The Broken Man (Book 1)

  

The Broken Man

                By Ray Bush   

As I watched the live feed, trying to remember how I had come across this site, a skinny man lay nearly naked on the floor. The feed was in black and white making it hard to tell the color of his greasy hair, my guess was medium brown. The walls were light color painted bricks. I didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know the dark splatters had to be blood. The floor was clearly cement with a floor drain in the center, almost covered by the nudish body. Against the wall furthest from the camera was a stainless steel table. The view was high and judging by the angle, mounted in the corner of the room. There was not a door nor a window in the small room.

The man lay near the middle of the room next to the floor drain, his stomach rose and fell weakly. His tighty whiteys were stained with a variety of different substances. For a minute I thought I was, watching a man slowly take his last breathes making my heart sink. I watched his stomach rise waited, waited, waited then it fell slowly. I waited and waited and waited, and then it rose. Any second I waited for his breathing to cease. Surprising me, the man began to stir. I felt a sense of relief. The man used his skinny, scabbed and bruised arms to push himself into a sitting position. His head wobbled like someone that had far too many drinks. He weakly used his legs to slide himself next to the table. The man used his skinny arms to push himself up onto his shaky legs. Now the man turned slowly, his movements suggested that he was either very drunk or heavily drugged. He stumbled to the table on his baby deer legs, wobbling the whole short distance to the table. He hit it harder than he probably meant to. The metal feet of the table slid slightly on the cement floor making it bang against the wall, the sound made me jump. Up to this point, I had thought the feed to be silent. His back was marked with bruises from top to bottom and side-to-side. The marks looked to be from some kind of whip, or maybe a belt. His spine stuck out like the spine of a sick dog. 

His legs gave out and he fell hard to the floor, his head made a dull thud as it hit the floor. He whimpered softly in pain. After a moment, he braced himself and pushed himself to his feet. He stood like a punch-drunk fighter that has taken a beating for about eight rounds. Another sound startled me in my chair, it was rusty hinges on a heavy door, the screech hurt my ears slightly. The man turned towards the sound, his face became a mask of pure terror. “Please no,” he said sounding like a man who had been broken long ago. “I can’t take it again,” he reiterated through soft sobs. He lay his head on the metal table speaking inaudibly through soft sobs.

It was, without question, the saddest thing that I have ever seen. This man had been tortured and broken for weeks probably at least a month. “I love it when you cry,” a deep, calm voice said from somewhere off camera. “You know the drill,” he continued coldly, “move the table to the center of the room.” He spoke with authority to the broken man. 

“Please just kill me,” the broken man begged as he cried, “FUCKIN  KILL ME!” He was clearly finished with whatever had been happening to him over the past month. My heart broke a little. 

“All in good time,” the unseen man sounded more comforting this time, but there was an undertone of pleasure. “Table now,” he commanded.

“No” said the broken man with a slight hint of strength. Maybe not as broken as I previously thought, “I am not doing this again. I am not doing it.” 

“Oh really,” said the unseen man, you could hear the smile in his voice. “We both know that one way or another that I always get my way. Now move the damn table.” 

“Fuck you,” The broken man said with even more strength than before. He quickly made a move that appeared to be an attempted attack on the unseen man. His mind thought he could do it but his legs did not share his strength. He fell awkwardly legs bending uncomfortably, and his head hit the floor hard again. “Fuck you,” the broken man said again, all the strength had disappeared as he realized there is nothing he could do. He began to sob again.

I heard another softer screech as a smaller, stainless steel table entered the frame. Judging by the items on the table, I knew the man was in for some serious pain. There was a sawzall, a drill, a hammer, a screwdriver, an assortment of dental tools, and a large hunting knife. For the twentieth time my heart sank. As the tabled further entered the room, a hooded man followed pushing it. 

“You are so pathetic,” the hooded man grumbled agitated at the man sobbing on the floor, “show some balls and get your weak ass up.” The hooded man showed zero compassion for his victim. The hooded man wheeled his table to the right of the camera. 

