by Kyle Belote
A cringe of disgust rose from his stomach and settled on his face, less to do with their scent and more to do with being the Dark Lord’s pawn, forever bound to do his will. But what could he do? He needed to find a way out the mess he allowed himself to get into. If he did, a much harder task lay before him, learning to forgive himself, if such a thing were possible. Forgiveness was something he didn’t warrant, he knew. He would go to his grave at the end of his life filled with remorse and angst, however long that turned out to be.
There was nothing left here for him, his task complete. With a sigh of relief and trepidation, he set out for Gryzlaud Palace.
Chapter 32 : Mr. Pleasure
“Wake up!” the craggy voice roared, and she tensed, knowing the slap was coming. The fat man didn’t disappoint. Though ready for the strike, it didn’t stop stars exploding in her vision. “My name is Mr. Pleasure.”
She ached, a weariness settling in her bones. How many times had she heard that line? The swallowing darkness was her only absolution, but it was short lived. Countless times she witnessed him introducing himself; the numerous tally eluded her. What did it matter? Caring was the least of her worries. In fact, she couldn’t remember where she was or why he was doing this to her. Only a fog lingered; she couldn’t recall anything other than his obesity.
“You shall call me by no other name than Mr. Pleasure,” he continued their ritual. “Should you call me anything but my name, I will cut your head off with my knife.”
She almost called him fat at that moment, to skip the misery and go straight to the death where she could escape; but there was something different today. Many other men filled the room. Gruesome, grotesque brutes, some with missing teeth or limbs, puss congealed from open sores or boils covering their bodies. These ‘men’ were more like parasites from the farthest depths of a cesspool.
“Who are they, Mr. Pleasure? What are they doing here?” she asked, her mind strained to comprehend something new.
“Why, they are here to have fun with you. Since torture is no longer affecting you as it once did, and you aren’t breaking like when we first started, you will learn a new kind of pain: humiliation.”
“Something new? A new kind of pain?” she murmured. Her bloodshot eyes burned and drooped, but worry leeched the drowsiness. She didn’t like anything new, she counted on Mr. Pleasure being the same, but she realized if she showed her vexation to her custodian, he would seize control and never let go. Her mind haltingly turned out possibilities as to how this new scenario would end. None of her conclusions brought warm feelings. With alacrity, she tried to change tactics, hoping to throw him off the scent of her fear.
“Interesting—I must confess you were starting to bore me numb with your grotesque overtures. I can take anything you give to me. Aren’t you worried that I will enjoy this new pain, Mr. Pleasure? Aren’t you distraught it will give me a reprieve from your usual? What’s the worst you can do to me? They look hungry. Are they going to eat me alive? You’re going to have to do better than that!” Julie sneered defiantly. A horrified curiosity rippled through her, her breath caught in her lungs, wondering what he might say.
“You wouldn’t get any satisfaction from this,” he said, grinning maliciously at her. “No, no, a reprieve wouldn’t do you any good. Have you ever had something taken from you? Rape will break you. When you are tied down and ravaged by men such as these,” he gestured to the gathered, “that will be the breech I need. They will do as they please; I shall not hinder their sinister impulses. And then,” he promised darkly, a rasping whisper, “we can go back to just you and me, girlie.” He motioned them forward.
A newfound panic exploded within her mind and sent her heart fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird. Her chest rumbled like distant thunder. In the hysteria, the fog she had been living in rolled away. Everything came into focus, sharp and vivid. Her imagination gushed with sequences, each coming within fractions of a second and dismissed, discarded, or improved on accordingly. Julie glimpsed a table with straps behind the gaggle of men moving forward, and she knew where she would end up. This moment was her chance to break out; who knew when she would have another opportunity? The alternative was to let all these men inside her, to let them ravage her and humiliate her.
No!
Her mind recoiled at the thought. She wouldn’t let them, would rather face obliteration if she couldn’t escape, whether it was a true death or another false postponement.
