A New Light

The pounding in my head is incredible, I've never woken up with this bad of a headache before. I mean I've woken up with headaches before but this is almost too much. It's almost like someone hit me in the back of the head with a crowbar. Wait… Someone did hit me in the back of the head with a crowbar. With the memory slowly forming in my mind I force my eyes to open. Thankfully the room is dimly lit so the light won't hurt my eyes.

Where am I? I thought to myself as I look around the shabby room. It's almost like a small warehouse. With desks in place; but what is really confusing is the manner of tools on the desks. I see axes, crowbars, and handcuffs. Once again my head starts to pound and my eyes shut against the pain. As the pounding ebbs away I try to take a mental count of everything. Meaning me.

My hands are bound behind me, with what I don't know. But it is clear that I am bound to a chair. Slowly I move my head to see if I am damaged in any other way than just the crowbar to the back of my head. The movement caused another wave of pain to flow through me causing me to wince. "Ouch." My voice sounds strange as it echoes off the walls around me.
Noises, like shuffling feet erupted from the room on the other side of the doorway. Where all the light is coming from, instantly I regret using my voice.

A small figure comes into the room, walking slowly as if their leg was injured. Without saying a word the person comes toward me. Their hand grasped my chin and forces me to look up, causing the pain in my head to double. Which in turn causes my eyes to close.

"Look at me!"The voice is feminine. My eyes fly open to see what kind of woman can take me down. It's my daughter.

"Analiese!" I exclaim. With a growl she steps back.

"You have no right to call me by my name," she hisses at me. Without thinking I attempt to stand. The bindings at my hands pull me back instantly, along with the bindings at my feet, making it so that I cannot move in anyway.

"Why are you doing this?" I question. My voice is strained from fighting the pain in the back of my head.

"Because, you were the next person on my list," she smirks and turns to flip the light switch.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you were the next on my list," she chuckles and pulls out a small piece of paper. It's a list of names. Many of which I recognize immediately.

"Ana," I start with my best, 'I'm your father,' tone.She turns on me and her hand connects with my cheek. Again the pounding in my head becomes too much for me to remain conscious. I fight the darkness that fills my vision, only to fall succumb to it, with my seventeen year old daughters wicked laughter in the background.

I can't tell you how long I was out, but this time when I wake the pain in my head is enough to bear. The fact that my daughter has me hostage is what I cannot bear. This time with calculation I try and figure out how the bindings are keeping me still. Slowly and trying not to make very much noise I struggle against them. The texture of the bindings against my skin makes me think that it is rope. The tension on the bindings loosens as I methodically work against them. Just when I almost have enough to slide my hand out someone walks into the room. The shape of the figure is not my daughter. It's bigger, less graceful. Almost like a man. He pulls the hood off of his head and smirks at me. The pit in my stomach seems to drop in fear as he picks up one of the knives from the table. It's huge, about the length of my forearm and I can only imagine what he is going to do with it.

"Wait!" I plead. Don't ask me why I'm pleading I just feel the sudden need to beg for my life. Cowardly I know. Again. Don't ask me why.

The man just laughs. "Wait? Wait? Wait for what? You to be ready?" He gets down in his knees in front of me, making it so I can see the cruel gleam in his black eyes. "Nobody is ever ready for pain," he smirks. He stands and walks behind me. "But first," he starts. I can feel him working on the bindings of my hands. Biting my lip I try to control the tension in my muscles, just so that he is unaware that I will jump up the minute I feel those bindings off my hands.
The rope falls off my hands and I pull my arms forward. Pain surges through my shoulders and I cry out. He just laughs as he comes back around to the front of me. It isn't until just then I realize that my legs are still bound to the chair. Trying to hurry I lean down trying to undo the bonds the man laughs as he watches me. I wonder why he isn't doing anything to stop me. With relief I manage to get the ropes off my ankles and I stand to face him.

I have to be smart about this. He is at least twice my height and weight. So in order to get past him I have to be cunning, or just brutal. He stands in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest; the look on his face was enough to make me second-guess my plan. Steeling myself I grab one of the axes off the table and charge him, praying that he will move or the ax will hit its mark.

