Chapter 18--A selection from my latest writing project (which has no title as of yet)

You said I could write about anything I wanted. Well, I'm co-authoring a short story with a friend. It was my turn to write a chapter, and we'd already decided what had to happen...so this is what I came up with. Any suggestions? Criticism? Is the dialog reasonable? I'd love comments, as this type of situation isn't my usual cup of tea! But be nice as you do it, please. :-)

“Hello Craig,” I purred. It was in the middle of the night, and I’d just slapped him awake. Everyone else was asleep, so I had plenty of time to work with him. He awoke with a start, staring at me as I fingered the ropes that tied him to a plain kitchen chair.

“Who am I?” My laugh had a menacing edge to it. I knew I was scary in my black, wearing the ski-mask over my features. “I’m someone who was smart enough to stay anonymous until now. And unlike my sweet little friends,” I said, “I’m not nice.” I hit him, hard enough to make his ears ring. "I'm the General." I watched the instant recognition and wariness appear in his eyes. He'd heard of me.

“This is how it works,” I said flatly. “You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll try to get the rebellion to be lenient. At the very worst, your death will be short and painless. Otherwise I guarantee severe trauma, blood loss, scarring, extreme pain, and no death until you tell me what I want to know. Is that understood?” He glared at me, and I hit him again.

“You have two minutes to make a decision,” I told him, and left the room to gather what I’d need. I came back in with a little bottle, some rope, and a long solid plank of wood.

“Will you cooperate?” I asked. He just smirked at me and I smiled.

“Good,” I said. “I’d hoped that’s what you would do.” I set down everything and pressed my palms tightly against his throat. He was unconscious in a moment from lack of blood to the brain. Knowing that I didn’t have much time, I released him from the chair he was in and laid him down on the board, tying him there firmly. Carefully slipping a small pill under his tongue (which quickly dissolved), I put a bright lamp shining directly down into his eyes, and then waited until he was awake again.

“Last chance,” I said sweetly. “No? Well, alright then.” I blindfolded him with a strip of black fabric, then pressed a kiss against his lips. I elevated his feet, then left him while I grabbed a full bucket of water, a cup, and a towel. My camera was filming everything.

I reentered the garage silently to see him flexing his wrists, trying futilely to get loose. I set the bucket down, and he instinctively turned blindfolded eyes towards the sound. Carefully I set the towel over Craig’s face, holding it tight against his skin with my knee and one hand. With the other I took a full cup of water and poured it slowly over his covered face. After a few seconds he began to thrash violently, screaming and pulling on his wrists so hard that they began to bleed. I didn’t release him for almost 10 seconds. He shuddered, coughing convulsively.

“It’s terrifying, isn’t it?” I said softly, my lips very close to his ear. I caressed his face with my soft hands. “It’s dark, and you have no control. The water is swirling around you, filling up and getting in your nose and lungs until you can’t breathe. This is what drowning is like.” He was shaking a little; I knew he was experiencing the first stage of shock.

“That was 10 seconds,” I said quietly. “Just 10 seconds, and I’ve torn apart your world. I have control here; you live or die at my whim. Can you imagine going through 30 seconds, or a minute? What if I just let the water keep coming? How long would it take you to drown?” I stepped away and looked at his wrists.

“Oh, this is unfortunate,” I said, pressing a finger to the raw and bleeding flesh of his wrists. “Funny, it usually takes two or three sessions for someone to panic enough to bleed like this. But I’ll do as much as it takes. Still, we can’t have you getting an infection…”

I went back into the house and got a bottle of rubbing alcohol, only to return and pour it liberally on his sores, ignoring his gasps and cries of pain. Then I took the wet towel and held it back over his face, pouring more water on it. He was fighting and struggling with all his might, but couldn’t do anything else but take it. I let him scream for 15 seconds, then stopped a second time. He was weeping pathetically, bleeding from his cuts. I wasn’t finished.

I removed his blindfold and he squinted up at the bright lights that I’d put in his face, trying to see past the glare and look at me, hiding in the shadows. I moved fluidly, stepping up to him and lifting the towel again.

“Please,” he begged. “Please no no no no…” I pressed it tightly against his face, and poured more water, letting him scream.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked David, bursting in. I held the towel firmly.

“I gave him a choice,” I said, shouting over the shrieks of my victim. “He chose pain.”

“Let him up!” said David, jerking me away and tearing the towel off. Craig lay twitching, gasping and coughing as he shivered with cold and wet. “He’s going into shock!”

“True,” I said. “But he’s only in the first stage. Once it progresses a little further I’ll treat it and move on to something else.”

“You’re gonna kill him!” he shouted.

