by Amy Cross
Looking down, I see some of Maria's blood on my breast. I start smearing the blood across my nipple, and for a moment I'm mesmerized by the patterns in the swirl.
“One virgin mojito,” the barman says as he sets a green drink in front of me. “If you don't mind the observation, M'am, you seem... troubled.”
“I'm not,” I reply quickly. “That's the thing. I guess I'm just wondering how that can be possible.”
“You weren't this philosophical on Friday night.”
“Did we meet on Friday night?”
He smiles and nods.
“And how did I seem then?”
“You were laughing with your husband,” he replies. “You had a lot more blood on your body, and at one point you were kissing one of the other guests. A lady who is also here tonight.”
“I don't remember any of that,” I tell him.
“That's simply how things work here at Hotel Necro,” he explains. “I can assure you, however, that on Friday night you and the other lady were sitting over in that corner, and you got to know one another extremely well. Your husbands joined in, too. Let's just say that everyone seemed to be in a very sharing mood. And then, after a while, you all went back into the other rooms and I heard more screams. Everyone seemed to very much enjoy the experience.”
I try to remember any of that, but there seems to be yet another block in my mind.
“The best thing,” he continues, “is to just throw yourself into it all. Don't analyze it too much. In a few hours' time, you'll wake up in your nice clean bed upstairs and you won't remember any of this. You'll be back to normal, except for the fresh sense of calm in your mind.”
“And you really think that works, huh?”
“I've heard Doctor Strickland's views on the matter,” he replies, “and he seems to be a very knowledgeable guy. Hotel Necro has been here for a long time, and as far as I know nobody has ever complained about their stay. If you ask me, we're providing a good service that helps make the world a better place. Anyway, what do I know? I'm just a bartender, it's not my place to -”
Suddenly another screams fills the air, cutting him off. As the scream continues, twisting into a howl of agony, the barman simply smiles at me as if he's waiting for an end to – at most – a minor interruption.
“We're providing a good service,” he continues finally, as the scream dies down, “that helps make the world a better place. For ladies and gentlemen such as your good selves. Besides, most of the victims here are trash. And who care about trash, right?”
I can still hear someone whimpering in the distance, and after a moment I realize that the victim in question is actually talking.
“Just kill me,” a man's voice is sobbing. “I just want this to end!”
“Are you not convinced?” the barman asks.
I open my mouth to answer him, but at the last moment I realize that maybe I should be a little more careful. After all, this guy works for Hotel Necro, and I'm sure that our conversation is being monitored. Jason was adamant that we'd be in danger if the people here suspected me of having doubts, and I'm not sure that I'm willing to take any kind of risk just now. Besides, the honest truth is that any doubts or fears in my heart are just the ghosts of emotions I feel that I should have. Right now, I'm already starting to think about what I'll do to that Maria girl when I go back through to the room.
“Thanks,” I say to the barman as I get to my feet. “I have things to do now.”
“Aren't you going to touch your drink?”
I look at the mojito, but I feel sick to my stomach and I think maybe it'd be better to not drink or eat anything at the moment.
“I'm sure it's great,” I tell him, “but I think I just need to get back. My husband will be waiting.”
With that, I turn and walk away. I think I can still feel the 'real' me screaming somewhere deep down, but she's totally impotent. I'll most likely be utterly horrified by all of this in the morning, but right now I just want to get back to the room and see what other awful things I can do to Maria. The awful truth is that Jason was right; I am enjoying this, and I do want to continue. The pills have woken a part of me that I never thought existed. And, at least until this night is over, I'm going to let that part of my soul out to play.
Thirty-One
“Hey! Look at this!”
As I head toward the door at the far end of the corridor, I stop and turn to see Michelle standing in one of the other rooms. She's towering over a sobbing man who's bound and gagged on the floor, and the man is already covered in cuts and bruises.
“I finished with the head of the other one,” Michelle says, pointing toward a bloodied skull on the far side of the room. “I scratched most of the flesh off. Next time, I'm going to do it while the bastard's still alive. I don't know why I didn't think of that sooner. That's the thing, every time I'm done with one of these people, I think of ways I could have made it feel even better.”
Not really knowing what to say, I look at the shivering man on the floor.
“You know,” Michelle continues, “they give us all these torture devices, and sometimes it's like being a kid in a candy shop. But at the end of the day, isn't it better to keep things simple? Primordial, even. That's why I think I'm going to go old school on this miserable piece of shit.” She pauses, staring down at him with a ravenous look in her eyes. “I'm going to beat him to death with my bare hands.”
“Okay,” I murmur.
“Do you want to watch?” she asks, turning to me. “I can't let you join in, because I want it to be all me, but I don't mind you watching. In fact, I think I'd like it.”
“I'm... okay, thanks,” I reply cautiously.
“Got your own thing bubbling away, huh?” she says, as she crouches in front of the guy. “I understand that. I even respect it. There's something about this place that really invites a sense of solitude. Dan's off in another room, I don't even know what he's doing, but I like that we each have our own separate projects.” She reaches out and gently touches the side of her victim's head, as he stares up at her with pure terror in his eyes. “It's a profound connection, isn't it, this one between us? Between the one who's about to die, and the one who's about to do the killing.”
