Warrick stood dumbfounded outside a red-painted door at the side of the house. A garage stood approximately fifty feet away and he presumed the purpose of the door was to let occupants out to use the garage. What had him dumbfounded was the electronic device sitting mutely in his hand.
Kenny's instructions had been pretty explicit, and it wasn't as if he had never used an electronic nose before. But the device was supposed to beep when it encountered live wiring and after two hasty scans of the perimeter of the door, the thing had yet to let out a peep.
He wiped a palm now slightly sweaty with nerves on his jeans leg and decided to make sure with a third sweep. Third times the charm, but not a blip from the box.
He reached a hand up hesitantly, held his breath, and touched the brass knob. No alarms. He turned the knob and found it rotating 180 degrees, followed by a click and the door eased open under his light pressure.
Rather than be relieved by this Warrick felt his heartbeat pick up to four-four time as he pushed the door open further. Still not a sound. No klaxons or klieg lights. Just a dark room.
Growing up he'd read more than his fair share of crappy fantasy novels. And one of the things they all had in common was how easily the hero was able to enter the dragon's lair. It was always the getting out that got them into trouble.
He entered the dark area and stood as his eyes adjusted slightly. The open door allowed moonlight to filter in, casting strange shadows on the walls that upon focusing turned out to be nothing more than coats hung on pegs, boots and shoes piled neatly underneath them.
He made a quick search of the coats and surrounding shelving for anything to be used as a weapon, the rusty hunting knife lending little security.
No weapons but an extra bonus. A wooden slat nailed to the wall, five hooks protruding from it. And upon the last hook hung a set of keys, the Chrysler alarm fob immediately recognizable. Hoping they may be to one of the ubiquitous Grand Cherokees the man seemed to have he slipped them into his pocket.
At the end of the room stood another door. Next to it stood a set of wooden shelves set a few inches above the floor holding various pair of shoes and slippers. The purpose was apparently for people entering the home to leave their dirty shoes behind and the slippers to be used inside.
Warrick gave a small snort and figured he'd just dirty the man's carpeting with his mud-covered boots.
He put a hand on the next knob and his ear to the door. He figured the whole house must be able to hear his heart pounding like a kettledrum inside his chest. All this lurking, tiptoeing, ear to the door crap was nerve wracking and he'd laugh at the image of a six-two man in boots sneaking into a house undetected if it wasn't for the very real circumstances.
The next room was a kitchen. Stainless steel everything. And Very high end. His boots clomped noisily on the tile floor and he regretted not picking up a pair of the soft slippers but he was already committed.
The kitchen was dark but for a single fluorescent bar above the sink. He cast a quick look around, but the counters were all clean and clear of any clutter. Gaining a bit more confidence he strode through the kitchen to the swinging door set at the far end. This one had a window in it like a restaurant kitchen would for staff coming and going. He chanced a quick glance through the window, only to see a long hall set out before him, doors set on either side.
Back in the labyrinth. Which way to choose to save the damsel trapped within?
His books always had the hero cast a magic spell or use an enchanted sword to point the way. He had a rusty hunting knife and a scalpel with dried blood still covering it; Nick's and the psycho doctor's.
He drew in a breath and pushed the door open. It swung silently forward, then returned to its place as he let it go and stepped into the hall.
The first door on the left. Ear to the door, ease it open…food pantry. Shelves stocked with all kinds of weird looking food. Dried seaweed, salted fish, jars of pickled unknown.
The first door to the right. Walk-in freezer. He opened the stainless steel door, freezing cold air puffing out in an icy fog. Slabs of meat hanging from hooks. And ice cream. Gallon after gallon, every flavor imaginable. Maybe Chu craved ice cream after a fun day of torturing victims.
Second door on the left. Dining room. Ornately carved wooden table, long enough for the UN to meet at. High-backed wood and leather chairs stationed like soldiers at attention along its length. Gorgeous thick Oriental rug running the width and breadth of the hardwood floors.
Second door on the right. Janitorial closet. Mops, buckets, cleaning supplies.
He closed the door behind him with a sigh. At this rate it would take him the whole night to check the house and even his luck wouldn't hold out that long.
