Page 115 of Property of Bones

And then I fillet a perfect ribbon from the side of his thigh. This one bleeds.

He screams.

Finally.

“Who’s your partner, Luis?”

Still nothing.

“Good,” I nod. “We’ll keep going.”

I grab a clean cloth and wipe my blade. Then I slice another layer from his stomach…just under the ribs. This one’s thick enough to weep, blood beading along the edge like dew on raw meat.

He thrashes, but the cuffs hold. His chest is heaving now. Panic’s setting in.

“You know,” I say, reaching for the alcohol, “my woman and sister had a wish while they were rotting in that pit of yours.”

He looks up, wary. Sweating. Breathing ragged.

“They hoped I’d make you eat yourself.”

A small noise escapes Skip, but I simply smile. I had the same reaction.

I pop the cap on the bottle. The scent of antiseptic and torment fills the air.

“They joked about it, at first. Delirious. Scared. But they meant it. They wanted you to suffer. Not just die.Suffer.”

And then I pour.

The alcohol hits the fresh wounds and hescreams, jerking so hard the chair rocks with the force of it.

“Stop…fuck, stop!”

“You’re gonna want to conserve your voice, Luis.” I lean down again, calm as ever. “This is only round one.”

Another slice…this one off his bicep. A twitch of the knife, practiced and clean. Then more alcohol.

More screaming.

More flailing.

I go lower. A strip from his thigh. A line from his shoulder. A sliver from his side.

And again… the alcohol.

It becomes a rhythm.

Cut.

Pour.

Scream.

Repeat.

When he starts sobbing, I know we’re getting close.

“You feel that?” I whisper, crouching to meet his bloodshot gaze. “That’s the weight of consequence. The sound of skin remembering every wrong.”

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