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Infernis – Chapter Sixty

July 26, 2013

…and this bird you cannot change.

It was a large house judging by the size of the living room. A “McMansion”, as they had been known before the housing crash. Brian figured it did not belong to Kitten.

He had also learned that she went by another name, or at least one other name. She’d been a bit close to him when she was talking with some friend on the phone and he’d heard her called Cynthia.

The fact that she had elaborately lied to her friend on the other end of the cell as to where she was and what she’d been up to pointed to the fact that she Cynthia was likely not her real name either. She had told Monica, her friend from work, that she was enjoying a vacation in south Florida, had been sailing and scuba diving. She said she felt invigorated, and would be ready to hit work hard when she got back.

For Brian, there was a delicate balancing act. He dared not attract attention to himself lest she decide he was ready for another of their sessions. On the other hand, he was desperately trying to find out something, anything about this psycho that he could use to get away from her.

What did she want. At moments like this, when he wasn’t being tortured, he knew the answer. She had it. She wanted to torture him for the pure pleasure of it. Maybe just because it made her feel something. She was invigorated. He tried convincing himself that he wasn’t here, that she was on vacation many miles away, but that only made time seem to move faster and he knew what was coming once the clock said it was one in the afternoon.

She had the living room, at least Brian’s quarter of it, plasticized. He figured once she was done with him, she’d wrap his corpse in it and dispose of it in one of the Great Lakes.

H-O-M-E-S. Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Erie, Superior.

It was 12:52. He was sweating profusely. An ad came on for a movie on later this evening. Saving Private Ryan.

For some reason that struck him as funny. He had been for that last three days forced to watch TV with a sociopath who loved Hollywood gossip shows. Not that there had been a noticeable difference in the way he was treated, not really, but when she was angry because some pop star whose boyfriend had died in the big quake had taken up with someone else, Kitten, had been angry and started that session with unusual relish. Somehow it was Brian’s fault that things were not the way Cynthia–or whatever the f*** her name really was–wanted them.

He started imagining an Army patrol invading the house and saving him. Then he recalled the subway in New York. It struck him as hysterical.

Bulls***ters telling bulls*** stories. F***ing whores who don’t believe a word they say.

His chosen profession had come to seem so frivolous now. So fake. So pointless. A distraction. Pretty lies told to cattle so they wouldn’t notice or ask questions about what happened to the other cows.

If Tom Hanks and company were on their way, they were late. Maybe too late.

But that might have been the torture talking.

But then there was that other thing. That other question.

Who was he?

Time seemed to slip again and he started shaking involuntarily when he heard the TV click off.

He knew what was to come. Questions. Electrical shock to the balls. Stifled screams. Answers. Repeat for eternity. End with her rubbing him until he was hard with the catheter still inserted. Tears until he passed out. Wake to her getting out of the shower and doing it all over again.

He hoped for a nuclear war. He wished for a black hole to swallow the world. He prayed for death.

God, the Universe, Fate…If they gave a reply, it was a psychopath walking over and connecting up a car battery.

Whatever happened to the American dream?

You’re looking at it.

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From → Infernis, Novels

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