A thin line of blood traced the path of the blade.
“Why did you come to this facility?” asked the doctor in a sterner tone of voice.
“To give you a piece of what’s down here, you bastard!” spat Günter, gesturing with his eyes towards his nether regions.
“You mean this?” said the doctor pointing at Günter’s nether region.
Suddenly he grabbed Günter’s phallus with his left hand and brandished the ghost blade in his in his right hand.
“This thing, you mean? How generous of you!” he said and sliced.
Günter let out a heart-rending scream and nearly passed out; more from the thought of losing his manhood than from the pain he felt.
“THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD! I SHALL NOT WANT…” Günter screamed.
“Oh, come on now, Günter. You’re so sentimental!” Dr. Klaus teased. “Take another look at your precious cock!”
Günter did so and noticed that it was still in place, but a trickle of blood was a testament of the ghost blade’s kiss. He could barely contain his relief.
“See?” said the doctor. “I can be nice when I want to.”
“You still did not tell me how you knew my name,” Günter insisted.
“You are not being cooperative despite my generosity,” said the doctor and drove a much longer and larger knife, that Günter was unaware Dr. Klaus had in his right hand, two inches deep into Günter’s left muscular thigh.
There was another cry of renewed pain.
“EVEN THOUGH I WALK,” Günter shouted and gasped, trying to catch his breath.
He swallowed and continued, “THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH, I SHALL FEAR NO EVIL! AHHHHHHHH!”
Günter screamed as the doctor slowly twisted the knife in a semi-circle in his thigh.
“FOR YOU- ARE- WITH- ME!” Günter enunciated each word and spat thick spittle of blood at Dr. Klaus’ face.
“You think you’re tough!” Dr. Klaus said, digging for a white handkerchief and mopping his face as he gestured towards the soldiers.
“Soften him up, boys!” he instructed. “Break no bones. We will resume tomorrow.”
The soldiers were experts at their job, true purveyors of physical pain. They executed their orders to the last, physically brutal point. They were precise, succinct and sadistic. Several minutes later Günter was a bloodied, beaten and battered pile of human brawn and no broken bones. The soldiers left Günter in solitude. Two hours later, a janitor walked into the chamber and started cleaning the blood, spittle, and sweat from the floor. Then, after stealing quick glances over his shoulders, he quietly shut the door and approached Günter. He dropped to one knee, unzipped his overall, pulled out a bottle of water and pressed it against Günter’s lips.
“Drink, father!” he said hurriedly.
His accent was not German, but Günter could not place the accent. Günter tried to purse his swollen lips but they hurt.
“N- No!” Günter managed to say in a low husky voice.
“Come on now, father!” the janitor insisted, and glanced nervously over his shoulders. “Please drink! You must. See!”
Günter managed to open his left eye, the one that was not yet fully swollen shut and saw the janitor take a few gulps from the bottle.
“See?” the janitor said and brought the bottle back towards Günter’s lips.
Günter considered for a few moments and then opened his mouth slightly. The janitor poured some of the heavenly nectar very slowly into Günter’s slightly open mouth.
“Thank you,” Günter managed to say after he had emptied the contents of the bottle.
“I must go now,” replied the janitor. “But I will be back tomorrow during my shift. Stay strong, Father!”
The janitor walked out of the room and into the corridor, whistling some tune to himself.
“Wait…” Günter called out weakly, but the janitor was already gone.
Günter lost track of time. A soft tap on his shoulder made him realized he had somehow fallen asleep at some point. When he opened his one eye, he saw a beautiful, busty blond woman crouched in front of him. Her face very close to his, as if she was trying to study him. He could smell her perfume. She stood when she realized he had opened his eye. Günter noticed she wore a tight-fitting blouse that was loose at the top to reveal ample cleavage and a very short skirt that barely covered her buttocks. She stood there for a few moments as if appraising him and Günter, in his sleepy, painful, and delusional stupor, could not help but admire her curvaceous glory.
