Page 96 of Hold Me Down
“There isn’t a scenario where you let me live,” Saconne speaks up, curling his lip in his own revolting way. I hate the shivers it sends through my limbs. “Why would I give you what you want?” I bend down to shove my face near his another time.
“Because I can either make this quick, or I can make thisreallyhurt. There is a bare minimum of what I can do to you tonight, or I can make this last forever. You could be my new test dummy, help me see what methods work and what don’t. Hell, maybe I could recreate that mask you used on me—I could even modify it a little.”
His breath catches in his throat.
“Just think about it,” I continue. “All of the things I could do to you. All of the things my father could do to you. And if you think we’re bad, just wait until my wife is healthy enough to torture you. My queen is a vicious little thing, and she loves to bare her teeth—especially to those who have threatened us. You will pay, Saconne, but your cooperation will influence how badly you’ll suffer. If you don’t think I can sneak you back into the states, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“Oh,” my father chimes in just as he returns from the kitchen. “If we get him back, we could always hand him over to the Society once we’re done.”
Thatgets him.
He stiffens despite the blood dripping down his face, and I barely notice the tremor in his hands.
“It’s in the mattress,” he reveals. I can only smirk.
“Dad, have your fun while I go dig that out.” I stand straight up and take a step back. By the time I take a second, my dad’s already holding Saconne in his grip, and a devilish smile graces his lips.
I make it out of the room, and that’s when I hear the first, now muffled, scream. The moment it hits my ear drums, it’s as if something inside me calms. I sigh, and a weight I forgot I was holding lifts. The ghosts that followed me from that place are slowly forgiving me, and I haven’t done any real damage yet. It makes me wonder how I’ll feel when I finally forgive myself.
This place is trashed and was clearly neglected long before Saconne occupied it. Honestly, it makes me feel a little better. At least he hasn’t been sitting in luxury and enjoying life. I hope the fear has tortured him as much as it did me. I wonder if the voices have tried to destroy him in his sleep. If they haven’t, I’m sure the paranoia has, and I’d love nothing more than to make his fears a reality.
The bedroom is dark, dusty, and simple. The mattress is bare, only topped with a thin blanket, and on the bottom corner is a tiny slit that’s poorly sewn back together. It doesn’t take much effort to slice it open and force my hand inside, instantly feeling the cold phone on my fingertips. When I pull it out, I’m pleased to see the exact model that DeLuca had. Finally, this work feels simple again, and there’s a quaintness to it that I haven’t experienced in a long time.
It’s almost too easy.
I slip it into my pocket and make my way back, nodding rhythmically to the sounds of Saconne’s screams as they get louder. The air in the room is easier to breathe now that it’s coated in his pain. My father has his back to me, and he’s bent over, blocking most of my view, but I can still see Saconne’s face. He’s stuffed something in his mouth, and his screaming almost sounds like heaving or retching.
“What is that?” I tilt my head and lean over my father to look, but then back away when a putrid smell hits my nose. The scent streamlines right to my stomach, churning it violently.
“It’s a wad of paper towels.” My father says without looking up from whatever he’s doing to Saconne’s arm.
“Then why the fuck does it smell like that?” I hold my hand to my nose, praying to God that I can make it go away. My father just shrugs, as if the smell doesn’t bother him at all.
Crazy old man.
“Not sure. He must’ve used it to collect meat grease or something a few days ago.”
I almost fucking gag.
“Oh, that’s horrid.”
“He deserves it.” My father finally stands and unveils the handy work that he’s somehow accomplished in the five minutes I stepped away. Saconne’s arms and legs are taped to the chair, and the space between his wrist and elbow is covered in blood. The gash is deep and rigid enough that I almost assume my father ripped him open with his bare hands. It isn’t until I dare to step closer again that I see the splinters poking out of the wound.
“What the hell did you use?” I turn to my dad just as he holds up a wooden stick that’s clearly broken on one end, and a chunk of skin hangs from the spikey edge.
“I tried to beat him with it, but it broke. So, I improvised.”
“Jesus Christ, Dad.” I yank my knife back out. “You have a knife.”
“This hurt worse.” I roll my eyes at him and move to start my turn, when a glint of dull light catches my stare. On the far wall is a small, rickety table that has an assortment of older, dusty, almost porcelain set of nick-nacks. There are a couple of small angel statues, but most of it is fruit. I lop my head to the side,wondering which one was smooth enough to catch the light. “What is it, Damien?” my father asks.
“Do those look a little out of place to you?” I slam my knife down on Saconne’s leg, lodging it in his thigh for safe keeping, and step over to the table. A yelp snaps my attention back, but it’s quickly silenced when my father shoves the shred of skin into Saconne’s mouth and puts the wad of paper towel back to stop him up.
“I suppose they are like sore thumbs,” my father replies casually, like he didn’t just force a man to swallow a piece of his own flesh.
I pick up the closest object and hold it in my hand. This lime is made of thick glass, but it’s cloudy, so I can’t see through it. Were these here before Saconne moved in? Is this some type of heirloom? I turn my head to ask him, but he snaps his head in the other direction before I can make eye contact, and that tells me all I need to know.
“Oh? Do these mean something to you?” I drop the lime on the floor, grinning when it shatters. “Whoops.”
