by Amy Cross
I still don't quite understand what's going to happen tonight, but one thing's certain. At least now, I'll remember every moment once it's all over.
Twenty-Eight
“Ms. Johnson, wake up.”
Suddenly I open my eyes and find myself face to face, once again, with Doctor Strickland.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“I...”
For a moment, I'm a little confused. I feel as if I only shut my eyes in bed a few seconds ago, but now I'm standing in one of the rooms beneath the hotel. It's the same room where I found myself yesterday, although this time I quickly determine that I can move my body. A moment later I hear a bumping sound, and I turn to see the two orderlies pushing the trolley out into the corridor.
“That's better,” Doctor Strickland says, stepping aside and gesturing for me to move forward. “I think perhaps -”
Before he can finish, an agonized scream rings out from somewhere in the distance. I flinch as I look toward one of the doors, and I listen as the scream dies down to a pained, pitiful gurgle.
“You'll be joining them shortly,” Strickland continues as he takes a syringe from one of the tables and comes over to me. “Now, I just need to give you this hormone activator, and you'll be ready to go.”
I don't react as he slides the needle into my arm, and I watch as he presses down on the plunger. A pale green liquid is sent into my body, and I take a deep breath as the needle slides back out.
“How do you feel?” Strickland asks.
“I feel... fine,” I say cautiously.
“That's good. I understand that you took both the pills this time.”
I nod.
“Then I hope you have a very enjoyable night,” he says, as Jason comes through from one of the other rooms. “As ever, I'll be around if you have any questions.”
“You're naked,” I say to Jason, before looking down and realizing that I am too.
I blink.
I feel so... dazed.
I move my hand down, to cover myself, but then I hesitate. Does it really matter? I've always been very squeamish, maybe even prudish, but suddenly I feel an exhilarating buzz as I think of people seeing me like this. I guess those fresh hormones are rushing through my body, because I watch Strickland heading over to one of the other benches and I actually feel sad that he's not ogling me right now. I want him to look at my bare body, I want him to stare at every inch of me, I want him to start slobbering like a beast and -
“Katie?”
I turn to Jason, just as he takes my hand in his.
What's wrong with me? Why am I feeling so excited by all of this? Can a pill really change me that much?
“I've arranged a very special surprise for you tonight,” Jason says, leading me toward a door that opens out into a long, dark corridor. “It wasn't easy, but I had a few leads and eventually, well, I guess we got a little lucky too. I think you're going to really appreciate this.”
We pass an open doorway, and when I look through I see that Michelle is kneeling on the floor. She's naked, covered in blood, and she's holding a severed head. Next to her, a decapitated corpse is still bleeding onto the bare cobbles. My first thought is that this is all fake, that the body parts are dolls, but after a moment I realize that they seem very real.
“Good evening, there,” Michelle says with a smile, as she turns the head around so that I can see its dead face. “Do you know, I've always wanted to cut someone's head off. You should have heard the sounds he made while I was sawing through his throat.” She visibly shudders with what I can only assume is some kind of extreme pleasure. “I actually slowed down so that I could enjoy it more. I was so sorry when he died.”
Her husband Dan steps up behind her, and I watch as his large, erect penis brushes against the side of her face.
“I think I'm going to go and do it again,” Michelle continues. “There's another one, a girl, they've procured for me. I'm going to do it even more slowly this time. I'm going to start by slicing off her nose. They always look so funny when they don't have a nose.”
Getting to her feet, she turns and follows her husband through another doorway, carrying the head as she goes.
“That woman is definitely getting her money's worth out of this place,” Jason says. “According to Strickland, she's surprising even the more seasoned staff at the hotel. Apparently she's very ingenious when it comes to her torture methods.”
