Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
I don’t like to crouch for long periods of time, but I can’t help watching her. She’s been out for quite some time now, and hopefully she’ll be regaining consciousness soon.
It’s a beautiful thing to see. She’s in a fetal position, still in her blue scrubs, and her mouth is slightly open. Her breathing is somewhat ragged, and I reach through the small square holes in the cage, gripping the inside of it tightly, wondering how much pleasure I can derive from her.
How long will she last ?
“Abigail,” I say softly. “It’s time to wake up now.”
She moans slightly at the sound of her name and her legs give a lazy kick, but her eyes are still closed.
“Abigail,” I repeat a little louder this time. “It’s time to play.”
She gasps and pushes herself up to a seated position so quickly that I almost lose my footing. It takes a lot to startle me, but that seems to have done the trick.
“Where am I?” she asks frantically.
Her eyes, the way her body is reacting, it reminds me of how one feels when they have a dream that they’re falling.
Quick, sudden, terrifying; a lot like what I would imagine the last time felt like for me. Of course, I haven’t slept well in years, so I can’t really recall.
I get to my feet and look down at her. There are tears in her eyes now, but I assume it’s due to her body jerking her awake rather than out of fear.
“I’ll give you a moment,” I say as I walk out of the living room.
I can only hope she doesn’t scream. I can’t take it when they scream; it hurts my head, but you know that already.
I walk into my room and lie down on the floor in front of my bed. There’s a large wooden trunk underneath it that I was saving for a special occasion— the special occasion—but I want to make sure I get this right. My hand grips firmly around the wrought iron handle, and I drag it out from beneath the bed.
I clear my throat as I lean down and grab both handles, then stand, and carry it back to where Abigail is patiently waiting for me. There’s a loud clanging sound. Almost as if something is slamming against metal, and when I enter the room I find the source of the noise.
It’s Abigail, furiously punching at the walls of the cage trying to get it to buckle under her frantic movements, to no avail.
“It’s no use, really. I’ve had that specially made, and while I had hoped to use it for another, I’ve decided that I need to practice. So, I must say that I appreciate that you came over so willingly. Whether you live or die is up to you; I usually take into consideration what others want from me and you’ll be no different. At least, not in that aspect,” I say as I set the trunk down on the carpet.
“Let me out of here!” she screams at me.
I roll my eyes and undo the latch that sits right of the middle. I hate that it’s not directly where it should be, but I won’t let that consume me right now.
“I’m going to have to ask you not to raise your voice, Abigail. It gives me a terrible headache if I have to endure the sound for too long, and I tend to lose a grip on what I’m doing. I wouldn’t want to hurt you in the wrong ways,” I say quietly as I pull back the long, black cloth that sits neatly on top of the treasures inside.
A soft sigh escapes from somewhere within me. Something reminiscent of a child’s innocent joy at being gifted a trove of wondrous toys.
There are a number of things in here that I can’t mention just yet but know that I’m elated at the delicacy of items before me.
The first thing I remove is an iron collar. It’s held in place in the back with a bolt, and I know it’s meant for me by the sheer size of it.
Abigail let’s out another scream, and I wince slightly. I stand back to my full height and pull my shirt off, giving her a deadly glare, before I secure the collar around my neck. It’s strong, thick, and weighted; the coolness of the metal makes the hair on my arms stand up.
She watches as I reach back and push the bolt into place, eyes widening with frightened madness, and I can feel myself losing the will to stay a man. To stay the one thing that will separate me from a mindless killer, and I embrace it.
It’s like a free-fall into the unknown, and each time is a precious gift because I never know if I’ll return.
I roll my head as much as the collar will allow, and then glance back down into the box. I see what I want to play with, what I know I’ll never use on her , and crouch down to retrieve it.
It, too, is heavy, made of wrought iron, and worth every penny I spent on this box. It cost me a great sum of money, but the pleasure I’ll derive from it will reimburse me in the accolades I’ll achieve with its contents.
“I just need one more thing,” I say to her in a soft, shallow voice not quite my own.
I walk toward the door that leads to my underground freezer. I move quickly because I don’t want her to lose herself in the hysteria that has descended upon her. I want her to be able to enjoy what I do to her, even if her pleasure is built from pain.
I pull the door open to the freezing room and quickly glance around, until my eyes fall onto what it is that I need. It’s still bloody, but I don’t care.
It’ll get bloodier still, and then I’ll dispose of it when the time comes. Or maybe I’ll keep it as a souvenir and lay it on the bottom shelf of my precious cabinet.
Only time will tell.
I walk out of the freezing room and run up the stairs back to my home. I may have closed the door, but I’m not sure. It doesn’t matter really, because the low temperatures will be there when I need them to be.
Now, with my bloodied shears in one hand and a heavy fireplace poker in the other, I’m ready to begin.