Thanks so much for the reviews guys! I'm glad you're liking it so far! Now a few warnings for this chapter and onwards. Some blood here and there. Also known as torture. Enjoy!
Dylan walked slowly to his bathroom, one hand held out running along the wall for support and when he reached the mirror, he took his shirt off and inspected the dark purple swirl on his left side.
He shook his head grimly as he pressed gently around the area, biting his lip as he did so. Next he turned the taps on and soaked a hand towel, wiping the blood from the cuts on his face.
"I'm gonna make those bitches pay." He mumbled as he stripped off his clothing and turned the shower on. The steam rose and twirled in the air like wisps of cloud causing misty bubbles on the glass shower door.
Dylan drew his index finger and pressed it onto the glass door, a round silhouette of his finger printed there. Slowly, he started moving it up and down as if he was drawing a picture- or writing something. When he was done, three words appeared.
LET IT DIE.
Dylan underlined it with his finger, making the glass squeak as he cried out, a low growl of rage in frustration and he punched the door. It shook and rattled, the hinges not holding firmly as it threatened to break under his forceful attack.
He spun around on the balls of his bare feet against the warm slippery tiles and twisted the hot water tap to as hot as it can manage, the boiling water spitting out of the showerhead as it landed on Dylan. He bit back a gasp as he squeezed his eyes shut and allowed his body to get used to the temperature of the water.
Pain was good. Pain meant that you were tolerant. And to survive in this world of darkness, you had to be tolerant.
000
"So, let me get this straight. These three weirdo guys started a fight with Dylan, you stepped in and beat the shit outta them?"
"Yeah, I still dunno why-"
"Sammy! That's great!" Dean slapped Sam on the back. "That's what I'm talkin' bout kiddo. How'd you manage to knock 'em out?"
"Dean, that's not the point."
Dean raised his eyebrows expecting an answer to the question he asked and Sam sighed.
"Kick to the chin and hit the other dude on the chest."
Dean's grin became wider as he chuckled joyfully. "That's exactly what I'm talkin' bout!"
"Dean! Listen to me! Dylan was acting so weird after the fight, besides, I don't even know where he learnt to fight like that! He's just… I thought I knew him when I first met him."
"Dude, your friend just got the shit beat out of him. What do you expect? Pouncing up and down singing the Star Wars theme song while he walks home with you?"
"Yeah you're right. Anyway, I gotta go and finish some homework due tomorr- Shit I've got a detention."
"Detention?"
"Yeah, we all have a detention for being involved in that fight."
"You're livin' up to your name little brother."
Sam walked past them and went into his room, but not before passing his Dad. John nodded, his own smile gracing his lips. "I'm proud of you son. Usually, you wouldn't get away with one of Dean's "beat your schoolmates" rule but this one's acceptable. You did well."
Sam smiled as his eyes twinkled and he went into the room he shared with Dean.
"Beat your schoolmates?" Dean started.
"Well, that seemed like your reputation at the time. Detentions every day, punch a kid a week."
Dean smiled and shook his head amusingly, and flopped down onto their couch, turning the TV on. "Let's get some rest for tonight. I've been looking at newspaper articles all morning!"
"Yeah we'll go get some dinner later on. See how Sammy's doing."
"He's doing fine. Caught up in his homework which isn't even gonna be handed in tomorrow. He's such a geek."
"He's like Mary." It was soft, John didn't even know why he threw that in there but at the sight of Dean raising his eyebrows, he knew he had heard him.
There was an awkward silence as Dean's attention went back to the TV, but he was tracing his father's movements from the corner of his eye. John rarely talked about Mary and sometimes, Dean wanted to know more.
000
Alex caught a bus home after the little run in with Sam and Dylan. He rubbed his chin where Sam had kicked him and he gasped. The little runt was so lucky he didn't break his jaw.
The bus arrived and paid the bus driver, his face stood out among everyone had there been people on the bus. It was only him. Tired and defeated, he slumped into the nearest seat and looked out the window.