I want to tell him that this is sick and wrong, but somehow those words never leave my lips. Instead, I feel a kind of strange, blank emptiness, as if all my empathy has been washed away. Is there something wrong with me? I'm staring at a real, decapitated body, and I actually feel good about it all. There's a tiny part of me, tucked away deep in my mind, that's screaming at me and telling me that I have to run. Strangely, however, that scream just seems so utterly unimportant right now. It's just a beautiful, smooth thing, like the sculpture in the office.
“Come on,” Jason says, leading me further along the corridor. “You're gonna love this.”
We pass another door, and I look through just in time to see a man carrying a red hot poker toward a woman who's strapped over a table with her legs wide apart.
“Help me!” the woman screams as we walk past. “Please, you have to -”
She screams just as I lose sight of her, but I hear the sound of burning skin as I follow Jason toward the door at the far end of the corridor. I should be feeling disgusted, but instead there's a tightening knot of anticipation in my chest as I start to wonder what's waiting for me.
“This is going to be even better than Friday,” Jason says.
“Friday?”
“The first night here,” he continues, glancing back at me. “You were using a pair of scissors to slice off the front of a woman's eyeballs. She actually got a hand free for a moment and grabbed you, you might have noticed a slight cut on your waist. In fact, I think I remember you mentioning a bruise and a cut on your side.” He peers down at my bare waist. “Yeah, it's still there,” he adds. “You definitely made her pay, though. You ended up hollowing out her eye sockets with a scalpel while she was still alive, and then you poured acid into the holes until they overflowed and it all ran down her face.”
“I did that?” I reply, shocked but not as shocked as I would have expected.
“It's primal, honey,” he says as we reach the door and he pushes it open. “It's something we've lost in modern society. It's the thrill of violence. Honestly, a few nights at Hotel Necro would do wonders for anyone's mental health. Of course, if it wasn't exclusive, maybe it wouldn't work quite so well. I guess this is one of the many benefits of being rich.”
We step into a small room, and I immediately freeze as I see that there's a naked woman strapped to a chair at the far end. She has a thick white gag in her mouth, and she's shaking violently as she tries desperately to get free. Tears are streaming down her face, and she starts shaking even more as soon as she sees us.
“What are you feeling?” Jason asks.
“I should be horrified,” I reply, as I feel the knot of anticipation starting to tighten even harder in my chest, “but actually I feel... curious.”
“That's the hormone release,” he explains. “It's designed to strip away all the restraints that have built up in your mind. Now you're free to really let rip.” He hesitates. “Well? You recognize her, don't you?”
“Recognize her?” Staring at the terrified girl, I realize that she does seem a little familiar.
“It's the bitch who tried to mug you yesterday,” Jason says. “I pulled some strings and got the people here to go and snatch her off the streets.” Leaning closer, he kisses me on the cheek. “For you. From me. A sign of my love. Think of her as an early birthday present. Now tell me, what are you going to do to her first?”
“First?” Staring at the girl, I suddenly feel a smile starting to spread slowly across my lips. “I think it's going to be really hard to decide.”
Twent
y-Nine
She's screaming, or at least trying to scream. The gag muffles the sound, but she's struggling desperately as I start slowly closing a pair of metal shears against her left index finger. I watch as the blades start slicing through her skin, and then I feel the crunch of bone beneath.
This is all so... satisfying.
I hesitate, still wondering how all my empathy and compassion can be gone, and then I squeeze the handle tighter and watch as the top of her finger is sliced clean away.
Blood pours from the wound.
“So delicate,” Jason purrs, watching from nearby. “Don't you want to go crazy? Get a little frantic? I thought you'd want to really let rip.”
“I do,” I reply, as the girl strains every part of her body in a desperate attempt to escape from the chair, “but I want to build up to it. How old do you think she is, anyway?”
“She's twenty-two,” he tells me. “Pathetic, right? Begging and mugging people on the street like that. Call me crazy, but I have a feeling that society won't really miss her all that much. You could even argue that we're doing the world a favor.”
“I suppose you could,” I murmur, before setting the shears aside and looking at all the other devices on the bench.