It occurred to him, and not for the first time, that Tina might not even be on the premises.
He shifted Kenny's bag of tricks on his shoulder, stood to his full height, and began striding down the hallway, shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Yo! Anybody here? I've come to see the Wizard. Hey! You hearin' me? I want Sang!"
He started opening doors, slamming them shut when he saw no one there, moving on to the next, his voice reverberating through the hallway. "I demand an audience with the great General!"
The last door at the end of the hallway led into an office. Sang was there, dressed in a richly embroidered robe and silk pants, sitting in a leather bound reclining desk chair, his legs crossed comfortably, his fingers steepled together under his chin, and a smile of bemusement on his face. On the desk sat a computer station.
"Mr. Brown. You wanted to see me. Here I am. You have brought Mr. Longman and the files, I presume?"
"Nope. I got the files. Kenny is out of it. I give you the files, you let Tina go. That's the deal."
Sang shook his head with a small disappointed smile. "No, Mr. Brown. This is not one of your American game shows. There are no deals to be made. The files, and Mr. Longman. This is what I require. His thievery caused me great dishonor. I will not allow it to pass unpunished."
"Yeah, well, you got no choice. Kenny is not a bargaining chip, and neither is my wife. I give you the files and you give me Tina. You get to make billions to add to your little empire, and we go on our merry way."
The Voice's eyebrows rose at the word billions. "I have all the money a man could need in a lifetime, Mr. Brown. Why should I accede to your plans?"
"Because not only can you make billions, you can use it against all the other scum running schemes underground. You get off on running down competitors, using trickery and secrets, feeding off the power trip. These files promise all the power you need to run them outa business, or blackmail them into submission. But you need me for the files to work. I want Tina, and I want Tina now."
The steepled fingers toyed with the end of his hairless chin. He raised his hands to tap his fingers against his mouth, lips now narrowed in apparent thought.
He released a hand and lifted it to the earpiece that still rode on his ear. Spoke into the unseen microphone. "Bring the woman to me."
He then rose from the chair and walked over to a glass and brass wet bar nestled in a corner of the room. Cut crystal carafe of amber liquid, matching crystal glasses next to it. He pulled the top off the carafe with practiced ease and poured two inches into a glass, capping the bottle, then turning back to Warrick.
"I'm sorry…where are my manners? Drink?"
Warrick shook his head shortly. This was going way too easily and the faux friendliness was way worse than the anger and hostility he had expected to encounter.
"No? Pity. This is a Glenfiddich single malt. Bottled in 1937, at the height of World War Two. China and Japan were slaughtering each other by the thousands, and a distillery in Scotland was making whisky. This bottle cost $28,000. I purchased it, of all places, in the Hong Kong airport."
He took a small sip of the beverage, running a pink tongue over his thin lips. "Smoky. You can taste the peat. Sure you won't take a glass? After all, we are two generals discussing the terms of our engagement. Seems only civil."
Warrick wrinkled his brow in disgust. He refused to play along with the charade. Refrained from what he wanted to say, replying with a pointed, "No, thank you."
Sang nodded and returned to his desk chair, still sipping delicately at his glass of scotch.
A moment or two later, there was a knock at the door. The Voice gave a short, "Enter," and the door opened to reveal a large man dressed in black, probably one of the nameless, neckless thugs he and Nick had tangled with earlier. His meaty hand was wrapped around Tina's upper arm as he pushed her forward into the room.
She burst into tears and pulled from the man's grasp to grab a hold of Warrick. He took her into his embrace, running a quieting hand down her back, whispering reassurances and apologies into her hair. Her shampoo still carried the faintest wisp of apricots and he felt tears welling up in his eyes.
He cast a look over Tina's shoulder and met eyes with Sang. The Voice was smiling smugly as he stared at the two of them. Then raised a single finger and pointed at Tina and the thug reached over and wrested her away. She squealed in terror, batting fruitlessly at the brute's iron grip.
"Sorry to break up such a tender reunion, Mr. Brown, but I believe we have something to discuss."
