Page 32 of Devoured
The hallway stretched out ahead like a tunnel carved into something dead. We walked in silence, Tobias staying close enough that I could feel the moist heat of his breath against my neck. Every exhale reeked of rot—coffee, onions, something sour. Once, his fingers grazed my back and then slipped lower to cup my hip.
I jerked away.
“Jumpy little thing. That’s good. Makes it more fun to watch.”He chuckled.
We passed the nurses’ station, and it was deserted. The med cart sat abandoned, drawers yawning open like crooked mouths. Papers fluttered on the counter from some unseen draft. The whole area felt... evacuated. Like they knew.
“You know,”Tobias said, hand drifting again toward his crotch, “we had another new girl last month. Rebecca? Rachel? Something with an R. She was jumpy too. Cried the whole time. Doc had to gag her eventually.”
My insides clenched. “Gag her? What happened to her?”
“Transferred.”The word came out too fast. Reflexive. Practiced. “That’s what happens to all of them eventually. Transferred to better facilities.”But his grin said otherwise.
When we reached the thick wooden door of Dr. Varnar’s office, Tobias knocked once, then pressed his face to the door like he was listening to a lover. His hand started rubbing slow, obscene circles at the front of his pants.
“Oh yeah. Started early tonight.”His voice was low and thick. “Can hear someone in there already.”
Inside, I heard the sounds too. Wet. Repetitive. Rhythmic. Flesh meeting flesh. Muffled grunts. Groans. The unmistakable cadence of violence dressed in sex.
“Come closer,”Tobias said, grabbing my wrist and yanking me toward the door. “You gotta see this.”
“What’s happening in there?”I asked, barely able to form the words.
He was rubbing himself harder now, breathing through his mouth like he couldn’t get enough air. His grip on my wrist was bruising.
“Someone came by earlier. Real worried about you. Said she needed to talk to the doc about your medication. Something about side effects.”He grinned wider. “Doc decided she needed an emergency session.”
I pulled against him. “Let me go.”
“Not yet. First you watch. Need to see what kind of therapy we provide here.”
He shoved me toward the frosted glass panel in the door. At first, all I saw were distorted shapes. Then my eyes adjusted. And I saw everything.
The image struck me like cold metal driven into my lungs.
Marion. Naked. Forced to her knees on the tile. Her wrists and ankles were bound with IV tubing in cruel knots that bent her body backwards in an impossible, agonizing arch. Her skin was a galaxy of bruises. Blood oozed from long, shallow cuts across her shoulders, dripping steadily to the floor.
Varnar knelt behind her, also naked. His pale body moved rhythmically, thrusting into her with animalistic force. In front of her stood Dr. Alan, legs wide, Marion’s face forced between them. One hand twisted in her hair. The other held a scalpel, its blade flashing like a warning.
“Count them,”Dr. Alan commanded, dragging the blade along Marion’s shoulder again. “That’s eight. We’re going for twenty tonight.”
Marion trembled but made no sound. She took it in silence—endured with a resilience that made my heart ache and my stomach revolt.
“The quiet ones last longer,”Varnar grunted, slamming harder. The sound was unbearable.
Behind me, Tobias panted faster. His hand moved frantically in his pants. “Jesus Christ, look at her take it.”
Dr. Alan’s breath hitched, her movements growing jerky. “I’m close. I’ll cut her when I finish. I want to feel her scream.”
She dragged the scalpel down Marion’s spine. Marion’s body arched, a muffled cry vibrating from her throat. Dr. Alan gasped, shuddered, and collapsed slightly.
“Perfect,”she sighed, stepping back. She let go of Marion’s hair, and Marion’s head dropped, coughing and spitting blood and spit onto the tile.
They swapped places like they’d done it a hundred times. Dr. Alan moved behind Marion, grabbing something from a tray that gleamed silver. Varnar walked to her front, yanking her head forward by the hair.
“Your turn to use your mouth properly,”he said before forcing himself past Marion’s split, bloodied lips.
She gagged violently. Behind her, Dr. Alan was doing something with the metal tool—twisting, widening. Marion bucked forward, gasping.
