Accused Criminal

Her nail-less fingernail-beds were still bleeding, pain coursing through them and up her bruised and beaten arms. Burns covered the majority of her exposed skin, which at the moment was most of her axial skeleton. The fact that her right leg had gone numb was a mild concern, but now her focus was on the coarse rag being stuffed into her mouth. Quickly, she was positioned on the ground, her arms remaining secured behind her back, bound with metal which cut into her wrists. Her legs had been chained to the floor when she had awoken. How long ago had that been? She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. Whatever the time span was, it had been long enough for her to be burned, broken, her nails removed, her air supply cutoff long enough for her to pass out, and her body to be contorted into unnatural positions as her muscles seemed to light on fire. The back of her throat was raw from screams that had gone unheard or fallen on deaf ears. The man who had her prisoner worked at a methodic pace. He had cleaned the pliers right in front of her before beginning the removal of her nails. She had watched as he heated an iron poker in red and orange flames before inserting it through the top layers of her skin. The knife he had begun to sharpen but then thought otherwise and simply cleaned it. Now, she watched as he unraveled a hose, slowly bringing it towards her. The man stopped in front of her and chuckled. There were no questions asked; he had been silent up until this point. Tired, sore, and pissed off, she tried to struggle, an attempt that she had made repeatedly, as he began to drown her. She felt a snap, sprung forward, slipping over the wet ground and tangling her legs in the short chains that bound her to the floor. Despite the fact that she hadn’t believed she could get free, the man didn’t look surprised by her action. Calmly, he stepped out of her way, placing the hose on the ground. Never taking her eyes off him, lunged for the poker and snatched it up. The tip was still a glow with heat. It ran through him nicely.

His wound was cauterized, blood spilling from the hole limited. Vital organs, such as his right lung had been punctured, and he gurgled.

Quietly, she stepped back, removing the poker, and watched the body fall. Then she managed to remove the chains from the ground by the simple process of beating them over and over again with the poker. The sound echoed about the room, a heavy thud and clatter as iron met iron.

The woman ran. Well, she tried to run. The broken leg and abrasions to the bottom of her feet made this difficult. Pain shot through her body, but her mental strength prevailed. She could not stop to consider the pain; thinking about it would intensify what she felt. At one end of the room there was a door which led to a set of stairs which led to another door which led to a hallway which was dark and had another door at the end of another hall. At the end of this last hall was a slightly smaller door which when opened revealed… snow?

Well, at least she was alive, right? That had to count for something? She was grateful to be living, right? Wrong. She was pissed off, cold, bruised, bloody, and half naked in, where was she, Siberia? Anger was boiling over in the woman. Folding her arms across her chest, she stalked back down the hallways and through the multiple doors, jogging down the stairs and back into the room.

“You,” she spat in the direction of the body, “fucking bastard.” He was moving towards the fire, a blank expression on his face. It was a nice face. She couldn’t wait to smash it. Lunging forward she allowed her body to land on top of his, her knee coming up between her legs and her hands flying towards the nice looking face. If she still had nails, she could claw his eyes out, but seeing as she didn’t, the woman soon reached for the pliers which were on a nearby table. “Hold still,” she mumbled.

There was a limited life supply remaining within the man’s body, but she moved methodically, as he had. She thought her stomach would twist as she plunged the pliers into the eye socket, but without queasiness, she gripped the right eye and pulled it out with a slick tear, optic nerve trailing behind the bulk of the orb. Blood slowly trickled from the socket and she moved to the left eye, carefully inserting the pliers. Considering that the grip she maintained on the pliers was steady and solid, she continued to use them.

Fading gurgles of sounds bubbled out of his throat, an irritating death sound she became eager to suppress. He should have been dead already, but some sick part of the man lived.

Sliding down him, she took hold of one meaty hand. The nails slid from the nail-beds with a pop.
The longer the bastard lived, the longer she had to repay the pain, to let out her anger and frustration, but primarily, she just wanted him to die.

Later, though she wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed since he had taken the last gurgle of breath, she sat on the chair which she had originally been placed in upon her arrival. The poker, pliers, hose and various other objects were spread out on the ground before her and just above them was the body: eyes removed, face a bloody pulp, nails slid under the skin. She had not used most of the tools, but the pliers were a comfortable fit for her hand and the poker had made for a useful bat.

“Thank you,” she said politely. “I feel much better now.” She did. She felt great, so wonderful now that her anger was gone that she didn’t even notice the cold creeping up her spine. She was going quickly now that the anger was gone, and she was hardly aware of the footsteps and the gruff voices which spoke near her.

“We’re too late,” someone said. “She’s already killed him.”

“Cuff her; then call a bus. Boss won’t be happy to hear about this.”

“Better not go public. Mr. Andrews should be called.”

“Stupid bitch, what was she thinking?”

She felt the cold slap of metal against her wrist and a pinch as someone tightened the handcuffs. The world was a dark smear behind her eyelids and her body, which she attempted to move, was unresponsive. Cold had spread over her body, dulling her sensations, but even as her mid fogged, her ears were sharp. Their words spun in her mind and she processed them.

There was a mistake, she wasn’t the killer. She had killed sure, but it was basically self-defense. Strength had fled her though and when she attempted to move her lips there was no result.