He opened his mouth to speak, then held a slender finger up as he tapped at his ear. After just a moment of listening, his face revealing no change of expression, he uttered a simple, "Very good," then returned to speaking to Warrick as if the call had never interrupted them. "The files?"
Warrick looked back at Tina and gave her a small smile, trying to let her know that he was working to get her back. That they were getting out of this together. She snuffled, but quieted, watching the exchange between her captor and her husband.
"Now, as you can see, Mrs. Brown has not been harmed," Sang continued. "Time to… how to put it in terms you will understand? …Yes…put your cards on the table, Mr. Brown."
Warrick took the knapsack from off his shoulder, opening it and pulling out a plastic cased CD. He looked at it hesitantly, then handed it over to Sang.
Sang looked at it, flipping it back and forth as the plastic case threw prisms of light reflected on the ceiling.
"So you tell me I need you to make these files work, is that correct, Mr. Brown?"
He gave a quick nod in response. "Kenny put a thirteen digit password on it. You can work on it 'til the cows come home … Kenny assures me even the NSA couldn't break the encryption. He gave me the password. I want your word that you'll let us go and let me get help for my partner. Then you'll get the password. Not until."
Sang lips curled in a Grinch-like smile, but it never reached his cold almond eyes.
"Fortunately, Mr. Brown, I don't need you for the password. I shall get it from Mr. Longman."
Warrick shook his head. "I won't tell you where he is."
"Ah, but you don't have to. Mr. Longman succumbed to panic. He tried to call 911. Something about Mr. Stokes having stopped breathing. Madame Chu is on her way now to bring him back to me. Now I have you, I have the disc, and I will soon have Mr. Longman. Mr. Stokes is apparently no longer a concern, so as you see, I hold all the aces in this hand, Mr. Brown."
He's not dead…he's not dead. Kenny knew it would do no good to call…knew it would only bring them running…why would he call?…can't be happening…Mr. Stokes stopped breathing …why would Kenny call? Why did he call? His thoughts ricocheted around inside his head like bullets; all too fast to be seen and all potentially fatal. If he allowed himself to believe that Nick was dead and Kenny was caught then this whole thing was for nothing. He and Tina would be dead soon as well and Sang would win.
He blinked rapidly, clutching desperately at a way to bring this back around. It had been working …Sang had been willing to deal…
"You know you're not gonna catch Kenny. Dude's like a cockroach, sneaks around in the woodwork, hides in the shadows, always knows you're coming before you get there. You may find my partner, but you won't get Kenny, and you'll still be in the same position you were in."
He somehow was able to spit the words out without a stammer or stumble, finding resolve God knows where as he managed to maintain his calm cool demeanor. He realized it was probably because he believed the words himself. Kenny, ironically enough, was probably the one guy who could escape unscathed. God looks out for Drunks and small children. He'd have to amend that to scrawny tech geeks as well.
Sang shook his head. "Madame Chu lost much face with me. I believe the punishment meted out, and the knowledge of the penalty for any further failure will be sufficient motivation for her. She will bring Mr. Longman back, or she will know not to return. It is that simple."
"Oh, yeah! You think she's got him? Call her. You call her and ask her if she's got Kenny. I got a Benjamin says Kenny slipped through her fingers."
"Fingers…yes …" Sang said with an odd half smile. He stared at Warrick, mouth frozen with the one corner pulled up in what appeared to be half pain, half humor.
He raised a hand and tapped at his earpiece, speaking with clipped tones into the air. "Get me the doctor."
He waited a moment. Then two. He closed his eyes briefly then uttered a brief, "Keep trying."
Warrick's heart leapt at those two words. His bluff had paid off, if only temporarily. But what did it mean? Did Kenny really take off and abandon Nick? He knew he had been pretty clear with his childhood friend what was going on and what kind of help his partner needed. Would fear for his own life win out? Twenty years ago, Kenny was brave enough to help Warrick out when he needed it the most. The man snuck into a madman's lair to rescue them with a toy gun. But you didn't survive the way Kenny had without having a strong sense of self-preservation. Which meant that maybe Nick really was … but, why would Kenny call?
The cold eyes returned to fix back on him, as Sang appeared to ponder his next words.