“I said get up,” The broken man did not move, he lay in a pool of misery and terror. “Ok then,” the hooded man said with a touch of warning in his voice. When the broken man remained, still the man shrugged in his dark cloak. He moved in a flash and field goal style kicked the broken man in his side. All the air rushed out of the man body in a loud whoosh.

“I am not helping you torture me anymore,” the man said slowly while gasping for air. 

“Oh yeah,” said the hooded man, and landed another hard kick into the broken man’s ribs. “Have it your way,” he said as he turned towards the camera. His face obscured by his hood. “Gentlemen,” he raised his voice clearly talking to someone outside the room, “a little help please.” 

Two men in dark suits entered the screen. The appearance was very similar, they both were average height, average build, and dark hair. They did not look at the man calling the shots, the hooded man was clearly in charge of everyone in this situation. The new men were all business, one went to the table, and the other went to the man on the floor. Servant A easily pulled the man to his feet while servant B brought the table to the center of the room. Servant A, basically through the man on the table with little effort. They stood on each side of the table strapping the man down by his arms and legs. The show was about to begin, yet I could not figure out why I was still watching.  

“Please no,” he begged as he pulled weakly against the straps, “please just kill me.” 

The two suited men left the room without a word, followed by the thud of a heavy door closing. The hooded man wheeled his table opposite the camera so that he faced it. He lowered his hood and for the first time I saw his face, only it was not his face. He wore a seventies style hockey goalie mask. The mask had been painted with an eerie yellow skull, giving the hooded man an ominous look. 

The capturer reached out and touched that captured man’s face softly. “This will be the last time,” he told the broken man in a soft, almost sympathizing tone. “My viewers are eager to get to my next subject. I will give you credit, you have been one of the most liked subjects on my channel, so hats off to you.” He sounded genuinely proud of the man. From his sleeve, he pulled out a syringe, like some kind of horrifying magician. He inserted the needle into the, already weak, man’s neck. Somehow, his body went limper than it had been. 

The man stood next to his table of torture tools facing the camera. Both tables were about belly button height of the skull man. He looked into the camera with dark, empty eyes, “Welcome constant viewers.” 

“Constant viewers?” I thought how many sick bastards are watching this. Momentarily forgetting that I was one of the sick bastards.

  “Also welcome to any new comers who somehow found this channel,” I got goose bumps at the thought that he might be able to track me. “As most of you probably heard,” he continued, “this will be the last session with our old friend. His chest, stomach, and legs were covered in various torture marks in different stages of healing. I figured that I had been right that this man had been enduring this nightmare for at minimum a month.  “As most of you know I injected him with my special blend that limits his movements but not the pain that he will feel.” He held up the syringe for a moment then tossed it aside like a gum wrapper. 

“I have a list here of requests from my constant viewers,” He held up a sheet of paper. I could not believe what I was watching. People making requests, what is wrong with these people? Yet I continued to watch and make no effort to put the torture to an end. “I appreciate your viewership and donations, with all of your help we can become the most watched channel on the deep web.” He set the paper down and picked up the large channel lock pliers. “Without further delay, let’s start the show.” I felt my mind become hungry with anticipation of what was coming. 

“Please just kill me,” the broken man begged, “I can’t do this again. Please just end it.” This made me sad, but not quite as sad as it had before. 

“I know you think that you can’t,” the masked man said, “but you are stronger than you think. He again sounded sympathetic. “And don’t forget, he said sounding more sinister, “You don’t have a fucking choice.” For the first time I thought I heard a second voice. Mostly the same but it had a slight demonic tone, almost undiscernible. 

The man was strapped at the wrists keeping them at his sides and at the ankles. I wondered why the straps were necessary if that man was unable to move. Who am I to tell someone how to do his job? The skull man clamped the channel locks on to the man’s left thumb and squeezed tight. He squeezed the pliers harder until the pliers gave clearly breaking the bones. The man cried out in pain. He moved on to the pointer finger and repeated the process, this time more slow and deliberate. He seemed to be enjoying the broken man’s grunts of pain. The second finger broke and the man let out another painful cry came from the man on the table. To my surprise, I was starting to enjoy the grunts and cries. What was wrong with me? 