“Maria Binotto,” he continues, reading from a sheet of paper. “The fine people at Hotel Necro managed to pull together quite a trove of information about her. I guess that kind of thing's easy when you've got allies and sources in the police and government.” He steps closer. “Twenty-two, like I said. Born and raised in a poor part of town, got a break when her grandmother died and left her enough money to get a proper education. She squandered all of that, however, and turned to drugs. Her parents threw her out, she ended up living on the streets and started racking up a series of petty criminal offenses. Some jail time here and there. Nothing about violent crimes, but I guess she must have finally become too desperate.” He looks over at the girl. “Is that right, Maria? Did you fall in with an even worse crowd?”
As I stare at the assorted saws, clamps, knives and other torture devices, I feel a curious lack of empathy for the girl. Even the other day, when she mugged me, I felt a sliver of compassion, but that's all gone now. No doubt this is caused by the various pills in my system, but it's still odd to be so aware of this hollowness in my heart. And yet, at the same time, I'm still me. It's just that my empathetic, caring side has been suppressed to the point that it's now just the tiniest, faintest scream in the back of my mind.
“She's been whoring herself about, too,” Jason says as he comes over and sets the sheet of paper down. “She's not worth giving a damn about, Katie. The world will definitely be better off without her. What are you going to do to her next?”
“Are you insane?” I imagine myself screaming. “I'd never hurt anyone!”
“What's this for?” I ask instead, picking up a small silver device that's shaped a little like a harp that's missing part of its center.
“I was hoping you'd ask,” Jason replies with a grin, taking the device and then carefully turning a wheel at one end, causing the middle part to start closing. “It's a nice little nipple clamp. It also doubles as the jaw part of a makeshift electrocution system. There are some wires over in that box, you can hook it up and slowly cook the girl. Although, that part's a little risky, so they recommend leaving it until closer to the end. You don't want to kill Maria too quickly and squander what could be hours of fun.”
I set the clamp down and pick up a hammer instead. There are so many weird and wonderful devices on this table, it's somewhat refreshing to see something as simple as a hammer.
“Now you're thinking better,” Jason continues, as Maria desperately struggles in the chair. She's still trying to scream. “Think about what she did to you in that street. Think about what she would have done, if I hadn't interrupted.”
Again, I feel some part of my soul start to resist, only for that part to be somehow blocked. I turn the hammer around, admiring its form, and then I find my mind starting to wander. I think of all the things I can do to hurt the girl in the chair, and I'm surprised to find that my imagination is quite unfettered in this regard. Awful, horrible ideas flood into my thoughts until I realize that it's quite hard to just pick one of them.
“What are you thinking?” Jason asks. “Face? Ribs? Jawbone?”
“I'm thinking...”
My voice trails off for a moment.
“I'm thinking...”
“I'd go for her hands,” he whispers. “It'll be like the old medieval punishment for a thief. Destroy her hands first, then maybe her feet.”
I nod slowly, even though I'm actually thinking of doing something much more spectacular. Much more grandiose. I remember seeing a picture during our tour of the castle, and I'm inspired by something that Baron Carfolle apparently used to do to his victims. Back then, of course, I was absolutely horrified by the idea. But back then, I hadn't taken a little pill that removes all my guilt. And where there should be a part of me that's screaming for all of this madness to stop, instead I simply feel calm as I turn and look over at Maria.
She's staring at me and sobbing, and still trying to pull herself free from her restraints.
“Do it,” Jason says. “Whatever you're thinking about, just do it.”
I swallow hard, and then I make my way back over toward the girl. I can feel a sense of anticipation building in my chest, rising up through my body and promising untold pleasure. I adjust my grip on the hammer slightly and then I raise it high, and the poor girl starts struggling harder than ever. I stare into her eyes and take a deep breath, trying to absorb some of her terror and turn it into gold. Like some kind of pain alchemist, I savor the moment for a few seconds and then I focus on making sure that my aim is true. And then, finally, I allow myself to strike.
