by V. F. Mason
And per my request, they never are.
A single bulb lights the area, placing all the attention on the victim while keeping everything else hidden. He can only see me looming above him with my favorite cane, made of the finest steel.
Leaning closer, I see him shift as he mumbles something through the tape covering his mouth. Sweat soaks his white shirt and tears slide down his cheeks.
I’ve been nothing but gentle with him so far. Moving closer to him, I remove part of the tape from his lips, and say, “You know what my question is, Matt. Answer it, and it’ll be over.”
He gulps a breath, and croaks through his dry throat, “You will let me go?”
My laughter echoes through the space, mingling with the classical music.
Truly, some people are too stupid to live. “No, Matt. You are dead either way.” His eyes widen as he shakes his head, wanting to say something, but I press my gloved finger against his lips to shut him up. “It’s just that with the right answer, it’ll be less painful. I can afford to be generous, for the right price of course.” I rest the cane behind my neck, hanging my arms over it. “I wouldn’t advise testing me,” I add, although I can see he is weighing his options: the chaos crossing his face and his feet drumming on the floor as he looks around, especially at my torture table. He probably wonders what I will use to bring him harm.
Ah, building it in here sure provides a great decoy. “I don’t know anything,” he finally replies, and I nod and then hit him in the face with all my might. His nose cracks under the pressure of the metal handle and a scream of pain fills the space as blood runs down his chin, neck, and onto the floor. “Let’s try again, shall we?” I exhale heavily, finding all this boring and time consuming for nothing.
Some victims are interesting to interrogate; there is a certain high in breaking them or watching them suffer. Then there are those who are interesting to catch, as they provide good entertainment even if during torture there is no fun.
And then there are victims like Matt.
Boring as fuck and completely useless, so much so that any minute spent with him is a minute wasted on not killing someone else. “Matt, tell me the location and I will kill you with let’s say… five knife wounds. You’ll just suffer for around thirty minutes. How does that sound, hmm?”
A tremor rushes through him as he shakes his head and mumbles while wincing in pain, trying to get free from his knots. “No, please, no. I really don’t know. And if I did, my father and faith taught me—” At the mention of his father, my hand squeezes the cane tighter as, for a second, memories take me back to the past, when the explanation for everything that happened in my life was only one thing.
Because faith said so.
I pull my hand back and deliver a blow to his stomach, hitting the gallbladder, the impact of which will provide a chain reaction of sending gastric juices into his mouth and burn his insides. He cries out, bending forward and barely breathing, as his skinny ass has never experienced anything but a fucking pat on the head from everyone else.
The golden boy.
Who would ever trust secrets to someone this weak or dumb? He doesn’t have the information I need—or rather, he thinks he doesn’t. So spending my time with him serves no purpose while I have a victim waiting for me in room number two. “Too bad you didn’t cooperate,” I say, walking to the table and wiping my cane clean. Then I throw the tissue in the bin, pour myself a whiskey, and grab my jacket. I press the first button that will open the blinds and turn on the speakers for my students who before watched only from cameras.
In case Matt had the answer, the information would have been only for me, but now they can enjoy the show.
I notice them lounging on the chairs like in a movie theater, while some of them snack on food and take some pics on the special cameras they leave in this place, which are kept for study purposes.
Sipping my drink, I whistle loudly as I move in the direction of a door, when a ragged voice asks, “Where are you going?” I ignore it, because I won’t waste a minute longer on a useless subject. Instead, I snap my fingers twice and immediately the room lights up, blinding Matt as he stammers and squints his eyes, adjusting to the glare, and then fear penetrates him, as he stammers, “No. No. No!” But his words don’t change the reality.
He is surrounded by lizards who can’t wait to feast on his flesh. And I just pressed a button to let them out and have free rein. “Pray, Matt,” I tell him as I step outside, and a chuckle slips past my lips. “Pray and maybe someone will listen.” With that, I close the door while his terrified screams continue to echo in room number five.
Chapter Seven
New York, New York
November 2009
Valencia, 16 years old
Turning on the old CD, I grab the soda, and scream, “Hell yeah!” while the rest of the people join me the minute Nirvana’s “Smells like a Teen Spirit” starts to play.
Everyone immediately gets on the dance floor while I just stand in place and move to the beat with my arms and head, almost forgetting about everything in the high of the moment. Strong arms wrap around me from behind as I’m pulled back into the muscled chest and I grin, although my eyes are still closed.
Jason places his mouth on the spot between my neck and shoulder, peppering my skin with kisses as his hands slide over the front of my body, and all I can do is give in to the feeling, pressing myself against him. “Someone is on fire,” he murmurs and turns me around, spilling soda on us a little, and I giggle while circling his neck with my arms and rising on my toes so our mouths can meet in a hard kiss. He roams his tongue inside me and slides his palms down to my ass.
He hikes me up, and I wrap my legs around him, and then he takes us upstairs to his room with catcalls from his friends following us, but I don’t care.
All I want is to be alone with Jason and have all the wild sex in the world.
Jason and I met during my first year at this school, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. Although most people told me to stay away from the bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks, I didn’t listen, because none of them really knew him.
