"I know nothing." She lied.
She knew everything. She knew about Gibbs. She knew about Tony. She knew about McGee, Abby, Ducky, everyone. She knew everything about everyone. Saleem slapped her across the face which made her head whip back. When she recovered from the slap she looked to Saleem and spit in his face. This action proved to be a bad one for it resulted in Saleem pulling out his knife and slicing her shoulder. When he did this he watched as blood seeped out from the gash.
"Stop lying!" He demanded in a loud voice.
She glared at him and didn't speak. She remained as quiet as a mouse. Saleem had had enough. He pushed Ziva out of the chair and she was now on the ground. Saleem kicked her leg and they spread slightly. She tried to get up but Saleem pushed her down. He pinned her wrists into the dirt and he pulled his knife out yet again. He cut into her pants, causing them to become open.
Ziva knew what was coming next but she knew she couldn't cooperate; not now. She had to keep quiet. He yanked down her pants and stood up. He wasn't going to do this here. He took her by her ankles and dragged her off towards the torture room. She was trying to squirm out of his grasp to no avail. Before he went through the door he picked her petite frame up and draped her over his shoulder.
When they were finally in the room he tossed her down roughly onto the mattress. She closed her legs tightly and refused to let Saleem rape her again. This feeble act did not deter Saleem in the slightest. He got down and pulled out his knife for a third time. He shoved her legs apart and stabbed her in the thigh. He made sure that his blade avoided all major arteries.
He was smart. He knew that if he wanted her to talk he had to keep her alive. She shut her eyes as he entered her yet again. Ziva hated this part. She felt pain coursing through her body at a scale which she never felt before.
With every thrust he brought pain upon her. He would twist the knife in her leg, causing more blood to gush from the severe wound. She then started to cry. Saleem laughed at her expense and decided to taunt her with this.
"Aw, poor little Israeli not as tough as she thought?" He asked.
She remained silent and continued to cry. When he finished with her, he pulled out and removed the knife. He left her there to cry and bleed. She remained still and watched as more and more blood seeped from the wound. She listened as Saleem shouted to a couple of his men in Arabic.
Tamir and Mohammed came into the room and grabbed Ziva. They lifted her up and carried her down the hall back to her room. They tossed her inside, not carrying if she got hurt. Her small and battered frame hit the floor hard and she didn't move. They shut the door and she was once again trapped within the room.
The terrorists grew smarter. While Ziva was gone they put glass in more bars, making it impossible for her to climb out. She looked up and out the window to see the sun slowly dipping down behind the horizon. It was official. She had been there for forty days.
Forty whole days she was stuck within the camp and she could do nothing to get out. She had faced this fact a long time ago. She had also started facing other facts. She started facing the fact that she may just die within these four walls.
To be honest with the rest of the world and herself she didn't really care if she died. She didn't want to live like this. She didn't want to go through this for another minute. She knew she had to hold on though. She couldn't break. She just couldn't.
It was then when Qasim came into the room. She wondered why he was here. He closed the door and leant up against it. He just spent a few minutes staring at her. The longer he stared at her the more scared she became. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She just stared right back, fear evident in her deep brown eyes.
"You know, Saleem says I can't touch you." Qasim finally said. "But, what he does not know won't hurt him…and you."
He walked towards her and she backed herself up into the corner. She quaked with fear as the realization came to her. He was here to rape her. She kept her bare legs shut tightly and pulled her knees to her chest.
"You touch me and I scream." She threatened.
"You scream I make it that much worse." He retorted.
He grabbed her by her ankles and pulled her towards the center of the room. He pinned her into the dirt and shoved her thighs apart. This was it. A second man would now desecrate her in the worst of ways.
Just then Saleem busted into the room and pulled Qasim off of Ziva for the second time. He looked at Qasim with rage in his eyes. He had disobeyed the rules and Saleem had no idea what he was going to do. He had given all of the other terrorists strict orders to not touch her. She was his.
