the door behind him.

  Those on the other side once again barred it with a heavy thud. The slot slid open, as expected.

  Chambers pushed her trolley across the floor to me, its ancient wheels squeaking with each passing inch. She parked the thing before me and sighed as she ran her hands over a few of the objects closest to her.

  “You look awful,” I said. What else could I say? Truth was always best. “He’s been rough with you?”

  She cocked her head at me, giving me a no shit kind of glare.

  “Sorry to hear that,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if that was strictly true. The doc had killed a lot of good men, and if I hadn’t dragged her out of that hole she would’ve kept on making monsters and destroying lives. There was no telling what she would get up to under Dillon’s direction, yet it couldn’t possibly be any worse. Just more of the same.

  Chambers looked me up and down in a long, slow appraisal. “I see you’re doing well.”

  “I am, all things considered. I can’t feel anything from the neck down thanks to the cold and these damned chains.”

  “Nothing at all?” She peered at my bare groin for a moment, then raised her eyebrows at me.

  “Enjoying the view?” I said.

  “I am,” she said. “Though don’t flatter yourself too much. I’ve seen far better.” Picking up a scalpel, the doctor took a deep, steadying breath. “I am going to have to take some blood.”

  “Get Dillon back in here and you can take it from my nose after he breaks it.”

  Chambers stared at me impatient and unamused.

  “Go ahead,” I said with a sigh.

  “Unfortunately,” she said, “they have yet to return with my equipment from my lab, so I will have to let you the old fashioned way.” She waved the blade at my bound arm.

  “I ain’t in no position to stop you.” I hissed as she cut into me, not too deep but enough to let the blood flow.

  Chambers held up a funny shaped glass—narrow at the top and wide at its round bottom—to catch the blood. She corked the bottle, then held it to the light as she swirled it about.

  “Will I live?” I said.

  She shot me another cold look. “Not likely, but that’s neither here nor there.” Chambers lit a small lantern on her trolley, adjusting the flame to a high roar. After this, she ran her hands over the implements again until she settled on a nasty pair of rusted clippers. Lifting the pair, she gave them a squeeze.

  The clippers slowly flexed, the dull edges scraping against one another as it closed and opened.

  “What’s that for?” I said.

  “Do you need to go to the toilet?” she said.

  “Why?” I said, worry touching my voice as I wondered exactly what she thought she was going to do with those clippers.

  “Dillon is interested in your regenerative abilities,” she said. She flexed the clippers again.

  I considered the clippers, and her earlier appreciation of my naked bits. I swallowed hard. “I take it you’re not gonna cut of my leg with that thing.”

  “No. Not your leg. He wanted your arms. Both of them. But I talked him down something much, much smaller.” Her eyes landed on my groin again.

  I wouldn’t call it much, much smaller, but I never was one to dicker over the size of things. “How kind of you.”

  “Well, I pointed out that should your arms not grow back—and we all know they won’t—then it will be difficult to employ you in any useful way. A finger, on the other hand…”

  “Clever,” I said, with a bit of relief. “You had me going there for a moment.”

  “I thought you could use some good news.”

  And good news it was. A finger instead of, well, let’s just say I can do without a finger.

  “If you need to use the facilities,” Chambers said, “we should get that out of the way. You might find yourself unable to hold it during this procedure. And if it’s all the same, I’d rather not have you urinate all over me. Or worse.”

  “I’m good. Go on then, take your pick.” I waggled my fingers at her.

  Chambers stroked my right hand, running her fingers along mine. I could barely feel her tracing my skin. My hands were all pins and needles from being restrained for so long. The cynic in me didn’t hold out hope that this would dampen the pain of what was coming. She grabbed hold of my pointer and I shook my head with a grunt.

  “You have a particular favorite?” she said.

  “That’s my trigger finger,” I whispered. Why not tell her the truth? She already had me at her mercy. “In fact, if you’re seriously asking, I’d prefer the left hand.”

  Chambers looked me dead in the eye and I could see her weighing the delight of cutting of my precious pointer against defying Dillon in any small way. With great effort, she nodded, released my right hand, then crossed me as she moved to my left. She caressed this hand with the same care for a moment before she gently lifted my pinky finger. Chamber raised an eyebrow at me.

  I shrugged. I wasn’t as attached to my pinky.

  The doctor sat the clippers back onto the cart, then grabbed up a strip of cloth. She slid this under my forearm, tying it a
s tight and as close to my manacled wrist as possible. This done, she took a large metal spoon from the tray and affixed it to a clasp that held the curve of the spoon over the open flame. We both stared at it for a few quiet moments, waiting as the spoon grew hotter and hotter. I guess I knew what she would do with that.

  “Ready?” she asked at length.

  “No,” I said, certain it didn’t matter what I said.

  I looked away and waited.

  A great pressure rose from my hand, transforming into a knife of pain that sliced its way up my arm until it stabbed into my chest. A sickening crunch reached my ears just before the sound of my own shout. I was right; the numbness didn’t hold back the pain. Sometimes I hate being right.

  I glanced over in time to see my blood spurting out in a weak but steady rhythm with my heart, which in turn beat so loud in my ears that it was all I could hear. The blood squirted across the wall in streaks and rolled toward the floor, leaving swipes of red all down the woodwork. The doc tossed my finger into an awaiting tray, then moved the now red hot spoon onto my wound. I turned away again as she burned the stump of my finger, closing off the open wound. My body tensed as I tried to pull my bound hand away from her. The burning was almost too much to bear. I looked back again just as she was dressing my hand, a difficult task for her, considering I was shackled in place.

  In the grand scheme of things, I had suffered much worse pains. Been shot several times. Beaten within an inch of my life. Starved. Scarred. Whipped. Branded. Bitten. Even broken a variety of limbs over my many, many years on this earth. All of this paled when compared to the emotional trauma I had suffered at one point or another. In truth, the doctor completed the procedure with an amazing amount of compassion and care. She was quick and concise and even cauterized the wound instead of leaving it open for me to suffer. If I was going to ask someone to cut off a finger for me, that would’ve been exactly the way I would’ve wanted it done.