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Torture chamber

The torture of a bad conscience is the hell of a living soul. -John Calvin

By Robert RaymondPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
2
Art credit: Nicole Vishnevetska

Alice lied there on the table, hardly bound but sufficiently gagged. Her cries for help were futile, not that anyone was listening or could hear her. In her weakened state there was no fighting back. The room she was in felt like a torture chamber. Her vision was blurred and the room was spinning. Without her glasses the room was filled with familiar shapes and colors but anything beyond 2 feet was a mystery.

How did I get here? What did I do to deserve this? She always heard of girls getting snatched up, taken and never heard from again. “Don’t talk to strangers, be careful at night, use caution on the internet” her mother’s voice echoed in her mind. Her head hurt immensely, like having been punched or hit in the face with a blunt object.

An object approached from the doorway, and circled around behind her. It must be a man, that smell of musk and sound of him lumbering around the room. She could hear him fumbling with a knife. He put his hand on her shoulder and she winced. Squirming and squealing through her gag, she began to panic. Adrenaline pumped through her veins like nitro glycerin.

“STOP MOVING!” The man said. “You’re just going to make things worse for yourself. Just relax and you’ll be out of here in no time.”

Compliance is the only option at this point. Go limp, let him use her body for whatever sick perverted fantasy he has cooked up. Trembling and crying she complied. The fear and anticipation of pain became a calming blanket. Knowing that when it was over, however scarred physically and emotionally, she would be home in her bed at some point.

Go to a happy place, anywhere but here.

She closed her eyes and shut out the blurry spinning world. Thinking of her dog always calmed her. She transported her mind to the couch in her home. Cuddling with Baxter, her 1 year old Golden Retriever. Watching television with a fluffy warm blanket, not a care in the world.

SLICE!!!

She could feel the blade penetrate her skin. Ripping her back into the torture room. She let out a muffled screech through the gag in her mouth. Oh no! She thought. He said I would be out of here no time but he didn’t say if I would be dead or alive! She began to panic as the man continued to cut. She could feel the blood, but the pain wasn’t there. Her body was immune to pain in her adrenaline fueled panic.

The man restrained her more. He could overpower her with 1 hand. She had never felt so helpless. She began to pray. She didn’t consider herself religious but she had spent a considerable amount of time in church praying with her mother and grandparents. She lived a good and pure life so at least Hell wasn’t on the menu. Just as she finished asking God for strength, the cutting stopped. She heard the man move away, she could sense him no longer within reach. His stench had finally subsided. Grab the knife! It’s your only chance! She thought as she looked around the room.

Another object approached the doorway, definitely a woman this time. Elegant, moving with grace, it must be an Angel. An answer to her prayers. Hallelujah!

“She’s all finished, Mrs. Watson,” the man said. She is one tough little girl.”

“She sure is!” Alice’s mom proclaimed. “I remember my first dentist visit, what a traumatic experience that was.” She giggled. “I’m just glad she had such a delicate and kind man as yourself, Dr. Libby.”

“Thanks Mrs. Watson.” Dr. Libby replied. “Hey Linda,” he shouted to his assistant. “Could you grab little Alice a Lolly? What flavor would you like honey?”

Short Story
2

About the Creator

Robert Raymond

Technical writer from San Diego, CA.

https://linktr.ee/robreefer

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