Mutatus

by Ally Vance

  I’m sure she remembers her own transformation; she woke up midway through the operation, but I wasn’t going to stop and wait for a fresh dose of sedative to take effect, and I also refuse to do it for him. If he’s lucky, he’ll pass out again, and if I’m lucky, he’ll remain conscious throughout the remainder of the procedure.

  A soft moan comes from the cage, and I crouch in front of it, settling in to watch my sweet Thumbelina leave her medically induced slumber. Her pretty forest green eyes blink slowly as she shakes off the vestiges of sleep, gradually becoming more focused and alert until her gaze alights on me through the bars, and I stare stonily back at her.

  A howl of wretched fury departs her delicate lips, filling the room with the inhuman sound.

  “You’ve put me in a cage!” she snarls, her face twisted in fury.

  “I have,” I reply calmly, watching her closely.

  “Let me out,” she demands.

  Maia attempts to throw herself at the bars but is halted by the manacles binding her. She winces in pain as she strains her arms and her back, trying to wrench herself free from the heavy, metal cuffs holding her in place.

  “No. I told you we will never be apart again, and if I have to cage and chain you to make it so, then I will. No second chances, Maia. Besides, if I take you upstairs, how will you be able to watch the show?” I ask, nonchalantly, flickering my gaze behind me to the man lying in wait for his punishment.

  “No, not Darryn,” Maia’s words are soft and full of sorrow as she takes in his figure, and the straps binding him to the gurney.

  “Please, don’t hurt him, I’ll be good and I’ll stay here with you. I promise,” she begs, but I stare coldly back at her, suppressing the baser urges flaring up inside me at the sound of her sweet begging voice.

  Her eyes plead with me as she attempts to appeal to my better nature. Too bad for her, she destroyed that part of me when she left. I pick up the ball gag I bought especially for her and approach the cage. Opening the door, I reach inside and pull on her hair to force her head back before placing it in her mouth,. She tries to fight me, but with no hands free to hold me back, there’s nothing she can do. Leaning closer, I bring her face toward mine and gently kiss the hard rubber of the gag sitting firmly in her open mouth as I brush away her angry tears with my thumb.

  “You had your chance to behave, Maia. You could’ve come back peacefully with me when I asked you in your trailer, but you’re the one who decided to make this difficult. Well, sweetheart, all actions have outcomes, and this is the consequence of yours.”

  Ten

  Maia

  All I can do is silently shed tears and stare through the bars as Dr. Waugh crosses the room to where Darryn is sleeping, probably knocked out by the same drug administered to me. I hope and pray that he stays that way until Dr. Waugh is done. I wouldn’t want him to suffer with nightmares about the procedure or the aftermath, like I did. Our friends at the Carnaval des Ténèbres know how close we are; they’ll probably assume Darryn and I have run off together, except maybe Yager. I want to go home. I want to return to my family of freaks.

  I flinch at the sound of flesh parting, and it takes every bit of my control not to surrender myself to the past when it was me going under the knife on that fucking gurney. Dr. Waugh is nothing if not careful, and every slice he makes will be precise. He takes pride in his work, but his mind is beyond both comprehension and the realms of sanity. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to bear witness to the grotesque scene I know is playing out in front of me. Even with my eyes pinched tightly shut, I can still hear every damn cut and the sound of Darryn’s skin being shredded and mutilated.

  Darryn doesn’t deserve this, and I didn’t either, but this is all my doing. I fled from the monster’s lair, but he found me and dragged me back again, and Darryn’s here because of me. I’d never wish any kind of affliction on anyone, but of all the conditions in this world, I wish with all my heart Darryn could be like Yager, if only for a few hours, so he would be immune to the pain of what’s to come.

  It feels like an age since the sounds began. Eventually, curiosity rears her ugly head, and I open my eyes. I retch behind the gag when I see what‘s happening; the bastard has angled himself in such a way as to give me a clear view of everything. Darryn’s right hand is an unrecognizable mess, and there’s blood all over the gloves and overalls Dr. Waugh is wearing.

