Page 9 of The Madman and his broken Princess
He walked over to a small table with utensils and picked up a pair of rusty pliers. “I’ll ask again nicely. Who gave you the plate?”
“You’ll torture me whether I tell you or not. Let’s have some fun first,” I muttered, even as my stomach coiled with terror at what might come next. Pliers had multiple uses during torture, and I would be submitted to at least one of them very soon.
I tried to focus on something else, an image inside me to keep me anchored, and as usual, a scene between my mother and me on my bed, reading a book before bedtime, came to mind.
When Lamorgese’s soldier gripped my hand, a memory of my mother’s soft voice played in my head, but the fantasy faltered as excruciating pain erupted in my finger. It didn’t stop. More pain followed. I wasn’t sure for how long. It felt like an eternity. When Lamorgese finally let up, my throat ached from screaming. I hadn’t been able to stay silent. Through blurry eyes, I risked a look at my hands. They were covered in blood. All five of my fingers were missing a nail.
My stomach roiled with a wave of nausea that I had trouble containing.
“Look at me,” Lamorgese barked.
I raised my head, swallowing hard. He still held the bloody pliers in his hand. The sight sent a new wave of fear through me. I focused on the spittle clinging to one end of his ugly mustache.
“If you tell me who gave you the plate, I won’t pull out your other nails, Nestore. Be wise.” He sounded almost fatherly. I knew better than to trust that voice, though I simply wanted the pain to stop.
“It was Eduardo. He’s known me all my life. He felt guilty.”
Lamorgese’s smile hardened. He smoothed his mustache. “Did he? Is that why you stabbed him? Is that how you repay someone who helps you?”
“He betrayed my family, and it’s how I treat traitors.”
“Problem is, I can’t question him anymore, can I?”
I didn’t say anything. My eyes were locked on the pliers Lamorgese slowly raised before me. I began to tremble.
“You said you wouldn’t go on if I told you, and I did.”
“Maybe you did, or maybe you lied. It’s for me to find out. But you’re right. I’m a man of my honor.” He handed the pliers to the other man. “I won’t keep going, but he will.”
I ripped at my bindings as the man approached me with the pliers. Then my world became painful again.
The questioning continued eternally. That was what it felt like, but I didn’t reveal the truth.
If I told Lamorgese that Amelia had brought food down to me, he would punish her, and I would lose the only person who might be my friend. The idea was unbearable. When they dropped me on the floor of my cell later, I stayed exactly where I was. My fingers were stiff from bruising, the pain still very prominent but getting better to handle. My face was swollen, and my ribs ached.
How was I supposed to survive days or weeks like this? What if weeks turned to months?
I waited anxiously on the upper landing, looking down at the floor below, hoping my father would emerge from the basement soon. The steel door was soundproof, so I couldn’t hear what was going on, but I worried he was hurting Nestore.
When Father finally came out and crossed the foyer below, my belly dropped. Blood covered his white shirt, and he was wiping his hands with a cloth. What if he’d killed Nestore?
My pulse sped up, my belly clenching so tightly I worried I’d throw up. I bounced on my heels, driven by the need to check on him, adrenaline making me almost lightheaded.
Father’s steps came closer as he ascended the staircase. I hid behind the library door, which was dark since it was night.
I held my breath when Father’s heavy steps passed the door and moved up the next staircase, then waited for the bang of his bedroom door before I dared to peek out. The hallway was cloaked in darkness. Only light from below allowed my eyes to make out my surroundings. My heartbeat hammered in my chest as I crept out into the hallway, then down the sweeping staircase.
I carried a bag with food, water, and a book for Nestore. I wasn’t sure what he liked to read, or if he liked to read at all. But life in the cell must be boring, so I wanted to help him keep his spirits up.
When I snuck down the narrow staircase to the basement, my breathing was shallow. It didn’t even allow me to extend my arms all the way without touching the rough concrete walls. I didn’t know if a guard was stationed down here. It seemed unnecessary given that no one was getting out of those cells without the keys.
The moment I reached Nestore’s cell, my body froze with pure fear. Nestore lay on the floor, curled into himself. He wasn’t moving.
I gripped the bars, licking my cracked lips. “Nestore?” I whispered.
He didn’t move. One of his hands rested on the floor outstretched. It was covered in blood. Blood splatters also dotted the floor from where he lay to the basement door. Heat pressed against my eyes. “Nestore?” I whispered louder.
“Nestore!” I snapped my lips shut as my voice echoed in the dank chamber. Nestore stirred, then rolled onto his back.
