L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

The man pressed to the wall, wild-eyed and ready to abscond at the next provocation.

Pointing at his relatives, Oren said, “Both of you, be still.” He snapped the clippers down onto the table and strode toward Gaby. “No one orders my aunt around except me.”

Gaby leaned as far forward as the rope allowed. “I’m going to kill your aunt, Oren. I’m going to slice open her fat throat and watch her blood spill out. And then I’m going to get your uncle, too.”

“Shut up!”

“Just as you cut off that abusive jerk’s jewels, I’ll remove your uncle’s. The skin there is thin, easily separated. I won’t even have to—”

Oren slapped her. “Shut up!”

Gaby’s head barely moved. Conjuring the deepest necromancy into her appearance, she stared up at Oren, and made a promise. “You I’ll kill last, and by then, you’ll be pleading with me like the pathetic little boy you pretend to be.”

Losing composure, Oren screamed in frustration and slapped her again, and again.

Then he bolted back, breathing hard, insane and irrational. The sting in Gaby’s cheek only made her more determined. She relished the proof of life—a reason to fight, and win. At all costs.

She narrowed her eyes. “You will beg, Oren. You will cry and beg and whimper. But it won’t do you a bit of good.”

Visibly rattled, Oren snatched up the clippers and moved toward Luther.

Gaby’s heart clenched. “Anything you do to him,” she warned, “I’ll do to you tenfold.” She looked at the older couple frozen in horror. “And to them.”

The man went white, his jaws flapping in horror. The woman fainted dead away, and fell off her stool to hit the floor, unheeded, in dreggy abundance. Her broken nose oozed blood again.

Oren faltered. Face screwing up, he turned to taunt Gaby with false bravado. “How can you do anything, you ignorant bitch? You can’t even move. You’re bound securely. I saw to that myself.”

“I know you did.”

His back snapped straight. “You don’t know anything!”

Gaby fashioned her lips into a spiteful sneer. “Oh, but I do.”

Oren straightened. “Impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible, not for me. You think you’re invincible? You think you’re my match? Not even close, Oren. And I’ll prove it—very soon.”

The man whispered, “You were looking at us. In the car, I mean. You were, weren’t you?”

Gaby didn’t take her attention from Oren. He stood far too close to Luther with those lethal clippers in his hand, clippers strong enough to cut through flesh and bone.

“Because of that foul drug, I couldn’t speak. But yeah, I heard every word, saw every movement.” And to prove it, even though she didn’t look his way, she said, “Your wife is coming to. Keep her quiet, or I will.”

He jumped to the floor, shushing the woman’s moans of confusion and fear.

Gaby tipped her head at Oren’s veiled surprise. “Oh, Oren.” She shook her head, ignoring the rope that rasped the soft flesh of her throat. “I know you think yourself superior in a sick, perverted way, but the truth is, you’re so fucked up in your head, you put other psychopaths to shame.”

Showing his teeth in a grimace, Oren bunched his shoulders. “I am not a psychopath.”

“Ah, come on, Oren. You’re the definition.” If Oren snapped and started hurting anyone, Gaby wanted the anger directed at her—not Luther. She’d do whatever she could to ensure that end. “Personality disorder, manifested in aggression. Check. Amoral, antisocial, and depraved. Check.”

She needed Oren closer to her. Very close. “Confused and alone?” Gaby snorted. “I’ve never seen anyone more confused. The mental ward would have a field day with a specimen like you.”

Trembling with hatred, Oren stared at her. “You’re wrong.”

The mockery cut deep, Gaby could see that. “And you know, Oren, that’s all you are, really—just one more pathetic, lamentable specimen among all the lame little mongrels of society. I see you for what you are—and to me, to the real world, you’re as insignificant as a gnat.”

Ready to come unglued, Oren paced away—going closer to Luther. Gaby prepared herself, willing to break her own bones to escape the bonds if it proved necessary to protect Luther.

But at the last moment, Oren paused. More composed, he turned back to her. He laid aside the clippers, and picked up Gaby’s knife.

“Careful,” Gaby taunted him. “That’s a real weapon, for a real woman.”

Oren’s head snapped up.

“What? You’re surprised I know? I already told you, I see right through your masquerade.”

“No.”

“You thought you fooled people?” She laughed, further riling him. “Now put down that knife. It’s not meant for a fucked up mental case who can’t decide on her own sexuality.”

That did it. Oren gave a banshee scream of rage and charged Gaby with the knife raised high in a clenched fist.

Finally. Gaby flattened her feet, clenched her knees, and just as Oren reached her, she kicked up and caught the maniac in the jaw.

Like the frail female she was, Oren pitched to the side and landed hard on the floor with a moan. Gaby’s knife clattered free, and skid a few feet away.

Oren’s uncle started shouting for Oren to get up, but it wouldn’t happen. Not now.

The aunt screamed and screamed.

Gaby stood the best she could, walked over to Oren, and with all the strength in her body, she stomped her wrist. The blow was hard enough to break all the delicate bones.

Oren cried out, tried to curl in on himself, and Gaby stomped the other arm, shattering an elbow.

The shrieks escalated to a cacophony of human terror from multiple sources.

It affected Gaby not a whit.

But it did cause Luther to stir. He was the type of man that, even drugged, couldn’t be immune to the panicked cries of humanity.

He twitched, mumbled quietly to himself.

Well hell. Not yet, Gaby prayed. Rushing now, she pivoted and slammed the chair into the wall, nearly rattling her brain loose. The chair held so she did it again, then once more. The force of the repetitive impacts would leave her spine and limbs bruised, but that beat the alternative. At last, with one more crash to the wall, the wooden seat and arms detached, still tied to her, but no longer hindering her.

Oh yeah. Gaby looked down at the wooden chair arms strapped to her from elbow to wrist. This would work. The wood served as the perfect blunt weapon.

She looked up at the aunt and uncle—and could smell their fear.

“No!”

“Yes.” With the uncle trying his best to flee, Gaby clubbed him in the head. He buckled, and fell to the dirty floor, out cold.

The aunt was too scared to move, and Gaby whacked her right across the forehead.

They were now unconscious, but that didn’t suffice. Not by a long shot.

None of them could leave here. Not ever. She wouldn’t trust the faulty judicial system to keep them away from gentler, more innocent society.

Luther moaned, tried to lift his head but couldn’t. “Gaby . . .”

Damn. He needed her, but she couldn’t go to him, not yet.

Urgency propelled Gaby to the concrete wall of the basement. In furious haste, she slammed her back against it, further splintering the broken pieces of the chair. With the rope on her throat loosened, she cracked the wooden arms against the wall until the wood broke away.

Please , Gaby prayed, let me finish this before Luther awakens. Please don’t make this one more wall between us. Knowing what had to be done, Gabe freed up the use of her hands. She needed to be able to flex her fingers.

She had to pull a trigger.

Groaning and grunting with pain, both arms broken and useless, Oren struggled into a sitting position. Blood oozed from his lip, and his jaw swelled enough that Gaby figured she’d broken it.