Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
I subdue her almost immediately. I don’t appreciate her being here, and I don’t think she’ll have much to say once I’m done with her anyway. She’s already seen what I’m capable of, and what I plan on doing to her will make her too afraid to talk anyway.
I already know how to keep her from screaming, which is always the first task of any burden I undertake. But with Priscilla, it will be much more meaningful.
Her body is not something I care to preserve as I drag her, unconscious, through my home and toward my cellar. I’ve missed my freezing room, and it only pains me that she’s the first to be there in months. That room has only ever been used when I planned on keeping a treasure to place in my cabinet, but it would have to do for now.
While I have said that I don’t work in my home, or let blood be spilled in it, I don’t consider my underground freezer to be part of my home. It’s my room to fulfill secret desires that no one else would ever understand and, as such, I have learned to separate the two.
With a sigh, I open the cellar door and roll her body down the stairs. Maybe she’ll snap her neck on the way down and save herself some pain. Maybe she won’t. Either way, I plan on going through with what’s already dancing through my mind.
I pull the door closed behind me as I walk down the wooden steps. I tell myself for the hundredth time that I have to rip the stairs out and replace them with concrete, but I also must find the time to allot for that.
It’s definitely not today.
My project is already lying on the dusty cement floor moaning. I roll my eyes as I walk toward the freezer door and use my strength to pry it open. There’s a simpler way to do it, I’m sure, but I like to assert my standing as the man of the house in front of whomever is going in. No better way to do that than to show that I’m much stronger than they would most likely assume me to be.
“In you go,” I say as I walk over to her crumpled body and lift her up into my arms. I take my steps into the freezer and kick the door closed behind us.
I do hope the door opens when I attempt to leave. I’ve almost been stuck in here once, but that was because I wasn’t careful with how I closed the door; much like I just did now.
I’ll worry about that when I am done with her. Placing her on the cold, steel table, I put my hands on the edge of it and wait for her to come back to the current moment at hand.
I never begin unless they’re aware of what’s to come. They need to feel every ounce of pain to fully appreciate the art they become, and even though she’ll never be a favorite work of mine, she’ll be remembered.
They all are.
“Priscilla,” I say softly, “It’s time to wake up now.”
She groans again, her head rolling from right to left. I find myself wondering why they do that. What about pain makes us roll our heads on our necks? Is it a coping mechanism? Is it just something to do? Why does it annoy me so much?
“Priscilla,” I say in a sterner voice.
She begins to blink rapidly, trying desperately to focus her eyes. I don’t mind waiting, because as I’ve said, patience is a virtue.
Her eyes squint at the hanging light above her. I never turn it off, even when I’m done in this room. I like the illumination, and it helps sometimes when I have a headache, as strange as it may sound.
She rolls her head again before finally letting her eyes travel up my body until they reach my face.
“Are you awake now?” I ask gently.
She attempts to sit up and then tries to roll off the side of the table. She doesn’t realize that there’s nowhere to go. But they all do that.
It’s the basic human instinct—to survive.
And it’s my basic human instinct to kill that hope as quickly as possible. However, I will allow Priscilla a few moments to try to find her way out of the room.
I have to prepare myself after all.
“I’ve always hated your mouth,” I say as I turn my back to her. Somewhere in this old, wooden tool chest should be some twine. Ah! There it is !
“Your lips remind me of two slugs that have had salt poured onto them and are curling up and dying. Has anyone else ever told you that? How unpleasant your mouth is?” I ask as I continue to look in the tool chest for …
Got it.
“Mr. Burress! Just tell me what I have to do to get out of here in one piece. I promise I won’t go to the police, and I promise I won’t tell anyone anything,” she tries to bargain.
I chuckle.
They all have bargains.
“You’ll live through this if you decide to play along,” I reply as I turn around to face her. It takes me a moment to find her cowering in the far left corner and I shake my head.
“Please come back to the table,” I request softly. I find that using a kind tone usually helps; not always, but usually.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asks, holding her hands up.
I’ve never seen a larger display of cowardice from someone who makes a living on pain. It’s starting to frustrate me, but I can control it this time.
“I’m going to help you,” I reply simply, setting the twine, the shears, and some gauze on the table. “But you have to come back to me right now before I lose the moment of generosity I’m feeling.”
Priscilla gets to her feet. Her eyes are wild as she scans for an escape. I can’t fault her. I wouldn’t show fear in a moment like this, but she’s nothing like me. She’s a pretender to pain—a false prophet of unimaginable pleasure.
I’ll show her what it’s like to worship in a true moment of ecstasy.