  I start to choke on the ball between my teeth as I fight not to vomit, knowing if I do, I’ll suffocate. I’m transfixed by the horror in front of my eyes. I can’t look away. Sensing my gaze, Dr. Waugh glances up at me, and his lips twist into a terrifying smirk before he refocuses on what he’s doing. I tug at the manacles holding me in place and force my body to contort in ways virtually impossible for me until the skin on my back splits. My screech is muffled by the gag as I crumple, eyes blurred with tears of agony and failure.

  “For fuck’s sake, Maia, stay still and be quiet. You keep distracting me, and you don’t want me to harm your friend beyond repair do you? If you damage your body, I’ll have to fix it, and I won’t give you the reprieve of anesthetic,” Dr. Waugh snaps, his eyes flashing briefly to mine.

  He then lifts Darryn’s arm for me to see, and my eyes bulge out of my head. Darryn’s hand has been completely stripped of skin and muscle, until only the internal structures remain, exposed and glistening red in the bright light of the lamp hanging over the gurney. I can see the flesh has been peeled back around his wrist like a sleeve that’s been rolled up.

  Blood is dripping steadily from the open wound and bony digits, and the skeleton and tendons of Darryn's hand are completely visible. I can see the fingers twitching reflexively, and I’m unable to prevent the nausea from overtaking me. I start to choke on my own vomit as the sound of a scalpel hitting the metal tray faintly registers. Wet hands rifle through my hair, and the gag is removed. I spit and choke, coughing down oxygen as my throat and airways clear of the obstruction.

  “Really, Maia? I brought you up to be stronger than this. I saw those other freaks at your little Carnaval; this is nothing compared to what some of them put themselves through for the sake of entertainment. Be quiet and I’ll leave the gag off, but if you make another sound, I’ll slice out your tongue, and leave you swallowing your own blood and vomit while I slit your friend’s throat. You can watch him die as you choke to death on your own life force,” he threatens, his voice emotionless and cold.

  I nod silently, and bite on my quivering lip. I mustn’t make a sound or he’ll silence me and kill Darryn. For all Dr. Waugh’s assertions that I’ll never be allowed to leave him again, he’s just proved I’m completely disposable to him, no matter what he claims to the contrary. I may have hurt him when I left and didn’t look back, but that was nothing, nothing, compared to what he did to me or what he’s threatening to put me through now.

  I watch helplessly, forcing myself to remain silent as he picks up a small hacksaw, even though all I want to do is scream for him to stop. I’m so, so sorry, Darryn. Please forgive me for not doing more to prevent this. I can’t bear to watch you die. I silently pray for someone to save us, but I know with all my heart that no one is coming.

  A low groan comes from the gurney and my heart rate spikes with fear as I stare with complete and utter horror as Darryn starts to come around. Don’t wake up. Please, don’t wake up. I mouth the words over and over, staring at him with tears falling as he slowly opens his eyes. Flashing back to when that was me waking up, confused and paralyzed, I hope he’ll experience the same numbness I did.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead,” Dr. Waugh singsongs, slapping Darryn across the face and leaving a bloody red handprint on his cheek, “You’re missing all the fun, isn’t he, Maia?”

  As Dr. Waugh addresses me, Darryn’s eyes open fully, seeking me out. Tears flow freely down my face, and I choke back a sob when he begins to realize what’s happening.

  “What the fuck have you done to my hand?” Darryn exclaims, and his to
rtured voice will haunt me for as long as I live.

  His yell of despair cuts through me with the precision of Dr. Waugh’s scalpel, and I look away when the sound of sawing begins. However, the rhythmic noise isn’t loud enough to drown out Darryn's agonized howls, and I find my gaze moving slowly back to him. Sweat plasters Darryn’s brown hair to his forehead, and his eyes are screwed up tight as he screams.

  I swallow hard against the vomit threatening to make another appearance when I hear the scrape of metal against bone. I don’t want to listen to this. I want to scream at Dr. Waugh to stop, but I don’t want to die down here. Darryn’s yells turn into excruciating shrieks until abruptly they stop. The sawing ceases, and the sounds of a loud snapping noise followed by a heavy thud reach my ears, and my stomach empties itself. I’m now kneeling in my own waste, but I know deep down I deserve so much worse for being the reason Darryn’s here.