They removed the restraints on her chair and snatched her up faster than she could react, dragging her to the table near the hearth. Weapons clattered to the floor, flung in haste, before slamming her down. Hands groped her, pulling on her robes, cupping her breast, snaking hands spread her legs. The fabric tore away with ease, a tug of her undergarments deftly removed. Hands pressed her down, chest to the table. Gnarled fingers clamped around her arms as they stretched her towards the leather straps. Drool leaked out of toothless, rotting mouths as they held her down, bending her painfully over the unfinished, splintered edge.
A cold, clammy hand moved her robes, an oily sensation caressing her divested flesh. A presence hovered behind her, waiting for them to latch her down. Spindly fingers trickled down her legs, attempting to tie her ankles to the table. The man behind her kicked her feet wider, making it easier to bind her with leather straps, making her more accessible and helpless. A scuffle broke out behind her as to who would get first honors. Even the men trying to fasten her arms down lost themselves in the excitement as a shoving match ensued.
Her moment arrived.
Fury, terror, and panic swept through her, and she pushed out with her magic, exploding into action. The blast was powerful enough to knock down all the men; even Mr. Pleasure fell to a knee. Not worrying about modesty, she left the tattered remains of her clothes behind, her stark bottom visible through the thin inner robe.
Moving as quickly as she could, she darted between the fallen men. From the many days or weeks she had been sitting in that chair, slowly dying, she realized her extraction would be slow and weak. She didn’t have to be fast, just faster than them. With strength she didn’t expect, she threw off the last man that tried to hold her ankle as she scrambled to the door. His snagging hand slowed her down just enough for others attempting to latch on to her disrobed extremities. Julie shoved and clawed her way past them, sending a swift kick to the groin of one man who managed to rise to his knees, and an elbow to the face of another.
She bolted for the door and flung it open, racing down a stone hallway, grabbing suits of armor and ripping them down behind her to impede her pursuers. Her bare feet slapped the cold, rock floor. A thick coat of grime clung to the soles of her feet. She heaved a door ajar and slammed it with a resounding rattle behind her. In haste, she scanned the new room for any weapons, spying a stand of swords. Grabbing one, Julie forced it through the handle of the door, wedging it shut, before drawing out another. On the other side of the room stood another door, and she rushed heedlessly through it–only to find herself back in the room she had started in. The bald man with his bulging skin and broad grin.
“Did you really think you were going to get away?” he nagged.
Exasperation coursed through Julie. Was there no hope?
“I knew I had hit a nerve in you when you bolted for the door. That is the best response I have received out of you since the first session. I will have to tuck that away for later use.” He leered at her and cracked his knuckles, closing the distance between them. He jerked his head to the side, his neck cracking. “You’re going to pay for trying to escape.” He reached for her. The blade flashed between them.
Hot blood splashed her face as a chilling scream erupted from the fat man. Without thought she lashed out again, his arm flying away from his body and landing on the floor. Without caring, without stopping, Julie turned and dashed back through the door, down the stone hallway, past all the suits she had thrown, beyond the first door she had gone through, and entered through the next
. The door boomed shut.
“Wrong again, bitch!” the captor’s voice rang out. He stood before her with both arms attached, a malicious grin smearing his sweaty face, holding the same blade he used to cut her tongue. He charged quicker than expected, and a haphazard swing sent the sword through his leg. The attack sapped her remaining strength. He toppled to the floor, screaming. With languid limbs, she backed away, exiting the door she entered, hoping it would take her back to the hallway.
Luck was with her as she crashed down the passageway, her tilt erratic and uncontrolled, leaping over the armor and dashing past doors. She rounded a corner and darted down another stretch of cool, coarse stonework, seeking as much distance as she could before ducking into another room.
An abrupt and startling malady jolted her body, starting with the ache in her head and the cold suckling her flesh. Mr. Pleasure loomed over her, his voice washing over her. “I got you, don’t I?” he growled. With a solid grasp on her hair, he pulled her up to her feet, slamming her against the door.
