The forty-second time he kills me he uses an axe. Chopping it into my gut, my arms and my legs. He loves hearing me scream so he went for the throat last and got a good ten minutes of silent screaming before I bled to death.
When I wake I'm alone. The axe is leaning against the wall and congealed blood coverers the floor. Lucy hadn't been in, obviously. I ached from head to toe. I had now been tied up, spread eagled for months and boy, were my bones stiff.
The next three times I die are at the hands of Lucy. I haven't seen her in ages. Well, at least a week. Time seems to stretch out down here. She saunters in as if it was the most natural thing in the world. To her it probably was.
She's back to looking like her old self. Suave. Sophisticated. Self-assured. But he had done something to her. No doubt about it. Every time she kills me I could hear her laughter echoing through my head. She was always there when I woke up and would immediately kill me again, never even letting me catch my breath.
After the third death when I woke she was gone, she had cleaned up the blood and guts, and had apparently stolen the murder weapon. I grinned at the thought. Some souvenir.