Chapter 8: The trial of the chosen
"Private Forsmyth!"
Morgan fixed her gaze upon the young soldier. She could seem him trying to stand strong and blend in, but his hands trembled.
"Yes sir?"
The Captain beckoned the boy with a twist of his hand.
"Come here."
Sayer stood beside his Captain, his eyes moving quickly back and forth between him and Morgan. He finally got a good look at her from the front, the black and blue stretching around her eye, and clenched his fists.
The Captain put his hand on Sayer's shoulder, patting it, almost father-like.
"I've heard that you are still adjusting to life as a Gale Force soldier," he said. "This isn't the first time a private has learned to deal with things like prisoner interrogation. It's a hard thing to learn, and it's something that you will need to get used to quickly. Honestly, the best way is to jump in head first."
Sayer looked at his Captain, confusion crossing his face.
"What do you mean, sir?"
The Captain slapped him hard on the back, causing him to stumble forward, almost losing his balance. The other soldiers chuckled.
"I've decided that you are going to be in charge of her interrogation."
The blood drained from Sayer's face. He looked at Morgan, his eyes full of panic.
The Captain grabbed Sayer by the arm, dragging him closer to Morgan.
"Now, you need to be careful. If you hit at the wrong angle, you could damage the bones in your hand." The Captain held out his own hand, demonstrating. "Make sure that when you curl into your first that your thumb stays tucked along your fingers. If you let it slip, especially after multiple strikes, you could break it. Trust me, boy, I've done it before and it is incredibly difficult to heal. The best thing is avoidance."
Sayer tried to go along with it. He had his own hand out, mimicking the motions of the Captain. He did his best to play the violence-ready soldier, but his emotions kept giving him away, the trembling from before still remaining.
"Can you even throw a punch like that?" mocked the sergeant. "He's shaking like a leaf!"
"Close it," said the Captain. "He's just nervous, that's all. Your first interrogation is a big deal, or have you forgotten what that was like?"
The sergeant closed his mouth, no comeback to be heard.
"Now," continued the Captain, "the human skull is one of the toughest bones in the body. If you hit it wrong, you can shatter your hand. You need to aim towards the weakest places in the face, the ones that will cause the most pain. Aim for the cheek, the nose, the jaw, and the temple. Although, if you go for the temple or surrounding areas too hard, you will do what Sorbeck did and knock her out with one blow, which defeats the purpose. The purpose, Private, is to cause the most pain while expending the least amount of energy. Punishing them should not punish you as well."
Morgan wondered how she was even breathing. She shook so badly that she could barely stay still. She wriggled her wrists, tugging at her bonds, trying desperately to get them loose.
I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here NOW.
She pulled again, this time harder. She rocked forward on the chair, her bonds digging into wrists, friction burning her skin. She then tried rubbing them against the chair, trying to split them. But it was no use.
The Captain and Sayer were watching her. The Entire Gale Force was watching her.
"Look there, Private. She's defying you," the Captain said to Sayer. "She defied you by hiding from you, twice. She attacked our men. Their blood is stained upon her. You need to teach her a lesson. She deserves no pity, for she would do the same to you if given the chance."
Morgan thought back to the bathroom, their conversation, him laughing and shaking her hand. He stared at her, so scared and so sad. He was just as trapped as she was.
The Captain pushed him forward until he was standing within an arms length from her. The Gale Force was whooping and chanting his name, egging him on. He looked down at Morgan, tied roughly to the chair, cheek black and blue, tears staining her face. He did not want to do this. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt a prisoner, let alone the girl that he had helped, the girl who could have taken his life but spared it. The Captain crossed his arms, watching. Sayer curled his hand into a fist.
"What are you waiting for?" the Captain asked. "Show her what happens when one hurts a member of our brotherhood."
Sayer raised his fist, his bottom lip quivering. He bit down on it hard, trying to show strength, trying to hide his sorrow from the other men. His eyes locked onto Morgan's.
'I'm sorry' he mouthed to her. 'I'm so sorry.'
'It's okay,' Morgan mouthed back. 'Just do it.'
Sayer still stood frozen, his knuckles turning white in his clenched fist. Morgan knew that no matter what, she was going to have to endure something awful. What she could do, though, was make sure that Sayer wouldn't out himself to the others. They couldn't know the two had met. She put on an expression of bravery and defiance.
"What, is the little boy scared?" Morgan spat. "Get on with it! I don't have all night."
The cheering from the Gale Force turned to jeers. Sayer took a deep breath, now full of resolve with what he had to do. He just hoped that Morgan would forgive him.
He reached backwards and let his fist fly forward, sending it crashing into the side of her face. Her head whipped to the side, the breath stolen from her lungs. A raucous yell exploded from the men, many of them clapping. Morgan coughed, her face throbbing from both this hit and the one before. She tasted metal; her bottom lip had split open. She looked up at Sayer, his own mask of bravery threatening to slip.
"Really, is that it?" Morgan said sardonically. "That was barely a tap. Did you learn to punch from your mother?"