Ziva sat mystified as Saleem proceeded to beat Qasim. Qasim was a maniacal man and he could withstand multiple forms of pain. He just laid there and took the beating. When Saleem finished Qasim's face was grotesque. His bruises were caked with his own blood.
"LEAVE!" Saleem yelled at the man.
Qasim stood from the ground and left. Saleem turned to Ziva and flashed a devious smile to her. He walked towards her and took a hold of her by her blood and dirt matted hair. Saleem grabbed the chair and set it back up in its spot. He sat her down in the chair and smacked her in the face.
"Nice." Ziva remarked as she wiped blood from her cracked lips.
"What?" Saleem asked.
"You slap me for your guy's insolence." She clarified.
He didn't even respond to that. He only punched her again and left the room. She remained seated in the chair and let out a heaved sigh. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this depressed. She knew in her heart of hearts that she wasn't getting out of here alive.
The hours slowly ticked by and she grew more desperate as time went on. She stood from the chair, free to move around the cell she was inevitably trapped in. She went to the window and looked out at the starry night sky.
It was cold and despite popular belief at night the desert is frigid. She huddled in the corner, colder than she had ever been. She knew that soon fall would be here and nights would just be colder and longer.
She didn't want to even think about what would happen to her when the men left the camp but she knew that if they were to stay there long they wouldn't keep her alive for very long. Her lack of compliance would eventually spell her death. She sat back down in the old wooden chair and stared blankly at the door in front of her. She was anxiously waiting for a man, any man, to bust in that door and beat her into submission.
As time passed she grew more and more nervous. She didn't know who or what to expect next but she knew it was nothing good. The Israeli remained still in that chair, covered only by a baggy t-shirt which she knew came from one of the terrorists. It swallowed her thinning frame. She hadn't eaten anything since they had her on bread and water for two weeks. She knew that even without the beating, flagellation, Strappado, and water boarding she was being tortured.
It was psychological warfare and she knew it. Just thinking about what may or may not happen to her was torture. Saleem was a cunning man and Ziva knew this. She knew this in ways no one should have to find out.
She just sat there and allowed herself to sink back into the chair, unrestrained yet still held captive by men so evil, so vindictive that it could make anyone's skin crawl. Three hours later Saleem came back, more than ready to get what he wanted out of her.
"Okay, Ms. David, you know of Rafiq's favorite form of torture and you now know of Qasim's but do you know what mine is?" He asked.
She shook her head, her throat so dry that she couldn't even speak.
"Mine is a mix of Strappado and a little surprise I have in store for you." He said; a wicked smile on his face as he recalled the time he hanged Ziva in Strappado.
"No! No! Not…not Strappado!" She pleaded, tears in her eyes.
"Oh no! I have something else I want to share with you." He said, placing a brown leather medical bag on the wooden desk in the room.
Her breath hitched in her throat as she grew fearful of what was in that very bag. She knew nothing good was in it. That was a fact. He then pulled it out. It was a device known as the pear. It was red and Ziva had never seen one before. She grew fearful and wondered what it was used for. It looked new and unused, not to mention scary.
Fear coursed through her veins when Saleem put the device back in his bag of tricks and dragged Ziva into the torture room. He placed her on the table and restrained her so that her arms were to her sides and her legs were spread apart. She was breathing heavily by this point and it was as if she were panting.
Saleem pulled out the device and sauntered over to her. The look on his face resonated evil. That was and is how she would always remember him. He was evil. Then with one swift motion Saleem shoved The Pear inside of her, causing her to scream out in agonizing pain. Yet the pain had just begun.
The pear was in fact a device that, in the right hands, could induce much pain with little effort. He began to inflate the device which made her scream even more. Tears flooded from her eyes as Saleem moved the device inside of her. Saleem was getting off on Ziva's pain. He enjoyed it very much.
When he was finished he deflated the device and pulled it out of her. A mixture of blood and her own fluids covered it. He smiled satisfactorily at this and began to clean it off. Just as was the case for the rest of the country, sanitation was terrible and barely existent. He placed it back in the bag and reached in for yet another device.