She nodded slightly, maintaining a poker face the entire time. She then turned around and bent over, straight-legged, to pick up a tray of food from the floor behind her. He noticed she had no underwear on and even in his pathetic state, his carnal nature come to life as if sucking from some omnipresent energy. She then stood up, turned around, walked towards him with the tray of food in hand, and knelt close to him. She set the tray on his left lap, the one with the knife wound. She held the tray in her left hand and, whether it was intentional or not, the tip of his manhood found its way in between her index and middle finger. His manhood continued to expand.
Either she did not notice or did but and could care less. The lady proceeded to feeding Günter with her right hand. The food was delicious and tasted like it pudding with ground meat. Günter realized after a few mouthfuls that he had not even resisted eating the food like he resisted drinking the water from the janitor. He felt ashamed of himself, but it was too late now. The lady would occasionally adjust her left hand under the tray for whatever reason and the gesture would provide a further stroking motion to the tip of Günter’s manhood.
It was a pleasant distraction for Günter, at least until he finished eating his food. He felt revitalized. The lady then stood up, turned around as if to leave and then stopped. She bent over and set the tray on the floor, once again revealing the nakedness underneath her short skirt. She stood up again, with her back to him. He could tell she was unbuttoning her blouse. It must be a dream; a good dream, though! He thought She turned around to face him as she undid the last button and opened her blouse. A white, perfectly fitting brassiere provided support for a pair of wonderfully sculptured breasts. He was fully erected as she took two steps towards him, her high heels clanging on the metallic floor, sending an echo across the deathly quiet torture chamber. Without warning, she lashed out with her right foot and plunged the pointed tip of the heel of her right shoe directly into his extension. Günter returned to reality. The pain was unbearable.
“You filthy Catholic pig!” she exclaimed and lashed out on a different spot on his phallus with the heel of her shoe.
This time around, she tore off some flesh. Günter nearly slipped into unconsciousness from the pain and did not hear the door open. She spat at Günter and stepped aside, buttoning up her blouse. Dr. Klaus walked around Günter’s chair of pain and stood behind Günter. He leaned close to Günter’s left ear, as his captive whimpered in pain.
“One way or another,” he hissed, “we will break you. You can hold on for as long as you can. But you will break, my goodly priest… Just like the rest of them!”
He stood up and started heading towards the door.
“Why…” Günter muttered, “Why not just kill me?”
“Why kill you-” replied the doctor, holding the door for the lady to walk out. She planted a deep kiss on his lips before walking past him. “-when we can use you!” he added and closed the door after him.
The lights went out, and Günter was, once again, left alone with nothing but a thread of his sanity and will.
CHAPTER NINE: TURNED
Günter made one final turn before heading towards the southern portion of the Vatican. He pulled up outside the gate with two priests standing guard. He rolled down the window and nodded at one of the guards, who signaled to another guard by the main entrance. This guard opened the gate, and the first guard waved them in. Günter gave another quick nod, rolled up his window and drove slowly
through the gate. He then parked below a short flight of stairs. The other priest riding shotgun stepped out of the car and mounted the stairs. He spoke quickly with another priest and returned to the car.
“All clear, your supremacy,” he said, opening the door for Father Supreme.
“Thank you, Lucius,” replied Father Supreme.
Father Supreme exited the car and mounted the stairs. Fr. Antonio followed his boss as they walked into the most secluded part of the Vatican. Like a reflex action, they walked along the hallways they had walked a countless number of times and took an elevator six levels down to an even more secretive portion of the building. A manservant priest greeted them and led them into their conference room. Father Supreme sat on his chair, and Fr. Antonio took a seat to his left as always.
“So, what did your agent say?” asked Father Supreme.
The room offered more privacy than the car did.
“He said the man wanted to meet with you in person. That the situation may have changed and something big is going to happen. Something about a new breed or a mutation of the Bright Eyes,” replied Fr. Antonio.
“Did he say where and when?” asked Father Supreme.