“God damn you,” the broken man said through gritted teeth, “I hope you burn in hell you son of a bitch.” 

“Wrong,” the skull man said as he moved quickly to the middle finger then snapping it, “God damned you.” He moved to the ring finger and snapped it quickly. He seemed to be growing bored with the process, as was I. “I am not going to hell. I am creating my own hell right here on earth.”  Then snapped the pinky of the left hand. I heard a deep chuckle that somehow sounded like it had come from the mask. It was somehow more sinister than the laugh behind the mask. He moved quietly to the broken man’s left side and moved down to the left foot. 

With no hesitation, he clasped the pinky toe then twisted hard and snapped the toe. This time the broken man’s scream was softer, I think he was giving up. 

“Fuck you,” the man said showing more heart than I thought he had left. Somehow, this man kept pulling strength from, what seemed, like a bottomless well.  

The skull man laughed softly, now I was sure that the laughs had been different. “If you had offered that before then maybe we would not be in this position. He voice was covered in sarcasm there is nothing this poor man could have done to stop this. “You know I don’t mean that,” the skull man chuckled. “As a matter of fact I may pay a visit to your wife after I finish with you.”

Somehow, the pain left the broken man’s eyes it replacing it with pure anger. ”Stay the fuck away from her.”

The skull man responded by clamping the channel locks on the big toe of the right and twisted hard. The move was followed by a loud pop obviously breaking the toe. “Well look at whose balls decided to drop.” There was another of the deeper more menacing chuckles. I looked close at the skull, I could see the man’s eyes but I thought I could see another pair of eyes. Like an almost clear eyelid on the mask. I got goose bumps again, this time I thought them to be from excitement not from fear. He broke the toes quickly and with no enjoyment. I enjoyed it but I was anticipating what would happen next.

“Our next request is,” he looked down at the paper. It one smooth motion he grabbed the screwdriver, raised it, then brought it down hard into the skinny thigh. The man screamed loud with intense pain. “That was a good scream,” he said with humor clear in his voice. He was enjoying himself again. “You gave me goose bumps.” Me too, surprisingly.

The evil man picked up a role of gauze, tore off a small piece, and covered the wound casually. It would not do much but it might slow the blood a little. As much as I did not want to admit it to myself, also to my surprise, I enjoyed this type of torture. Part of me wanted to change the channel, but it was a much smaller part than I thought it would be. The skull man brought the screwdriver down through the man’s forearm, the tip of the screwdriver clanged hard into the table. He repeated the lazy placing of the gauze. This was truly demented and apparently, I was one of the demented. 

“Where did the tough guy go?” The skull man asked in a cheery voice. “I was really enjoying his company.” The broken man grumbled and sobbed, in more pain than the body should endure. “There is the little girl that I love so much. The more pain he inflicted the happier he became. I was still having trouble believing that I felt the same. “You know I love it when you cry.” The skull man wiped the screwdriver on the man’s chest leaving blood streaks. He then placed the screwdriver gently in its place on the table.

“My next request is one of my all-time favorites,” he said. The joy was clear in his voice.” I actually went out on bought the tool when I saw this request.” He grabbed a small drill that looked like the one used for fixing rock chips in a windshield. He pushed the button bringing the motor to life with a whine. “It was requested that I start with his forehead.”

“God damn you,” the broken man said weakly. The previous strength he had shown had been beaten and stabbed out of him. 

“Now, now” the skull man said with the joy of a child watching his favorite cartoon, “we already had this conversation. Besides I am not going to start with your forehead.” The drill came to life and the man pushed into the middle knuckle of the middle finger. The broken man growled in pain through gritted teeth. His face was a grimace that twisted his mouth into a loud open mouth scream. 