The man tries to say something, no doubt begging for his life, but Michelle merely stares at him and – after a few seconds – begins to smile.
And then, suddenly, she sets his head back down and punches him hard, breaking his nose. Blood starts flowing from his nostrils, and Michelle watches for a few seconds before punching him again, this time in the throat.
“I'll leave you to it,” I say, turning and walking away. As I do so, I hear a series of heavy, hard punches, accompanied by the sound of breaking bones.
Passing another door, I hear a slow cracking sound, and I look through just in time to see that Michelle's husband Dan is turning a large wheel. The wheel is attached to a long table, and there's a woman strapped in place. I stop for a moment, and to my horror I realize that this is some kind of medieval-style rack. The woman's arms and legs are held in place, and Dan is slowly turning the wheel and stretching her. While there's no gag in the woman's mouth, she seem unable to let out more than a faint gurgle, and I realize after a moment that her arms look to have already become dislocated.
“Want to join in?” Dan asks, turning to me. “This thing has an electric compressor, makes it slightly easier to push. I switched it off, though. I wanted to do this myself. With my own muscles.”
“No, I'm fine,” I reply, watching as the wheel continues to turn.
Suddenly a rupture bursts through the woman's belly as she's literally torn apart. Blood bursts from the gap, gushing down onto the floor, yet Dan continues to turn the wheel until I see the woman's internal organs starting to slop out from within her belly. After a moment I'm able to see part of her skeleton, her pelvis perhaps, but I can't stop watching as she's slowly pulled apart at the middle. She lets out a final groan, and it's hard to believe that she's so
mehow still clinging to life, but finally the last strands of flesh are broken and she's left in two halves on the rack.
“Impressed?” Dan asks, turning to me and then holding his arms up, flexing his muscles. “That wasn't easy.”
“I'm sure it wasn't,” I tell him, before walking away and heading toward the door at the far end.
I can still hear Michelle kicking her victim to death in the distance, but I have no real desire to go back and watch. After all, why stare at someone else as they have their fun, when it's possible to get really down and dirty? And as I open the door and see Maria still strapped to the chair, I feel a strange sense of tingling anticipation in my chest. This is it. This is what the whole night has been building toward. This is my chance to kill the bitch.
As Jason turns to me and smiles, I gently shut the door.
Thirty-Two
“We've got blades and saws and clamps,” Jason explains as I step past him and make my way toward Maria. “We've got acids and batteries and pumps, we've got cheese graters, we've got hammers and drills. If there's anything you want, and we don't have it, just let me know and I'm sure the fine people from Hotel Necro can rustle it up. The world's your oyster, Katie. What do you want to do to her next?”
I barely hear him.
All I care about is the girl in the chair.
I make my way across the room, while keeping my gaze fixed on her terrified stare. She starts shaking violently again, more violently with each step that I take toward her. I feel more powerful than I've ever felt before in my life, and as I stop and stare down at her face I realize that there's nothing holding me back. I can slash and rip and burn, I can tear her to pieces, and I don't even have to care.
Reaching down, I run a finger's edge across her belly, up over her breasts and then onto her neck. As I move my finger to her jaw, she lets out an anguished, muffled whimper and turns her head away, as if she still thinks that she can somehow save herself.
As if she thinks I might suddenly change my mind.
The funny thing is, it's her hope that I enjoy the most. If she just accepted her fate and begged to die, I wouldn't be having so much fun. Instead, she's defiant and she's angry and she clearly thinks that somehow she'll break free and make me suffer. Maybe her whole life has been about kicking back and finding a way to survive. Maybe she did pretty well at that before. But tonight, she's not going to go anywhere. Tonight she's finally met a fate she can't dodge.
“I want a razor-blade,” I say finally, causing the girl to struggle once more against her restraints. “It doesn't have to be big. In fact, I think a smaller one might be better. I can be more... accurate.”
I run my finger up the side of her face as tears run down her cheeks.
A moment later, I feel a nice, small razor-blade being placed in my right hand, and I hold it up for her to see.
She struggles again, with such force this time that the chair seems to be at risk of coming loose from its bolts.
“This is going to hurt,” I explain, “and it's going to last for as long as possible. But that won't be any fun if you still have that thing in your mouth.”
Reaching around, I loosen the knot at the back of her head, and then I pull the gag away.
“Help me!” she screams, as blood sprays from her mouth. “Somebody help me!”
“Who do you think is coming?” I ask calmly, as I turn the razor-blade around between my fingers. “There's no-one out there. No-one cares. But don't worry, I'll save your eyes for last. I want to see them as I'm doing all the other things.”
I hold the razor-blade out and set its edge against her left nipple.
“I'll kill you!” she snarls, pulling harder than ever against the restraints. “When I get out of here, I'll kill you!”