I bring the hammer crashing down against her left knee, and she tries once again to scream as I feel her kneecap shatter. The most shocking part is... this feels so good.
I hit the knee again, then again, each time breaking more bone until finally I step back and see that her left leg is now bent unnaturally at that spot, almost doubling back on itself. The skin is broken in a few places, but there's clearly lots of blood pooling just beneath the surface.
After taking another deep breath, I set to work on her other knee, smashing it with force and relishing each cracking sound that I hear. It's as if I'm battering the whole leg into submission, as if I'm some kind of sculptor, and I only stop when I finally realize that this leg too is now bent in the wrong direction at the knee.
Still conscious, and clearly in agony, Maria is straining every part of her body in a desperate attempt to pull herself out of the chair. She has no chance, of course, but it's still strangely satisfying to watch her struggle.
“It's like being a child again, isn't it?” Jason says. “You've caught some insignificant little bug and you're torturing it. It's part of everyone's instinct, Katie.”
“Not quite,” I reply, staring mesmerized as Maria continues to fight back. “She's not insignificant. It wouldn't be so much fun that way.”
“Fair point.”
I watch for a moment longer, before setting the hammer aside.
“You're taking your time more tonight,” Jason tells me. “On the first night, you jumped in with more enthusiasm, but tonight you seem a little colder, like you're actually enjoying it more. I like that side of you.”
“Is this really all it takes?” I reply, still staring at Maria as she struggles. “Are a couple of little pills really enough to let anyone do what I'm doing right now?”
“Apparently so.”
“That's so... surprising,” I add, as I feel a faint shudder pass through my bones. “It's hard to believe that everyone's wandering around in the real world, acting totally normal, and yet they're two pills away from being able to do this to another living person.”
“Is it really that surprising?” he replies. “We've both seen people snap in crowds. Seen little bursts
of anger and hatred. Hell, I even worked in retail when I was a kid. I've never had a very positive view of human nature.”
“Mmm,” I murmur, as I try to decide what I want to do next to Maria.
“Why don't you do her eyes?” Jason asks. “You enjoyed doing that to the woman the other night.”
“No, I want to see her eyes until the end,” I reply, and then I settle on my next move. “I've got a better idea.” I turn to him. “Spread her legs for me. I'm going to find a pair of scissors.”
Thirty
Someone screams in the distance, and the cry seems almost to echo through all the rooms before fading into an agonized, gurgled groan.
“Taking a break, M'am?”
Turning, I see that a man in a uniform has come around to the other side of the bar. My first instinct is to turn away, to cover my nakedness, but then some other drive kicks in and I sit up straight, allowing him a full view of my breasts.
“Drink, M'am?” he continues.
“What have you got?” I ask.
“I'm afraid we only serve non-alcoholic beverages down here,” he explains. “The management prefers people to remain fully sober for the experience. Plus, there have been some cases where alcohol has interfered with the medication.”
“What kind of cases?”
“I'm not at liberty to discuss such matters. Would you perhaps like to try one of our fabulous virgin mojitos?”
“Sure,” I reply, and I watch as he goes to start making my drink. “So do you have to take pills?” I ask after a moment. “To work here, I mean.”
At that moment, as if to underline my point, another scream briefly rings out.
“I just stay here at the bar,” he replies calmly, “and I don't venture into any of the other rooms. That arrangement suits me just fine.”
“And you can handle the screams?”
He glances at me for a moment, before turning back to the various bottles.
Sitting silently for a moment, I feel as if I'm being torn in two directions. There's a part of me that's totally happy with this situation, that just wants to carry on torturing that poor girl. At the same time, there's a part of me that feels I should be horrified by everything that's happening. It's almost as if, by taking that little red pill, I was able to temporarily suspend a part of my soul, and that's a strange thought. Have I always been able to do these awful things, and all I needed was a pill?