The skull man lifted the drill and chuckled over the sound of the humming motor. It was the other’s laugh this time. “Do you her the pain in that scream?” the man asked nobody, or maybe he was asking his subject. “It’s like a beautiful symphony; I am the composer of pain.” He drove the drill into the thumb of the left hand. Sing that beautiful music,” the skull man was truly enjoying himself. 

“Fuck you,” the broken man spat. His eyes full of tears from the intense pain he was enduring.

“Yes sir,” the skull man answered, “that is the song that I love to hear. You are truly one of my favorite subjects.

I listen closely to the whimpers and thought back to the screams “I’ll be damned,” I thought, “It does sound like music.” That thought was followed by another, “what is wrong with me?” 

“Let’s move on to the request,” The skull man said as he moved the drill to the broken man’s forehead. The man wailed in pain, the drill squealed to a stop in the man’s skull. “That had to hurt,” the man said and the mask seemed to laugh. “Of course I could not drill deep in the his skull, but that won’t stop us from trying again.” He pulled the drill out, pushed the button that brought the drill to life, and then drove it into the man’s forehead again. The drill whined to a stop again, yet it could barely be heard over the man’s screams. “Well that is not working very well, let’s try something else.” He shoved the drill into the broken man’s cheek the head tore through the skin quickly. The man screamed louder than ever, it was beautiful. 

He pulled the drill out and looked down at the man on the table. “Open your mouth,” he said sternly.

“I am not going to help you,” the broken man told his torturer, “Fuck you I am done. Do what you have to do.” He sounded somewhat strong again. I admired that. 

“Ok, have it your way. I will just go through your lip.” He did not waste a second he thrust the drill into the man’s upper lip. The sound the broken man made was a hideously beautiful. He could not scream well with the drill holding his lip to his teeth. The drill stopped probably stuck in his tooth. The man pulled the drill for his lip leaving the tissue in ruins. “Ouch,” he said merrily he seemed to be finding his groove now. His left hand flashed to the table he then grabbed the hammer and brought it down hard on his chest. His chest bone cracked audibly. The skull laughed again, I no longer doubted the second voice. He raised the hammer and this time brought it down on his hand, the sound was more beautiful than the low thump of a bass drum.

“You better fuckin kill me today,” he not only had strength in his eyes there was also fury. “If you don’t I will find a way out of here and I will kill you. That is a promise.” 

“Now that is a tempting challenge,” the man sounded truly intrigued. “But lucky for me your time has come to an end.” 

“You’re a piece of shit,” the broken man said through labored breathing. “Someone will get you one day,” then closed his eyes probably praying for death. 

“Well it’s not you and it’s not today,” It seemed his nerves could not be rattled. He brought the hammer down again, this time on his thigh. A thousand butterflies took flight in my stomach the feeling startled me. I took a deep look inside myself. If I enjoyed this, I cannot go back to a normal life. I felt as if once you watch something this and like it, then things will never be the same again. I felt a smile form on my lips it seemed that I liked it just fine. I felt my eyes expanded like beach balls in their sockets, I was truly enjoying this. I should be on the phone with the police, but my balloon eyes were glued to the screen. He walked back to the man’s feet. He slammed the hammer into the top of his right foot then, the left. It had to have shattered nearly all the bones in his foot. 

The skull man looked at the camera, “The hammer was not a request that was just an extra special treat for all of you. I believe it to be called improve.” He chuckled and I chuckled with him. “Let us get back to the drill.” 

He walked back to the broken man’s left side. He quickly forced the drill into the man’s cheek three times. This was getting good. The skull man went to the top of his head and forced the drill in until it stopped five times. This was obviously more improve. He walked back to the left side and without a word, he turned the broken man’s head towards the camera. Then drove the drill into his earlobe tearing through flesh and cartilage. The broken man could not scream as loud now that his chest had been caved in. I was already missing the curses and the loud screams, I found myself wishing he would find his strength again. He quickly pulled out the drill and the broken man whimpered softly. In a way, this was as beautiful as the screams. Judging by his breathing, he was clearly having issues with his lungs. 