"What happened?" The bus driver asked before he started the bus again.
"Nothing. Just some trouble at school. Start the bus already, I'm already late. Drive a bit faster too, if your head isn't so stuck up your ass."
The bus driver instantly recoiled. The behavior of this kid outstandingly unacceptable and he hoped he wouldn't cause any trouble. This was definitely a kid who would get into fights at school.
"Sorry mate." He said softly as he pressed his foot down on the pedal. The faster he drove this kid home, the better. It was like he had an aura of negativity around him, and every now and again he glanced at his rearview mirror.
No later than 10 minutes, he arrived in front of the Alex's house and he tried to avoid eye contact with him. The sooner he left the better. He had a bad feeling about this kid.
He closed the doors, sighing and wondering why he was so freaked out about this kid. Guess he'll never know, he thought as he turned around the corner with one last glance at his rearview mirror.
He saw a figure creeping up behind Alex as he opened the door to his house, and then the sight was blocked by a building as he fully rounded the corner. His heart was beating as he made a U-turn, driving pass Alex's house again just in time to see the front door closing.
He shook his head. Deprived from sleep definitely makes you see things, the kid probably went into his house and started watching TV already, he thought as he left his last trip of the day and headed home.
000
Alex hopped off the bus angrily, wanting nothing more than to get home and relax. He took his keys out from his pocket and with a rough jingle he shoved the right one in the hole, twisting and turning it. The lock finally popped open, and he was about to step foot into his house when he felt fists clench the material of his shirt and jerk him backwards.
Before he could twist around to see who his attacker was, an elbow was brought down on his head and he fell into the darkness, crumbling like a mighty brick wall.
His attacker was a man who smiled before hauling Alex up over his shoulders, yanked the keys out from the door and disappeared around the corner, fully aware of the bus that had made a U-turn.
Alex didn't know what really happened. Maybe someone was trying to break in his house. He wasn't really sure until he heard a groan. And then another. His eyelids were heavy, his head lolling on his shoulders as he blinked once or twice.
It wasn't until then that he realized he was the one groaning, his head hurting from whoever's elbow had collided with it. He tugged at his wrists, noticing that he was strapped on a metal table, the cold biting hard on his skin he felt his insides go numb.
His jeans and top had been stripped off and all that was on him were his boxers. His shoes and socks were gone.
A loud creak, and then a bang as if metal collided with stone echoed through the darkness. Alex raised his eyes to meet his kidnapper. Dead, un-emotional orbs stared at him, searching his soul and it was him who broke the connection first.
He whimpered, tugging weakly at the restraints holding him in place, like a pig about to be slaughtered, freedom just meters away. The man towering above him smiled one of no emotion while his eyes bore down at him burning his very core.
"No, please." Alex whispered, a slight quiver quipped in his voice. "Please, I'm so sorry. Why are you doing this?"
"Because you deserve it." The man's voice was deep, one that made Alex squirm and struggle-anything to get free from this stranger before him.
But he was no stranger.
"You see, Alex. You've done many bad things. And you, of all people, should be punished. Brutally. Mentally. And this, is gonna get ugly."
Alex clenched his fists, the soft sting of his fingernails digging his palm, unable to stop the tears welling in his eyes.
"You're so pathetic. I wonder what your school will think when they see you like this. Think you're so tough?" He kept his tone calm, like he knew what exactly was going to happen. It was like he had planned this, right from the beginning, step by step.
It was then that Alex gasped softly and he knew that his impending death had been planned accurately. What he didn't know, was how this kind-looking person can suddenly turn to… this.
The man bent low and Alex caught a glimpse of his ugly fingernails that peeked over his fingertips, sweat, blood and dirt caked in the very corners. He dug his fingernail across Alex's bare abdomen, pressed hard and ran it the whole way down to his pelvis.
Alex grunted and jerked away as he felt his flesh tear off, blood slowly trailing down his side as the bastard above him pressed his finger deeper into his flesh. Quick as lightning, he drew his blade from its sheath and plunged it deep into his prisoner's thigh.