How sweet he was. How he wrote songs and played with his band in club gigs. Or how he helped his mom raise his sister.
Dad gave me speeches about being a good girl, and that relationships and sex would make me a bad one. He didn’t know about Jason, and I had Mom’s full support anyway. It was the first time I decided not to follow Dad’s faith and rules because they seemed too ridiculous to me.
A few months ago, we finally did it. It was the most magical thing in the world and I will never regret it. He was gentle and sweet. How anyone can call it a sin is beyond me.
Currently, we are celebrating their very first solo gig in one of the school concerts, and our mutual friends are all here at Jason’s house while his family is away in Florida for a visit.
Jason pushes me against the door, his finger slipping under my T-shirt, and I moan into his mouth just as a loud crash from downstairs snags our attention.
Jason drags his mouth from mine as we breathe heavily. His forehead rests against mine. “If Duke broke my guitar after I told him not to touch it, I’m going to kill him.”
We share a laugh and are about to resume kissing, when my dad’s raging roar freezes me and my heartbeat speeds up, and not in a good way. “What is going on here?” A beat, and then an even louder roar. “Valencia!” I rush downstairs, my bare feet slapping against the wood, and step into the living room. My dad’s eyes widen as they land on me and then fill with something unfamiliar when he looks over my shoulder, probably noticing Jason. “What are you doing here?” he shouts, but then steps closer to me and grabs my hand. “Doesn’t matter, we are leaving.” With that, he drags me out.
We are outside when I tug on my hand harshly, and he has no choice but to let go when I stumble back. “Dad, what are you doing?”
“What am I doing? Look at you!” he shouts, his hand waving up and down over me
, “Drunk, half naked, and in a house with that boy who is barely eighteen years old. You should thank God I didn’t call the police.”
He reaches for my arm again, when Jason steps in front of me, blocking him. “Don’t touch her. You are upsetting Valencia.”
That’s the wrong thing to say, because my dad laughs, although it’s shallow and lacks any humor. “Get back to the house, kid, before I do something I will regret.”
“Oh yeah? Bring it on, old man.” Jason pushes his chest up, and Dad just shakes his head in disbelief.
“That’s the boy you’re dating? He has not an ounce of respect.”
“Dad, you need to calm down.” Then I address Jason who still keeps his eyes on Dad. “Jason, back off.”
“No one shouts at you.” Which is sweet really, him protecting me, but I don’t need protection from my dad. He might be pissed as hell, but he’ll never hurt me.
“Jason, please,” I plead, looking straight at him, and his emerald green eyes finally focus on me. Although I see his internal struggle, he cups my cheek and nods. “I’ll be waiting by the door.” He gives me a peck, and whispers, “Don’t apologize.”
Once he is a few feet away, I face my dad, who pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales heavily. “Valencia, let’s leave.”
“I don’t want to, Dad. And I’m not drunk!”
“If we leave now, I will never speak about it. You made a mistake and you are sorry. That’s enough. You will pray in church on Sunday, and it will all—”
My jaw drops at his words, while I wonder when I ever gave him any indication I would follow his path blindly. “I’m not sorry, and loving Jason and having fun is not a sin.” He freezes, his eyes narrowing, and for the first time in my life, fear caused by my father washes over me.
Up until this moment, I didn’t realize how much he worshiped what he did and that he had certain plans for my life. “Get in the car, Valencia. This boy has clearly filled your head with nonsense. A bright future awaits you, and he is nothing but trash.”
“Accordingly to the Bible, all people are equal.”
“That’s true. But this boy doesn’t look religious to me. And my daughter will not date an atheist.” Clearly fed up with all this, he steps toward me, but I move back, disappointment settling through every bone.
How didn’t I see it? Dad is some kind of fanatic who divides people by good and bad solely on religion. Even tough religion is not about that.
It’s about love and freedom and faith. When did it stop being that for him? Is this why Mom left him? Come to think of it, he has been acting weird all this time. Always having strict hours and even choosing my friends for me. It was just a matter of time before we ran into an argument.
Jason is just someone who forced us to face it.
“I love Jason, Dad. And I’m not going anywhere with you. What’s the matter with you? It’s my life.”
He snarls, placing his hands on his hips. “You are sixteen. You have no life or right to make decisions. Get in the fucking car, Valencia, before I call the cops.” Loud thunder erupts around us, and only then do I look up to see the sky has turned dark blue and it’ll be raining any minute. “You are drunk apparently. That’s why you feel like you have the right to speak to me in this tone. Where is my princess?” he mutters to himself, but I just shake my head.
“I’m not a princess, Dad! I am just a girl and I’m not going anywhere. Call the cops, I don’t care.” I know he won’t do it, because no way will he allow his perfect child to be tainted with a record, and we both know that.
His lips thin, and that’s when rain starts pouring on us in heavy, big drops that instantly wet our clothes. “Leave, Dad. Just leave.” I’m afraid we will say even more stuff to each other that both of us will regret, so it’s better to part now so we can talk in the morning.
No way will I ever change my mind.
“Valencia—” he starts, but I shout, “Leave, Dad!”