“You won't be getting out of here,” I reply, with the faintest twitch of a smile. “Didn't you realize that yet? You have no chance of leaving this place. I think they even dispose of your body parts here at the hotel.” I lean closer to her. “Welcome to Hotel Necro!”
I look down at the razor-blade, and then I start very slowly running its edge against the nipple. When that doesn't work, I realize that I need to press harder, so I try again. Even now, the blade doesn't actually break through, despite the fact that the nipple is fairly large and hard. I turn the blade around and try for a third time, pressing harder, but still it doesn't slice.
“You need to press more,” Jason says, and I turn to see that he's watching from nearby. “Go quicker too.”
“No!” Maria snarls. “I won't let you!”
I look back at the blade, but some part of me is holding back. I've tried to cut three times now, and each time I just don't seem able to press hard enough. I take a deep breath and try to pull myself together, and then I try yet again. Still, however, the razor-blade merely runs harmlessly against the nipple's edge.
“Here.”
Suddenly Jason takes hold of my hand and flicks it against the woman's breast, and I watch in horror as her nipple is sliced open, causing her to scream.
“See?” Jason continues, letting go of my hand as blood flows down the breast. “It's not so hard, not really. Why don't you practice on the other one?”
I look at Maria, and suddenly she spits in my face. I pull away and wipe the saliva from my cheek, and when I look at my hand I see that there's blood smeared across the side.
“Hey, bitch,” Jason says, stepping past me and slamming his fist into Maria's jaw. “Do you wanna try that again?”
She starts sobbing, and now her body is shaking as she slumps back in the chair.
“Try doing it somewhere else, then,” Jason says, taking my hand and guiding it down until it's between Maria's legs. He seems flustered, and a little angry. “Build up to the big stuff. There's no harm in that.”
He lets go, and I turn the blade around and press it against the inside of Maria's left thigh. I know that if I run the blade slowly against her skin, I won't have much luck, so I take a deep breath and then I try to slash her skin. Even this doesn't work, however, and I'm starting to feel as if some part of me – the screaming, horrified part of me – is getting stronger. Is it possible that the pills are starting to wear off? Or is the 'real' me fighting back?
“Honey,” Jason says, taking my hand again, “really, you need to be more forceful. Like this.”
He slashes my hand against Maria's thigh, and I feel the blade dig deep into her flesh and then slice a bloodied line all the way to her wrecked knees.
“Help me!” she screams. “Somebody get me out of here!”
Jason chuckles.
I take a deep breath and watch as blood runs from the wound on Maria's leg, pooling briefly on the chair before starting to dribble down onto the floor.
“Why don't you go a little further in?” Jason asks, nudging my arm. “I told you she's whored herself out, right? She should be used to people touching her down there.”
I look at Maria's vagina, but second by second I'm feeling as if I have to stop doing what I'm doing. I can feel a wave of panic in my chest, but at the same time the panic is somewhat dulled. I think I'm caught in two worlds, with my true self starting to win the fight against the self that came down here to kill. I wait, trying to decide what to do, but after a moment I realize that I really only have one choice. One of my two halves is winning the battle.
“Katie?” Jason says cautiously. “What are you waiting for?”
“I...”
I hesitate.
I need to play for time.
“A knife,” I stammer finally, turning to him and holding the razor-blade out. “I want a knife instead. A big one.”
“What for?”
“You'll see.”
He stares at me for a moment, before shrugging and taking the razor-blade. As he heads back over to the table, I turn to Maria again and I try desperately to come up with some kind of plan.
“I'm going to get you out of here,” I want to whisper, but I don't dare. After all, I
have no idea how many microphones and cameras are dotted around this room, and I can't risk being overheard.
I need a plan.
I need to be smart.
I need to figure out how I'm going to get Maria out of here, without us both being killed.
“How about this one?” Jason asks, and I turn to see that he's brought a large, serrated knife over to me. “Think that'll do the job? Exactly what are you planning to do, anyway?”
I stare at the knife, and I can feel vital seconds slipping away.
“Katie? What's wrong?”
“Nothing,” I reply, and I slowly reach out and take the knife. “There are just so many options, that's all,” I add as I look up at my husband. “It's difficult to pick just one.”
I could use the knife against Jason and force him to help me. The two of us might have a chance of fighting our way out of this place. Maria would slow us down, but we'd have to take her with us, and then we'd have to hope that we can get outside and call for help. Then again, I'm sure this place has a lot of security, and I'm by no means convinced that the police would be on our side. What if these Hotel Necro people have friends in high places? The fact that they're able to get away with this stuff means that they must have some serious protection.
“Just go with your gut instinct,” Jason says.
The second option would be to try finding Doctor Strickland. I don't know if he's the ultimate boss of this place, but a knife against his throat might be enough to get him to let us go. I don't know what we'd do once we were out of the hotel, but we could worry about that later. I'd just have to scream and attract a lot of attention, and then people would realize what was happening. Then it'd just be a matter of spreading the news about this sick place as quickly and as far as possible.
