by B C Morgan
“Elliott joined a group who wanted to be in control, they claimed to have morals but what gang can say that and be honest at the same time. The problem was he took something that wasn’t his and my current bosses did not like that and then the gunshots started and a promising young man ended up in an institution.” He’s tilting his chair back, balancing it perfectly. I wonder if his face has ever sported a single line or wrinkle? “Elliott is not here, but you are. Someone has to pay and they don’t care if you’re innocent or not. You share the same last name and they couldn’t reach your parents, if only they hadn’t run away you may have reached your nineteenth birthday this year,” he tuts as he shakes his head and I know I would laugh if it wasn’t for the excruciating pain in my hand.
“You would not have gone for my parents, you could have back when they were here but instead it was all focused on me,” my voice is rising but I can’t stop it, the pain and anger is fuelling me.
“You were an easier target, proximity wise, and it’s harder to target a solicitor although not impossible. It’s funny how he got whisked away to America, isn’t it,” he says with a raised eyebrow before standing up and going back up the stairs. What the fuck was that supposed to mean, is he behind my dad being sent away and if so, why?
I GUESS I’m nothing more than a zoo exhibit at the moment, maybe I shouldn’t flip the camera off with my still good fingers but why the fuck not? Chucking food down at me and standing at the top of the stairs glaring is no better than sending him down to break a bone or two. Some people may not agree with me, but I’d love to see how they would react or think in this situation.
And sure I’m arguing with myself, but who else is there? My dead brother or maybe my dead boyfriend, because I have to be honest with myself, I can’t see how Harrison made it out alive. Great, now I’m crying, the one thing I said I wouldn’t do.
“Just kill me already,” I scream at the top of my lungs, it’s what, been four days, and it has already been too long.
Oh the dreaded creak of the door, I don’t even have to look up to know it’s bloody Dante. The air has been sucked out of the room and the chill that always follows him is already working its magic. It’s almost, enjoyable. I am so fucked up!
“Do you have your next question for me?” He asks as he pulls his chair out and throws a bottle of water right at my head.
“Finley says you need to drink, apparently I should realise that fact myself. I don’t usually have to make my victims comfortable, so how am I faring so far?” Head cocked to the side, check. Voice lacking any emotions, check. I would love to get inside his head, although I doubt I’d survive the experience.
“You suck donkey dick, stick to your usual methods unless you want me to die from dehydration,” I retort, rolling my eyes and his hand leaves a stinging sensation across my cheek and I can feel the blood running down my face. He split my skin. What the hell?
“If I am not showing you any disrespect, you should offer me the same service. I can always refrain from giving you the answers you were desperately searching for,” no, I need to know why this is happening.
Swallowing deeply, I’m shaking my head vigorously, what more can I do. “I have my next question,” I say meekly, I just wish I wouldn’t tremble so much when he’s around.
“Okay, here are the rules. Three chances to ask a question I am willing to answer today. Waste them and I shatter your kneecap with my cricket bat. Get it right and I’ll only dislocate your shoulder, I think that’s fair,” cold hearted monster, that’s what he is.
“That’s hardly a fair trade, but I guess I have to take what I can get. You say they would have gone after my parents, would they have been collateral damage like me or was it something more?” He’s standing up and grabbing the bat, no, no, no. I have two more guesses. He can’t do it yet.
“Change of plans, one last guess,” he says coldly, twirling the bat in his hands.
“That isn’t fair,” I shout, anguish pouring from me like blood from an open wound.
“Life isn’t fair pretty girl and my bosses want me to take away the chance that anyone would ever call you pretty again. Would you class that as unfair as well, but then again it is about you and you are being rather selfish right now.” He’s positioning the bat on the floor and leaning his weight upon it as he stares me down. “Okay, Henleigh I’ll tell you a story and then you can tell me if you think it sounds fair, lie to me and I’ll burn your pretty little face down to the bone. The phantom will have nothing on you.” Pure, unadulterated fear, but worse than that is the curiosity. I want to hear this story. Have I always been this messed up?
“There was a young guy who was born inside a family where love was bought and not earned. Even as a child he had to work for any affection that he desired until he just stopped trying. He tried to impress them by joining the family business, but nothing worked. And then he met someone who gave their affection freely. He was dubious at first, it wasn’t like he knew how to recognise love but after a while this person broke through all of his defences.” He pauses for a second but I don’t think it’s for dramatic effect, more like he’s trying to find the right words. “They fell in love and would have given anything to make the other smile even if for a moment and then they were taken away from him. He watched them die, and he never recovered. Now tell me is that fair?” He stands up and walks off for a moment or two before returning with a candle.
Its flame is dancing and flickering freely, reflecting in his eyes. This is probably the only time I will ever see his eyes alight and it’s nothing more than a mirrored effect.
“None of that is fair, but the same can be said by anyone who isn’t happy with their life. You could say it’s unfair that you’re an unfeeling monster, whereas others may be envious of the reprieve from the pain they feel every day. If the answer is wrong, then fucking burn me, I don’t want to play your game,” I say as tears mingle with the blood still flowing from the cut on my cheek and dripping crimson onto the back of my hand.
