by Athan, Jon
He dug his hand into his pocket, then he retrieved Ashley's fake ID. He held the card up, showing his daughter the incriminating evidence. She could deny the fake name and birth date, but she could not dismiss her picture. He pushed the card closer to Ashley's face, making sure she could read every detail on the piece of plastic.
Logan said, “We found it in your room during our first search. It's yours, obviously. You don't have to deny it. It won't do you any good anyway. I'm just curious: what were you planning on doing with it? Or, better yet: what have you already done with it?”
Ashley stared at the card, then she glared at her father – frustrated, angered, horrified. She turned away and stared at the washing machines. The invasion of privacy still bothered her, but she was more concerned about her safety. Her father was a physically brutal man, so her mind was flooded with thoughts of abuse. What is he going to hit me with this time?–she thought.
In a soft, understanding tone, Logan said, “Listen, sweetie, things will go easier for you if you cooperate. That's something that your mother and I are trying to teach you. When someone asks you a question, you should respond as honestly and respectfully as possible. I know it's hard, but you have to trust me. The truth will set you free. In this case, it might just be literal. I could cut that rope, uncuff you... I can set you free. Talk to me.”
The promise of freedom sounded nice. She could finally stretch, drink a gallon of water, feast on a chicken sandwich, then sleep in the comfort of her bed. Such a tender promise blinded her, pushing her towards cooperation. Naiveté was one of her weaknesses.
Weak, Ashley said, “I... I was going to buy booze and cigarettes for me and some friends. I was in charge of bringing the alcohol to parties. That's all.”
“That's a damn shame. You use this card to buy alcohol for others' kids. You spread poison through the community, but it comes back to me. Your actions taint this family's image,” Logan said as he stared at the card. He glanced up at his daughter and asked, “Have you gone to any clubs with this? Have you gone 'clubbing?' Huh?”
“No. I–I've never been to a club, I swear. The bouncers would have seen me coming a mile away.”
“Don't lie to me, girl. Remember, the truth will set you free. If you've been out at those clubs, drinking alcohol, snorting coke, or choking on dick, I want you to tell me. So, I'll ask again: have you been to any clubs with this?”
Ashley grimaced and whimpered – same old dad. She was astonished by the man's vulgar accusations, but, at heart, she knew he did not change. He offered her the possibility of freedom in exchange for cooperation, but she was never going to be set free.
Ashley sniffled and said, “I didn't go to any damn clubs. Do you understand what I'm saying? Hmm? I don't 'snort coke' or 'choke on dick.' I bought beer and cigarettes. That's all. I mean, I took my friends to an R-rated movie once, too. Is that what you want to hear? Huh? Is that what you want, dad?!”
“I don't believe you. It really hurts me to have to say that to my own daughter, but it's the truth: I do not believe you. You've been sneaking out, fucking your boyfriend and all of his friends.”
“I haven't...”
“You have. And you deserve to be taught a lesson for that.”
Logan stood from his seat. He glared at his daughter as he reached for his lower back. He retrieved a neatly rolled cable from his waistband. The black cable was thick and durable – like the cable from a DVD player. He whipped the cable on the floor – whoosh – then he pulled the cable back towards him. He folded the cable in half, ready to whip his daughter.
Teary-eyed, Ashley said, “You're insane...”
Logan was not persuaded by her tears or her statement. He defined right and wrong in his household – and he was always right. He pulled the makeshift whip over his shoulder, then he struck down at his daughter with all of his might. The thick cable struck her chest, landing on her left breast. He pulled the cable back, then he hit her on the same breast again.
Surrounded by rosy skin, a small cut formed on her breast with the second strike.
Logan said, “That's for trying to manipulate your brother...”
Ashley cried, “I didn't! Please, stop!”
Logan continued to flog her with the cable. He evenly distributed nine strikes across her chest, shoulder, and left leg. Red, white, and blue – her tender skin was reddened and bruised with each hit. The whipping sound echoed through the home, too.