This device was known as the Spanish Spider. Ziva was actually aware of this device. She attempted the reach for her now bare breasts in order to cover them. Saleem laughed at her feeble and aimless attempts at covering her breasts and walked over to her.
"Well, I do believe you are aware of what this device is for." He observed with a perverse smile.
"Yes, I do." She replied with a small voice.
He couldn't help but laugh when he saw the fear in her eyes. It was a type of fear he knew well. It was a type of fear that he enjoyed. He smacked Ziva across the face and gripped forcefully onto her breast. She yelped in pain as Saleem put the Spanish Spider around her left breast. He began to slowly and antagonizingly allowed her breast to become pierced by the claw-like torture device.
"Now, are you going to tell me what you know?" He asked, anxiously awaiting her answer.
"No." She said in a gun-hoe voice.
"Hmm." He said as if to be amused by her answer. "You know, trying to prove yourself is not a wise choice. You will pay."
Qasim and Mohammed along with Namir and Hafiz could hear as Ziva's blood curdling scream rang through the camp. These walls were not sound proof and the man became enthralled by the sounds. They wanted so badly to know what was going on within those four cell walls.
When Saleem finished with her he left her alone, taking his bag right along with him. Ziva remained restrained to the table, praying that someone would come and take her back to the cell she was once in. She hated being restrained like this. She looked to her right to see the shelves filled to the brim with various devices of torture.
She cried as memories of Hamdi slicing into her thighs came back to her. She hated every moment she was in the camp. She wanted to be set free, whether it be by death or otherwise. She didn't care anymore. She wanted to die.
Just then, as if drawn by telepathy, Hamdi walked into the room. Would they ever leave her alone? Hamdi had a devious smile on his face and a ploy in his wanted her to continue suffering whilst Saleem thought of something else. He went over to the shelves and grabbed a long-bladed knife from the arsenal.
"You know, Ziva, I missed you. I heard you scream earlier and I thought I would come and see you."
He sounded so casual, as if he were having a normal conversation and not about to torture someone. He walked over to the strewn up Israeli and let out a guttural and evil laugh. With one swift motion he cut her, leaving a five inch gash on her calf. Little did Ziva realize was that this was just the beginning.
He laughed wickedly when she hissed in pain. He enjoyed it so much that he cut her again, right next to the previous cut. Ziva had shut her eyes against the pain and was able to take this better than the pear and the Spanish Spider. She watched as Hamdi hungrily eyed her scarred breasts. His tongue stuck out between his teeth slightly and he couldn't help but become aroused by this.
Ziva noticed this and narrowed her eyes at him. She wanted so badly for him to just vanish, evaporate from the room. She never wanted to see him again. She then noticed Hamdi come closer to her. She shut her eyes tightly when his lips were next to her ear.
"You're going to be mine soon." He taunted.
It was this that she hated quite a bit. All of the men, especially Saleem, tried to claim ownership of her. It was as if having her was the ultimate prize. Hamdi took the knife and this time, instead of making it quick, he dug the knife into her upper arm and slowly dragged it down until it hit her elbow. This was not all he would use.
He went over to the shelves and set the still bloody knife down. He allowed his fingers to dance over instrument of torture as he debated about which tool he should use. It was then when he saw the torch. It was unlike the torch he had previously used. This torch was one you had to light with a flame. This one would inflict much more pain.
He smiled approvingly and picked it up. Ziva saw the tool and she grew fearful yet again. She knew exactly what was to come next. She watched as he pulled a lighter out of his cargo pants pocket and lit the torch. The flame ignited after the accelerant aided it and it burned bright orange. The otherwise dimly lit cell was now luminous with fire.
Hamdi was a methodical, albeit twisted, man. He knew where to burn in order to inflict the most pain. He held the fire to her stomach and watched as the flame essentially cooked her skin. Ziva was screaming by that point. She just wanted it to stop. When Hamdi pulled away the torch he noticed the second degree burn and smirked.