A blood curdling scream sounded, bouncing off the walls trying to reach out to somebody outside, but the four walls and the locked metal door prevented that.
"Stop it! What the hell are you doing to me?!" Alex drew in a lungful of breath and thrashed about on the table he was strapped to. He saw this happen many times in horror movies, read them many times in fiction books, even played it out during his drama classes, but the real thing was nothing he's ever experienced.
If Alex came out alive, and he had to retell his story, he wouldn't hesitate. He would choose his words wisely, become a different person and try to warn everyone how dangerous the outside world really is. What the darkness really meant.
The world is one of cold fear, draping over you like a blanket and clouding your senses, paralyzing your ability to breathe. It opens your eyes to the true meaning of the word danger, striking you to the very depths of your soul and you would be scarred for life.
To see teenage kids walking alone down the streets at midnight, thinking that the world was free of murdering deeds or that the police would take care of them, was a mistake. They didn't realize how close they are from stalking predators, or your average shopkeeper might actually be a serial killer looking intensely at you from the corner of your eye.
Alex roughly snapped back to reality as the blade was twisted out of his thigh. He felt the metal sliding past muscle and he thought it was over. That he was going to die. But who dies from a petty knife wound to a thigh?
Alex began shaking his head, no longer able to hide the tears flowing freely past his temples dripping onto the table.
"Not so tough now, Alex." It wasn't a question or a statement for him to be denied. Just merely spoken out loud to be again drowned by the painful scream that ripped from Alex's throat as his captor dug his finger into the wound on his thigh.
He twisted it, his fingernail scraping against his bone as Alex jerked off the table, his screams falling on deaf ears as the man continued. Alex remembered watching the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, laughing when the man hung limply on a meat hook with his feet brutally sliced off. It seemed funny at the time, thinking how the Special Effects Department did such a good job.
He surely wasn't laughing now. He was praying for his dear life that this man before him had never studied the murders in Texas Chainsaw Massacre or the sequels of Saw. The pain suddenly stopped, his leg was burning with such ferocity he was certain that he was in hell, the flames licking away at his body.
He heard the sound of lips smacking against each other, and then, "You taste so good." And he nearly gagged. That bastard had just licked his blood. His blood! The man reached beside him, grasping a tube of what looked like powder.
Alex's first thoughts were drugs. He began shaking his head in denial. Drugs were all kinds of bad, especially when he didn't know what drug it was. But as the man drew closer, he suddenly realized that this was worse than drugs.
Before having a chance to reason with the man, he tapped the tube, powder tumbling out landing softly in his hand before smothering it over his wound on his thigh.
Salt!
He pressed down hard, the salt entering his system and Alex arched off the table, a scream so terrible it seemed to reflect the pain he was suffering, the fear he was living escaped from his throat.
Alex was suddenly wrenched from this moment and fell into another place. He found himself staring up at the black sky and not a star shone in the darkness. He had fallen into unconsciousness, looking around; he suddenly realized he was alone- like he always was. He looked around, his arms free of restraints holding him back like a wounded patient on the surgery table.
He called out, hoping that he was caught in a twisted nightmare, his body entangled in damp sheets but he knew it couldn't be possible. The pain was so real, and even now he still felt it, though it seemed like his body and his mind weren't connected as one.
000
Dylan closed the door behind him as he ascended the steps from his basement where he was working on his school project. The basement was all his when his father had decided to give it to him to work quietly three months ago. It was his privacy, a place where his homework would never be questioned with curiosity and a place where critics weren't allowed. He had to put his game face on; his father would be home soon! He could not allow him to see the ugly bruises on his face, the way he walked, dragging his injured leg behind him. If his father ever found out he picked a fight at school, he would lecture him and ground him.
He walked over to the mirror and decided to put a long-sleeved shirt on, rearranging his hair so it looked normal while it covered up the purple tinges threatening to bust his cover.