I found myself excited for what would happen next. He looked down at the blood stained paper. He must have felt the same way, “What’s next?” he asked. Without warning, he picked up a hammer and brought it down hard on the broken man’s shoulder. The broken man groaned weakly. I found myself feeling a sense of disappointment knowing that this show would soon come to an end. I pushed the thought out of d my head and tried to enjoy the moment. I thought I would send in a request as soon as I could figure out how. 

He picked up the channel locks again, after I saw what they were capable of it made them look very menacing. I unknowingly leaned in closer to the screen. He shoved the pliers into the victims, who I was beginning to think of as a canvas for a great artist, mouth. The broken man seemed to try to fight but his efforts were futile. His lips stretched around the pliers, the skull man gripped the man’s tongue and pulled it from his mouth. He then picked up the drill and drove it into the man’s thick tongue. I loved the sound of the drill tearing through it. The spatters of blood that should have turned my stomach excited me. He used it like a crazed child with a crayon. The skull man let go of the ruin of a tongue. Then quickly grabbed a tooth and wrenched hard.

“We are almost there my friend,” the man said as he patted the broken man on the shoulder. I could hear the sympathy in his voice; he really did like the broken man. I could not wait to see the finale. He returned the pliers and the drill to the table. “I hope my viewers will accept the tongue drill as a replacement for the tooth pulling. I just thought it would be more fun. We have pulled teeth a thousand times, but we have not had this drill before. We have to hurry my friends he is fading fast. 

He looked back to the paper but did not pick it up this time instead he grabbed the sawzall with bloody hands. He pulled the trigger bringing the tool to life still not speaking. Yet his silence spoke volumes. He let go of the trigger, I could almost hear life leaving the broken man’s body with each breath. Surprisingly he was still able to sob weakly. I could feel my excitement pumping through my veins, like a strong river. The man pulled the trigger bringing the sawzall to life. He slowly brought it down to the man’s hand cutting four fingers off at once. Blood sprayed, I loved watching it. He then walked to his feet and brutally removed the broken man’s toes. They fell to the floor the blade dripped with blood. He put the sawzall back on the table then patted the broken man’s chest leaving a bloody hand print. 

“You did it,” the skull man said sounding truly proud like a painter looking at his masterpiece. He grabbed the man by the hair and turned his face towards the camera. His face was a picture of a tortured and broken man. He raised the man’s head then slammed violently into the metal table, the noise was beautiful. 

The man let out a grunt of pain he was almost dead now. The skull man picked up the knife and with a quick slice took the last step to end the man’s life. The death was not quick. Blood sprayed weaker with each beat of the man’s weakened heart. I watched with intensity waiting for the last beat of his heart. Each pump was weaker than the previous. His chest rose weakly then fell, after a moment it rose again then fell. First, it was six seconds between breaths, then eight then twelve. I watch eagerly anticipating the last breath. The skull man also watched his chest, with as much if not more excitement than I did. I counted seventeen seconds since his last breath, now twenty-four. Still nothing when I reached thirty-six. I was at fifty-four. I knew when I reached a minute and two seconds that I watched the man’s last breath. I was not sad, strangely I found myself wishing to be his next canvas.

“Gentlemen,” the skull man called, presumably, to the men from before. The door opened with the same loud screech as before, the suited men entered without a word. The each grabbed a table and wheeled them off camera and out the door. The skull man stood perfectly still until the door thudded closed. 

He looked into the camera and began to speak, “Thank you to my constant viewers and a special thank you to my donors. You watched this work of art from a blank canvas to the masterpiece that I created tonight. It was truly a fun experience for me and hope it was for you as well. We all saw him become one of our more interesting participants.” A picture took the place of the live feed. It was the broken man before he had been broken, He was handsome. “Let’s have a moment of silence for our friend. Jimmy Daniels came across the bottom of the screen. 

The picture disappeared and the feed returned to the man standing in the center of the room. He was now holding a tablet, “Let’s read some of your comments.”

