Jenna Black - The Devil Inside

My answer was a brief stab of pain through my eyeball. Lovely. I took that as a yes and tried not to scare the crap out of myself by thinking about being able to communicate with him while I was conscious.

No headaches battered at me as I approached my office. Didn’t stop me from constantly looking over my shoulder and starting at shadows.

Of course, with my keys lost, I had to find a custodian to open my office for me. The delay made me twitchy, but eventually I tracked someone down to let me in.

I made a beeline for my pencil drawer. I’d yanked it open and grabbed my spare set of keys before I noticed the padded manila envelope that sat on my chair.

It shouldn’t have been there. When I’m not in the office, my deliveries go to the mailroom downstairs. And no one but the custodial staff had keys to my office.

Nervously, I upended the envelope onto my desk. A videocassette and a sheet of paper fell out.

The note was short and to the point: Morgan. When you’ve watched this tape, call me on my cell phone. Andrew.

Words can’t describe how much I didn’t want to see whatever was on this tape. Unfortunately, not watching wasn’t an option.

I didn’t have a VCR in my office, and of course I didn’t have a home to go to. But Brian’s place was only a couple of blocks away. I hoped I’d let myself in and find out he was home sick and just hadn’t bothered to call his office to let them know.

I wasn’t holding my breath.

By the time I let myself into Brian’s condo, my knees were literally knocking, and my stomach was in turmoil. I wondered if I was on the way to a nervous breakdown, then sternly told myself I couldn’t afford a nervous breakdown.

Brian wasn’t home, and there were a gazillion messages on his answering machine. Looked like he hadn’t been home in a while. I looked at the tape in my hand and prayed it wasn’t what I thought it was.

My hands shook when I stuffed it into Brian’s VCR and hit play.

Static for a moment. Then the picture I’d been dreading.

He was chained to a wall, hands above his head, a ball gag stuffed into his mouth. They’d stripped him down to his tightie-whities and shackled his ankles together.

The wall he was chained to was of old-looking, rough stone blocks, no doubt to give the room its dungeon—cum—torture chamber atmosphere. There were plenty of other sets of chains hanging from those walls. The camera panned to show a collection of whips that would put Adam’s to shame, then a brazier holding a set of glowing irons, then something that looked like it might actually be a genuine rack.

When the camera panned back to Brian, he wasn’t alone anymore. A cloaked and hooded figure stood in front of him, weaving a scalpel dextrously through his fingers. Brian watched the show with wide, scared eyes.

I was shaking my head, hand clamped over my mouth to contain my scream of pain and outrage.

The hooded figure smiled into the camera and stopped playing with the scalpel. He stepped toward Brian. I tried to brace myself, knowing what I was about to see, knowing I should just stop the tape now, knowing I couldn’t.

He removed the gag, letting Brian suck in a few frantic gasps of air. But he hadn’t removed it for any humanitarian purpose. He’d removed it so I could hear the man I loved scream when that scalpel sliced through his pectoral muscle.

I screamed, too, hoping my hand over my mouth was deadening the sound so the neighbors wouldn’t call the cops. Blood dripped down Brian’s chest and belly, hitting the waistband of his briefs, then soaking in. His eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth clenched, trying not to make any more noise. But he screamed anyway when the torturer sliced again.

I wanted to hurl myself into the TV, magically transport myself across time and space to save Brian. The feeling of helplessness was a crushing weight on my chest and shoulders.

The torturer faced the camera again. All I could see of his face behind the hood were a pair of blue eyes with darkened pupils and his thin lips, raised in a smile. He was enjoying himself. My gorge rose, but I forced it back down. I’d go puke my guts out in a minute. First, I had to see this through to the end.

“This was just a small taste,” the hooded man said, his voice digitally altered. Another hooded man came into view in the background to shove the gag back into Brian’s mouth.

“Cooperate, and that will be his last. As you can see, we are wearing hoods so he can’t see our faces. We have no reason not to release him when you follow our instructions.”

The picture fuzzed to static. It was over.

I sprinted to the bathroom, barely making it in time.

Puking two days in a row when I wasn’t sick was a new experience for me. Can’t say as I was overly fond of it.

My mind kept trying to rebel, trying to say “No More! Enough! Just STOP it!” For a minute there, I seriously doubted my sanity. Anger made a feeble attempt to come to my rescue, but I was just too fucking terrified to go with it.

They had Brian. They’d hurt Brian! I’d desperately tried to protect him, and this is what happened. I wanted to scream, break things, curl up in a little ball and die.

But none of that would help Brian. I had to get him back. It was too late to keep him safe, but I was going to save him. Or die trying.

I had a sneaking suspicion the latter was more likely.

When I was stable enough to manage it, I grabbed the nearest phone and sat down. I wasn’t sure my legs would hold me if I tried standing up for this call.

I dialed Andrew’s cell phone number, hating him more than I’d ever hated anyone in my life. More than I’d imagined it was possible to hate someone.

He answered on the second ring.

“If I ever get my hands on you,” I said in response to his cheerful greeting, “I’m going to castrate you with a butter knife.”

“That would be a neat trick if you could manage it. I don’t think Andrew would enjoy it very much, though.”

I stifled a sob. “Andrew invited you into this world, you son of a bitch, so he can go straight to hell right with you. Where’s Brian?”

Raphael laughed. “What, you think it’s going to be that easy?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Raphael. I don’t care if I have to come back from the dead to do it, but I’m going to make you pay.”

“Would you like to discuss the terms for Brian’s release, or would you prefer to continue hurling invective? I have plenty of time, so by all means hurl away. You’re quite entertaining.”

Pain stabbed through my head, making me gasp. It went away almost immediately. I had a feeling it had been unintentional, that Raphael was getting Lugh’s goat almost as much as he was getting mine. I didn’t want either one of us to give him that much satisfaction.

“Everything all right over there?” Raphael asked with a good imitation of polite concern.

I wished I had a zippy, smart-ass comment, something to prove that I wasn’t scared of him. Maybe if I wasn’t so scared of him, I could have thought of one.

“Just tell me what I have to do to get you to let him go.”

“It’s very simple, Morgan. A trade. You for him.”

Nothing but what I’d expected. Still my stomach clenched with dread. “You want me to turn myself in so you can burn me to death.”

His voice when he answered was almost gentle. “Not very appealing, I know. But your other choice is to leave him to our mercies. We’ll send you a new video every day. I’ll oversee it myself, make sure he isn’t hurt enough to kill him. If his pain doesn’t move you after a week or two, we can add some sexual molestation to the mix, see if that motivates you to change your mind.”

“You motherfucking son of a-”