Ted Bell - Hawke

She nodded. Since everyone thought she was dead, she wasn’t too optimistic about a rescue attempt. Escape, yes, she was worried about how to do that. Very worried. Especially since the nightly screaming had started.

The guards called him Scissorhands.

He worked in a warren of basement rooms where all the interrogations took place. Late at night, she could hear the piercing screams. They said that when he looked at you, he had no eyes.

She’d overheard enough to know Scissorhands was not one of the top two or three generals who had overthrown the old regime. Apparently, his real name was Rodrigo, and she overheard someone say he was some rich nightclub owner from Havana. Scary-looking, because his eyes had no color. Another time, someone said he worked directly for the new military chief, General Manso something or other. This guy they all called Scissorhands, Rodrigo, was apparently the new head of State Security.

Scissorhands liked to attend interrogations just for fun. He wore a blood-soaked smock and carried a large pair of gleaming silver scissors in his pocket as he scurried from room to room during interrogations. “Snip, snip, snip,” the guards would laugh whenever the screaming started.

She thought she was on the third floor of the prison. Blindfolded immediately after her abduction in the waters off Pine Cay, she’d not seen a thing until she was brought into the room she currently occupied. The windows were boarded shut. There were no newspapers. She was not allowed to watch TV.

All she knew, she got from careful listening. During the day, there were sounds of Jeeps and tanks and large numbers of troops going by under her window. So she was on a fairly main thoroughfare of some kind of military base, most likely the headquarters of the rebel general who had overthrown the old regime.

One morning, the thing she’d dreaded most actually happened. Someone came to take her away. Whether it was to be shot or simply “interrogated,” she was sure it was not going to be a good morning. Still, she forced herself to stay calm.

It wasn’t really a surprise. The guards had been acting strange all morning. Looking at her and then looking away. No Nintendo, no idle conversation. Just smoking and speaking quietly amongst themselves. Even the girl who came to clean each morning was acting strangely.

No one said a word. But she knew. Today was her day.

When the knock at the door finally came, Vicky was almost relieved. She heard the door open. When she looked that way, Ace pressed the barrel of his gun against her cheek, turning her head from the door.

Eyes unshackled her without looking at her. He wore a look of grim satisfaction. He grabbed her roughly by the back of her shift and held her while Ace tied a thick blindfold around her head.

Panic bloomed. She tried to pull away and heard the rip of cotton as the thin shift split down the back. She felt her heart thudding in her chest and her breath getting very shallow. She forced herself to breathe deeply and stay calm. The breathing helped a little.

Eyes and X-Ray steered her toward the door, Eyes managing to squeeze her breasts roughly as he did so.

The one who had entered said something in a raspy Spanish, and Eyes released his grip on her. She heard the door close behind her and knew she was outside and alone with this new raspy-voiced Cuban.

“Buenos dнas, seсorita,” he said, and then, in perfect English, “I am Major Diaz. You are to come with me, please.”

He held her arm lightly and led her down a flight of stairs. She was barefoot and she felt damp concrete underfoot. It had rained last night. If she was right about which floor she was on, three flights of steps would mean they were descending to the ground. One more would mean the basement. They reached a landing after three flights, turned right, and started down again.

“Where—where are you taking me?” Vicky asked.

“You’ll see soon enough, seсorita,” Diaz said.

They went through another door. Now they walked down a long corridor and suddenly there was shouting and whistling on either side of her. She heard what sounded like tin cups being banged on bars. It was not hard to imagine the row of cells on each side, or the prisoners’ reaction to the woman in the torn shift.

They came to a stop, and Major Diaz said something to a guard. She heard a key turning in a lock, and then she was being pushed through an open door. A wave of cold air shocked her. The thin shift offered little protection. Air-conditioning. A new experience. A chilling experience, she thought, glad she still had a tiny reserve of humor in there somewhere.

“Just tell the truth,” Diaz said, a harsh whisper in her ear. “And tell it quickly.” He then released her.

“Muchas gracias, Major,” a new voice said. “That will be all.” This new voice was velvety and musical. She didn’t know if that was good or simply terrifying.

She heard Diaz walk out and the door close behind her with a solid thump. Thick door. Soundproof. She felt dizzy and disoriented without Diaz’s hand on her shoulder. She had no choice but to stand and wait for whatever was coming.

“Bienvenido a Telaraсa,” the man finally said. “Be seated.”

“Where is the …” She reached out, feeling for any piece of furniture. “Where is the, uh, the—?”

“The chair? Ah. Three steps forward,” the man said in his soft voice. Almost singsong.

She took three tentative steps, felt soft carpet beneath her feet, and put both hands out in front of her. She felt the wooden back of a chair, pulled it toward her, and managed to sit down.

“You may remove your blindfold,” the man said.

Vicky did, blinking in the harsh light. There were two men in the room. There was one man in uniform sitting in a big leather chair behind a beautiful carved mahogany desk. Another man, tall and very handsome in a white suit, stood behind the desk, looking down at some photographs. Behind him on the wall was a large painting in a massive gilt frame. A museum-quality Goya. On the floor, a magnificent Aubusson carpet. She breathed a silent sigh of relief. This seemed an unlikely setting for all the midnight screaming.

Then the handsome man walked around from behind the desk and looked into her face, staring at her. “Good morning,” he said in beautiful English. “I am so happy to meet you. My name is Rodrigo.” He smiled down at her. His eyes, she was shocked to see, were completely colorless. And in the breast pocket of his elegant white suit was a pair of silver scissors.

Vicky thought her heart would burst as the word exploded in her mind, Scissorhands.

“What is your name?” the uniformed man seated at the desk asked, and she squinted her eyes, trying to focus on him instead of the other one. She decided not to even look at the eyeless one. If she did, she’d never get through this alive.

She took a deep breath and composed herself. Somehow, she was going to make it out of here alive. She stared at the man behind the desk. He’d asked her a question. What was it?

Though he was seated, she could see that her interrogator was tall and thin. He wore an elaborate uniform, covered with decorations. He was handsome in a way, almost pretty. Long black hair, carefully swept back from his high forehead. Tied in a ponytail. Long black lashes and deadly gray eyes.

Spidery hands folded quietly before him on the leather top of his desk.

“I asked you a question. Your name?”

“Sorry. My name is Dr. Victoria Sweet. What’s yours?”

“I am General Manso de Herreras. How are you being treated, Dr. Sweet?”

“Abominably.”

Scissorhands smiled at this and walked back behind the desk. He perched on the edge and resumed leafing through his glossy eight-by-ten photos. From time to time he would look up at her with those monstrous eyes and smile at her.