"One who walks along a river frequently cannot avoid getting his feet wet on occasion. It would appear that Mr. Longman may have dampened my feet and my plans, Mr. Brown. Fortunately, I still have you and your wife. I shall not pick up the sesame seed, only to lose the watermelon. The password. You have it. I have your wife. The terms are clear. Do not make me waste breath restating them. This will be my final request as I grow weary of our banter."
Warrick stiffened as he saw Number One Goon tighten his grip on Tina's arms. She squealed at the pain of his fingers pressing into her flesh. But he was also encouraged by what he saw in The Voice's face. Irritation. The first sign of true emotion the man had let slip. For all his talk the man was still human. Barely.
He seized on it, a small ember of hope burning in his heart. Putting on his best poker face he sighed and nodded. "A'ight. You win."
Sang's face regained its previous smug smile. "You are a wise man, Mr. Brown." Saying that he removed the disc and walked over to the desk to open the drive on the computer. He placed the disc in and closed up the drawer, moving the mouse to reactivate the sleeping computer screen. The screen flashed black, then a box of text appeared. "Password: ".
He remained bent over the keyboard, fingers poised to enter the thirteen-digit code. Warrick was gratified to see another hint of anger in the man's face as the CSI stalled for time. He knew the code, had had the whole trip up here to memorize it, cement it in his head like a weird mantra. But he wanted to see how far he could push the man's buttons. See if he could get the reaction he was seeking.
Sang stood back up, ire now obvious on his face. Warrick stammered out, "I'm thinking! It's thirteen numbers and letters, Man. Gotta make sure I give it to you right."
"I have no more patience for your games, Mr. Brown. Give me the pass code."
Warrick screwed up his face and chewed on his lip, as if trying desperately to remember the password. "Alright, alright. You'll get it just gimme a second." He then sighed and nodded his head.
Sang sat down in the leather chair and readied himself at the keyboard.
Warrick spit the code out piece by piece as The Voice pecked each key in response.
"P…A…M…2...I…M…1...A…M…0...W…A…T" As he finished the last letter he flashed a look at Tina, trying to convey a lifetime's worth of information in a single motion. This is it. I have a plan. Be ready. I love you. Please trust me.
Her response was a subtle quieting of her struggles as she fixed her amber colored eyes on him. Her head made an almost imperceptible nod.
Sang hit enter at the end of the recitation of the code and sat staring avidly at the computer screen. The screen flashed once, then a stream of code started filling the screen, bit by bit, pixel by pixel until the screen was a swarm of glowing flashing alphanumeric characters. Sang's hands tightened on the arms of his chair as he leaned closer to the computer, horror dawning on his face. The lights in the room flickered; once, twice, then went off and stayed off.
Then all Hell broke loose.
Nick swallowed the last cold tablet after the little pack rat ran outside to fill his cup again. The water did very little to rinse the foul taste out of his mouth, as he kept from spitting and rinsing in the hopes it would not trigger another bout of throwing up. The nausea was still a lingering problem, but he ignored it as the tingling sensations having grown exponentially in his extremities over the past hour or so. Nick set the cup down before he dropped it; the tremble in his right hand more pronounced than ever. He managed to splash more water on his face and chin than anything else.
He felt his eyes drift closed as the heat emanating from the newly built fire grew in the rickety stove. The smoke signal would be like a huge waving flag for his expected guests of honor. It had taken Kenny a good twenty minutes to create the small heat source. It was amazing; the pack rat could create cutting edge technology, but had no common sense when it came to something as simple as burning wood. The few minutes of hoped for solace were rudely interrupted by the loud noise of Kenny running around the cabin, banging doors and creating an annoying ruckus.
"You need to get goin'," Nick growled, a little more forcefully than appropriate. The growing perturbation was just wreaking havoc on his frayed nerves, and the little bugger needed to hightail it out of the cabin.
"I'm leavin', Man. I don't want to stick around for the ..." Kenny let his thoughts trail off. The word 'slaughter' was quickly doused. He picked up his items and dropped them on the cot next to the ailing CSI.
Nick raised an eyebrow at the heavy black skillet unceremoniously heaped next to him, Kenny's darting eyes barely making contact with him.
