Elizabeth Finn: Immortal Protector

His body was vibrating in fury and fear. She had to be okay. There was nothing more to it than that. She absolutely could not be dead. And as he shakily made his way up to stand, he pulled his phone from his pants, calling the front desk.

“Bring my car around now.” He was going to get her back.

When Krill had drug her from the car, it was to hand her over to a man she’d never seen before. But she didn’t need an introduction to know she was staring at Mason. His eyes were cold and harsh. His face showed his cruelty, and as he eyed her, his brow shot up. Sylvan regarded the man with disgust. “I want her dead. That’s my only condition. Torture her if you choose, but see to it that she is dead within the next few hours.”

“Oh, I intend to make her death fun. If I have to let Truman live, the very least I can do is return her body with all the signs of the pleasure I took from her. It’s a far cry shorter than Truman’s own life, but knowing he’ll suffer for the rest of eternity with the knowledge of what I did to her sweet little body before I took her life will be vindication enough.” Ember’s blood turned cold at his words, and she was taken back to the cold basement of so many years past. She could see flashes of Truman’s face in her mind, and it wasn’t for the simple want to be with him. They were memories. She could see him in the basement with her, and while she couldn’t remember the whole of it, her memories, so near the surface now thanks to the monster in front of her, were as close to complete as they’d ever been.

“You’ll disappear after that.” Sylvan’s words weren’t a question

“Yes.” Mason’s words showed his resentment. “That is the deal, is it not? Her torture and death and my disappearance from the council’s world for Truman’s life. Won’t be much of a life once I’ve had my fun with her. I’m not sure how much good he’s going to be to you once he sees the liberties I’ve taken with his pet.”

“That will be my problem, not yours.” As Sylvan turned from her and one of Mason’s men led her away to the building, he called back over his shoulder. “Have fun in hell, dearest Ember. Don’t worry; I’m sure we can find some other whore to satisfy Truman’s needs.” She was crying, sobbing in fear as she was pulled into the building, and as her mind spun with the possibilities of what torture might lay ahead, her brain hammered one image after another into her recollection. Her fear, her terror of losing him was all it really took to unleash the images, and one memory after another came tumbling into her mind. She couldn’t piece it all together yet, but it made her desperation all the more real. She couldn’t lose him. This would destroy him.

When she was dragged into the room and saw the railroad spikes laid out on the table, her panic set in full force, and she fought, clawed, kicked, and screamed as they dragged her. Two men held her down as Mason lifted the first spike. He was smiling at her sadistically, playing with the spike in his hand. When he lifted the heavy mallet, she watched as if in slow motion as he dropped the weight onto the head of the spike, driving it down through the flesh and bones of her hand and into the wood of the chair she was sitting in. As it reverberated up through the hole in her hand, it sent another wave of agony. It was more pain than she’d ever endured, and she was gagging, trying to throw up what wasn’t there in her pain.

He was far more cruel with her second hand, trailing the wedged tip of the spike up her already incapacitated arm, and as he trailed it along her shoulder, the men held her in place, pinning her other wrist to the chair. When the spike pierced through her hand, she thrashed. Both hands were immobile, and even the slightest movement of her body sent stabs of pain pulsing through her, but holding still with two spikes impaling her hands was no easy feat.

Mason stood back admiring his torture, and as her tears fell and her sobs continued to be choked out, he backhanded her hard across the face. As her face soared right, her left hand pulled against the spike, and she screamed. When his opposite hand hit her other cheek, her right hand did the same, and she groaned and gasped at the torment.

Mason stood to tower over her and glare down at her, and she wanted to cower, she wanted to hide, but she was trapped. She was a leashed dog being tortured for the amusement of his owner, and she just wanted it to be over. There was a tingling mixed with the pain in her palms, and she knew it was her body’s attempt to reconstruct and heal itself, but it was hopeless. Nothing could be done for it with the spikes in place, and as he smiled, she sobbed in hopelessness and sadness.

“I have to say, this wasn’t the retribution I’d imagined for my brother’s death. I had intended to kill Truman of course. But when Sylvan offered you up, the very reason Truman killed my brother, it just seemed … fitting, sentimental even.” He was grinning at her, and her heart was racing. “Can you imagine the torture he’ll feel when he realizes what I did to you before I killed you?” Bending low to look her squarely in the eye, he continued. “The spikes alone will leave him wanting to die, but knowing I fucked you too, now that will be the icing on the cake.” And as he stood, walking from the room, he tossed out one last comment. “Soon.”

When she was alone, she had a meltdown. She sobbed, she pleaded to no one at all, and she begged the empty room to release her. If only she’d known it would be her last morning with him. Didn’t everyone say those things? Hadn’t she thought it herself when her mother had passed? The monitor had buzzed the flatline of her mother’s finally still heart, and yet she had still expected her mom’s life to resume. She expected to hear the blip. She waited for her mother to return like a child crying as her parent walks away, but she didn’t. And now this. She would be the person not returning. She would die, and he would be devastated. She would leave this world wishing she’d known it was her last time with him, last touch, last kiss, last everything. She would die never remembering all of him and wishing for that as much as everything else.

Her death would be painful, torturous even. Perhaps her mother would be waiting for her when it was all said and done. Maybe she would dry her tears and tell her it would be okay in the same soothing voice she’d heard as she’d awoken from her countless nightmares growing up, but Truman would never forget this, and there would be no one to soothe his pain. That was the most devastating fact of all. She wasn’t ready to be done with life, and as her brain shut down, saving itself from more torture, she imagined him. He swam through her murky mind; some were memories she knew, others were memories from a different time, but memories all the same. She was so close to connecting the dots, but she would never make it in time to complete the picture. She would die too soon.

When she awoke next, she was cold. She was dressed in only the bikini she’d been wearing in the pool, and the room was freezing. There were pools of blood on the floor under her hands, and as she looked down, she struggled to focus in her dizzying weakness. When the door was pushed open a moment later, Mason sauntered in. He was wearing only pants, and he carried a large knife that glinted in the light of the room. As he approached her, he chuckled and kneeled at her feet. When he trailed the tip of the knife up the inside of her thigh, she sobbed before she could bite back the reaction.

“Don’t worry. Stabbing you won’t kill you, but it will make you pretty fucking miserable until I pull it out.” And as he pulled his hand back, aiming squarely at her stomach, her eyes bulged, every muscle in her body tensed, and she screeched. All she could hear were the sounds of her screams as she watched his hand, and then it was pain; searing, superheated pain that radiated and pierced through her abdomen. She looked down to see the handle sticking out of her stomach, but as she looked to his face, his smile was deranged, and he had blood dripping from his mouth. Every muscle in her body was clenched tight as the pain coursed through her, leaving her insane with it. But she was confused. She couldn’t understand why there was blood dripping from his mouth and why his face looked sluggish and disoriented. But as he turned from her to the door behind, her eyes saw the gaping hole in the back of his head. And following his line of sight, her eyes lit on Truman standing with the gun still pointed in their direction.