“What would you say to the guy who watched the only person who ever gave him love and warmth die, how would you help them?” He’s so transfixed by the movements of the flame that I could probably catch him unaware and strike him hard enough to hurt, but it won’t free me.
“I’d say that although it sucks that he has to live alone once more and be without love, at least he felt it. It could happen again, it wouldn’t be the same, but it would still leave him breathless and help him live within the light once more. Instead of the dark despair I can imagine he’s trapped in, I was there and I escaped it. If I can, why can’t he?” I can’t even look at him, why is it necessary to strip me bare and make my deepest feelings bleed all over the floor. I think I’d rather the physical torture than this.
“Maybe you should have said that to him when you had the chance, but I imagine your eyes were his undoing, poor sod.”
“I have my question,” I don’t care how eager I sound or that he noticed it, I think I’m starting to figure this out.
“The floor is yours,” he says with a sweep of his hand as he squeezes the bat and prepares for his swing. Even going as far to rest it against my knee.
“I’m guessing the guy in your story was Damon and if I’m right in my assumption then the only thing I have to ask is... were Damon and my brother lovers?” Cruel irony if I’m right, the only thing I’m not sure of, will this earn me a dislocated shoulder, or a shattered knee.
He lifts the bat above his head, ahh shit I asked wrong and I’m not even going to get an answer am I?
He brings it down and slams the end of the bat into my shoulder, I can’t help but cry out and he doesn’t stop until he has pulled my arm out of its socket and I’m a quivering, crying wreck.
TWO
A WEEK HAS PASSED and I’ve learnt that my parents aren’t innocent in this and I’m paying for their sins as well, I just don’t know why. I know that Damon and Elliott were together, and they had been planning to do a runner, but
clearly that never came to pass. Dante feels no guilt over what he does and I don’t notice any joy in his actions either. That being said, I prefer having him hurt me than Finley. He came down yesterday and I haven’t recovered, not physically or mentally.
I hurt so much and there’s this dripping noise that won’t cease, it’s driving me crazy. The door is opening again and I cannot take it, the creaking is my very own death song. I can’t stand the way I’m flinching, cowering and whimpering. This isn’t me or at least it wasn’t, they’re destroying me and it’s worse than anything that was thrown at me over in Padstow. Two years compared to one week. Oh yeah that’s how bad this is.
“I suppose Finley got carried away, that’s the problem when emotions rule your actions,” he’s tutting but I can’t bring myself to look at him, I'd rather just shut myself away and become immune to everything else.
His fingers slide beneath my chin and what more can I do but squeeze my eyes closed, I can’t look upon him and I hate the way the tears fall unbidden and refuse to stop or even slow their descent on my cheeks.
His fingers glide across my cheek, I can feel his callouses brushing against my skin but I can’t take his hands around my neck. I’m trying to pull away but he grips my chin, no doubt bruising me in the process.
“Can you talk?” His hand passing over the bruises on my throat, sends chills coursing over me and I croak out a “no,” it hurts too much.
Finley’s handy work, strangling me until I can no longer cry out, slicing my arm until it’s some macabre blood stained tattoo. By the time it heals the scars will probably be thick and ugly, I guess I won’t need to waste money on a tattoo.
“It will be over soon, it’s a shame you can no longer ask your questions but seeing the state you’re in, I’ll give you one for free,” listening to his footsteps as he walks away and I can’t help the exhale that escapes me now that he’s no longer touching me.
I can hear a kettle boiling and more and more whimpers are escaping, he’s going to burn me! Can’t I just have one day where I don’t get broken and bruised? Is that too much to ask, because I do not think it is.
“Relax, it’s just a drink. It should help to soothe your throat a little,” he says, and I have to open my eyes now because his words are not computing in my mind.
“Why are you…” I can’t get any other words out, it’s too painful and my voice is breaking apart, just like me.
“Save your words and I’m not being nice, I just prefer when I can hear the screams,” his eyes are staring through me and I want to cower away, so I guess I will.
“Take the drink and then I’ll tell you something I know you’ll want to hear, it will be the last thing I share though. Your time is close to ending and there isn’t any point giving you the entirety of your family’s skewered past,” I take the drink in my good hand and inhale the chocolate aroma, the steam filling the air is almost mesmerising. I can almost fool myself into believing that I can see Noah and Harrison within the mist, it’s better than looking at Dante.
“Your mother and father are no better than us, perhaps they’re worse because they knew the risks and the damage it could cause but it did not stop them. Your brother wanted to get you away from them and his death may have been a wake up call to your father, but he never changed his way, not completely. And your mother, she is a piece of work, isn’t she? I should know, my mother is a psychopath, it’s the reason I am the way I am today. An inherited trait,” he’s looking at his nails as though his words mean nothing more than asking someone what the weather will be.
I can’t speak so I can’t question him and he knows it. A smile is on his lips. As empty as his eyes, even though I know it’s fake, I can’t help but notice the way it changes his face. He’d be beautiful if he wasn’t so scary, or maybe that is why he’s so breathtaking. A beauty as dark as his can’t be denied or enjoyed, stare too long and it will eat away at your soul until you are as empty and devoid of feeling as he is himself.