"Thing's heavy. You might be able to whack someone pretty good with it." Kenny shrugged and rummaged through his pockets as he nervously viewed the door as the minutes ticked along. "Here." Kenny tossed the epi-pen into Nick's lap; the idea that he was rid of the thing was quite obvious.
Nick shook his head knowing the little man was glad to be unloaded of 'that' responsibility. He pocketed the item into his jeans and nodded at his companion. "Thanks." He was going to add a few more urging parted words, but a cough ripped through his sore lungs leaving him struggling for air.
Kenny hesitated by the door as he watched Nick bend over, hacking terribly, his mouth open and gasping. At first the little guy thought this was it, another breathing attack, but Nick's face slowly relaxed. He didn't pull himself upright, but stayed in a slumped position on his cot. Kenny lingered a few moments more, then yanked open the door; he chewed on his lips, basking in the fresh air outside. Any more delaying tactics were quashed when Nick's scratchy, but adamant voice gave him the needed kick out the door.
"Get outa here, Man...Now!"
Kenny Longman disappeared into the fading sun, the sound of the door banging closed the last real noise in the cabin. Nick studied it for a few minutes and ran his right hand over his face trying to wake up from the constant lethargy that had settled itself into his aching body. He cocked his head to the side as he studied the black beat up frying pan. It was a good thought and one he would keep in mind.
Nick kept staring at the stove, at the dying embers of the wood burning and releasing the much sought after heat. Some of the wood stuck out of the stove, since all Kenny did was shove pieces of broken up logs in any haphazard way. There was almost an art to it. The guy had no idea how to build a fire, but it still worked. Heat was heat.
Nick heard the soft sound of a running engine; as he suspected a car had driven up the rocky thing they called a driveway.
Well, that didn't take long, he mused darkly. Less than an hour to come roaring over. Nick only prayed it gave Warrick the needed assistance.
He took a deep breath, forced it out of his tight-feeling chest, the razorblades currently slicing up the inside of his lungs almost creating another coughing fit. Nick staggered to his feet, broken left hand nestled along his stomach as he unsteadily stumbled over towards the stove.
A heavy skillet was a clumsy weapon. After throwing the pigskin around, baseball was more his thing in college. Nick grabbed the end of one of the longer pieces of wood and dislodged it from its death. The chunk of wood was about as long as his arm, somewhat easier to hoist and swing. The end was still on fire, and he hoped somewhat menacing. He stood there in the most upright position he could manage, his heart beating painfully, his breathing faster and much more shallow then it needed to be.
The front door squeaked opened, nothing stealthy about how it was pushed ajar. Nick kept his eye on the entrance as he waited to face the goon whose bravado was more than obvious from the 'through the front door approach'. Nick tightened his grip on his primitive weapon as Madame Chu sauntered in, her eyes canvassing the squat room for exit points and undoubtedly the whereabouts of his partner.
Nick sought out any advantage, anything he could use against her. Brute strength if he'd had it, just didn't seem like it would cut the mustard with this vile woman. He felt if he was on all cylinders that Chu would prove to be formidable, but not an impossible opponent. Just because the enemy was female did not mean she wasn't lethal. Undoubtedly she was skilled, and confident. Nick thought of himself as in shape, and fairly strong. Given the war he was already waging internally though, he just didn't know how much of his resources were available at this moment.
Nick hoped the woman's tight-fitting black leather pants slowed her reflexes down. There was a reason why people practiced martial arts training in loose fitting sweatpants. Her very high stiletto heels would play into his hand; no one could be very quick in those damn things and her balance would be off for sure.
Chu took both gloved hands and adjusted her hair as if this was just a casual chance meeting. She played around with one of her decorative hairpins and tucked a few loose strands out of her eyes, her dark red lips forming another twisted smile.
"I saw Mr. Longman along the side of the road. My two comrades will make quick work of him. If he thinks he can elude them in the woods he's sadly mistaken. The little thief was too stupid to stay hidden."
