It was a quiet day in the London flat of Mr and Mrs. Boyle. The two had only been married three weeks and enjoyed every moment together. The two sat on the sofa, with Mrs. Boyle in her husband's lap, as they relaxed to the sounds of Six, the latest record from their favorite group, Soft Machine.
"Three weeks today. Can you believe it?" Mrs. Boyle said fondly, taking a sip of her whiskey.
"It feels like yesterday." Mr. Boyle nuzzled his wife's neck. "Last night was a wonderful reminder of our wedding night."
Mrs. Boyle giggled and began to kiss her husband, only to be interrupted by a fierce pounding on the door.
"Who could that be?" Mrs. Boyle asked.
"I don't know, but they'd better have a pretty good excuse for interrupting."
Mr. Boyle got up and went to answer the door. Mrs. Boyle sighed and laid back on the sofa, taking sips of her whiskey. She heard the sound of footsteps and smiled.
"Who was it, darling?"
Sitting up, Mrs. Boyle came face to face with a masked figure dressed head to toe in black. She tried to scream, but he put his hand over her mouth, pinning her to the floor.
"Please, don't hurt me. I'll do whatever you say." Mrs. Boyle sobbed.
She felt the fabric of her dress tearing in the back. but could not turn her head to see what was happening. Suddenly, something came into contact with her back. Something hard, that left a hot, searing pain as it struck her back, over and over again. She could feel her skin being ripped to shreds, the cold blood running down her spine. After what seemed like eternity, the whipping stopped and she was released. As she laid there, raw and ugly wounds on her back, she saw something drop beside her. A bloodied chain. It was the last thing she saw before fainting from her pain.