Neither happens. He grabs the ax and pulls it out of my hands with ease. Before I have a chance to stare at my empty hands in amazement or shock, I'm not sure which his hand is on the back of my neck, his forefinger digging into the wound caused by the crowbar. I am unable to move or think past the pain that is taking over everything, even my vision.

My body goes limp in his hands and he drags be back into the room. "Why is it taking so long!" I hear my daughters voice echo in the small room. I open my mouth to respond to her, but nothing comes out. The pain is dulling my senses and my ability to function.

"Only because he decided he wanted to put up a fight," the man replies to her.

"Well hurry it up!" she snaps at him as she enters the room. The man laughs and throws me against a wall. Somehow I am still standing. Blinking past the throbbing in the back of my head I try and throw a swing at him. It's weak and I know it but I refuse to go down with out a fight. Again, like the ax he merely grabs my hand and forces it above my head, locking it into one of the handcuffs.

Before I have a chance to call my other hand to action I find that it is trapped as well. My eyes shift back to my daughter who is standing in the middle of the room with the most horrid look on her face. "Strip him," she demands.

The man nods and grabs the front of my shirt, pulling it off my body in one tug. I am amazed at the strength the man possesses and yet a seventeen-year-old girl, who could not weigh more than a buck ten, controls him. "Heat up the tongs."

With out a word the man leaves the room with a pair of metal tongs in his hands. "Now it's my turn," she smirks and leans over to grab one of the many knives.

"Ana," I start softly, hoping to pry at the softness I know is in her heart.

"Shut up," she snaps and presses the knife to my chin, forcing me to look up. "You will not say another word," she growls. With a sigh I look down at her, sorrow I know is clear on my face.

"Ana," I breathe again. Her face twists cruelly and I feel the knife slide into my thigh. Clenching my jaw to fight against crying out in pain I just look at her, praying that she will come to her senses. She doesn't. She looks at me and laughs.

"Don't even try Daddy," she giggles and puts a hand on my chest. "You are nothing more than a pawn in a great big game of chess. And you're only my fourth move," she pauses to lower her chin and glare at me from under her brows. The look on her face chills me too the bone, making me realize that this girl has no remnants of the little girl I love. "I have many more moves to make. And then… Checkmate!" she laughs and skips over to another table. "Hmm, what to use?" she laughs to herself and moves around the tools on the table like she's picking out a purse.

"Ana," I try again. My voice is tight. "You need to stop this. I can help you," I console her.

"Help me? Help me? I tried to tell you that I don't feel right in my head and you blew me off. And now you want to help? Too late Daddy," she smirks and walks up to me. "You're. Too. Late."

At that moment the man walks back into the room. The tongs that he had left with are now bright red. "Castrate him, like the others," my daughter shrugs and turns to resume looking for the right tool. Fear fills my stomach as I turn to look at the red-hot tongs.

"Let's see if you stay awake for this one," he chuckles cruelly.

"Oh good idea," Ana smirks and turns to leave the room. I can't think. My brain stops as he nears me. He holds the tongs up to my face and my breathing quickens. I can't seem to do anything more than shake my head violently. Which causes the pain in my head to flare up again, but I push it aside. I can feel the heat of the tongs against my chest as he draws them down.

My eyes close and a strange noise fills the air. It takes me a moment to realize that the sound is coming from me. Fire burns from my groin and into my stomach, making it seem like my insides are burning from the inside out. My body's reaction causes me to writhe against the chains that are holding me back.

Darkness fills the edges of my vision and I go limp, my knees buckling under me. The movement causes my body to pull against the chains, making my shoulders dislocate. I can't feel it though. I can't feel anything anymore.

My daughter walks in the room. "Oh man," she starts. "I was hoping he'd last longer than the last one," she pouts.

"Ana," I whisper, but no sound comes out of me. "I love you." It's true. Though she has changed in ways I can't comprehend. I still love her. Darkness covers my vision and everything goes black.