“No, Father,” replied Antonio. “He said you would know what to do.”
“I see,” Father Supreme said flatly, and silence ensued.
Fr. Antonio hesitated for a moment and then said,
“Your supremacy!”
“Yes?”
“Why do you think this man said that you would know what to do?” asked Antonio. “This is just absurd.”
“Yes, it is absurd Antonio,” replied his supremacy. “I’ll have to find out for myself soon.”
“But Father,” Antonio objected. “You can’t be serious!”
Antonio realized that he had inadvertently questioned his boss’ judgment.
“I deeply apologize, your supremacy,” he added quickly. “I did not mean anything by that.”
“It’s alright, Antonio,” he said, reassuringly. “I know you mean well.”
He paused for a moment and then continued.
“Besides, if anything were to happen to me, I know the Order would be in great hands.”
He winked at Antonio. The gesture surprised Antonio.
“You honor me greatly, your supremacy,” Antonio said, feeling relieved.
His supremacy nodded and said, “You’re dismissed!”
“Aye, your supremacy!” replied Antonio standing up to take leave. “I’ll keep you apprised, sir!”
“Good!” Father Supreme said.
With a curt bow, Fr. Antonio exited the room. Father Supreme was now by himself. Father Supreme reached under the table and pressed a button. Multiple locks went into motion and turned the room into a fortress as well as sealing it from any electromagnetic and telecommunication influence. He clasped his hands, placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his clasped hands. After a few moments, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes and breathed very slowly. He felt the connection getting stronger and stronger and then suddenly his mind went blank.
There was no thought or emotion. Then, in the recesses of his mind, a ray of light appeared and started getting brighter until his mind was filled with bright luminescence. Then, there was a sensation of being sucked into a vacuum, and the bright luminescence vanished into that vacuum. When the sensation wore off, an image of a man’s face began to form in his mind. It started out as a silhouette before slowly becoming clearer and clearer until the image became the exact, three-dimensional representation of a face. The face opened its eyes and smiled.
“I see you got my message,” Yehuda said.
The most wanted man in the underworld and the most powerful man in the underworld had just established a telepathic link with each other.
Günter leaned on the hood of the car with his back to the entrance of the building. He was lost in thought as he repeatedly flipped a rare coin in his left hand. The coin was a souvenir from Fr. Wilson, his psychiatrist. I wonder what those two could be discussing in there, he thought. He thought he had found closure after killing Judge Hassler and Fr. Heinrich, but he was wrong. Their deaths had merely pushed those dark events at the sacristy further into his subconscious. He flipped the coin again and caught it with the back of his left hand. He peeled the coin away from the back of his hand with his right hand and gently traced the scar on the back of his left hand with his right index finger and the memories came flooding back.
***
Günter would later learn that it had been eight days since his capture by the Nazis. He was given just enough food and water to keep him alive. The beatings had continued, but just enough to reduce him to a pathetic pulp. Sometimes, his captors would free him of his bonds and let him collapse to the floor, only long enough to ease blood flow through his body. Well, he had to be cleaned from marinating in his urine and feces as well. It was all part of the torture. He had neither the physical, mental nor psychological strength to try to escape. Regardless, his body was grateful for the moments of freedom. And even as he was taken to the edge of death several times, he recited the rosary, a few Psalms and sang hymns, even if it was just a whisper or in his mind. He focused on the Word of God and fought the good fight of faith.
Then one day, Dr. Klaus came to the torture chamber by himself and took a knee in front of Günter.
“So, are you still a soldier for God?” he asked calmly.
“I’ll give you a demo if you’d let me,” Günter replied, barely above a whisper.
“Well, Günter,” exhaled Dr. Klaus standing up and straightening his lab coat. “Since you are hell-bent on seeing our end, may I introduce you to the priest who will administer our final rites before our passage into the world of the damned.”