“Your father helped to keep a lot of bad people out of prison, misplaced vital evidence and filled his pockets with my current bosses’ cash. You lived in poverty, but he had the means to keep you out of it. There is something that Fin wants me to tell you because it will make your suffering worse, but Fin’s shall we say ‘partner,’ doesn’t agree. They’d rather your suffering be physical and long, I guess they think your mental suffering has already reached the point where one more thing may make you snap.” He’s rapping his finger against his chin as he looks up at the ceiling, I have no idea what he’s thinking and I’m not sure I want to know either.
“It was too much for Damon and he’s lost within his own mind, let’s keep that from being your fate. They want you to be aware of what’s happening as you die slowly, I’m going to make you bleed Henleigh. Death by exsanguination, it will be an agony unlike any other you have ever experienced before,” he stands up and I know I shouldn’t but I have to take a shot.
I throw my hot chocolate over his torso, making him cry out before hooking my leg around his bat, picking it up and whacking him across the head. I can’t believe I’ve done this, and it’s like everything is happening in slow motion as he falls down onto his knees and slumps over.
Son of a bitch it worked, I’m surprised I even had the strength with only one hand but he’s down, I think I’ve found my way out of here. My skin is crawling just from running my hand along his trouser leg trying and hoping that he has the keys to the lock.
My luck just keeps getting better, things are starting to go my way. Sliding the keys out I need to be quick, if he wakes up I’m screwed.
Now I know I can’t go up the stairs because Fin is probably up there, but I can’t climb out of the window either, not with one arm and a dislocated shoulder. At least he did it on the same side, silver lining and all that crap.
Damn it, the stairs it is. At least I’m going down trying to escape, if I don’t I’ll only spend my last moments wondering if I could have gotten away.
I don’t care that the stairs are cold against my bare skin or how every part of me is crying out in pain, I guess it’s a good thing I can’t be too vocal right now. I have no idea where this optimism is coming from, but I hope it doesn’t abandon me anytime soon.
I lay my hand on the door handle, it’s time. Please El, give me strength and courage to make it through this.
The door creaks open and no one is standing there on the other side, but weeping for relief can wait until I’m freedom bound for sure.
It never even occurred to me that Dante made so much noise coming down those stairs intentionally, as his hand slips around my throat and pulls me back. I lose my footing and he steps out of the way as I fly through the air and my back hits the concrete floor hard. He looks down at me from his position on the stairs and simply shakes his head as my eyes drift shut and I realise, I really am going to die at his hands.
I NEVER SHOULD HAVE TRIED to escape, all it earned me is agonising pain shooting through my lower back and travelling up my spine, a chair that I’m never allowed to leave and ropes wrapped tightly around my waist. Cable ties are pinching my wrists and legs and holding me against the chair without a single bit of give between the plastic and my skin. It’s tight enough to make me bleed, and that’s what it’s doing, I bleed, scab and bleed again.
Dante doesn’t even come down alone anymore, it’s always with Finley and Dante is always holding a gun with the safety clicked off.
I’ve been pistol whipped across my face multiple times and I can’t even count how many times he’s pressed the barrel of the gun against my temple and squeezed his finger so close to the point of no return, I don’t understand why I am still alive.
They never speak anymore, they just stare at me or one another. Clearly they are waiting for something, but I don’t know what. The door creaking makes us all look, I didn’t think anyone else was here so who the fuck could it be?
No, not you. I can’t believe I almost trusted you again.
<
br /> “So this is where you’re keeping her, I thought you would have killed her by now,” Ivy says, looking at me as though I’m nothing more than a piece of shit on the bottom of her shoe.
Her pixie cut is purple now with electric blue tips and ends, her makeup is dark and her eyes are ringed with silver and black. She’s wearing denim shorts and fishnet stockings with chains hanging down her leg. Her top is a brown leather corset, and she looks like she could take or leave being in here. Why are you here?
I can’t even ask her because my throat is still bruised, Dante did more damage when he stopped my attempt at escaping. He must have done that on purpose. I’m hoping if I rest it then there won’t be any lasting damage, I haven’t even tried to speak so the damage could all be in my head, I just don’t want to find out.
“Hey Trixie,” Fin says with a salacious grin and her eye roll is so long I’m surprised they don’t stay in the top of her head.
“Fuck off Fin, that was Lija’s nickname and I wouldn’t have even gotten it if you hadn’t treated me like Tricia,” she bites out as he winds his arms around her hips and tugs her against him.
I may as well be watching a porno with the way he’s thrusting himself into her and groaning, even Dante isn’t watching this shit. I guess that would fall into his warped idea of disrespect as well.
“Me and Dante have to pop upstairs, do you want to stay down here or wait in my room?” He asks, and she smiles wickedly as she turns a ring around on her hand and smacks it across my face, cutting deeply.
“Do I get to have some fun?” She asks, and he nods with a huge shit-eating smile on his face. Dante is the only one who’s hesitating to leave her down here, but he’s made it clear that he isn’t in charge.
The door closes behind them and Ivy crouches down in front of me as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.