“We will talk in the morning. I will fix this problem,” he mutters and then goes to his car, sits inside, and a second later pulls from the driveway as I watch him drive away.
Tomorrow.
We will fix this tomorrow. I’m sure he acted this way only because my relationship was unexpected to him.
We still have tomorrow.
I spend the night with Jason, finding solace in his arms as he sets my fears to rest. In the morning, he takes me home, where my mom and the police greet me to announce that my dad has died in a car accident.
All because he was driving in the rain and smashed into a tree.
New York, New York
January 2018
Valencia
“Now let’s get back into first position,” I say, straightening up, placing my feet at thirty degrees from each other while my hands face each other, my thumbs inside my palms. “And gracefully bow to the audience,” I finish, while leaning down as the kids follow my lead, but a few of them stumble and giggle loudly, and I wink at them in the mirror.
Most ballet teachers are strict from the very beginning, but it’s the time for them to fall in love with dance, so I believe it should be about fun first.
Then it’s going to be about technique, sweat, pain, and unconditional love and devotion.
The music cuts off and moves to soft jazz as I clap my hands, regaining their attention. They all relax, jumping up and down, and some of them sway as I lean to the side and stretch my back. They follow me, and then I do the same with the other side.
I also stretch my legs and hands all while they watch me carefully and repeat. They must do it so their tiny feet won’t hurt in the morning. I remember my first classes; Mistress Patricia treated us like army recruits who owed her a debt. She claimed it would help us in the future, but it wasn’t much of a consolation for bloodied feet every night.
The image in front of me is almost comical considering they all wear pink tutus along with high ponytails and lots of toothless smiles, as it’s my kindergarten beginners’ class. So many five-year-olds who have no clue what they are even doing here.
My favorite kind of class. “Girls, practice the first position at home while listening to this music.” I shake the box full of USB drives and they squeal excitingly.
Shaking my head in amusement, I usher them to get in line as each one picks out theirs. Thankfully, I bought them all in purple, so no one will fight over one, and they each give me a long hug. “Valencia, will you come next time too?” Marcia asks, batting her eyelashes at me, and I chuckle. This little blonde angel with doll eyes will break a lot of hearts in the future.
“For sure, every Monday and Friday, as I promised.”
She raises her arms up, and screams, “Yay!” and then runs off to the others as they change their shoes. I slide the window open, allowing in fresh air, as I can barely breathe through the sweat coating the air.
“Are we going to watch a video next week?” Tina crocks her head to the side, her ponytail swaying along with her. “Mistress Patricia said it was your first play.”
I cringe inwardly; that freaking play should never have been taped. My first-ever performance ended up being a disaster with the piano teacher falling off the stage as I swirled on the wrong side and then couldn’t stand on my toes, so I ended up in her arms and she slipped down. Everyone laughed, while I stood on the stage crying my heart out.
Since then, Patricia shows it to all prebeginners classes, claiming that mistakes happen, but you should push past them. Which is a cool lesson and all, I just wish I didn’t have to see one of the most embarrassing moments in my life every single semester.
“You sure will,” I reply, ruffling her hair, and she gives me a smile before walking to the door, limping slightly. I catch her hoodie collar. “Honey, are you all right?” She shouldn’t be this tired after one class with me, but I noticed during training she wasn’t placing her foot correctly, and whenever I told her to do so, she’d wince.
“Yes,” she says quickly, too quickly, so I
keep my hold on her and wave to everyone else as they emerge from class one by one, and then I drag her to the side. “Tell me the truth, Tina.” I kneel in front of her, so we are on the same eye level and she won’t be intimidated by me.
She sighs heavily, her hair blowing up. “The shoes are a bit too small and dig into my toes. It hurts during dancing and when I remove them, especially on this foot.” She raises her left leg and slips off the sock. I gasp, because her foot is purple and has blisters all over it. It’s a wonder she has been able to dance at all!
“You have to put ice on it. I need to tell your mom.” The minute the words spill from my lips, her eyes fill with tears, and she begs, “Please don’t do that. I told her they’d fit till December. She needed to buy a hat.”
“A hat?” Confusion laces my voice and she nods. What the hell does a hat have to do with it?
“She always gets cold, but never buys herself anything. It was either a hat or new shoes for me. I can take it, but Mommy needs the hat so she won’t get sick.”
“Come here,” I murmur, hugging her close as she sobs on my shoulder, and my heart breaks a little with each tear she sheds.
No child should experience this kind of burden, but what do they do if there is simply no other choice? We had nothing to eat for long periods after Mom left Dad, so I’m familiar with single moms and their struggles. Tina’s mom does everything she can for her daughter.
Leaning back, I wipe away her tears. “Next time you come here, there will be new shoes.”
Her eyes widen, as she whispers, “Really?”
“Yes, but you can’t tell anyone. Also don’t wear these shoes anymore, and put some Band-Aids on your blisters.” I reach for first aid kit on the side and take out the adhesive bandages, placing some on her foot as she groans in pain. “They will come from a fairy. I will tell her about your struggle, and I’m sure she will help.”