Wheezing and groaning, Ashley said, “Please... Stop. Don't do–”
Logan struck her face with the cable, silencing her with the brutal blow. A grisly gash formed on the right side of her face from the side of her mouth to her ear. The laceration was surrounded by red, swollen skin – more future bruises. Blood dripped from the cut and streamed down towards her jaw.
Ashley could not utter a word. She had been whipped, forced to eat inedible condoms, and involuntarily shaved, but her father never struck her face. For some reason, perhaps due to some unspoken law, the attack on her face was shocking. Open-handed hits were okay, everything else was off-limits.
Out of breath, Logan said, “Tell the truth, Ashley. Say it: 'I went to clubs, I did drugs, I had sex.' Say it, baby, and maybe I'll let you go.”
Ashley stared at her father with a steady expression. The gash on her face stung as she cracked a smile. She persevered through the pain, though. She giggled, trying to laugh through her living nightmare. The promise of freedom was nothing but a joke – a cruel, demented joke.
Logan returned the folded cable to the back of his waistband. He wagged the fake ID at his daughter, then he snapped it in half. The edges of the pieces were sharp, like a box cutter. He ran the sharp edge across his daughter's moist neck, teasing her as if he were holding a knife in his hand.
With a gentle swipe, he cut her throat. The laceration was small, but it stung. Blood dripped down to her chest from the cut. As Ashley whimpered and squirmed, the man cut her again – directly above the other cut. He sliced her a third time. He was purposely cutting near her jugular, trying his best to frighten her – one false move and she'd bleed out.
As he stared at the blood on her neck, Logan said, “I could slit your throat with this. I could kill you, Ashley, but I won't. No, I can't do that. I can't do it 'cause I'm a good father. Remember that. Now, talk to me. Tell me what I want to hear.” Ashley sucked her lips inward and shook her head, terrified. As he marched towards the stairs, the man sneered in disgust and said, “If that's the way you want it, then that's the way you get it. Your mother has a surprise for you, girl. She's going–”
He paused and stopped at the bottom of the steps. He slowly turned toward his daughter, stony-faced.
Logan asked, “What did you just say?”
Ashley furrowed her brow and stuttered, “N–Nothing. What... What are you talking about?”
Logan strolled back to the support beam. He said, “Say it again. Come on, I'm still here. Say what you have to say. I dare you.”
“I... I didn't say anything. You–You're going crazy. You're losing your mind.”
Logan rushed forward and grabbed a fistful of Ashley's hair, then he pushed her head back to the pillar. He barked, “Say it again!”
His fist clenched, he repeatedly struck Ashley's face. His punches landed on her nose and mouth. The gash on her cheek worsened with each blow, leaking blood like a beat-up car leaking oil. Her nose was broken by the beating, too. A cut formed on the bridge of her nose and blood spewed from her nostrils. Her lips and teeth were painted red. Her mouth and chin were drenched in her dark blood.
Yet, the woman did not speak. She remained conscious, grunting and moaning with each punch, but she did not scream. She didn't resist the beating, opting to reserve her energy for her other survival efforts.
After the fifteenth punch, Logan stopped the attack and stepped back. He gritted his teeth as he examined his right hand. His knuckles were bruised and bloodied by the beating. Most of the blood belonged to Ashley, but a few
cuts formed on his knuckles due to her teeth. He waved his hand, as if he had just burned himself or nicked his finger while cooking.
Logan tossed the pieces of the fake ID on the ground. He was tired and rattled by the attack, but he refused to apologize. He convinced himself that he heard something from Ashley.
As he departed the dungeon, he said, “Your mother has a very important lesson for you, sweetie. You haven't felt any pain yet.”
Chapter Seventeen
Cancer is Bad
Jane slowly walked down the stairs, Logan closely followed his wife. The pair stopped at the bottom of the stairs and indistinctly muttered. The couple were not arguing, though. They appeared to be discussing the next method of abuse. For the first time since beginning their experiment in discipline, the pair discussed an important question: how far was too far?
Jane shook her head and said, “Let me handle this.”