The torture room flashed briefly in her vision, his knife glinting and the clumsy pressure registered as it furrowed her throat. Blood spilled out, running down her breasts and over her stomach. Obscurity took her away from the warmth and into an atramentous void.
***
Chapter 33 : Mr. Pleasure
“Wake up!” Agony and a wash of spots flourished in her vision. She blinked them away, waking.
A ghost of trepidation entered her mind, knowing she should have tensed, but the willpower evaded her. Julie scarcely mustered the strength to raise her head, to breath, her mind numb from enduring the sufferance and torture. She couldn’t remember a time before the room, the chair, or Mr. Pleasure.
Through the fog of misery, in the undiscovered reaches of her mind, she tried to recall who she was. At the core of her soul, she sensed what he represented, some morbid part of her psyche lashing out in punishment for her weakness, her defective qualities. Her face stung. She didn’t care if he permanently disfigured her with abusive slaps. All sense of self vanished; her identity, her name, all figments aloof. The only part of her that refused to fade was the silent animosity.
Her mind railed against the abuse she received, breaking apart and fortifying, saving herself from his torture. She rarely felt his inflictions anymore. Only the mind numbing question tumbled in her head: Who am I?
In the seldom moments of clarity, she recalled a time before, like a fevered dream, the vague impressions repressed. Another life, another time. In the flicker of flashing images, she recalled magic and his violent aftermath. Without the sense of passing time, the burden of recalling the memories in the correct sequence eluded her, but she noticed that his cruelty enhanced after she rallied to discharge herself. In the backlash of her actions, the pain increased exponentially. That much she could recollect.
A part of her ached to know how she had fallen into Mr. Pleasure’s clutches. When she reached out for the elusive recollection, they recoiled and skittered away, never answering when she needed them, but the voice did.
The voice simmered, demanded justice, revenge; each time the voice visited, the desirous sense of empowerment washed over her, promising aid to escape. The voice waited patiently to take over; the eagerness was palpable, poised for the proper moment to strike. She was horrified to learn it was her voice. Caged, locked away, a side of her seethed with malevolence. The malignity suffused her, its claws digging deep.
Escape-less.
A man’s face loomed in her mind and the pernicious voice recoiled, fled to the dark recesses of her mind. Details about who the man was bilked her, but she could examine every line with resolute clarity. His eyes were kind, wise and azure, soothing during times of greatest angst. Each visit, the blue eyes brought her a measure of peace. Safety washed over her every time she gazed at him. Above his eyes his hair parted down the middle and cascaded down, nearly touching his shoulders. A neatly trimmed goatee hugged his fatherly smile.
“My name is Mr. Pleasure,” the droning voice interrupted her thoughts. She didn’t care anymore, couldn’t he understand that? “You shall call me by no other name than Mr. Pleasure. If you call me by that name, I’ll release you.”
She blinked. A spell trickled by as the words gestated. Her heart beat faster, the words sinking in. She desperately desired what he promised.
Freedom.
Giddiness flourished through her like a ramped contagion.
Hope.
It must be a trick!
Her languid cognitive abilities tried to ferret the ruse. Julie’s stoic exterior belied her inner turmoil. Desperation gnawed at her insides, but she didn’t want him to notice how badly she wished to leave, giving him no cause to detain her further.
“Mr. Pleasure,” she said, her voice quaking. The tremor in her voice was not of fear but acrimony, the bringer of silent fury. The voice in her head tensed, the moment at hand.
He smiled, leering at her as he lumbered forward, bending to untie the straps holding her. “You may go.” His smile never faltered.
Cautiously, she stood, wary of any trap he might spring. Her legs shook to hold her upright. He made no move to impede her halting steps. When she reached the door, she paused, looking back with a mixture of anguish and mistrust. The malicious smile lingered as he folded his arms across his chest.
Somewhere within her core, she snapped, the voice taking command. With a renewed strength, she stormed towards him, snatching up a sword from his table as she closed the distance. She swung with all her might, cleaving his right arm at the shoulder. He didn’t fight her, nor did he scream; he stood resolutely, the smile never fading.
The smile.
