Page 181 of Sin Like the Devil

When this round of electrocution ends, Lennox’s head lolls forward, shining beads of sweat dripping from his skin. He’s barely lucid, moaning and swaying during each brief reprieve from the torture.

“Why?” I blubber.

Craven shrugs nonchalantly. “Incendia has orders to fulfil. Machines without morals are in demand, but the mind must break first. Only then can it be wiped.”

With that explanation, he crouches beside Lennox. Craven grabs a handful of his greasy hair, using it to wrench his head upright. I can’t stop myself from wailing as Lennox’s deep-set eyes struggle to open.

“Ready to comply, Patient Twelve?”

“Go f-f-fuck yourself,” Lennox moans.

Sighing, Craven lets his head drop. “Again.”

The process is repeated. Over and over. Each shock more horrific than the last. Lennox’s screams may be silent, but my tears offer a constant soundtrack. I can’t feel my own battered body anymore, only the fierce burn in my throat from shouting so much.

“What’s your name?” Craven demands.

When Lennox doesn’t respond, he nods to the guard who pulls a steel-tipped whip from the rolling table of instruments in the corner of the room. The guard retakes his position, the whip held high.

“Answer me, Patient Twelve.”

Still, Lennox doesn’t respond.

“Fine.” Craven nods to his goon. “Go ahead.”

I bellow as the whip strikes across Lennox’s lowered face. Blood sprays from the deep laceration it leaves in his right cheek, reaching from earlobe to nose. His tears mingle with the blood, forming a red veil spilling down his neck.

“What is your name?”

He chokes on a phlegmy cough. “L-Lennox fuckin’ Nash.”

The professor’s hands curl into fists. “Wrong answer. We can escalate if you insist on being stubborn.”

When the next weapon of choice is unveiled, what little hope I had left in my heart fizzles out. It’s a handheld drill, the bit sharpened to a gleaming point. Even the cap-wearing guard seems reluctant.

“Start with his hands and feet,” Craven instructs. “That ought to get things moving.”

The drill bit is lined up with his shackled left hand. I take the coward’s way out. My eyes screw shut as the mechanism begins to turn, the metallic buzz drilling into flesh and muscle. Lennox’s voice roars back to life with each ear-splitting scream he releases.

“Lennox Nash is dead,” Craven elucidates. “Do you understand?”

It feels like an eternity before the drilling ceases. Ribbons of tears soak my cheeks, leaking from my closed eyes. I don’t want to look. I can’t. For all his faults, not even Lennox deserves to be unmade.

“No,” his sonorous voice wheezes. “H-He’s not.”

I hear Craven sigh. “Such resilience. Perhaps we should focus on the girl to motivate him.”

Daring to look, I find the professor staring at me in contemplation. His goon has halted drilling, leaving Lennox in a bloodied state. I can’t even tell if he’s still breathing after forcing those words out.

When Craven takes a step towards me, I close my eyes, preparing for whatever comes next. I just hope Lennox has passed out and won’t have to watch my torture like I did his.

“Now then…”

The command to inflict more torture that I expect doesn’t come. With my eyes squeezed shut, I await my fate. The sound of a heavy blow and body crumpling follows instead. I dare to peek a single lid open.

“What an absolute piece of work.” Weirdly, the voice spilling from the guard now holding the drill upside down is light and feminine.

Eyeing Craven, he looks physically repulsed.

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