Jonas Saul - The Kill

“So good to finally meet you,” the old man said. “Please, have a seat.”

“I’ll stand, thank you. But I think you have it wrong here. I’m the one who is happy to finally meet you.”

He cocked his head a little. Someone behind her laughed under his breath. The old man raised his hand and the laughter ceased instantly.

“Why would that be?” he asked, his voice firm.

“You, or at least I’m assuming it’s you, have been terrorizing my husband and making his life a living hell for too long. It has to stop and that’s why I’m here. To make some kind of deal, some kind of arrangement so this petty bullying will come to an end. Then we can all move on.”

This time it was the old man who chuckled.

“Where do you people come from?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?”

He stood up, reached for a cane beside the desk and limped around it. He stepped closer to her, studying her face. He bent a little to the left, then the right, and gawked at her as if he was attempting to figure something out.

“Do I have something on my face?” Rosina asked.

He stood to his full height, which was still an inch shorter than Rosina’s five-nine, and shook his head.

“Not yet.” He lifted his cane, put it in both hands, like he was about to bunt a ball with a baseball bat, and shoved forward with the strength of a boxer in the ring. The cane smacked into her chest so hard, she had no time to recover. Her balance lost, she fell backwards, into the chair.

“I told you to sit down when you first entered my office. The next time you disobey me, the consequences will prove to be more severe.”

The old man turned away and walked away on both legs, without a limp, and without the use of the cane.

Rosina sat there, breathing rapidly as her heart rate shot up.

Concentrate, breathe, no fear. Concentrate, breathe, no fear.

“You and I have a unique problem,” he said. “You, personally, have done me no harm.” He reached his desk and sat down again. He picked up what looked like a gold-colored letter opener and started tapping it on the desk. “But I have to do you harm.”

“Why?” It was out before she could stop it. Her voice was weak, frightened and limp.

No, be honest with yourself. That’s fear.

“Because Darwin Athios Kostas does not have any children for me to kill.”

What the fuck?

“I can see by the expression on your face you either don’t understand the gravity of the situation, because you don’t understand what’s happening here, or you think I’m a sick and twisted individual.” He stopped talking and ceased movement of his letter opener. He looked down at it and then, after a moment he looked back up at her. “Or maybe you think I am all of the above. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The world is one big machine, living off the foundation of cause and effect. More specifically, I’m talking about consequences.” He started tapping his letter opener again. “You do something, you have to answer for it. There are consequences and there are debts to be paid.”

“What has that got anything to do with my husband and me? We don’t owe you any money.”

“That’s not the kind of currency that’ll pay this debt. The currency I want is blood.”

“What? You’re insane,” Rosina said.

Blood? Get real. This is crazy. Oh Darwin, where are you?

The old man dropped the letter opener and stood up, placing both hands evenly on either side of his desk.

“Get me the water cure.”

Men scurried away behind her. She had no idea what a water cure was. Maybe the guy had some disease and he needed his medicine.

“Look, what has my husband-”

“Silence!” he shouted.

Two men ran up beside her and grabbed both her arms.

“Hey!” she protested.

A man came from behind and wrapped a hand over her mouth. His hand was so large, it completely covered her mouth and nose. Instantly, she couldn’t breathe.

Real panic set in. She tried to struggle but couldn’t move. All three men had vise grip claws.

The one behind her inched closer and whispered in her ear, “The boss said to be quiet. I’d advise you listen to him.”

He eased up on her nose in that second. Air rushed into her starved lungs. She gasped and breathed as fast and hard as she could. Lightheadedness came over her.

They placed her on the floor on her back. The man who had been behind her let go of her face. She breathed through her open mouth, trying not to make any noise. This would all be over soon. They’d let her go. Cops would come. This didn’t happen in her world. This couldn’t happen.

One of the men stood over her with a funnel.

What the hell is that for?

At a squeaking noise behind her, she leaned her head back and saw the Harvester of Sorrow from the limousine wheeling something that looked like a keg into the room.

Is this his water cure?

The rest of the men surrounded her. In that moment, she realized it was for her. She tried to get up, but only made it a few inches before they shoved her back down. Hands grappled all over body, holding her immobile.

“Hold her tight,” Harvester said.

A hand clamped over her mouth again. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t do anything but watch Harvester bend over with the funnel and a plastic tube that came from the keg.

Fingers parted over her mouth. They were going to make her drink whatever was in the keg. She redoubled her efforts to get away, but to no avail.

The funnel entered her mouth. At the same moment water flowed through the funnel, the hand on her mouth clamped her nose shut. In order to breathe, she had to use her mouth. In order to do that, she had to swallow.

Rosina tried to hold out, but lasted all of three seconds. She took swallow after swallow, as fast as she could, in the useless attempt to rid the water from her mouth in order to breathe. She also drank as fast as she could to avoid drowning. If one breath was forced into her lungs, it would be filled with water.

As fast as it started, it stopped. Both the hand on her face and the funnel were removed.

Rosina sucked air in. She couldn’t believe how tasty it was. She blinked away tears and then the hand returned. The funnel jammed into her mouth so hard, she thought one of her teeth chipped.

Water coursed past her lips. She couldn’t take anymore. Her stomach was filling up. Her lungs were starving. She was going to pass out. Consciousness wavered, and yet she swallowed. They held her longer this time, and still she swallowed.

Her eyes rolled back. At the last second, when she was about to breathe and drown on the floor of the expensive office, the funnel was removed and she was bodily lifted into the air. Water sloshed out of her mouth and hit the carpet. Her stomach felt bloated to the point of bursting. Blackness hovered around her peripheral vision. She saw stars and coughed a few times.

The men carried her to the side of the room where a large bucket had been placed. No one talked. She heard nothing but the rustling of their clothes.

They stood her up. She remained conscious but groggy.

Harvester stepped in front of her and smiled.

Smug bastard. Wait until you’re in jail for this. We’ll see how much you’re smiling with some big guy calling you his bitch.

Without warning, he drove his fist into her bloated stomach.

She couldn’t believe it. Why would he do that? She doubled over and coughed, on the edge of throwing up. Her eyes watered and she fought to keep everything down. Breathing became an even greater task.

The men on either side righted her and Harvester whispered, “Harvester of Sorrow,” as he rammed his fist into her gut even harder.

She couldn’t hold it back. Everything she just swallowed rushed out of her mouth and into the large bucket in a torrent. She gagged and threw up again. When she thought it was almost over, the men raised her one more time and Harvester kicked her in the stomach.