Sure enough, he heard the jingle of keys outside as the lock turned and his father stepped in, a smile spread over his lips but his eyes still remained dull and sad as if they had seen too much in his forty-two years of living.
"How was school?" He asked Dylan automatically. It was something he did everyday, his tone never changed, and sometimes Dylan wondered if he really knew what he was asking.
"Good, thanks. How was your day?" You couldn't call their relationship rocky, but you couldn't call it a close bond either. There was just something about these two that were different.
He nodded slowly, placing his keys and bag down by the door and settled in for the cough. "Alright, I guess. Same old stuff."
And that was it. That was all the conversation that ever goes on between the two, apart from the murmured 'Goodnight' or 'It's time to eat' later during the day. Knowing his father too well, he was set to watch TV until 7pm, cook some crap food for the two of them to eat, get drunk and the routine would start all over again the next day. Dylan headed back down towards his basement to finish what he had started earlier.
000
Alex felt the world tilt and the blackness swirl in on him once again as his senses slowly came back to him. The pain. The loneliness.
The fear.
He let out a long shaky breath as he opened his eyes to mere slits and he felt his body slightly jolt off the table in shock as he saw his kidnapper sitting mere inches away from him, arms crossed as he looked at him intently. His breath quickened as a shiver coursed through his whole body like electricity. He tried to break free from his restraints, curling his hands into fists and pulling as hard as he could but finally, his body slumped against the table dejectedly.
Alex stared hard at the ceiling as the man beside him laughed, a deep chuckle that seemed to burst from his throat and bounce off the walls, taunting him. He knew he was going to die soon, and the knife wound to his thigh proved that he was going to be killed slowly and carefully. He prayed with his whole heart that someone would burst through the doors with a gun to his captor's head and pull the trigger once, twice- a million times.
The sound of the wooden chair scraping hard across the concrete floor sounded like nails crawling down the chalkboard, a sound that hung heavily in the air and quickened his heartbeat. From the corner of his eye, Alex saw the man lean over and pick up a phial of water, with a cork that sat tight on the top.
It was then that Alex realized how thirsty he was. He wanted nothing more than the feel of the cool, tasteless liquid seeping down his throat and giving him the strength he needed. His captor drew forward, slowly rocking the neck of the phial between his thumb and index finger making the water slap against the glass gently. He was mocking him and Alex knew it. He tried to look away, but he found himself gazing longingly at the water, and it was then that he noticed the yellow tinge to the water.
It was contaminated! Why would this man give him such a small amount of contaminated water? Surely he had no intention of pouring something no less than 150mL down his throat, right? What was the point of that?
Alex began to grow nervous as the man approached him; the pendulum swing that the phial took was hypnotizing him as he watched the liquid sway gently from side to side. He needed that water! His throat felt sticky, parched and dry like sandpaper!
The man stilled the phial, using his other hand to twist the cork screw open and with a pop it came off. The odor that was released was foul- suffocating to say the least! Alex groaned, turning away but yet the man didn't seem to be bothered by it at all, even when the phial was held a good 20cm under his nose!
Alex's heartbeat skyrocketed, his mind raced as he reviewed his chemistry classes. The foul odor, it seemed familiar like he had experienced with it before… what was it? Definitely not water! Suddenly, he remembered, the memory slowly crept back to him, teasing his fate.
"Silence!! I will not tolerate this! What you are about to handle is something serious and fatal. It may well be your last chemistry class!" Mr. Burnan's voice echoed.
In an instance the whole class fell silent and all eyes were on Mr. Burnan. He held up a conical flask with his palm under the bottom for support.
"This is what we call Nitric acid. It's very rare to find, and very dangerous." He held the flask up higher for emphasis and continued. "Nitric acid can appear like a clear liquid, exactly like water, to a faint yellow."
A student raised her hand up and was allowed permission to speak immediately. "Sir, what happens if it comes in contact with you?"