“I won’t kill him,” I scoffed. “Besides, I know what I’m doing. He won’t die until I get tired of waiting for him to answer my questions.” I ignored my trembling prisoner.

“Back off,” warned David. “He looks like he’s had enough.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” I said.

“Woke me up?” said the boy, almost furious. “The whole gang is awake now! Jonathan told us what you were doing. He’s with Emily now; she was terrified when she heard the screaming. He’ll be here in a minute.”

“Speak of the devil,” I murmured as Jonathan hurried into the garage. He stopped when he saw Craig on the floor, tied up and shaking, blood trickling from the open wounds on his wrists.

“Please, please,” said Craig, “don’t let her do that anymore. Please, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just don’t let her do that.” I led everyone out of his hearing.

“He’s almost ready to talk,” I said sweetly. “He’ll still lie; he’s not quite to the point of desperation yet. I’ve only been at it for a few minutes; I probably need at least another fifteen to twenty, but after that he’ll tell you anything you ask. Can I keep going?”

“This is good,” replied Jonathan, beginning to laugh.

“You’re going to let her?!” asked David angrily.

“Why not?” replied Jonathan amusedly. “She’s done everything that she promised she would. He’s even relatively undamaged.”

“Not for long,” I muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I can’t watch this,” said David. “I’ll go stay with the girls.”

“Will you continue?” asked Jonathan once we were alone. Peeking into the garage, we could see that Craig was white-faced, terrified. His lips were slowly turning blue.

“Yes,” I said, “but I’m not going to waterboard him for a while. He’s reached stage 2 shock, and I need to change methods until his body recovers. Then we can do it at least a few more times.”

“Sounds fine,” said Jonathan, and helped me release a shaking Craig and retie him his chair. Slowly, carefully, I took a rope and made a hangman’s noose, the captive watching every move I made. I put it around his neck and tightened it until it pressed into his flesh on every side. I bound his feet together and tied the other end of my noose around them, so that his legs were bent up underneath him to take the rope’s tension off of his neck. Jonathan tried to say something, but I shook my head. He understood and was silent.

“You know,” I said conversationally to Craig, patting his cheek. “You’re quite a pretty boy. It’s a shame to make you scar, but you made that decision, didn’t you.” I tsked loudly.

“Jonathan,” I asked. “I have something I have to get from the kitchen. Grab this rope” I indicated the one connecting his feet and neck “and hold it up until I get back. I don’t want him strangling before I’m ready.” With that parting remark, I went back to the kitchen and grabbed a sharp paring knife. As I came back I could hear Craig pleading with Jonathan.

“My parents didn’t get any mercy,” snarled Jonathan, jerking the rope and cause the boy to gag, his feet uncomfortably flexed. “Neither did Andrea. You deserve this.”

“Thanks for your help, Jonathan,” I said. “You can let go now.” The boy did as instructed, cause Craig to choke for a moment as his feet pulled painfully on the rope.

“You see Craig, I really want to know everything about Privvain.” I spoke pleasantly, arranging the lamp to shine directly in his face again. “All you have to do is talk to me. Answer every little question I give you, and you’ll live. The pain that I’m about to put you through will stop, and you can sleep and eat again.”

“First question,” said Jonathan when I nodded to him. “What was your role in Privvain?” Craig remained silent. I took the tip of the knife and drew it slowly down his face, not pressing hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough that he knew the danger he was in.

“Let’s try this again,” said Jonathan. “What was your role in Privvain?” Craig still said nothing. Moving my hand, I pressed a little harder, and a thin scratch appeared on his chest, little beads of blood welling up as he watched. I shoved the blade deeper and he flinched, choking himself as he allowed his feet to drop to the floor. Craig immediately lifted them up again, his legs trembling a little. I plunged my knife into his arm and dragged it along, leaving a deep bloody furrow. He was strangling and shaking, uttering cries of pain. I moved to stab him again, and he broke.

“No please!” he babbled. “I was recruitment. I did public relations, gave seminars, and that sort of thing. I watched over Andrea for a few weeks while Privvain tried to hide her from you. I hand out flyers and prepare people for the induction. I don’t know exactly what happens in the induction, but I never see them again.” He gasped for breath. “Please.”

“Very good,” I said, and loosened the rope around his ankles so he could rest his feet on the floor almost comfortably. “Jonathan?”

“How big is Privvain?” said the rebellion’s leader smoothly.

“It’s not very large anymore,” said Craig quickly as I caressed his cheek, the bloody knife only a few inches from his eyes. “It used to be more than two thousand, but by the fall of the old resistance it had been reduced to about 80 people.”

“Are most of these members of the old nobility?” asked Jonathan, moving to begin bandaging Craig’s bleeding arm. I grinned inwardly. Jonathan understood exactly what I was doing.

