Page 13 of Vengeance of Childhood Proportions

Perhaps Jesse would provide a better fight when he arrived.

Across from the five cells wasmycell. Once the area where Jason trained me to fight, it was now filled with various devices that I’d built with my own two hands. When I’d first gotten the idea years ago to exact my revenge, I was very specific with Jason that none of my methods would be sexual. At the time, I’d still been working through the trauma of my rape and unable to fathom ever having sex again. I knew that, if there was ever hope of being able to have sex again, that I did not want to contaminate my sexual experiences with torturing and killing my assaulters.

Many of the devices in my cell were used in some sexual relationships, like the cat o’ nine tails, ball gags, and chains. But they were not sexualto me. I could use them on my victims without getting aroused—unlike Jason.

Personally, I didn’t want to know whatever fun Jason inflicted on them in my absence. I could only imagine some ofit and had no issue offering Jason that release. As long as all of them died by my hand.

And I couldn’t judge him for his proclivities when I was just as bad, if not worse. If Jason got off by what was happening down here, at least he was getting something from it.

John had chosen my cell today. His fear of dogs had gotten the better of him and he’d chosen to escape the torment of his cell. Since I would not subject a real dog to being caged in the cell with him, I’d set up speakers in his cell to constantly play dog growls and barks. I might have also gotten a sick satisfaction at adding taxidermied dogs to his cell.

So John had come into my cell today at his request. The last time he’d been in my cell, I’d strapped him to a stainless steel table and he’d had hot wax poured all over him. Jason had encouraged me to go easy on them in the beginning so that they were more likely to choose my cell over their own the next time the option was presented.

After they’d seen me practicallycookAmber alive inside of a tanning bed, all of them were unquestionably terrified.

This time, there was no hot wax. John was experiencing an old torture method called the Piquet. Originally created in the 1600s to prevent soldiers from disobeying orders, the method did not result in death. It was torture, pure and simple. John was hanging from a rope attached to the ceiling from his left arm. His right wrist was tied to his left ankle behind his back. Under his right foot was a stake with a rounded point. The rope holding him up was exactly the correct height to let him put weight down on his foot to take the pressure of his body weight off his wrist, but it came at an excruciating cost. Though the stake was not pointed and therefore did not penetrate his foot, it was agony to stand on. So, he had to make a constant choice to take his weight: wrist or foot.

There were no watches or clocks in the bunker. I wanted none of them to know the date or time of day. However, I did put a countdown timer in my cell in case I wanted them to know how long they had left with me that day.

John’s timer had started at sixteen hours and seventeen minutes—the approximate time I was locked in that pillory on our high school stage. It was only fair, after all. The digital timer’s red lettering said fifteen hours and twenty-two minutes remaining, which meant that he had a fucking long time to go.

But John wasn’t worth my time. He’d likely pass out soon, anyway. If I couldn’t move the tanning bed on my own, there was no point in starting on Amber’s cell. To be honest, the fact that I was barely able to move it an inch made me wonder how the hell Jason had gotten it down here in the first place.

No, I wanted time with Sam. He’d been dating multiple women at once while married and had a fiancée. From the surveillance Jason and I had done on him over the years, I had plenty of photographs and videos of his transgressions. The recording of a live stream that was now playing on repeat was in his cell, forcing him to watch and rewatch all the women in his life receive that evidence and then turn on each other. At least, the man wasn’t leaving any kids behind. That was something.

The first day he’d come into my cell, I had branded him with a letter ‘A’ on his chest. Unlike Hester Prynne, his was a lot more painful than just wearing the letter on his clothing. I also hadn’t cleaned the wound and it was obviously infected. The irritated, purple skin was oozing. Plus, it was starting to smell something awful.

Sam was running a fever and was weakening with each day. I was debating on getting him some antibiotics to prolong his stay with me, but honestly, I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to handle the smell.

As I entered his cell, he was in and out of consciousness on the bed. Due to his fever, he was freezing and had his single blanket wrapped around him in the fetal position while also keeping the wool away from his burned chest.

Jason had trained me to never drop my guard. Even if someone looks like they’re unconscious or sleeping, never let yourself believe they aren’t dangerous. Sam might be weak, but all it would take was a single lucky blow and he could render me unconscious.

Not that that would mean his escape. Getting out of the bunker wasn’t as simple as going up the stairs that they could see to the right of their cells. Though I was curious to see if any of them would make it as far as the stairs in an escape attempt, I was not planning on having that happen outside a controlled situation where I only let them think they escaped.

Sam was about five-nine. He’d lost a lot of weight in the weeks he’d been with me and that certainly made dumping him onto the floor and dragging him by his wrists a lot easier. Though, it was still a workout. Jason would be laughing his ass off if he saw me huffing and puffing like a chain smoker, but the bodybuilding he had me do regularly and pole dancing kept me fit. I was able to lift Sam up onto the cushioned table.

This table was not like the stainless steel one I had strapped John to the first time I had him in my cell. That one was just as it sounded, a flat stainless steel slab with the ability to bind a person to it. They were laying on their belly or back and that was it. The table I put Sam on now was padded with wrist and ankle cuffs. By flicking latches under the table, I could move leaves of the table apart, creating individual arm and leg wedges. I could also make the table sit upright to where the person was standing or unhook two more sections to make a chair-like device. The options were truly endless. I wasn’t sure where Jason had gotten it, but it was one of my favorite pieces.

It was too bad that I wouldn’t want to keep it when all this was said and done. Maybe I’d have Jason find me another one.

Sam started to come around as I tipped the table up to about a forty-five degree angle. He was still in the same pair of underpants he’d been in since arriving. They all were. If they wanted to wash their underwear in the toilets in their cells, that was their decision. I was not their laundress.

Surprisingly, none had decided to go full nude. I didn’t understand that. Wouldn’t they rather have no clothing than those smelly pieces? But what did I know? Personally, nudity was not something that bothered me and I would rather be naked than wear dirty clothing.

As I walked over to the wall to get the supplies ready for Sam, I took a peek at John because he’d fallen silent. The man was passed out. I could see the lack of blood in his left hand. After sixteen hours like that, I might have to amputate it.

Huh. Just one more thing to add to my resume, I guess.

I grabbed a butterfly knife and medical grade latex gloves. I was not taking off the infected skin on Sam’s chest wound to help him. The procedure would cause him a lot of agony. His screams were my goal.

I had a rolling cart that I used to bring supplies over, depending on where I was in the cell. The pipe that had once been my shower and toilet was now a covered drain that provided easy cleanup. Jason or I poured a gallon of undiluted bleach down it daily to destroy any evidence that might accumulate in the pipe.

As I neared with my cart, I saw Sam’s mouth moving. He was delirious and mumbling a lot of nonsensical things. The fever had gone to his head many days ago. But that wouldn’t stop him from feeling pain. If anything, it might enhance it.

I’d need to ask Jason about that one. If my assumption was wrong, that might be a reason to bring down his fever.

“…ease…” I ignored Sam’s mutterings as I got my purple gloves on. Not much grossed me out, but I was not about to touch infected, charred skin barehanded. “…ail…ee…ease…”

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