  I peek between my eyelids and immediately wish I hadn’t when I see Dr. Waugh bending down and picking up the skeletal hand that once belonged to Darryn. My friend is slumped on the gurney, passed out, and the bloody stump at the end of his arm is leaking blood. I nearly forget Dr. Waugh’s threat and cry out but manage to restrain myself. I almost wish, for Darryn’s sake, he’d bleed out instead of waking up again to see what’s been done to him. But the truth is, I'm selfish. I don't want to lose him, and I don't want to be left alone with Dr. Waugh.

  In keeping with the actions of the madman I know him to be, Dr. Waugh lifts the hand and waves it at me like some creepy fucker from a horror movie.

  “Maybe he’ll keep his hands to himself from now on. If he behaves, I’ll let him keep the other one,” he says with a smirk.

  Putting the severed hand aside, he reaches over to the tray and prepares a surgical needle and thread. Bending down, he carefully straightens out the mangled flesh that once covered Darryn’s hand and begins stitching the blood vessels back together, sealing them to staunch the bleeding.

  Once he’s done that, he then moves on to the outer flesh and skin, realigning them before inserting a neat row of stitches to bring all the flesh back together. He then sews the hand back together, minus the bones and tendons that once filled and shaped the flesh. When he finally deems the procedure over, he injects Darryn with a drug, I assume it’s something to fight off infection, and cleans him up.

  While Dr. Waugh is preoccupied, removing the bloody surgical garb he’s been wearing, I stare at the mockery of a human hand now hanging from the end of Darryn’s arm. The black stitches are stark against the flushed and inflamed skin. It resembles nothing more than a limp fleshy glove.

  What have I done?

  Eleven

  Darryn

  My hand.

  I nearly pass out when I first see the aftermath of what that sick son of a bitch has done to me. He’s completely mutilated my hand. My fucking hand. I don’t understand why he’s done this. There’s no reasonable or logical explanation for the monstrous amputation he’s performed.

  After he cleared away his surgical implements of torture, he left me lying here, in what appears to be a basement, without any explanation. The pain is excruciating, and I’ve got no way of numbing the agonizing weightlessness from below my wrist. I’m strapped down to a gurney as if I’m the psychotic one in this place! I can’t even begin to comprehend what’s happened without feeling lightheaded.

  Maia is locked in a cage, like some kind of pet and refusing to speak, fearful and obedient. Without having to be told, I know immediately this is Dr. Waugh, the madman who previously deformed her body for his own ends. Ugliness runs deep, and even though he wears his good looks like a shield, they can’t smother the hideous soul within him. I’ve got to get us out of here, and I need to consult a real fucking doctor because who knows what else he did to me while I was unconscious.

  “Maia, please talk to me,” I implore her, hating how weak and pained my voice sounds right now. I twist my head toward her. “ Look at me! I need you to not shut down right now. I need to get to a hospital. We can’t give up. Our family will be waiting for us.”

  Maia is crouched on the floor of the cage, arms outstretched in manacles, and her head bowed. She looks more like a fallen angel than a fairy with her bright blonde hair, reminiscent of a cherub’s. Maia will always be beautiful to me, both inside and out.

  “How can I even face you right now?” she snaps, an edge of hysteria in her tone. “Knowing what he did to you because of me. I can’t. It’s hopeless, and we’re never going to get out of here.”

  “You didn’t do this to me, that maniac did. He’s a madman, and he can’t be trusted. Whatever he said to you, Maia, it’s not true,” I insist, breathing hard and straining against the straps still holding me in place.

  The sound of a door being shut reaches my ears, and craning my neck, I watch as the doctor descends the stairs.

  “You sick fuck. Look what you’ve done to me!” I shout, as he walks past me, not even sparing a glance in my direction.

  He crosses the room to the cage containing Maia, crouches down in front of it, and addresses her through the bars. “Are you going to continue to fight against me or will you behave? I need to know if I can trust you.”

  She lifts her head and her beautiful eyes flicker toward me for a split-second before she gazes up at him.

  “Answer me!” he demands, and I pull against the restraints, not bothering to bite back the shriek that’s wrenched from my lips as I apply pressure to the useless lump of skin now hanging from the stump of my wrist.