“You talk too much, doctor!” Günter scoffed
Dr. Klaus smirked and clapped twice. A man came into the torture chamber wearing a cassock and holding the Bible and rosary in his right hand. Dr. Klaus grinned when he saw the confusion on Günter’s face.
“What’s up your sleeves, priest?” Günter sneered.
“You’re about to find out!” Dr. Klaus replied.
The fake priest tossed the bible and rosary to the floor, lifted his cassock and undid his belt, his trouser button, and his zipper. He let gravity pull his trousers down and then proceeded to taking off his underwear. Next, he unbuttoned his cassock, stripped it from his torso and let it slide to the floor. He stepped out of the pile of clothing that had gathered around his ankles. The fake priest was slow and methodical, staring into Günter’s eyes the entire time. Günter gaped in horror not just from the man’s size, but at the realization of what the doctor meant by ‘final rites.’ Four more soldiers walked into the torture chamber; two of them stood behind Günter, and the other two stood on either side of the half-naked man.
“Seize him!” ordered Dr. Klaus.
“No! No! NOOO!!!!” Günter cried as two men grabbed his hands and the other two grabbed his legs.
They undid his binds adeptly, and Günter tried to fight with every morsel of energy he thought he had left. But even with the sudden adrenaline rush, he was powerless against four, strong and fit German soldiers. He was half-dragged, half-lifted to a table in the corner, kicking and screaming all the way. Two of the soldiers tried to push his head forward to bend him over the table, but he resisted. Big mistake. A soldier punched him in the solar plexus, and the other punched him straight in the face. The punches made Günter reel and gasped for air as the entire room spun around violently.
Günter retched, but the concentrated bile only made it halfway up his gullet, leaving a very acidic appraisal along its path. His stomach and ribs crashed on the table, and the two soldiers who punched him pulled his arms down over the table using their body weight. The other pair of soldiers held each of Günter’s legs against their bodies and pinned them to the floor. Günter was helpless, exposed and rendered immobile. The four soldiers executed the sequence wit
h perfection. Günter was clearly not their first.
Günter was begging and crying the entire time for them to stop. He felt powerless, hopeless, humiliated and disgusted with himself. The trauma of yesteryears came crashing down on his psyche. Back then, he could fight, back then he fought and back then, he won. But at the current moment was different. He could not fight, and sadly, even if he could, he could not win. Back then, he was angry and back then, his anger had given him unimaginable strength and courage. But at the current moment, he was a sad situation of self-loathe and self-pity. His anger in that moment summed to naught. Back then, he held his head up high with pride. But now, he was being held down.
“Where is your God, Günter?” Dr. Klaus asked firmly in his ear. “Where is your Christ? Why can’t he save you now?”
“Please,” Günter begged, tears streaming down his eyes. “I beg of you, don’t do this.”
“Will you join us?” Klaus asked as he stood up straight.
Günter was silent, torn between his sense of duty and need for sanity.
“It doesn’t have to be like this Günter!” Klaus yelled. “Can’t you see you’re just a pawn to them? Where is the rescue team? Where is your God or Christ to come save you?!”
“Please,” Günter could barely speak.
He was nearing his breaking point. The doctor may be right after all. No one had come to his rescue. He had hoped for a miracle from God, but all he was getting was physical, mental and psychological torture. He could feel his faith slipping.
“I’ll ask you one last time, Günter,” the doctor yelled. “WILL YOU JOIN US!!?”
“The Lord… is my… Shepherd, I shall… not want,” Günter began weakly reciting.
“So be it!” said the doctor and snapped his fingers at the half-naked man. “He’s all yours, Abelard!”
Klaus crouched in front of Günter and stared directly into Günter’s eyes.
“I want to savor every bit of displeasure you’re about to suffer, soldier,” Klaus snarled.
Günter felt a cold liquid slide down the crack of his butt before he felt a finger applying the liquid on his anal orifice. He instinctively tried to squeeze his butt cheeks tight. But he knew it was pointless.
The Bright Eyes (The Soulless Ones Book 1) Page 7
