Srsly. NO WILL POWER. Not that any of you are complaining, right? :D
Shawn choked and gagged, trying to suck in air through the crushing hand on his neck. He could feel his face getting hot as the blood rushed into it, his wounds throbbing painfully with the increased pressure. His chest was tight and his lungs twitched convulsively, trying, aching, desperately needing to pull in air. His vision greyed out and his hands and feet jerked in pathetic, futile attempts to gain leverage and free himself.
He mouthed a plea for mercy, for release, for air, but only met a cold stare.
His body was jerking now, bucking for freedom and escape from this—as promised—slow, painful, terrifying death.
His strength was fading, his spasms weakening, his vision going dark.
And then his throat was released. He gasped, breathing in so sharply it sent bolts of pain shooting through his body, and he ended up coughing, jerking, and twitching again as he tried to curl up into a ball.
"Where is it?"
Shawn couldn't have answered if he wanted to he was coughing so hard, tears leaking out of his eyes as the air traversed his bruised and irritated throat. There was a brief moment of panic when he coughed so intensely that it triggered his gag reflex and he started choking, trying hard to not throw up.
He was already a mess with the blood and the spit and now the tears and snot. He really didn't need to add puke to the mix.
His hair was grabbed, and his head was yanked back. He couldn't help the cry of pain, almost a whimper, as that movement sent all kinds of messages racing along his nervous system's pathways.
"Where. Is it?" was growled into his ear, so low and close it sent chills racing down Shawn's spine.
"I don't know," he rasped out in a whisper, his voice gone, vocal cords crushed. It was going to take them a little while to bounce back from this. He winced and swallowed, feeling the saliva grate on his throat as it passed over the abused tissue. "I don't-" He coughed and hacked and more tears welled up and spilled over because fuck that hurt.
He didn't know how much more of this he could take.
And he didn't want to die.
Not here.
Not now.
And sure as hell not like this.
"Please," he begged. "Please. I don't- I don't know of any diamonds or any bags of diamonds or- or- I don't know."
He looked up and met the eyes of his torturer and put everything he had into willing the man to listen to him. He didn't know how else he could make it clear. He couldn't tell what he didn't know.
Uncertainty flickered in the man's eyes.
"Please," Shawn repeated, hoping to capitalize on the doubts. "We can call the cops. I know them personally; they're good people, and they're good at what they do. They can get your daughter back safe and-"
The uncertainty guttered and died.
"No. No cops."
"I won't press charges, I swear. You're desperate. I get that. I don't blame you for being desperate. Anyone would be in your situation."
The man turned away and started scanning the desk.
Shawn felt his heart rate speed up. As if it wasn't already going a mile a minute.
"We'll tell them someone else did it. That you found me like this. You'll be a hero! It'll be great! And then we'll save your daughter, and everyone goes home ha-aa-aa- What is that for?"
His captor had picked up the fork from the desk, abandoned early on in the afternoon/evening's events—and Shawn's brain took a moment to again wonder what the hell was up with a fork as a weapon—and turned back to Shawn.
Who swallowed.
"What, uh-" His eyes flicked between the fork and the cold eyes above it. "What are you planning to do with that?"
The eyes went to the fork and he shook his head. "You're right. I can't."
Shawn exhaled and nearly went limp with relief.
"Oh thank G-" The rest dissolved into a strangled squeak when the fork was dropped and the drawer was yanked open, the letter opener he'd gotten as part of his payment on a case once pulled out. The blade was turned, the expression regarding it thoughtful.
"This will work much better."
Shawn felt the blood drain from his head so fast it made him dizzy.
"Work better for what?" he asked in a strained whisper.
The letter opened was set down, but Shawn didn't feel relief. Especially when the hands it had occupied came forward and gripped the collar of his shirt, spreading with a harsh rip of fabric and baring his chest.
Not that it had been salvageable after the back was cut out, but this just added insult to injury. This shirt was so ruined.
The letter opener was reclaimed, and Shawn whimpered and pushed with his toes, backing his chair up until it hit the wall.
"Please. No," he panted, breathing getting more difficult with each moment. "No, please! Please! No! NO!"
One hand came to rest on his shoulder, the other holding the blade steady.
It wasn't terribly sharp and, actually, that wasn't much of a consolation at the moment.
Then it was being pressed to his skin, halfway between his lowest rib and his hip, not hard enough to break the skin just yet.
"Where is it?" he asked one last time.
"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Idon'tknowIdon'tknowIdon'tknowIdon't-AUUUGH!"
The dull blade dragging across his skin was agonizing, the very dullness of it making it hurt that much more.
"IDON'TKNOWIDON'TKNOWIDON'TKNOW! PLEASE! I DON'T KNOW!"
"You have to know. You have to tell me. I can't get my Marlene back without them."
Shawn's world stopped spinning for one moment, one bright, hot, painful moment of clarity.
"What did you say?"
But his tormentor wasn't listening.
"Have to find them. You have to know. I can't get her back without them."
Another slice, and Shawn cried out, panic that made his previous alarm look like mild, fleeting concern flooding his brain.
"M-Marlene- AUGH!" He panted his way though the after effects of another slice, an inch above the first and second. He was going to look like he was some freaky merman with gills if this kept up. "Marlene W-woodbury?" he managed to whimper out.
The blade froze, pressed down, but not slicing in just yet.
"What did you say?"
Shawn gulped and gasped and then repeated himself.
"M-marlene Woodb-bury. Is that-" Another swallow. "Is that your daughter's name? Is your name Daniel Woodbury?"
The blade pressed down, bruising, but not quite cutting.
"How did you know? HOW DID YOU KNOW?" The weapon came up to Shawn's throat.
His heart took off like a yearling colt at the Kentucky Derby.
"Sh-she was kidnapped in 1989. You didn't call the police because her kidnapper said not to. He said he would- he would kill her if you did. He wanted you to find something. You never told the police what. You- you killed a man, an insurance agent, Victor Preston, he- he was working in the offices that used to be here. The ones that this building replaced. It was late. You broke in and tortured him. You killed him because he couldn't tell you where it was." Shawn gulped and almost passed out at the realization.
"And now you're going to kill me. You're going to- Oh G-AUUUGH!"
His head fell back as white hot agony lanced through his side, blanking out his vision and hearing for a long moment. He panted and tried to suck air in, but that hurt worse than just holding his breath.
Finally he lifted his head and let it fall forward, staring in shock at his stomach.
Red dripped obscenely from the three slashes starting close to his belly button and moving upward along his side. And above them the letter opener stuck out, the handle the only part visible.
His eyes stretched wide at the sight.
"GUH. GUH- GUH- OH G-"
The front door exploded inward with a shower of shattering glass.
Review, plz&thx!