  “I won’t fight you. I’ll show you I can be trusted,” she answers in a small voice.

  This woman is not my Maia. In spite of her affliction and anguish, the Maia I know burns brightly. This Maia is hollow, devoid of life, and cowering under the glare of the monster she believes has cursed her, and in so many ways, he has. He only has as much power over her as she allows him to have, and right now, she’s giving him everything.

  When she was home with us at the Carnaval des Ténèbres, she owned her body. She was completely radiant as she danced among us. A little sprite of a woman, but with enough fire inside her soul to raze us to the ground. We love our girl, our Maia, but she’s always refused to accept it. Hell, even Yager loves her in his own way, and he’s pretty much incapable of comprehending that feeling.

  The pain in my hand is diminishing, but I’m not entirely sure if it’s just my subconscious blocking out the agony or if my life force is now ebbing too. I forcibly ignore what remains of the stinging throb in my right hand and do everything I can to focus on Maia. We’ll escape and I’ll learn to adapt, just as many others in our troupe have done.

  I hear the loud click of a lock and clang of metal as the door to Maia’s cage is opened. As Dr. Waugh releases her from her iron prison, the clink of chain hitting the concrete floor is almost deafening. Every sound seems amplified in this stony room, and the throbbing in my head pounds harder as he pulls her across the floor.

  “Maia,” I gasp, blinking hard and slow through the pain that’s slowly engulfing me again.

  Maia’s eyes meet mine and tears slip free, sliding down her pale, dirty cheeks, but she doesn’t acknowledge me further than that. He doesn’t allow her to approach me. Instead, he drags her up the stairs and away from me. Her hand reaches out to me while he isn’t looking at her, and just before she’s stolen from my view, she glances back. Her anguished expression shatters me.

  Twelve

  Camden

  I leave the two of them alone together down in the basement, just to torture them further. Maia is so focussed on me when I’m around, and I want her attention on her friend. I want her to suffer by giving her time alone with him, so she can consider what I’ve done to him and know she’s at fault. Maia needs to learn exactly what her misbehavior has cost her and her little freaky friend. When she had the chance, she left me. She ran away and settled for a freak instead of a man like me. I gave her everything, and she threw it back in my face as if wha
t we had and shared over the years was meaningless.

  A few hours trapped in the cage while he’s suffering across the room from her should be enough time to permanently embed the lesson within her. Plus, there’s another benefit to leaving them alone down there. It gives me time to prepare her room, and the homecoming gift I’ve bought for her. I couldn't get the image of her suspended in the air out of my mind, so I’ve purchased something similar for her to be strapped into here. It's not on the same scale as she’s used to, but it doesn't need to be for what I have in mind.

  It's been too long since it was just me and Maia, and even though we have an annoying pest downstairs, it feels like old times, having her in my home. I allowed Maia her freedom and her time to see the world, but she took advantage of those liberties when she ghosted, seemingly off the face of the earth.

  Our homecoming reunion is going to be glorious. I fully intend to show her exactly what she's missed, especially as she's now fully aware of the consequences that await if she fails me again. I will not be crossed, and love her as I do, she’s not exempt from punishment.

  When I finally go back down to collect her from the basement, I’m half-tempted to take her right then and there, with her hands manacled inside the cage, but I’m not about to fuck her on top of her mess of bodily fluids, nor am I an animal who will rut into his woman whenever the mood strikes me. No, it has to be perfect.

  Maia is absolutely filthy, so first I need to get her cleaned up. I direct her toward the bathroom on the first floor, and she follows without a word. The silence stretches out between us, and I hope, like me, she is reflecting on what occurred downstairs.

  Opening the door, I guide her inside and close it behind us. Maia jumps at the sound of the click of the lock, and I pocket the key with a smile. I know she must be feeling on edge right now, yet I can’t bring myself to alleviate her fears. She should be afraid of what I’m both willing and capable of doing when angered. I’d never kill her, that would be too easy and I’d be bereft, knowing that my own hands took her from me. But Maia hurt me greatly when she left, and if she wasn’t already completely perfect as she is, then her friend wouldn’t have been the only one to suffer, physically at least. Let’s just hope the message has sunk in.