Paid For You

It was cold. There was no light, save for the small hole in the rough burlap sack over my head. I felt the freezing metal chair under me. The only separation between the chair and I was my thin shirt and skirt. My bare feet shivered from the frigid concrete. Piercing through the hole of the sack, I could see the concrete walls held copper pipes that lead around the room. There were very few bright light fixtures dangling ominously from thick black cords. I shifted my gaze to the metal table a meter away from me. My breath quickened as my blue eyes laid onto the various surgical equipment. They were all laid out neatly, possibly handled with intense care. I abruptly turned to my left to find another table. This table instead held more rustic tools. There was a blowtorch, a multitude of hammers, wrenches, drills, and firearms surrounding the main prize, a chainsaw.

I began to hear large muffled clunking steps of combat boots among the hissing of the pipes. Step. Step. I tried to rise but the leather clamps holding my wrists to the arms of the metal chair. Step. Step. The metal cuffs kept my ankles latched to the chair legs. Step. Step. I began to yell for help, though it was futile. Step. Step. My screams echoing through the room were soon accompanied by the creaking of the hinges on a door. The footsteps stopped before me. I could hear my captor’s shallow breathing and I could feel their eyes staring down at my vulnerable form.

My captor aggressively ripped the burlap sack off my head. I winced from the drastic change of light. Once my eyes had adjusted, I inspected the man in front of me. He was tall, broad, but his shoulders were rolled forward, giving him a hunchback-like appearance. He was no older than forty-five, wispy grays throughout his balding brown hair. His eyes were a meadow-like green. They held a sense of calm fatherly feel, granted he probably had children of his own. He wore a blue tinted surgical mask over the lower half of his face. His red surgical gown was covered by a large black apron, one a fish monger would wear. On his hands were black rubber gloves.

“P-please,” I stuttered, “L-let me go, please.”

He didn’t say a word as he strolled behind me. I continued to plead as I struggled against my binds, “Please, sir, please! I-I’ll do whatever you want, just please!!”

The man said nothing. A cotton strip of fabric was savagely wrapped around my mouth, an attempt to silence me. It was tied tight. The fabric roughly rubbed against the corners of my lips. He stepped towards my left. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him carefully choose a set of pliers. He stalked his way back to me, each step causing fear to coarse through my veins. He kneeled down in front and placed the plier prongs around my middle toe. I began to thrash again, crying out behind my gag. Without missing a beat, he clamped the pliers closed. The ripping of flesh and crushing of bone rang in my ear as my screams resonated throughout the room. I could feel every drop of blood streaming from my foot. Hot tears cascaded down my cheeks. I tried my best to kick him away but the cuffs cut against my ankles. He quickly clamped the pliers on my second toe, the ripping and crushing bouncing through my head like balls of sound. I screamed once more, my lungs burning from my lack of breath. In response to the pain, my stomach churned and pushed the acid into my esophagus and against my gag. As the contents continued spewing, the gag caused the vomit to stay. I was drowning.

The man quickly ripped the gag out of my mouth, the green-yellow chunks flooding out and dripping down my shirt. I sobbed loudly, coughing in air. He quickly made his way to the table on my right. “P-please, sir,” my voice trembled, “I-I have money. I-I’ll pay you, j-just please stop… I-I’ll pay you three times a-as much as they’re paying you!”

He began to laugh, walking back in front of me. “Pay me?”

He continued to laugh, each chuckle more and more diabolical. I could hear my heartbeat echoing in my ear as his laugh became more crazed. “My dear,” he removed his surgical mask revealing a smirk laced in insanity, “I’m paying for you.”

His hand swiped across my neck, the scalpel in his fingers slicing my jugular. Then the life drained from my eyes as the blood spewed out the cut. My head lulled back, my body becoming still.