Nick didn't waste any of his precious breath with her baiting. He cursed Kenny for being so idiotic. The pack rat had evaded The Voice's men for too long to be so dumb about being out in the open like that. Nick adjusted his feet, and tried not to give away how off-balance he felt from just standing. Chu cocked an eyebrow as she circled him around his right side. She stalked him like prey, her irises glittering like the bright eyes of a predator. Nick moved along with her, keeping the woman in front of him.
"Where's Mr. Brown?"
Nick kept silent.
Chu tilted her head. "Did he leave you?" She peered at the CSI, her smile revealing two rows of perfect white teeth. She made a point to place her right hand over her mouth as she giggled again; the sound made Nick's teeth clench.
"Poor Mr. Stokes. He went after his precious wife and left you to die all alone. Or maybe he thought he could work out a deal. Highly unlikely." Her laughter filled the room as she dropped her gloved hand from her lips. "I'm very impressed you are still even alive. I know my little pens have kept you up and running, but they would not have been enough. Not sure what you came up with, but I'm glad you're still on your feet, so to speak. I look forward to hearing you scream and beg me to kill you quickly."
The giggle in her voice was gone as Chu stopped, her back to the kitchen and sole focus on him. Her dark eyes narrowed, her mouth formed a thin straight line. Her next words were not husky, or taunting. They were just plain evil.
"I'm going to make you pay for your dishonor," she seethed, right before she lunged at him, her quickness and agility a surprise to the ill-equipped CSI.
Nick brought up his fire-bat and swung just in time to get a glancing blow across the left side of her face, sending the woman staggering backwards. She let out a shocked cry, her hand grabbing her jaw. Nick's instincts wanted him to back off, but his brain was screaming to stay on the offensive. He stepped forward to keep up with the assault, rearing his right arm back to land a more impressive blow.
Chu blocked the hit with her left arm, grunting when the wood slammed along the bones there. Nick didn't let up and brought the wood down on her again, the rush of air stirring the flames and causing them to roar to life.
Her arm connected again, protecting her body, the fire singing her black shirt. While she used her left forearm as a shield pushing forward, she grabbed Nick's injured left wrist with her right hand.
Nick could not pull up his makeshift bat for another swing as the woman used her weight to keep it in place, like two warriors sword fighting. Nick was about to jab at her instead when the doctor grabbed his left wrist yanking it hard and pulling it upwards.
Nick let out a howl of pain and dropped his crude weapon, the flames consuming the dry wood as it rolled away. The physician twisted his hand at a sharp angle holding it in midair. Nick flailed for several moments his right hand grabbing at her hand, as he valiantly tried to pry away her fingers. Chu was in total control of the game as she flexed Nick's hand back, the broken bones grating on one another.
Hot fiery pain tore through his hand, wrist, and down his arm. With his condition already weak, the splitting agony sent him down to his knees. He gasped as Chu toyed with his wrist now, bending it from side to side, her cold eyes lighting up in glee as he panted for breath. She towered over him now, her left arm resting along her body as she simply kept his hand taut in the air, the muscles pulling at the broken bones.
"I'm surprised you even tried to hit me, Mr. Stokes. You seemed too damn gentlemanly to do so," she sneered.
Nick cried out, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to stand again to release his imprisoned hand. Chu just smiled, pulling harder at his attempt, keeping him down to the ground.
Nick peeled open his eyes, "I-won't hit a woman...I will---fight an evil--bitch like yourself," Nick grunted.
"That's your place, down there on the ground begging," she growled at his response. Making direct eye contact she smiled. "The hand does have the most bones in the body. You still have some left intact."
She giggled again as she adjusted her fingers and snapped his hand at a 90 degree angle, the sounds of more bones cracking filling in the silence before Nick screamed. Using the pain to channel his energy his right fist connected across her jaw, Chu's head snapping back from the impact.
The vile woman abruptly let go of his injured wrist as Nick cradled it to his stomach, a soft sob escaping his lips. Nick managed a somewhat stooped-over standing position and punched Chu again along her pale left cheek, her grunt of astonishment a satisfying sound. He kept his left hand tucked along his belly as he grabbed her long hair and pulled hard, sending the athletic woman into the far wall with a thud.