"Did you like that, sweetheart?" He asked, being facetious.
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ASSHOLE!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, all the while thrashing around in the contraption they had her tied up in.
Hamdi could only laugh and did something that utterly repulsed her. He got in her face and held her head still as his forcibly kissed her. When he pulled away she spit, hoping to rid her mouth of his rancid taste. She could taste cigarettes, alcohol, and what she recognized as his mouth's taste on her tongue. She looked to Hamdi, anger in her eyes.
Hamdi could only life at this. He loved it whenever she fought him or was repulsed. He loved it even more when she was in pain. It seemed to be the one thing that all of the terrorists had in common. They loved to see her in pain. Hamdi unshackled her and dragged her all of the way back to her cell. He pushed her inside, closely following her.
It felt good to be off of the table again. She was now able to feel her feet again. They had grown more numb as time passed. She was shoved into the chair and her hands were tied to the armrests. Hamdi left the cell, locking the door behind him. He then went in search of Saleem.
"Saleem!" Hamdi called.
"As-salaamu Alaykum, Hamdi." He greeted; his hands behind his back.
"She is back in the cell." He informed.
"Good."
"How do we proceed?" He asked, curiosity flowing through him.
"I already have a plan for that, Hamdi." He assured the man with a reflexive smile on his face.
Later that evening she stirred from her less than restful sleep when Saleem came in through the door.
"Strip her." He ordered one of his men.
Just then Namir, someone she had not seen in quite some time, stepped up. Obviously, he was more than willing to do this. He untied her and shoved her out of the chair. He then picked her up off of the dirt-covered ground and got her into the standing position. He tore off her t-shirt, not bothering or even caring what happened to it. He then grabbed onto the waistband of her tattered pants and ripped them off as well.
She was completely naked and fully exposed to the men in front of her. They saw every bruise, scar, gash, burn on her body. Some admired this and others were indifferent. Namir grabbed her by her afflicted bicep and pulled her towards Saleem. Saleem then proceeded to punch her in her gut. She hunched over in pain and allowed Namir and Khamud to take her to the torture room yet again. The rest of Saleem's men followed close behind. All the while Ziva was curiously wondering what was now in store for her.
"Ziva, what we have planned for you is probably something each and every one of us will enjoy but as for you we cannot help but believe that you won't like this one little bit." Saleem said as Khamud and Yassin put her back on the table.
She didn't speak. She only allowed Saleem to tell her what she was about to go throw. Her head hung to the side as she tiredly listened to Saleem's spiteful words. The malicious man paced back and forth as he talked. All of his men were in the room. It was feeling more cramped as time passed. She hated the way they were all staring at her as if she were some circus attraction.
She hated all of them; every last one of them. Saleem then stopped pacing when Badri and Wahjid walked in with what appeared to be branding tools. Her eyes went visibly wide as she noticed this. She knew what was to come of this. She was about to be branded. She noticed each man had their own stick with the letter of their initial on it. This was it. She was about to become territory and they were about to mark it.
Q for Qasim. M for Mohammed. K for Khamud. H for Hamdi. R for Rafiq. Y for Yassin. B for Badri. W for Wahjid. T for Tamir. H for Hafiz. N for Namir. A for Ahmed. Y for Youssef. S for Saleem. For several minutes they all left their mark on her, giving her permanent reminders of whom all tortured her and who all was responsible for her eternal pain and suffering.
Every single one of the terrorists left the room, leaving Ziva and Saleem alone in the room. Saleem smiled as he admired his S on the Israeli's toned thigh. He walked up to her and traced the fresh brand with his finger. She flinched away from his touch, biting on her bottom lip to avoid showing pain. But, the pain was still in her eyes and Saleem could tell of this.
He then looked at the H beneath it that Hafiz had put there. He smiled even wider after each brand he saw. He then stopped admiring the marks and looked up at Ziva's face. He saw a tear slowly trickle down her cheek. He looked from his victim to the series of shelves in the room. There were still as many devices there as he had put when they first got the tools. Some were bloody with her blood. Some looked untouched.
