The Devil You Know
Chapter 4


Well, I'll give this one credit. She's a tough little chick. I didn't expect her to hold up quite so nicely. After all, when Buffy called begging the Soul to take her, the Slayer made it sound as though little sister didn't have an ounce of strength in her entire body. Au contraire, my dear little Slayer. Most of my human toys have broken long before now. Why, she hasn't even screamed properly yet, just a couple of the little grunts that escape the pathetic members of her species when they're in pain. Eventually, of course, she passed out from shear exhaustion and agony. It's to be expected. But the time she lasted was not. Impressive, Dawn, very impressive. But today we shall see how well she can withstand torture of the mental kind. Along with more of the physical, of course.

She's been awake for the past five minutes, give or take. I was aware of it from the start, of course. From the moment she awoke she instinctually began tugging at the chains that bound her, as though she didn't know that they wouldn't budge. Though, of course she must have.

I, in the meantime, have paid her no mind. Instead, I have continued to concentrate on her portrait. I can practically hear the irritation and restlessness as she squirms in her constraints. It's quite entertaining. She's waiting for me to say or do something, unaware of how the game is played. I'm going to make her speak first - forcing my hand.

What she contains in endurance she lacks in patience. My toy lasts only another five minutes before she speaks. Not only does the act of her giving in bring me pleasure, but so too does the difficulty her damaged throat has in forming the words. I suppose that's a combination of the two bites and lingering harm from our little bonding session. Ropes do tend to burn, after all.

"You're . . . drawing?"

"What does it look like?"

"Gee, I'm sorry. It's just that you nearly tortured me to death." She pauses, to gasp for a breath that's difficult for her. She's obviously struggling, but seems determined to finish whatever meaningless comment in her head. Humorous, really. "You'll have to excuse me for being a bit surprised that you've stopped -"

"Oh, don't worry. I plan to finish what I started, baby sister."

"Well, please, take your time. I wouldn't want to interrupt your art session."

"Don't you want to know what I'm drawing?"

Poor silly and predictable girl. I'm going to tell you anyway. Still, I allow her a moment to struggle with the answer. She hesitates, and I know she wants to say yes, but is reminding herself that she should say no. After all, we don't want to converse with the crazed psychotic torturers, do we? Whatever would dear Buffy say about that? Probably something hypocritical, given that she fucks the crazed psychotic torturers.

Have I mentioned that I am impressed with my toy? Most of my previous captives have not kept up a front of any kind after one night with me, brave or otherwise. "You're drawing me, aren't you?"

Ah, the mythical Summers' intelligence reasserts itself. I glance up briefly before returning my gaze to the drawing. "Very good, Dawn. Why do you sound so surprised?" I do wonder why so many of my victims have been surprised to find out that I have an artistic side. Torture is an art, after all, as is killing itself. Surely they know how good I am at the those activities. Was Da Vinci not a painter, inventor, and an architect? Why, then, should I not torture, kill, and draw?

"I didn't think you. . . I didn't know you had any appreciation for art."

"Oh, I appreciate art, baby sister, and all of the fine intricacies that go along with it. Take you, for example. Encapsulating each and every mark where the whips lacerated your skin, capturing the exact coloring and texture of the bruises left by the paddles, conveying the depth of the cuts left by the window after it broke across your back. . . It's such hard work, baby sister. And it's only going to be harder tomorrow. I mean, God knows how I'm going to get the shadowing necessary to show the exact depth of the holes left by. . . Oh, I don't want to give away the surprise."

Throughout my speech, I maintain eye contact, relishing each shiver that my words induce. "And you have the audacity to be surprised at my artistic sensibilities? I suffer for my art, baby. Not as much as you do, of course. But still, I do suffer."

The reply takes a minute to come, both because of her terror and the fragility of her throat. I suppose her pain is the reason her reply is so lame. "Gee, for some reason I can't seem to feel your pain."

I ignore her futile - if cute - attempts at remaining strong as I shut the book and lay it on the table beside me. Distantly, I hear the worn wood groan as the furniture wobbles beneath the sketch book's weight. By the sound of tiny feet that scramble across the floor at the movement, I guess the house has been infected with insects. Probably termites. That's rather vulgar, of course. I'd relocate, if it wasn't necessary to be so secluded. But I wouldn't want anyone to hear my toy's screams.

"There's just one problem, baby sister. I'm not quite certain what I'm going to do with my book of drawings once I'm finished. I had planned on sending it to your dear sister, as a thank you card of sorts, for the fine gift she bestowed upon me. But I've been having so much fun, Dawnie, that I've been thinking that I should keep he sketch book as a souvenir. Something to look back on fondly after I've killed you."