Logan clenched his jaw and nodded, then he stepped in reverse – fine, it's your show. He crossed his arms and leaned on the wall near the bottom of the steps, ready to watch the abuse from his front-row seat.
Jane approached Ashley. As she glared at her daughter, she asked, “Logan, honey, do you mind if I take a seat?”
Logan said, “Do as you please, sweetie. The floor is yours. I won't get in your way.”
“Thank you.”
Jane dragged the seat closer to the support beam as she stared at her daughter. She was unperturbed by the blood on her nose and mouth. She was not disturbed by her swollen, sliced, and bruised face. She didn't agree to the physical abuse, but she accepted it. She swiped at the dust and crumbs on the seat, then she sat down. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket.
The devious woman couldn't help but smile upon spotting the look of fear on her daughter's face. Even through the cuts and bruises, she could feel the dread in Ashley's body. She pulled a cigarette from the pack, lit the cancer stick with a chrome lighter, then she took a puff. The warm sensation filling her lungs and coursing through her body could not match the sweet taste of vengeance.
She smoked to strike fear into Ashley's heart – to build tension, to conjure dread. It was part of her performance and she loved it.
Ashley said, “I get it.”
“What do you 'get,' Ashley?”
“You found my cigarettes and you're going to punish me for it. I get it. I already told dad about everything I did. I told him about the booze, the cigarettes, the movies... I told him everything. I get it, mom. You don't have to do all of... this.”
Jane smirked as she analyzed her daughter's demeanor. The teenager was undeniably afraid, but she tried to keep her composure – a steady face, a clear voice. Jane could see through her facade, though. After days of abuse, she had discovered most of her daughter's strengths and weaknesses. She had yet to reveal her own, though.
Disturbed by the overwhelming silence, Ashley stuttered, “I–I'm sorry. Okay? I don't know what else you want from me. I've... I've learned my lesson. I've learned to respect you and dad and... and everyone. I'm sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Jane asked, furious. “Are you sorry for smoking in our home? Are you apologizing for trying to seduce your own brother? What is it? Come on, speak up.”
“Everything. I'm sorry for everything, okay? I'm tired, I'm hurt, and I just want this to end. Please, mom, just let me go.”
Ashley grimaced and cried, dejected. She panted and groaned, struggling to keep her composure. She didn't have any other options. She knew her parents were wrong, but she had to appease them in order to survive. She was mentally and physically defeated, but she was not ready to die.
Jane stood from her seat and approached Ashley. She said, “Well, I appreciate the apology, sweetheart. I really do. I know it takes a lot to admit when you're wrong. Unfortunately, we're not finished with your lessons. We're not even close to finished, sweetie. I have so much to teach you about being a mature, classy woman.”
She took another drag of the cigarette, the cherry glowing like a torch at night. She giggled as she blew the smoke in her daughter's face. The smile was wiped from her face in an instant. She crushed the smoldering cigarette on Ashley's bruised chest, using her breast as a makeshift ashtray.
Ashley shrieked and squirmed as the cigarette burned her skin. The cancer stick left a black and red circular mark on her breast. The center of the mark was white, like the pus from a pimple waiting to burst. The cigarette fell to the floor and leaned on the pile of hair.
Jane crushed the butt of the cigarette with the tip of her shoe and said, “There's your first lesson: safely and properly dispose your cigarette when you're done smoking. Crush it and make sure you won't start a fire. Don't just throw the butt of your cigarette on the ground like some filthy animal. I would set a better example, but I don't have an ashtray with me. Now, let's continue to your next lesson. You have a lot to learn, sweetie.”
***
Ashley shuddered and breathed heavily as she stared into her mother's zany eyes. The woman had metamorphosed from a frail, bashful housewife to a psychopathic sadist. She glanced over at her father in search of a sense of hope, but to no avail – the man genuinely enjoyed the violent show. The teenager clenched her jaw and nodded, ready to endure the abuse.
