Page 25 of The Devil and I
“Indeed,” I agree. “There's no point struggling.” The terrified man bellows in response, and the sound makes me cringe. For an average sized guy, he sure knows how to use his voice to pack a punch. But his screams are music within these walls, and I aim to draw more of them from him before the night is over.
“There's no point screaming either, Mark. You're so fucking far from anyone and anything, only the predators outside my door will ever hear you.”
Without me standing in his view, Mark's eyes are able to roam over all of the grotesque tools spread out across the heavy wooden table in front of him. As though it suddenly dawns on him, an awful keening sound erupts from his mouth. As I round the side of him, I watch the spittle fly from his mouth with the intensity of his scream. Good. He realizes what he is here for.
“I'll do anything you want, man. I've got money. You can have it all!” he shouts, the veins on his forehead popping with the strain of his yelling. “Please, just let me go. I won't tell anyone.”
I continue moving slowly around him, coming to a stop once I'm at the dead center of his view again.
“There is nothing you could possibly give me that will stop what is about to happen to you.” I tell him, leaning down slightly as if to chide him. “Not a goddamn thing can save you from me.”
I take that moment, his eyes wide with confusion and fear, to spit in his face, finally letting some rage bubble up from the calm fog that had settled over me when I first arrived here.
“What are you going to do to me?” he cries pathetically, still wiggling in an attempt to free his hands. The man is sweating profusely, despite the chill filling the cabin from the early Autumn breeze outside.
“Many, many things,” I tell him. “Things that will end with you dead, turning to shit in the guts of the predators prowling around outside the door. Did you know there's a big family of wild pigs out here? They've been here for generations, or so the guy that used to own this place told me.”
Tears fall in earnest from his face as I step closer to him, drawing my hand up so that the tip of my knife leaves an angry trail of reddened skin along the slope of his jaw. The man begins to babble incoherently, but I recognize some pleas in the chaos of it.
“Somewhere in that empty head of yours, you managed to find enough brain cells to make some real bad decisions, Mark,” I explain, kneeling in front of him so we can be at eye level.
“How many women have you raped?” I ask, tilting my head and narrowing my eyes to focus on his response and the subtle nuances of his facial expressions. If he chooses to lie to me, I'll know it. Drugs and alcohol make it harder for people to lie, and to do it well enough to fool someone with a skill set as diverse as my own.
“I never raped no bitch, man.”
Bitch. The word feels unbearable in my ears. I clench my fist and surge upwards, connecting with his jaw and rocking him back in the chair. The chair doesn't move from where it is drilled into the floor, but his body sure does. His head rolls back and his eyes glaze over, a red welt blooming along the side of his face.
“Wrong answer, shit bag,” I snarl, standing to my full height where I can tower over him.
Mark coughs, sending blood splattering across my stomach. The red soaks into the black of my hoodie, and I fucking love it. I'll bleed every fucking ounce of blood from this man's body for what he's done to my girl.
I roll my shoulders to relieve the tension building there, before stepping back and leaning down so that I can use my knife to slice open the front of his shirt. The unmarred expanse of his chest is revealed to me, and I hate the look of it. He doesn't deserve to walk this world undamaged after all he's done. Hell, he doesn't deserve to walk this world at all. All that tanned skin will look so much better painted with gore.
“I'm going to give you five chances to give me the name I'm looking for, Mark. Five chances, and if you fail, I'm going to burn a hole in your face with my favourite lighter. Tell me you understand,” I tell him, turning from his momentarily to grab a high powered hand held lighter off my table. When I face him again, I flip the top and spark the flame.
“I didn't rape anyone, I swear!” he cries out, the swelling in his jaw starting to change the sound of his voice as he balloons up on one side of his face.
“That's not a name, Mark,” I tell him, drawing the flame closer to his face. “One.”
“I don't know what you want from me!” he shouts again, his head dropping to his chest as he sobs with eyes closed. The sound is pathetic, but it feeds the devil shifting beneath my skin. Every bit of suffering I bring him soothes me and strengthens my resolve.
“You're not good at following orders,” I say in a low, slightly amused voice. “That's two.”
“Lisa wanted me, man. I swear to God she did,” he says, his tone reflecting the mental misery he's surely experiencing. I can tell he is beginning to cave under the immense pressure of my looming threat.
The name of an unknown female makes my jaw hurt as I clench it shut, knowing another woman fell victim to this piece of shit. I can't help but wonder how many girls were raped, abused or mistreated by this man. His torture is its own brand of dark justice.
“I'm not here for Lisa,” I tell him. “Three.”
“Oh God, man. It's just sex,” he cries out, his voice breaking between the sobs making their way out of him.
“It's not just sex, Mark,” I explain, kneeling down again so that we're eye level with one another. “Rape isn't sex. And you picked the wrong fucking one. That's four. You've got one chance left,” I tell him firmly, flicking the lighter so that the flame pops on and off in front of his face.
“Is Rayna your sister or something? I thought she -” he didn't get a chance to finish his sentence. Gripping his head in my hand, I press the red-hot flame against his cheek. The blood-curdling scream that echoes within my cabin makes my nerve endings sing.
I can't help but smile in the face of his agony. It takes a lot of physical effort to hold his head still enough for the flame to stick to his skin, melting away flesh with a sickening, sizzling sound. There are a few pops I can barely hear over all the noise he is making as small blisters erupt and corrode in the fire.
By the time a small hole forms in his cheek, Mark has passed out from the pain. I release his head and step back, capping the flame and tossing the lighter back onto my table. I grab a bottle of water from the shelf and take a long swig before turning to dump the rest over his head. I land a few sharp smacks across his face until he starts to stir.
