Page 2 of Lunatic
“Please don’t.”
Tilting my head at him, I flash him a smile as the excitement builds. I enjoy playing with my victims. He brought this on himself by coming into my room with this shit that, I guarantee, he planned to use on me, for some fucking unknown reason.
“We’re going to play a little game of show and tell. I’ll show you the item, and you tell me the truth. If I’m satisfied with your answer, I won’t use it on you. If I’m not, well-”
I chuckle loudly.
“You get the idea, Doc.”
I light the torch again, waiting for him to answer.
“To burn skin. Torture.”
I narrow my gaze at him as I wonder if he would’ve used it on me, but I don’t bother to ask, somehow knowing the answer. I skip the knife, because its use is pretty obvious. Instead, I hold up the needles.
“T-They get shoved under the nails.”
I shake my head with disgust, as I hold up the small black box.
“What’s this?”
“Noise box,” he answers with a shake to his voice.
I toss it on the side of the bed and ask the obvious question.
“What the fuck is that for?”
Swallowing thickly, he responds, “It makes high-pitched squealing sounds. It’s a form of mental torture. After five minutes, it begins to drive someone out of their mind.”
Isn’t everyone here already out of their mind?That’s the point, right? They don’t put fucking sane people in asylums.
“Pliers?” I ask, and he instantly replies, “Teeth.”
I grin as I hold up my favorite item. One I own, but they took from me when I got arrested.
“It cuts skin more easily than a knife.”
His breathing gets heavy, probably from not only my weight on his chest, but the anxiety of wondering what comes next. Spoiler alert. Nothing fucking good. Well, not for him anyway.
I feel the cool metal from the scalpel in my palm, and the sensation soothes me. It’s comforting. A scalpel has long been my weapon of choice. It’s how I right wrongs, and having it will mean I’ll never be restrained again. I place it back in the case, knowing it’ll be back in my grip shortly.
Am I insane? I have no clue, but something definitely isn’trightin this brain of mine. There are three things I cannot handle. Small spaces, being confined, and the dark. If I were a betting man, I’d wager that this fuckface is responsible for the confinement. For that, he’s going to pay the price.
I lift off him, grab a hand, and zip tie it to the metal bed, before doing the same with his other wrist. Once I start, it’s entirely possible this cheap bed will break, because he’s going to try to get free. I move to the floor, and attach his ankles to the railings at the foot of the bed.
“I’m really glad you have beds like this, Doc. It makes things so much easier. I should send a thank you note to the administration.”
“Insane,” he mutters, and I turn to him.
“Excuse me?”
He pulls on the ties, but luckily stays where he is.
“You’re insane.”
I shrug my shoulders with a laugh.
“Well, wearein an insane asylum.”