He didn't know whether or not he wanted to continue torturing her at the moment but he knew that he wanted to have fun with her sometime soon. He then decided to hold off on all of the fun and left the room. Ziva remained tied up to that table and she started to cry. She began to relive every man coming at her with their branding tool. They all put their names on her body in a way which could never be removed.
She just remained there, crying. She could do nothing else. She was forever trapped within that camp. The heat soon left and was replaced with chilly Somali cold. She lay there and allowed sleep to overcome her. She fell asleep rather quickly and tried to rest up for what potentially was in store for her.
The next morning Ziva awoke in a chair in the cell she had originally been placed in. She looked around frantically, wondering how in the world she had gotten there. She then grew fearful when she heard footfall approaching on the other side of the large wooden door. This is what she feared most, the unknown. She feared not knowing what was next. It made her even more scared than actually facing the torture.
He sauntered into the room to see Ziva sitting there. He had so much in store for her and he was pretty sure it would get her talking. He was well aware that despite any amount of training a human body can only take so much. He knew she would start talking if her life depended on it.
"Tell me everything you know, about NCIS." Saleem commanded for the umpteenth time.
"NO!" She yelled through gritted teeth.
He then proceeded to back hand her, her hair whipping around to where it hit her in the face. Saleem then took a hold of her by her jaw, tightening his grip on her. She looked into his soulless eyes and went completely still and silent. Her heart had long since been filled with unattainable death and she knew that all she could do was keep quiet and pray that one of them kill her.
"You won't talk; fine. Just know you will pay for your…lack of compliance."
"I would pay either way." She stated.
"See, your learning." He said, waving his index finger at her.
He was a vindictive son of a bitch and a twisted maniacal piece of work. Ziva then wondered what kind of people could birth to such a man. She instantly stopped thinking about that when Saleem punched her in the face, again. Her face was already swollen and bruised, blood caking over thirty percent of it. The punch only made it that much worse. He then grabbed the spare chair in the room and sat on it backwards.
"You are going to make this hard for me, aren't you?" He asked.
"I am not talking." She said in a defiant manner.
"Oh, I think that your opinion on that will waver somewhat when I am done with your worthless ass." He said.
"If I am so worthless than kill me already!" She refuted.
"Oh, well, the information you have is not so worthless." He told her.
He leaned forward and caressed her swollen cheek. She jerked away, unable to get out of his reach. He continued to caress her bruises, a look of admiration on his face.
"You know, if you live long enough these will take awhile to heal." He said.
"I am aware."
"Good, now, tell me what you know!" He demanded.
"NO!" She repeated louder and angrier than before.
He proceeded to make a tisk-tisk sound with his mouth. He always made this noise when he was disappointed with what he heard.
"That's too bad. Now, you will pay." He said deviously as he got into her face.
This was it. She then realized that the more she fought him the more and more pain she would receive from him and his men. They had already branded her. They had officially made their mark in every way imaginable. How could it get any worse?
Ziva knew the answer to that and it was staring her in the face. Every day was a new level of pain and no matter who held the tool Saleem was behind it all. Saleem had all of the control and she was well aware of this. Ziva, as anyone would, feared that Saleem may just stop not letting the men have her. That maybe he would let the other terrorists who were in the camp rape her. She prayed that he wouldn't though.
One man was enough. One monster was enough. Her hopes were soon crushed when Saleem called out for Qasim.
"Qasim!" He yelled.
Qasim quickly came into the room, wondering what he wanted. He looked from Ziva to Saleem with great curiosity.
"What is it, Sir?" He asked.
"I think you deserve a little…present." He said. "I think it's time you show Officer David here what you are capable of."
Qasim's eyes went wide with bewilderment. He couldn't believe his ears. He thought he would never get to have this opportunity but now that he did he could only think of one thing.