"Good question. You do not ever want to come in contact with Nitric acid. Even the tiniest amount can cause a severe burn. Get it into your eyes and you're risking your sight. Taste it, and your insides would be burning up."
A faint gasp could be heard as Mr. Burnan continued. "When I unscrew the lid, Nitric acid gives out the most disgusting aroma ever. In just a second, you guys are going to receive a small amount of Nitric acid and pour some over different types of textures. Wear your goggles, science aprons, and safety gloves. Do NOT spill any over, and most importantly, do not spill some on yourself. I will be watching and if under any circumstances you do spill the acid, tell me immediately."
The same student raised her hand again and spoke. "What happens if we get some on ourselves?"
"We rush you to hospital and you'll get treated."
Mr. Burnan walked around and placed a comical flask on each table and then handed out a metal rod. "Don't unscrew the lid yet. Don't touch anything. Wait for my instructions."
He scanned the classroom, looking at everybody. "Alright, everyone's protective gear on? Get one person to slowly unscrew the cork, run it with water then place it down upside down on the table. Then, use the eyedropper and draw in a tiny amount of Nitric acid. Place it over your metal rod and drip some onto it. Observe what happens."
He gave the instructions and everyone started working at once, extremely cautious not to spill the acid. As soon as they unscrewed the lid, the whole class moaned. Some even bit back a cry of shock. The odor was terrible! Nothing they had ever imagined!
"Focus! Don't let the smell throw you off!" Mr. Burnan bellowed. As the Nitric acid dripped onto the metal rod, it bubbled and hissed like a snake ready to attack. With shock and surprise, everybody stepped back.
"Concentrate!! You can't afford to lose concentration!"
The hissing slowly died down, and what was left made everyone appalled. A small dent was left on the metal rod, a little crater that had been created with just one small drop of Nitric acid.
"Put the cork back on the lid before you do anything. Write down method and the results. I want to see this tomorrow!"
And that was the end of the chemistry class.
Alex had witnessed with his own eyes what Nitric acid was capable of, and that foul smell creeping up his nostrils determined his fate.
His captor drew a deep breath, inhaling the smell and smiled at Alex's fear.
"You're crazy!" He shouted. "Let me go!! Why are you doing this to me?!"
"Because you deserve it." He repeated again, his tone calm and eerie. Without any warning, he lurched forward and tilted the phial of Nitric acid onto Alex's bare chest. Alex arched off the table; his eyes squeezed shut as a bone chilling scream tore through him. His chest was on fire- the chemical burning his skin like a fire that licked at his tortured body.
He tried to curl into a ball, to shield his body from any more damage but the metal restraints around his wrists and ankles for unforgiving. The bolts held tight, fastened like there was no way out of them…like they were cut and sized especially for him.
He felt his breath catch in his throat as he heaved trying to pull oxygen in. Tears found their way past his eyes and dribbled down his temple making perfect circles as it landed on the table. Sweat beaded Alex's forehead, trickling down and mixed with his tears. His damp hair clung onto his head, his nostrils flared as he tried to overcome the unbearable pain.
An inhumane cry escaped his throat, one that turned into a helpless sob that was drowned by the chuckle that came from the man leaning down beside him. He felt an icy cold hand clamp down on his forehead, brushing his wet hair away from his eyes. Without needing to see, he felt the air being pushed away as his captor hovered mere inches above him, his thick, hot breath swept against his face.
His bottom chin slightly trembled, his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he tried to wrench free from his grip. It seemed to work as he felt his hand release its hold but then the next moment, he was squeezing his jaw with all his strength.
His first instinct reacted as he cried out in pain, but he realized it was a grave mistake. A mistake that was a matter of life and death as the man, as quick as lightning, poured the rest of the Nitric acid down and tilted his head back.
Alex felt the liquid enter his lips, the initial burn so violent he was blinded by it, felt like he was disconnected with his body. He held the acid in his mouth, not wanting his insides to feel the same wrath of the acid as Mr. Burnan once told the class. Already, he felt his gums hissing, burning as the chemicals swished around.