Sayer sucked in his breath with a hiss and sent another fist flying across her face. This time, he made contact with her nose, the sickening sound of a crunch reverberating beneath his knuckles. Morgan let out a gasp of pain, a fierce fire shooting up through her nose and into her forehead. She could feel the blood begin to run from her nose. She tried to breathe, inhaling too sharply, the blood clogging her throat and choking her. She coughed a few times, trying to clear her airway. The tears were back, pooling in the corners of her eyes.
"How was that for you?" Sayer spat. "Was that better?"
He walked over to Morgan, grabbing her by the chin and shoving her head upwards. He leaned in close. Once his expression was mostly hidden from the others, his face fell.
"Morgan, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I didn't want to. I'm so sorry."
"Sayer, stop. They'll notice," Morgan whispered back. "They can't know we've met, or this will be you."
Morgan forced herself to glare at Sayer. She laughed, a cackle as maniacal as she could make it, and then she spit, the blood running from her nose now splattered across Sayer's face.
"Go," she whispered, almost inaudibly. "Do what you have to do."
Sayer, shaking, covered in blood, stood up. The Gale Force was riled up before, but now even more so after Morgan spit blood on him. They were hurling vile threats, wanting to hurt her themselves. Sayer hit her again, this time with his opposite hand, added a bruise to the other side of her face. She hung her head, blood running down her chin, the edges of her vision turning black and purple.
The Captain tapped his fingers across his arm, his smile taking over the bottom half of his face. The man stood up, walking over to his new prisoner. He undid the binding around her wrists and then locked onto her arms in a vice grip. Morgan thought about trying to run, but the pain in her head was so bad that it messed with her ability to think. The Captain pulled the chair from under her and kicked the backs of her knees, sending her falling to the ground. He redid the ropes so quickly that by the time she realized she was free, she was bound again. She tried to sit up, the blows to her head disorienting her, making it hard for her to balance. Elphaba was watching her, looking even more sad than before.
"There," said the Captain, returning to his previous spot. "Now that you no longer have the chair in the way, your options are more open. You can continue to go by hand, or you can use any of the weapons you possess. Just remember not to do anything bad enough that will eventually kill her. The Wizard needs to meet her. Though, who knows, maybe you'll get the chance to do that later!"
Sayer was standing over her, unsure of what to do. Morgan hung her head, the colors at the edges of her vision ready to take over. She gathered as much strength as she could to look up at him. He looked like someone had broken him along with her. She opened her mouth, ready to throw out another spit of defiance, but the breath caught in her lungs. She forced it out, hacking up the blood that had ran down her throat instead of out. She spit blood onto the ground, the effort of coughing making her more dizzy.
She was thrown off guard when the boot made contact with her ribs. She groaned, the pain she was feeling now audible, a horrid ache swimming across her side. The second one was higher, shooting the agony up as far as her shoulder. The third sent the pain from dull to sharp, like a knife jabbing between the bones protecting her lungs. The attack continued, the boot ricocheting off of her body over and over. She couldn't help but cry out, causing the soldiers to cheer even louder. The sheer force had sent her tumbling to the ground. She now lay on her side, blood running to the floor, the pain digging into her face and pressing on her lungs. She tried to get up but she failed, falling back onto the ground. Her head rested on the cold tile, the tears mixing with the blood, creating small rivers that ran away from her.
"That's enough."
Sayer's voice cut through the cacophony of the soldiers. The sound stopped.
"She's had enough," said Sayer, his voice deeper and more powerful than Morgan had ever heard it. "She's losing consciousness, which means she's useless to us. If you don't mind, Captain, I'd like to resume my interrogation at a later time."
The Captain was grinning, pleased with his youngest soldier.
"See, I knew you would come around. Everyone does. Once you get a taste of it, it becomes natural. One day, you'll even find it fun."
The Captain surveyed the rest of his troops.
"Alright boys, play time is over. Take the witch and throw her into the cooler. That should keep her from causing us more trouble. Once you get her situated, throw the other one in with her. She won't be bothering us anymore."
The soldiers grabbed Elphaba, yanking her to her feet and dragging her across the floor. Morgan could hear the sounds, but could barely see what was going on. The black and purple were starting to crowd her vision, calling her to the sweet darkness. She wanted to, she really wanted to, but the piercing, stabbing pain in her ribcage kept reeling her back to reality. She still could hardly believe this was happening. Two hours ago, she was sitting by the computer, bantering with Jesse, praying the phone would stay quiet long enough for her to get in another chapter of her book. Now she was here, on the ground, in more pain than she had ever felt in her entire life, beaten by someone she trusted, a prisoner to a cruel, heartless army. She felt hands on her, pulling her off the ground roughly. One of them dug into her ribs, a sound resembling a shriek coming out of her. Uncaring, they drug her, her body not being able to find her feet on the ground. She heard the familiar clang of the cooler door opening, and was then hit with a blast of freezing cold air. They tossed her in, her body slamming on the ice-cold ground with a thud. The door crashed behind her, trapping her inside, the place that held the flowers now a tomb.