He walked over to her and with one hard smack she was down on the ground. He grabbed her by her wrists as she tried to fight him off. She was weak and had severe malnutrition. She had not eaten in two weeks and she felt lethargic. The fight was a short and feeble one. Qasim had her pinned into the dirt and dust beneath her and he began to do what he had always wanted to do.
He had finally had the glorious opportunity to rape the captive. He did not care about whether or not he got the information Saleem had wanted. All he wanted was to quench the dying need to feel the most ultimate form of control over the woman known as Ziva.
As he thrust himself inside of her he listened as she cried. She was obviously in pain. Saleem must have done her over pretty badly when he had his hands on her. Qasim finished raping her but he wasn't done yet. Saleem had left a long time ago and Qasim was free to do what ever he pleased.
He began punching the Israeli repeatedly and soon he lost interest when she stopped fighting back. She had actually been punched to the point where she was unconscious. He stood up and left her alone in her cell.
Meanwhile Ziva lay on the ground, weak, tired, hungry, dehydrated, and beaten. She didn't move. She couldn't move. She was frozen in a state of absolute unconsciousness. She looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes, slowly feeling herself start to drift farther and farther away.
The dusk soon approached the desert, nothing but pure darkness surrounding the helpless Israeli. She knew that she was now beyond saving. No matter what she did or said she would soon be dead. After spending over forty days in that hell hole she wanted nothing more than to die.
It was all she wanted. She had pictured it several times. One of them would grow so angry with her that it would finally drive them to doing what she wanted them to do. She would much rather die than be here another minute.
She laid there in the dirt and turned her head to the side. She saw a rat scurry across the cell floor, slipping out through a small hole in the wall. He was lucky. The rat could come and go as he pleased. But why would he stay? He was ignorant. He had no idea what kind of pain and suffering this place brought. For that he was lucky. Ziva David on the other hand was a very unlucky woman. She had no way out and she was most likely going to die.
That very next morning when the sun peeked out and came into the sky light spilled into the room. She felt heat radiate across her entire bare frame. She enjoyed the feeling very much. She had been cold all night and now that she had regained all consciousness she was warm.
She sat up to find Saleem standing in the corner of the room. He was watching her closely. That was all he did. He stood there, watched, and didn't say a word. She grew fearful as the anticipation of what was next built up.
She couldn't take the silence. He was concocting a plan and she could tell of this. It was something that she once did as to obtain some sort of knowledge of how to escape. But, that no longer peaked her minuscule amount of interest. What did was what they had planned for her next.
She awaited Saleem's arrival every day. She waited for him to pull out another tool from his bag of tricks. It scared her. It scared her to think about what all these men were capable of. She knew that what she endured was not all they had. They were holding out until they had no other choices and no other forms of torture.
"Well, Agent David, are you ready to talk now?" He asked.
She remained silent. She now did not want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his words.
"So, that's how you are going to be?" He asked.
Yet again she said nothing. She felt as though she had failed her teammates back at NCIS and if she could do one last thing for them she would keep them safe, and she would not tell Saleem a thing. Saleem went up to her and yanked her off of the ground. He then swung his other fist and hit her in the face yet again. He watched as her head whipped back and pain flooded through her head. She then began to writhe out of his grasp and she wondered what was to happen next.
Saleem couldn't help but laugh at her meager attempts at obtaining freedom. He tossed her onto the ground as if she were some sort of rag doll. She turned around only to have Saleem climb on top of her. What he did next was beyond unspeakable. He pulled out two knives and stuck them into her hands. They went through her hands and into the ground, causing them to become immobile. Blood gushed through them and she could feel nothing but pain.
She did not try to fight it for she knew that if that if she did, the knives tear through her flesh, causing her injuries to become significantly worse. She remained there still, the left side of her face pressed into the dirt. She shook as Saleem took yet another knife from his cargo pants pocket and cut into her tattered cargo pants.
He admired her marred skin and ran the blade of his knife along her legs. He then separated her legs and did the unthinkable. He shoved his knife inside of her. This caused her a considerable deal of pain. Ziva could feel the knife with each movement he made. Saleem watched as blood started to pool from her. He finally pulled out the knife and rid her hands of the knives.