@bgmacdady: I always enjoy your work, I have been watching you for a while now and he is one of the most interesting that I have seen. My personal favorite was when you drilled through the tongue. Hats off to the person who requested the drill, and of course to you for your creativity. #keepupthegoodwork.

“Thank you mac, I appreciate the appreciation of my work. I also enjoyed drilling through his tongue.

@aakillaron: very disappointed you did not pull the teeth, that is always a classic. Try to stick to the requests next time. 

“Well killaron if you knew anything about what I do here. Improvising is a big part of what makes this channel more successful. How about you volunteer to be our next participant.”

@fatheadredrum: Looking at his ruined ear after your work was truly a thing of beauty. I love the brutal yet precise way that you go about your work.

“Thank you fathead. You have been a big supporter for a long time you were possibly one of the first. Though we have yet to meet, I feel like you are a longtime friend. I enjoy bringing you high quality family entertainment.” 

@redheadassassin: I always love hearing the screams reverberating through your small room. I think it adds the right atmosphere for your content.

“Well redhead that was all part of the planned by me, as you probably could have guessed, for that exact purpose. I wish I could have you all here with me too, the effects are much better when you hear them directly. Speaking of that, we will be holding a virtual drawing for our long-term members. We will draw a name monthly to join me for four sessions. We will even allow you to complete one request.” 

He slid his finger and pushed on the screen of the tablet a couple times then continued, “This doesn’t happen very often.” The happiness was apparent in his voice, “but we have what I like to call a special treat today. I hope you enjoy this. Please welcome the woman that made all of this possible.” He paused for a moment the skull man was a true showman. “@brnd_smth7290 she is the wife of the last participant, and she was also the one who,” another slight pause. “We will call it volunteered our last participant. Say hi sweetheart.”

“Hi everyone,” her voice was pleasant and cheery, “I am happy to be here with you all today. In addition, I have to thank our host for putting on a hell of a show for the past month. Also I would like to thank our participant, he was a good husband but he was a better canvas for this amazing artist.” It wasn’t just me who looked at him that way.

“Well that is truly nice to hear babe,” he said, “I was worried that you would get cold feet. So you say he was a good husband, so what made you volunteer him for the show?’

“That is easy,” she answered in that same cheery tone, “He was boring, our lives were boring. He worked hard and was a great provider, he got along with my family, He never raised a hand to me or even yelled. He was just so god damn boring.” There was a brief pause, “and also I wanted to watch him die. I can’t forget that. And you sir made it better than I coud have wished for.”

The man chuckled then looked down at the screen it was his laugh this time. “Well there is no better reason than that. I didn’t know the guy but I wanted to watch him die and also enjoyed his performance.” He looked at the camera, “I am guessing all of you feel the same.” Unfortunately, I did feel the same. “He looked down to the tablet. “Is there anything else that you woud like the people to know?”

There was a brief pause while she, presumably thought, “Nothing that I can think of, just stay tuned for more wholesome family entertainment.” They laughed together.

“There you have it folks,” he said “I would like to thank our special guest, and of course I would like to thank you all for watching.” He was as charismatic as any late night tv host. “Thank you darling for making all of this possible.” She giggled like a schoolgirl talking to her crush. “Have dinner ready for me gorgeous. I will let you wash his blood off of me, we will eat, then I will have you for dessert.” She giggled again. Without another word he tapped the screen ending the call and dropped the tablet to the floor.

“I hope you all enjoyed that special treat,” he said now looking back at the camera. “If possible we are going to try to speak to all who volunteered someone at the conclusion of the show. It will be a short interview just like the one we just had. We will never show their face and will disguise their voice if requested. Now as always we will finish off the show featuring some of our new viewers.”

