Page 39 of Charity's Torment

“Okay.” I closed my eyes, evened out my breaths, and waited. Some time passed when the bed moved, and I listened for the sound of the door to close behind him. Cracking one eye open, I peeped to see if the coast was clear. The room was empty, and I rolled, taking great care not to pull on my fresh stitches.

My toes hit the chilly floor, and it made me want to reel back into the warmth of my comfy sheets. I pressed on and took my time walking to where I believed they were holding him. If I could get in there, weak or not, I could get him to talk. I know I could. It didn’t take much effort to inflict pain if you knew how to do it right—and I did.

It was difficult to maneuver down the stairs, but I made it down and found my way to the room I’ve seen all too often. Luca had several locations he would take people. I was betting he had Giovanni here so he could be close to him.

I pressed my ear to the door, listening for any sign that they were in there with him. Moans and chains rattled, but no voices rang out from the room. I may be in luck. I turned the knob and slithered inside the dark room, then shut the door quietly behind me.

“Who’s there?” Giovanni’s voice trembled. Amazing how this intimidating man to all became reduced to a pile of nerves, just like all the rest.

I kept the room concealed in darkness, leaned against the wall, and let my eyes adjust as I caught my breath. I have the element of surprise, even in my weakened state.

Giovanni hung in the center of the room, his hands chained high above his head. His feet chained firmly to the floor in a wide stance. His massive shoulders pinched his head forward, forcing it to hang at a choking angle. I searched the shadows for the table that held my tools and discovered it not too far from where I stood. My tools laid perfectly spaced—each one exactly where they should be. When I came across the tool I searched for, I fisted its handle and let the metal end slide across the steel table.

The sound of metal against metal was always ominous and would induce fear in my victims. Could I even call them victims? They were all guilty—the people I killed. We don’t refer to a death row inmate as a victim. So, I guess they are just my subjects. When I finished, they’d feel like a victim.

My heart raced in place as the adrenaline pumped through my veins and tickled my insides with butterflies. I took a deep breath to center myself and stood just before Giovanni at his back.

He was a large, well-defined man with a full lumberjack-like beard and slicked-back hair. At least, it would be if he wasn’t hanging from his wrists.

I took my weapon of choice, an ice pick, and pressed it against the back of his thigh. The point against his skin caused him to jerk on his chains. “What do you want?” he called out.

Silence.

He needed to feel hopeless like there was no way to end the pain because he had nothing to give me—no room to barter. I speared the back of his thigh with my pick. His string of curse words lit the room, and I grinned as his screams became music to my ears. I missed this—taking my pound of flesh. He tried to have me killed, and I was going to make him regret it until his very last breath.

Pulling the pick from his flesh, I chose another space just above where the knee bends and pushed in the small cylindrical pick. I wiggled it around, hitting the sciatic nerve. His body jolted, pulling on the chains to get free, and screamed a horrific cry that would wake the dead. When I pulled the pick from his torn muscle, he sobbed a plea for mercy.

Silence.

After a few more well-placed holes and destroyed nerves, I picked my newest delivery of pain—my electrode machine and a long, thin needle.

The feet hold an extraordinary amount of nerve endings. It’s the reason our feet are incredibly sensitive. I like to use this to my advantage. The long needle—one used during acupuncture—slid through his dermis with ease. His foot jerked, confirming I struck the nerve I was searching for. The needle itself is relatively painless. It’s what comes after that causes the anguish.

I placed a small red clamp on the needle and spun the dial on my machine—starting small just to give him a taste. His foot pumps involuntarily with the pulse of electricity running through the metal, then I crank it up to max and watch him flail.

His deep, agonizing screams bounced around the hollow room. His chains rattled as he convulsed, trying to shake the machine off. I liked this method of electrical abuse. It was a localized pain that didn’t affect major organs, so the only thing killing them would be the strain—which I was confident wouldn’t kill him.

I turned the machine off, and Giovanni wept. “Please. What do you want?”

His blood slicked his leg from the puncture wounds as his heart rate increased, so did the pulse of blood from his wounds. I pulled the needle from his foot with a quick jerk. “You know what I want.” I put my electrodes back and picked up a knife.

“Charity? I thought you were dead?” His body trembled from the realization that I had survived. I had risen from the dead and came back to give him what he deserved.

“Do you know what they used to do with traitors in England in the eighteenth century?”

“I’m not a traitor,” he yelled. He sounded convincing, but they all do when the dread creeps in. They recognize the situation and come to understand they are going to die. This is it for them; it’s out of their hands.

“Sure you are. Anyway, I’ll tell you. They had them drawn, hanged, and quartered. Do you know what that means?” My adrenaline kicked up, and the pain I was riding out just from breathing subsided. I had more important things to focus on.

“Yes… yes, I know.”

“Good. It was more than that, though.” I ran my blade along the hair on my arm, testing to see just how sharp it was. I felt the now naked skin and knew it was perfect. “They would hang you, yes, but you wouldn’t die from that. They wouldn’t drop you from a platform. Did you know they would let you dangle there until you were close to death? It would take nearly an entire hour. Could you imagine hanging by your neck for that long? I’m sure the seconds would feel like hours.” I snickered. It was sick of me to laugh.

I touched the tip of my blade to his nipple and ran it over the tip just enough to draw a reaction. He growled and tried kicking out against his chains. “You’re a sick bitch. You’re going to burn in Hell.”

I scoffed. “Hardly. The devil is going to welcome me with open arms. I’m practically his fucking protege. The important thing here is I embrace who I am, right?” I turned the sharp end of the knife away and ran the dull side against his skin, circling his body. Just the anticipation of pain is enough to drive someone mad. “Anyway, once they cut you down from the tree, they’d cut out your insides and burn them in front of you. You’d not only feel your organs ripped from your body, but you’d get to smell them sizzle in the fire like a fresh BBQ only you get to take part in.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he broke down.

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