Jonas Saul - The Kill

Someone bumped into her from behind.

“Leaving so fast?”

She turned to look into the empty eyes of the Harvester of Sorrow.

“Stay, join us, watch the show.”

She tried to speak, then waited, swallowed once and tried to find her voice. “What… show?”

“You’ll see. There is one thing I can tell you. We haven’t located your husband, so this isn’t about your pain yet. Yours is coming. Of that, I am sure.” His smile reminded her of an open coffin smile on a dead man.

Someone yelled in pain from down the hallway.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the rosary her new friend had given her. Rolling it through her fingers, Rosina eased away from the door and stepped toward the wall that was farthest from the torture equipment.

The squabbling in the hallway grew louder.

Sorrow flipped a switch and turned on a machine. She had no idea what its purpose could be.

Then the door filled with men. For a brief second, she thought she’d seen Darwin among them. She almost yelled out in protest.

Four men walked in, escorting the undercover cop.

No, not my friend, my savior.

His hands were behind his back. Blood smeared his face and fear clouded his eyes.

“Tie him to those chains,” Sorrow ordered.

Rosina watched in horror. Sure, she’d seen horror movies before. Hostel, Saw, and other gore-fest flicks. But that was acting, and it was scripted. This was real. She had no idea people would do this kind of thing to others.

They turned the cop around to tie him up to the chains, his hands cuffed behind his back.

She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs at the injustice. She wanted every law official in Italy to watch so they would enact stronger laws against organized crime.

A nice man, a cop, was about to be tortured, or worse, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

The burning rage inside fired her up. In that moment, if she could have killed the men around her, she would have. Even though that would bring her to their level, it would be a pleasure. Then she and the cop could walk from the building, their heads held high because they did a good deed.

She was curious how the desire to murder in cold blood could so easily come to her. She wondered how, in the face of violence, she could accept that notion as her own.

Maybe that’s the human condition. Could be we’re all doomed.

The boss entered the room. He smiled at her.

“So glad you could join us. I wanted you present. There’s a reason and I think you’ll play a vital role in what is about to take place.”

What the hell is he talking about?

He stepped over to the cop. The men had hooked him up to the chains that hung suspended from the ceiling in a way that his arms were rigid and his mid-section couldn’t move. It looked painful because his shoulders seemed to be taking most of the weight, his feet barely able to touch the ground.

“So, tell us your secret,” the boss said.

The cop looked away, as if he knew what was coming and nothing would stop them.

The boss turned to Rosina. “I was talking to you. Tell all of us your secret.”

“What… what secret?” she stammered.

“That rosary. Where did you get it?”

“I, ahh.” Rosina looked down at it in her hands. She looked back up at the boss. “I found it in my room.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Did you now?”

The room was silent. The only sounds were the clinking and rattling of the chains as the cop tried to hold himself steady.

“Let me ask you again. I will give you a second chance. I don’t believe in lying, but second chances are okay under certain circumstances, and this is a certain one. Where did you get that rosary?”

Rosina looked at the cop’s bruised face. Blood dripped from his right eye, his mouth, and a cut on his left eyebrow. His body language spoke of defeat. When he looked up at her, she almost cried. He nodded with his eyes and tried to smile.

It’s okay, he said. Go ahead. Tell the truth.

“I got the rosary from…” She couldn’t condemn him. She couldn’t say it. Then she thought of Darwin, dabbed at the tears that started to fall off her cheeks and selfishly said, “I got the rosary from him.”

“From who?” the boss asked.

Rosina pointed at the man in chains.

“And why would he give you such a thing?”

“Maybe,” she cried fully now, her body wracked with sobs. She couldn’t hold it back. In a room full of men as mean as these men were, she just couldn’t hold it back. “Maybe because he wanted me to have a little faith before I died here.”

The old man raised his index finger. “Or maybe he is working against us. Tell me, what did he say to you when he handed you your little present?”

“I don’t remember,” Rosina answered defiantly.

“Maybe I could jog your memory.”

The old man motioned for his men to move to her.

“No, no,” she screamed through the tears.

“Oh don’t be such a crybaby. We’re not going to hurt you. Yet.”

Two men stood on either side of her, their arms crossed. She knew what that meant. Don’t move. No matter what you’re about to see, don’t move.

She was pretty sure whatever they were going to do, she couldn’t watch anyway. She dropped her face into her hands and closed her eyes.

Someone grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. She screamed at the pain.

“You will watch everything,” the old man said. “When I have finished here, you will get another chance to answer my question.”

Each man on either side held an arm and the side of her head so tightly that even the slightest movement caused major pain, trumping any migraine she may have ever had.

Oh, yes, I could kill every one of these pathetic human beings. Just give me the gun and line them up. I’d sleep better at night knowing they’re dead.

“Sorrow, I want you to perform a hamstringing on our fine gentleman here.”

Sorrow really is his name? So fucked.

The Harvester grabbed a long blade, a sword of some kind, and a roll of white cloth and made his way over to the cop.

The old man turned to Rosina. “We’re just going to make a little cut and then bandage it up. Don’t worry, there won’t be too much blood. It’ll be over in a second and then we can get on with our little chat.”

Harvester got set up pretty quick. He unrolled two long strips of the cloth and then got down on his knees. The other two men in the room walked over and got down on one knee in front of the cop and each man grabbed a leg.

“If you close your eyes, I will rip off your eyelids with a pair of pliers and force you to watch the next session as your eyes dry themselves out of your head,” the boss warned her.

Rosina watched as the Harvester of Sorrow applied his blade to the jeans above the knee and walked around each leg. The bottom half of the cop’s pants fell to the floor. The men who hunkered below him grabbed his legs again and held on tight.

He slid the long blade into the back of one of the cop’s knees and sliced back and forth, almost severing his lower leg. Then he worked on the back of the other knee. The cop screamed an unholy wail for ten seconds before his head dropped and he passed out.

Please Lord, have mercy on him.

Rosina cried hard. The men holding her let go and she fell to the floor.

The old man was talking again. “That’s called hamstringing. My colleague here has cut the two large tendons at the back of the knees, thereby crippling this man for the rest of his life. We’re bandaging him up because we wouldn’t want him to bleed to death, now would we?”

She couldn’t believe it. Where was she? Who was she? This was her honeymoon. They were in Rome getting married because their parents wouldn’t see eye to eye. And now she had witnessed something called hamstringing, an image she knew she would never be able to put out of her mind.