Page 164 of Sin Like the Devil

I’m too weak to stop him from hitting me in the side. Electric slams into me, frying any sense from my struggling limbs. Pausing for a moment, he studies me before doling out another hit.

Jerking violently, spit bubbles spill from my mouth. My eyeballs feel like two overinflated balloons. When the tasing stops, I can’t even lift a finger to fight back.

The guard makes quick work of stripping off my sweatpants and boxers. Eyeing my cuffed hands, he reaches for a blade attached to his belt, using it to slice my t-shirt away.

“Excellent.” Harrison claps his hands together. “Let’s begin.”

I get a clear view of Ripley being slammed into the concrete hard enough to split her forehead open. She slumps, the fight draining out of her in time for the guard to strip her too.

We’re both left completely bare. It’s humiliating. With the help of his two sadists, Harrison uncovers his machine. Dismay unfurls within me as I recognise it instantly. It’s a huge water pump on wheels with industrial hoses attached.

Casting Ripley a look, I watch her moan and writhe. Blood is a thick curtain spilling from her forehead to cover her face. She swipes it from her eyes long enough to spot the horror that awaits.

“W-Wait,” she pleads.

Harrison waggles a finger at her. “No complaints now. Consider it a welcome spa treatment for our latest projects.”

The whirring of the pump’s engine fills the cell. Just as feeling re-enters my still-twitching extremities, I’m hit by the first blast of water. It’s an immense force, catapulting me back into the wall.

Another hose is unspooled and pointed at Ripley. She cries out at the impact. We’re both lashed with icy whips, our bodies battered and frozen by the water’s bruising power.

This isn’t my first time, so I know not to fight it. Slipping and sliding holds no benefit. It’s better to preserve strength for the hours this can go on for. But in typical Ripley fashion, she’s struggling.

“That’s it,” Harrison jeers. “Get nice and clean for your luxury vacation.”

Retaining any awareness soon becomes impossible. The constant onslaught is too much for anyone to bear. Pain combined with the cold temperature saps any defiance from me far faster than I anticipated.

I lose track of Ripley and the passing of time. All that exists is the violent hammering of water into my body, leaving bruises that feel bone-deep. A chill has settled in my bones, the only indication that I’m not dead already.

At some point, a familiar sense of delirium sets in. My eyes are squeezed shut to avoid the powerful spray, and behind my shut lids, images start to form. Flashes here and there, forming mental snapshots.

My grandfather resting in his armchair, surrounded by framed medals and family photographs. Daisy proudly handing him her grade three ballet exam certificate to be added to the collection. The way he kissed her head so proudly.

The years speed up.

This time, I see a teenaged Daisy, now stick-thin and sullen. Her pointe shoes buried in the bottom of a drawer. The way she made herself small and invisible in our grandfather’s presence. Her certificates disappeared.

I’m not sure when the onslaught of water ceases and a beating begins. Fists pummelling into me feel a lot like the beat of water anyway. Each painful blow fires more disjointed flashes at me as my mind contracts.

Things were blurry after Daisy’s death. Glazed-over by grief and shock. It wasn’t until I discovered her diary while clearing out her bedroom that I realised why she did it. The note made it clear enough. It’s all disjointed from there.

Handcuffs.

Psych evals.

An empty jail cell.

“Lennox. Snap out of it.”

Daisy’s rosy cheeks.

Seeing my childhood home burn.

Court cases and signed plea deals.

“Get it together, Nox.”

Fire.

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