Nick felt his head pound, another symptom of his decreased flow of oxygen. Time was of the essence if he was going to knock the woman out; he needed to do so quick and, if needed, be brutal. Nick charged hoping to grab her throat and cut off her air supply long enough for her to pass out. Part of his mind felt like the payback would be only a small taste of his past several grueling hours. Nick sought out his target, as Chu brought up a knee and slammed it into his groin.
The overwhelming agony of the assault dropped him like a dead weight. He tried to avoid the instinct to curl up into a ball as fire tore through his lower region, the urge to throw up overwhelming. He gagged, as the pain blinded his already fuzzy mind. The primitive part of his brain somehow made him slither away, a hand and knee at a time, away from the attack. He put pressure on his already destroyed wrist and the added flare of white hot pain jolted him out of falling into the black tunnel of unconsciousness.
He crawled one-handed towards the kitchen. Nick thought he heard the crackle pop of some strange noise outside the pounding of his heart, but ignored it as she stalked after him towards the counter area.
Chu glanced back over her shoulder to see the wooden plank catching the cot on fire, the flames eating away at the dingy fabric. One hand rubbed her cheek and jaw, as she spatblood on the floorfrom his punches, while the other fixed her hair. She raised an eyebrow in mild annoyance "Looks like I won't be able to play with you as much as I had hoped for."
Nick felt the side of his body bump the edge of the counter, the evil woman looming over him. He turned until his back was against the cabinet; he would face whatever things the monster had in store for him. His lower body was a mass of chaos, but not enough of a distraction from his increasing level of respiratory distress. The antihistamine was fading from his system, the internal battle raging on, one side losing. He tried to ignore how his chest began to crush him from the inside. It was like he was being squeezed to death, the razorblades morphing into stabbing pains at every ragged breath. He was getting lightheaded, but he shoved that feeling away for later.
The torturer kneeled in front of him so they were each at eye level. "In my country failure is not an option. We live to serve our lord and any miscue is severely punished." She grabbed Nick's chin with her right hand to force his attention. "You owe me something."
Nick wrenched his head away breaking the contact. He glared at her coldly, trying to gain enough oxygen to speak. "You...were one of those kids...who destroyed her Barbie dolls…weren't you?" He laughed, ignoring the thunder clouds in the woman's' features.
The evil doctor took her right hand and peeled away the black leather glove covering her left one. Dramatically she removed the garment to reveal her delicate fingers. Her last one, the pinky, was missing, leaving a small stump covered by gauze caked with dark red dried blood. Nick's eyes went wide from what he was staring at.
"Every mistake one makes requires the loss of a finger. Your little escape was my first ever failure," she said in a clipped anger-laced tone. She peered down at Nick. "It's time you returned my honor," she hissed.
Nick felt the need to back up, but there was nowhere to wiggle away. Chu reached into her leather pants, removing a switchblade knife from one of the hidden pockets. Nick had no clue how she managed to hide something in such restrictive clothing.
"Time to pay the piper."
Nick felt his adrenaline swell through his body at those chilling words and their underlying meaning. Chu stood up, grabbing a handful of sweatshirt as she hoisted Nick to his feet. "Up we go," she cooed. Her four-fingered left hand tugged on more of his shirt, and she used all of her strength to manhandle Nick into standing.
Nick wavered slightly but was not given any reprieve as the woman flung him around and pushed his chest forward. She took her left arm and pressed down her full weight over his back allowing the edge of the counter to dig into his diaphragm. The counter blew out any remaining oxygen from his air-starved body. Chu slammed down his right hand along the counter top, her blade poised to strike. She struggled to keep his upper body pinned and his right hand still long enough to slice away one of his fingers.
"You care which one gets lopped off, do you?" she teased.
Nick began to try to buck up; anything to dislodge her. Normally he would simply overpower her, using his weight and strength to his advantage. However, he was already getting dizzy from lack of air and she was using every ounce of energy to keep his body trapped painfully along the edge.
He felt the cold steel blade begin to press down on his index finger as she got ready to plunge it all the way across.
"Of course, I won't stop at just one."
Nick screamed as she began to inflict her revenge, the sounds of the ratty cot being consumed by flames in a big whooshing sound mixing in with the life and death struggle just a few feet away.
tbc...