“No, only twelve,” replied Craig, watching me as I moved my knife gently down his uninjured arm without cutting his skin, leaving little swirly patterns drawn in his own blood. “There used to be more of them, but during the resistance days, there were purges.”

For the next fifteen minutes Craig gave out locations and names of Privvain members. He was incredibly talkative; I knew that the drug I’d given had begun its first effect. He explained recruitment techniques and other things that helped Privvain locate people with the mutated gene. When we’d exhausted that topic, Jonathan moved on.

“Is Andrea really dead?” he questioned.

“She’s gone,” said the captive guiltily. “Krissian has her body though.”

“And who is Krissian?” asked Jonathan casually. Craig’s eyes widened and he pressed his lips together tightly, shaking his head.

“Craig doesn’t want to tell us, Jonathan,” I said mockingly. “Isn’t that unfortunate!”

“Look, tell me what I want to know,” said Jonathan urgently. “Everybody voted on what to do with you, and the General gets to do whatever she wants with you if you don’t talk. Is that what you want?” The captive shuddered but remained silent. Jonathan stepped back.

“He’s yours,” he said apologetically. I grinned and gripped Craig’s neck again until he passed out. Together Jonathan and I tied him back down for more waterboarding. I carefully put another small pill under his tongue and watched it dissolve. Then I woke him up, the knife in my hands carving neat little lines down his cheeks. He stared at me, frightened, as I crouched three inches from his eyes.

“You picked the wrong person to defy, Craig,” I told him, licking the blood from the blade, “because I really love pain—your pain—and I really love causing it.” His blood was salty on my tongue, making me slightly nauseous, but from his expression I knew that the vicious action had had the proper effect.

“Shall we begin?” I said. “Let’s start with ten seconds, alright?” I bared my teeth as I put the towel over his head. He panicked but tried to stay calm, though he was almost hyperventilating. I began to pour the water slowly, but instead of stopping at ten seconds, I waited for twenty. He screamed, but I held it.

“There,” I lied. “Ten seconds wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jonathan knew what I’d done, but wisely said nothing. His eyes held appreciation.

“Let’s try twenty now,” I said cheerfully, clapping my hands together. I glanced at the rebellion’s leader, and he understood my signal.

“Of course,” he drawled. “If you told me what I wanted to know, I’d try to make her stop.”

“I’d stop if you asked me to,” I said as if affronted. “I share your room and I’d hate to have to sleep on the couch.” Craig watched us, coughing and shaking. He was bloody and terrified. “Anyway, let’s get started.” I slowly put the towel over his face and began to allow water trickle into the wet cloth. This time I kept pouring water, kept pouring and pouring until he was screaming.

“Please! I’ll tell you,” he gasped out, convulsing as his flesh tore farther. “I’ll tell!” I jerked the cloth away quickly.

“Talk!” I ordered. He coughed, trying to expel nonexistent water from his lungs.

“His name is Lord Michelangelo Leonard Krissian,” he wheezed. “He’s the head of Privvain, and he initiated Andrea. He was the one who paid for President Anderson’s campaign. He put the hit out on you.”

“If you knew,” asked Jonathan, “that you could ascend by killing one of us, why didn’t you ever try?” His voice was light, belying the anger I could see in the way he clenched his fists.

“I can’t!” replied Craig. “I’m no killer. I couldn’t kill Elizabeth, and I certainly couldn’t kill one of you. Lure you into a trap, maybe,” he admitted, his voice almost hysterical now, “but never kill you.”

“More!” I ordered, pretending to cover his face again. He freaked out, shrieking that he knew more, and Jonathan pulled me away.

“Let him talk,” he said roughly, winking when Craig couldn’t see.

“Thank you,” he said. “Krissian became an elder because of the original Resistance. He was a mole,” The captive explained. “He corrupted about half of the members, and once he’d destroyed the resistance, he had all of his puppets killed. Because of him, your parents were captured and executed.”

“So what else?” asked Jonathan, still holding my arm.

“He has a London Headquarters, but I don’t know if he has one in America.”

“How do we find him?” I asked dangerously.

“You don’t. He finds you,” came the reply.

“That’s not good enough,” I warned.

“I don’t know anything else,” said Craig desperately. “I don’t know more.” His eyes were glazed and his speech was beginning to be slurred.

“Tell me!” I screamed, getting into his face. I pressed my hands to his throat, feeling the blood pulse below my hands. He cringed.

“I don’t know anything else!” he whimpered. I signaled Johnathan to leave the garage for a moment.

“He’s telling the truth,” I said once we were alone. “His pulse was fast, but didn't jump. Anything else you want to know?”