A picture came on screen of a dark haired man. Scrolling across the bottom was all the man’s personal information. His name, address, phone, number and user name. I waited in anticipation. This picture faded and another took its place. This one was a pretty young woman, with a wide smile. Picture after picture, of normal looking people who had a dark secret, scrolled by. Each time one faded, I waited anxiously for mine to take its place. My heart did a loop de loop when the fat man’s picture faded and my face took its place. However, it was not a picture of me it took a second to realize someone must be accessing my camera. I watched my eyes get big on the screen as I felt my lids open. It was me right now. I moved the mouse with my hand as I watched me move it on the screen. 

I continued to watch myself, mostly excited but a tiny bit nervous. I jumed when his voice came through my speakers, “Just remember” he said sounding very sinister “I have access to everything, I will know if you try to tell anyone.” 

For no reason, my computer shut down, I didn’t have to think hard to figure out what had happened. I sat for a moment looking at my reflection in the dark screen, I felt a little empty. The screen startled me when it came back to life. It was the same home screen I had looked at a million times before. The same picture of Spirit Lake from my background and all the usual icons in the foreground. I clicked my browser and looked up my search history. Nothing, not just the link I used to get to the deep web, all my history had been deleted. My heart overflowed with dread. Not because he knew my name and where I was. It was because I worried that I wouldn’t be able to find the show again. I was not one hundred percent sure, how I found it this time.

Winning that contest would be amazing, getting to be in the room with all the action. Being able to smell the fear and the blood. Having the chance to participate, or be a participant, would be the highlight of my life. I have always had some thoughts of death, but going out on his show would be a true achievement.

“Who the hell are you?’ I asked myself, “How did you go from being disgusted to wanting to feel that pain in a matter of twenty minutes?” The man had awoken my mind to possibilities that I never knew existed. He woke a primal part of me that I have never felt in my entire life. 

I stood up from my desk and walked over to my nightstand where I had a joint, a lighter, and a Xanax. I would need to clear my mind and think about the transformation inside of me. I needed to search my mind and figure out if this is truly who I am or if things can go back to normal. I didn’t think they could. I walked down the short hallway to the living room of my small, one bedroom apartment, to the sliding glass door.

  “Dammit,” I said as I grabbed the handle with my free hand then turned back towards my kitchen for a drink. Once on the balcony, I lived on the top floor of my apartment building, I sat in my flimsy plastic outdoor chair. The kind you get at a discount store, the kind that could crumble under a person at any time. I popped the Xanax then lit the joint. I sat my water bottle on the glass table next to my chair. 

“What happened to you?” I asked myself for what seemed like the thirtieth time in as many minutes. I coughed out a large cloud of smoke, if my neighbors knew that I smoked pot it didn’t seem to bother them. “That should have been the most disgusting thing that you had ever seen.” However, I had not been disgusted, well maybe at first, but then it had become beautiful. How was that possible in such a short amount of time? It must have been there inside of me all along.

I smoked the joint, faster than I thought I would, as I replayed the show in my mind. I found that I was able to remember even the smallest details. I must have really been paying attention. The way the drill tore through the cartilage of the ear, the way it tore through his tongue. That man was a true artist. The Xanax and the weed also took affect far quicker than I thought they would, or perhaps it was the show that had relaxed me so much, I lit the cigarette from the pack I kept on my table next to the ashtray and marveled at how relaxed I was. I hadn’t felt this good in years. I smoked quickly as my eyelids drooped. I crushed the smoke into the ashtray and stood up carefully so I would not break the chair. I almost didn’t make it to my bed, and fell asleep as soon as I hit the pillow. 

The light seemed unusual in my room as I drifted up from the night’s deep, dreamless slumber. I was not even fully awake but I felt good this morning. My bed seemed abnormally uncomfortable as I gained more consciousness. It felt like I was laying on a steel slab my bed had never felt like this before. I blinked and tried to move my arms. They did not move, they felt numb Now that I thought about it, most of my body felt numb. I began to panic I tried viciously to move them. They were not numb they were tied by something. I opened my eyes and realized instantly where I was.

I was in a cement room with stained walls strapped to a stainless steel table. A seventies style goalie mask painted like a skull filled my vision. There was a moment of dread followed by a tidal wave of excitement. What would he do first?