The all-knowing smile that held her darkest secrets, the times she broke and cried, when he defiled her. The grin mirrored that of a guilty man who knew he’d walk free, unmolested. And her rage hated him for it.
She hacked at him, the blade swinging with all her might behind it until there was nothing left of him but pieces on the floor, broken like a doll of porcelain. Her chest heaved, her hair a tangled mop around her face. Sweat trickled like tear streaks. Pausing, she gazed at the remains, but she could still see the smile.
It wasn’t enough, not after what he had done to her.
It will never be enough!
She hacked at the pieces–his arms, legs, and face. Deep gashes appeared in the floor as sparks flew from her relentless swings. The sword, riddled with nicks, snapped during one of her overhead swings. She screamed out as she relived all the horrors he inflicted.
Still, it paled in the wake of his atrocities.
She scooped up the pieces, dashing between the broken shards and the fire, tossing them into the flames, watching them burn. When the last fragments were safely blazing, she collapsed to her knees, unable to contain the torment a moment longer. Tears of anguished rolled freely down her face and her shoulders heaved.
A hand fell on her shoulder.
She gasped, her tears stifled. Resignation coursed through her. She wanted to die.
“Kill me,” she breathed.
Not bothering to look at the hand, her sobs surged anew, harder than before. Her lungs burned, her weeps refused to let her breathe. She should have known this was a trick, a ploy to get her hopes up. It worked. Julie let the other side of her out, the portion controlled by the voice, and missed her opportunity to escape.
The hand was soft and warm against her skin, the rags of her robes allowing for the flesh on flesh touch. The gesture was comforting, the antithesis of Mr. Pleasure.
Slowly, she tilted her head and saw the face she vaguely recollected: the man who had made the voice go away. He smiled at her–a sad smile, no doubt, but a smile none-the-less.
“Come, Julie,” he urged gently, his hands holding hers, pulling her smoothly off the floor.
Julie. That’s my name! She remembered that now.
“Let’s go,” he beckoned, his voice ennoble.
The seething voice va
nished in his presence. The barriers that blocked her mind crumbled and the wave of flashbacks came crashing in, retaining everything.
He held her as she sobbed. After suffering all the vile things she had, she would never be the same. She shivered in his embrace, crying with relief and joy and sorrow. Her heart fractured beyond reformation. Memories returned, both real and fanciful, the walls of the room she had come to know faded away. They stood just under the doorway, the threshold she once entered, and as Judas hugged her, her eyes climbed upward until they fell on the words etched in the bark.
Here Madness Dwells.
***
Chapter 34 : The Corridor Of Cruelty
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Judas offered, his voice gentle. She sobbed in his arms as he offered words of comfort, the silence between them only punctuated by her sobs. After a time, trembling with exhaustion, he carried her away from the doorway, away from Mr. Pleasure and the vile memories. Judas called magic to rejuvenate her. She had either been unable to move or unwilling, so the burden fell to him. Through the journey, she cried on his shoulder, shaking with exhaustion. Once he came to a clearing, he called upon his essence, unrolling her sleeping blankets with a touch of his essence, and placed her gently within the folds. Julie curled up, her back to him as he shuffled off to start a fire and supper.
The pot simmered, and the fire crackled and spat. The aroma of potatoes, carrots, and beef waft through the air. Julie heard his stomach gurgle and hers did too. The scent filled the evening air, driving away the despair suffocating her. On the morning she went through the doorway, the thick slug he made was heavenly compared to the stench of her captor’s dungeon. Without realizing it, she hadn’t eaten anything since she went through the doorway.
How long ago was that?
She tried to ignore the phantoms of the fat man but failed. After everything she went through, her thoughts kept returning to what he said the first time she awoke in his dungeon, the one moment of truth. No one would ever know how grateful she was for her life, and she vowed never to be so weak that it could be taken from her. She vividly remembered his warning: “If you survive, you will appreciate that the pain of other things–the things of the world–are nothing compared to what I am going to do to you. In that, you may find comfort, for your life will be painless compared to this.”