Ziva felt herself start to become light headed. She felt sleepy but she remained awake. She could hear Saleem yell for Hafiz who came in with a first aid kit. Hafiz bandaged her hands rather poorly and left her alone with Saleem. He did not bother to tend to her other wounds for he knew it would just be a waste a valuable medical supplies.
Saleem then stood from the ground and crossed his arms as he watched Ziva just lay there, not moving. He wondered how much she would endure to keep her secrets buried within the recesses of her mind. He also wondered how much she really knew. He kept thinking as he watched her. Saleem grabbed the chair she was once shackled to and pulled the dazed and seemingly paralyzed Israeli from the ground. He tossed her into the chair and tied her arms back.
"Tell me what you know, now!" He demanded.
"I will not talk." She said.
Her voice was solid, emotionless, and like stone. She looked directly into his almost black eyes and denied him his information. He didn't get angry at first. He simply stood from his chair and started to laugh. He wove a finger at her and left the cell abruptly.
She grew worried and confused by his actions. She wondered where he was off to. She wondered what he was going to do. She gulped as fear overcame her. Her breathing became heavy and her chest rose and fell more rapidly. He came back with ropes. They were the exact same ones he had used on her when he had her in Strappado. Her eyes went wide at the sight of the ropes. Saleem watched as her head started the shake rapidly.
"No! No! No! No, no, no! No!" She begged as Saleem approached her.
"What?" He asked before looking down at the ropes. "Is the big tough Israeli scared of the ropes?"
She tried pushing the chair back as to get away from him and the ropes but this did not work for there was no way for her to get the chair to move back more than a couple inches. There was gravel and thick sand which made the act an impossible one.
When Saleem got up to her he unshackled her and took her to the room she hated most. It was the one down the hall. It was the torture room. The room which had been dubbed this was not the only room she had been tortured in but it was the room with the table, shelves, and the devices which brought her so much pain and suffering. There were hooks on the ceiling which were not there before; at least, she had not noticed them until that very moment.
Mohammed, the terrorist guarding the door, restrained Ziva as Saleem strung the ropes through the hooks. Saleem called to Mohammed in Arabic, telling him to bring Ziva over. Saleem took hold of her wrists and bound them with the ropes. He hoisted her up, causing her body to become suspended in the air. Saleem then left her alone in the room to hang. She started thrashing around, anxiously trying to loosen the ropes which restricted her.
This did not work, in fact it caused her wrists to chafe and blister. She remained still, feeling her wrists hurt more as time passed. Her feet could just barely reach the floor and she was growing more tired as time went on. She then allowed her head to hang against her bicep and she drifted off.
Just then a terrorist walked in. His name was Yassin. He hadn't had much to do with her torture but he wanted to. He looked at the defenseless and battered woman which hung from the ceiling before he went over to the shelves. There he began to scan through the impressive collection of hand-made whips that was there. Some appeared to be untouched and totally unused. It was then when he found it.
It was his favorite whip. The handle was made of wood and there were three braided ropes attached to it. He picked it up and walked over to Ziva. It was shorter than the one she had been whipped with previously but that didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Yassin then cracked the whip against the Israeli's soft skin, creating three lashes on her torso.
She awoke, feeling nothing but pain. She saw Yassin. She did not know him well. She had only seen him twice yet she knew his face.
"Yassin."
"That's right." He said before he cracked the whip again.
She screamed out in sheer agony as she felt the whip strike her yet again. Yassin was not all like the others. He wanted to cause her pain yet he was not open about it. Silent but deadly. That's how Ziva remembered him. That's how she would always remember him.
This process continued for a few hours until finally he grew bored. Yassin put the whip back in its designated place and left, once again leaving the Israeli captive alone within the room. She looked down at the wounds on her stomach. They were oozing blood and the flesh was inflamed. Ziva was in so much pain and she just wanted it to end. She wanted everything to end.