With a hand cupping Alex's mouth stopping him from spitting the acid out, the man discarded the phial and with his palm facing the ceiling, his five fingers directly beside each other, he brought the side of his hand, his pinky leading, fiercely down at Alex's throat.
It was such a sudden movement that Alex didn't have time to realize what was happening as he felt the hand chop at his throat with such force. It was a knee-jerk reaction that made him open his mouth to gasp for breath, but then clamped it shut as the Nitric acid slid down his throat, choking him.
He spluttered, wanting nothing more than to vomit it all back out, to break free from his restraints, shove his hand into his throat and make all the acid disappear. He was too young to die. That definitely sounded too clichéd but it was the truth. He was only fifteen years of age and here he was, dying and suffering by the hands of-
Another thwack to his throat made him jump as the rest of the acid rushed down his throat in one big gulp. The giant hand left his mouth as he twisted his head to the side, slow trickles of acid weaving their ways down his chin, leaving a raw pink trail behind. Alex forced himself to vomit it out, but he couldn't. He was already twisting painfully on the metal table as he felt his insides being ripped apart as the acid flowed past his organs, like a terrible disease slowly plaguing the entire world.
"Do you feel the pain?" He whispered in his ear and Alex didn't answer. He couldn't answer.
"It's what I call revenge." He continued, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the person trembling in pain before him.
Alex had trouble breathing, he had trouble making out what the person before him was saying. He had never experienced such pain before! To say heartburn was painful, you didn't know true pain.
Alex writhed on the table, his wrists threatening to slide free from the metal cuffs, he tried to breathe, wondering when the pain was ever going to stop. Was it ever going to stop? Or was the acid going to burn and dissolve every organ in his body before he finally gave up on life?
He felt a slow trickle down his chin, and he thought it was the remaining acid but he tasted the familiar taste of copper. He wiped his chin on his shoulder and when he drew back, huge amounts of blood dribbled down his shoulder.
Shaking, he raised his eyes to meet his murderer. "E-end it…" He whispered. "P-pleas..se." He pleaded.
His captor laughed, an evil gleam shone in his eye as he stood up. "Alright then, because you asked so nicely." He picked up a blade, and examined it; the silver glimmered as he walked over to Alex.
"Do you know how your intestines look like, Alex?"
Wide-eyed, Alex realized his fate. His mind screamed no, but his body was too weak to protest, his heart thumping in the wall of fire that seemed to reach out to every tip of his body. He watched, paralyzed in shock as the knife came down on his left hip and was dragged all the way to his right. Blood poured out of the wound before he registered any pain; he was still fighting the urge to vomit as the pain from drinking the Nitric acid had not lessened one bit.
Then the pain hit him. If being burnt on the inside wasn't bad enough, he was being carved alive like a cow in a slaughter yard! Using his bare hands, the captor dug his hand in and grasped something, then pulled.
Alex's last scream tore from his throat, pleading anyone to hear it and rescue him but it was too late. The last sight he saw from the world of darkness was his own intestines being pulled out of his stomach, blood splattering down onto the metal table, then further dripping against the concrete floor with soft splats like crimson red paint being thrown around by a toddler. Slowly, the blood left his body and he felt the indescribable pain finally leave him as his screams fell silent, his shoulders slumped and his back visibly relax as Alex left the world. His eyes remained wide opened, unfocused but wild as if they burned a question into the person that killed him.
Why?
Though he had asked that question numerous times, and all he received was a "Because you deserve it" he wasn't really sure. He desperately needed the truth, and he needed revenge. But all was too late. Life had slipped away from him like water through spread open fingers, the hourglass that was once filled with millions and millions grains of sand was empty.
Life was unfair, and all in all, you only have a few precious seconds to live it. There is a clock ticking somewhere that counts the minutes that go by.
No one should have to learn this the hard way.
Please let me know how you guys thought since it's the only way I can improve. Thanks!