Jane lit another cigarette and took a puff. She blew the smoke at Ashley's battered face, then she said, “There's a lot to know about smoking, sweetie. These idiotic celebrities make you think it looks cool, but it's actually very dangerous. Did you know? One in five adults and teenagers smoke these things. You, darling, are part of that twenty-percent. You, Ashley Collins, are part of the 20-percent of human disappointment.”
She pushed her shirt aside, then she tugged on her bra until she could see her erect nipple. She took another drag, making sure the cherry was red-hot, then she crushed the tip of the cigarette on her nipple. The rope groaned and the handcuffs rattled as Ashley wailed and convulsed. Her pink nipple was reddened and charred by the burning cancer stick. A droplet of blood even dripped from her nipple like milk from a mother's teat.
Ashley cried, “Stop it... Just stop it!”
Jane smirked and shook her head as she lit another cigarette. She said, “Stupid girl, you're not calling the shots anymore. You can't torment us like you used to, you can't abuse us like when we were weak. The shoe is on the other foot now...” She took another puff, then she blew more smoke in Ashley's face. She said, “Here's another interesting fact for you: on average, smokers will likely die fourteen years earlier than people that don't smoke. Amazing, isn't it? I'm not sure you'd even last that long anyway.”
She scowled and crushed the cigarette above Ashley's belly button. She tried to shove the cigarette into her belly button, but she missed by a centimeter due to the girl's constant squirming. Her once-unblemished skin was scarred by another burn mark – again.
Wheezing as if she were out of breath, Ashley stuttered, “Pl–Please... Please, stop this. Why... Why are you doing this to me?! I said I was sorry, you damn cunt!”
Jane glowered at her daughter, shocked and infuriated. She was not amused by the insult. She stood in the basement, using her daughter's body as an ashtray. Yet, the woman was sincerely offended by her daughter's vocabulary.
Cunt? Who could use such a vile word in today's world without consequence?
“Stick your tongue out,” Jane calmly demanded.
Ashley stopped weeping. She pulled her lips inward and leaned back until the back of her head hit the support beam. She quickly connected the pieces. Her mother sought to use her tongue as a moist ashtray.
Teary-eyed, Ashley shook her head and whimpered. She begged for mercy with her glum eyes – no, please don't.
Jane rolled her eyes and said, “Fine. If that's the way you're going to act, I'll have to teach you a different lesson. This... Well, I hope this will teach you to stop smoking and fooling around with those crazy boys.” The unhinged mother tossed the pack of cigarettes at her husband and said, “I don't
need those anymore. I'm not going to kill myself trying to save her if she doesn't value her own life.”
Logan shoved the pack of cigarettes into his pocket, then he continued watching the show – indifferent.
Jane turned towards her daughter, smirking as if she were about to strip for the man she loved. She wasn't putting on a show for Logan, though – at least, not on purpose. She ignited the lighter and held the tall flame closer to Ashley's face.
She said, “Did you know? Smoking while pregnant can increase the chances of miscarriage and stillbirth. Knowing how you've been trying to mess around with your little brother, I really hope you aren't pregnant. If you are, it might be best if you smoked a few packs.”
Barely opening her mouth, Ashley said, “I didn't do that. It wasn't what it looked like.”
“Are you saying I'm crazy? I saw it with my own eyes, sweetie. I saw him staring at your disgusting tits. I don't think he'll be looking at that burnt thing anytime soon, but I still have to teach you a lesson. We can't trust a sexual deviant like you around Calvin. No more sex. You've lost that privilege.”
“Wha–What?”
Disregarding her daughter's question, Jane said, “Let's get these panties off of you.”
Wide-eyed, Ashley screamed, “Stop! Oh, God! What are you doing?! Stop it!”
Of course, Jane did not stop. She tugged on her daughter's panties. Ashley squirmed and shrieked, but to no avail – she could not stop her mother. Her soiled underwear, stained with urine, was pulled down to her knees. Fortunately, she was allowed to defecate once a day and her mother would clean her afterward. She was not given a scheduled time to urinate, though.
Jane said, “Look at yourself.”
Rosy-cheeked, humiliated and terrified, Ashley said, “I'm sorry...”