She winces - once at the mention of the Slayer and then again at the reminder of how she became mine. I will have to spend some more time on that later. But first thing's first, Angelus old boy. Focus and finish. "Then again, I could always send her something else - a toe. . . an eye. . . an ear. What do you think, baby sister?"

She doesn't answer. I take the lull in conversation as the perfect opportunity to rise and cross the room where assorted tools await me. I have positioned the display just in front of Dawn so that the potential instruments of torture are easy for her to see. If she was not hanging by her arms from the ceiling, Dawn could reach out and touch them. As curious as she seems to be, she no doubt speculates on their exact purpose. It must drive her crazy. Gee, could that be why I put it there?

"What's the matter, Dawnie? Cat got your tongue? Ooh! A tongue! Perhaps that's what we will send to your sister. From what I hear, you're chatty enough that the Slayer should recognize it instantly."

Pursuing the many choices at disposal, I pretend to take a minute to decide before selecting the one I've been planning on using since I first suspended my toy's limbs from the ceiling. "Frankly, my toy, I'm feeling a bit left out. You've barely said a handful of sentences since you've been in my company."

Casually tossing the instrument air, I shake my head in mock despair. "I mean, I know I'm an evil, soulless bastard, but from what I hear, that shouldn't matter to you."

That pretty little head snaps up. Good girl. Now that her eyes are clearly focused on me, I take the occasion to caress the cool metal between my fingertips as I roll it between my hands. "I find it odd that everyone in your family has such a vampire fetish, baby sister. What's wrong with you Summers girls? The blond bitch's issues are obvious, what with her being a Slayer. But at least she picked a Ensouled vampire to fall in love with. From what Buffy tells me, not only did you fall for an Soulless vampire for a boyfriend, but you apparently have quite the affection for my old pal Spike."

"Spike has a soul now," she informs me.

"Ah, yes, and it's going so well, isn't it, Dawnie? It's not like he's killing anyone now with his shiny new soul. . . Oh, wait, yes he is. You know about that, don't you?"

"I-it's not his fault."

" 'Course not. The poor widdle vampire's being manipulated by the big bad First. But you consorted with my grandchilde long before he had a soul, didn't you, baby sister?"

"Spike's nothing like you."

"No, that's true. He preferred, on the whole, to kill his victims and be done. My golden boy never much had the patience necessary for torture. There were exceptions of course."

"He's made up for it -"

"Like Angel did?"

"No! Spike. . . Before he had the Soul. . . He helped us."

"Ah, yes. Was that before or after he tried to rape your sister?"

I can't help myself. This was such a serious game, but when she makes that face I have to laugh. "Yes, baby sister, I know all about that. Xander called to let me know - apparently he believed Angel would stake his own grandchilde if he knew. I'll admit, the Souled One was tempted to hunt down Spike and do just that."

"I'm sure you weren't."

"No. I was disappointed. He failed. Pity. Rape was one of the things Spike used to be so good at."

The horror that crosses her face is priceless. "What's the matter, Dawnie? Did you think your sister was a special case? Far from it. Spike's favorite victims were girls your age. He'd drain them just to the point of weakness . . . Kind of like I've been doing to you, actually. . . But leave them just enough strength to scream. His little conquests, they were, as well as a meal. Of course, I had my fair share, but they meant more to William. . . Dear, sweet William. Eternally enacting vengeance for the rejection he felt as a human."

She's near tears now. Ah, I had no idea she cares that much for Spike. Must have killed her to know that the fool fell in love with the Slayer. I wonder how much of her would have rather had him all to herself. Even the evil version. Hmm. Interesting, Dawnie, very interesting. "It's too bad he had to go get himself a soul. . . For the Slayer, too, no less. The old Spike would have loved to have had a go at you, baby sister. And I would have enjoyed sharing you."

I give an unnecessary sigh, similar to one of those that the Soul gave when he was off pontificating on the horrible deeds he had to atone for. "But since that Spike couldn't be here in person, I took it upon myself to make sure he was here in spirit. Do you know what this is, Dawnie?" I hold my William's favorite instrument of torture up for her to inspect.

"A metal stake?" Ooh, we'll see how much of that venom we can remove tonight, shall we?

"Close, but no. This is a railroad spike. Our William loved those - it's how he received his other name, of course."

I run the spike along the bottom of her foot, relishing the involuntary jerking of her appendage away from the cool metal. "Now, I'll warn you, I'm not as well versed in the torture techniques of a railroad spike as our dear William, but I'm sure I'll learn, with plenty of practice."

I catch her eyes, smile, and shove the metal forward through the bottom of the bridge of her left foot. Ah, there it is. Dawn's first real scream. Such a sweet, sweet sound.

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To Be Continued. . . .

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