Craving Resurrection
Page 72
Then everything went black.
***
I woke up tied to a chair in the middle of a living room I’d never seen before, facing a man sitting on a flowered sofa. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him, and I had a hard time focusing my eyes because my head was pounding with every beat of my heart.
“Yer finally awake,” he said calmly, sitting completely still except for the way his lips moved when he talked. I opened my mouth to answer, and that’s when I realized there was something wrapped around my head and pulled tightly between my teeth.
“It’s a belt in yer mout’,” he commented as my eyes grew huge in my face. “So ye won’t bite yer tongue.”
Why the fuck would I bite my tongue? Where was I? Oh, God, it was like every horror movie I’d ever seen. Don’t go out to the dumpster alone, you fool! Run the other way!
“Amy Gallagher. Wife of Patrick Gallagher, ‘De Butcher of Dublin’, de papers call him.” He finally leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’ve been waitin’ to talk to ye.”
I tried to mumble back that I didn’t know who he was or what the hell he was talking about, but the words came out as a bunch of gibberish. I didn’t know why he wanted to talk, but I’d talk to him about whatever he wanted if that meant he would let me go.
I wasn’t thinking about escape—I knew I was trapped. But maybe if I gave him what he wanted he wouldn’t hurt me. Maybe he’d let me go. I clung to that hope as he lifted one finger as if I should wait, and walked out of the room.
When he returned, he was carrying a ball peen hammer, some scissors, and a pair of pliers.
“I can see why Trick wanted ye,” he said conversationally, setting a small table to the right of my chair and laying the tools on top of it. “Yer quite pretty. Nuttin’ like me fiancé, but dere are few woman as beautiful as her.”
My eyes followed his movements as I barely breathed, and at the mention of his fiancé, my eyes shot to the door.
“Oh, she won’t be here,” he commented, catching the movement of my eyes. “I’m not quite sure where she is at de moment.”
He pulled a chair in from the kitchen and sat down so close that our knees were touching. “I was hopin’ ye could help me wit’ dat. Nod if ye’d like to help me,” he ordered with a smile.
I nodded frantically, willing to do anything for him to let me go. He wanted me to help him find his fiancé? I’d search for her myself.
“Wonderful,” he said, reaching behind my hair to gently loosen the belt and pull it down until it was resting against my collar bone. “Would ye like a drink of water?” I nodded again, as I tried to moisten my mouth with saliva. My mouth was so dry that my tongue was sticking to the top of my mouth.
“Dere now, dat’s better,” he said, after he’d lifted a glass of water to my mouth. “I’m so glad dat yer willin’ to help me. Dat makes everyt’in’ so much easier.”
He set the water down on the table and then turned to face me again.
“Where is Moira?” he asked, reaching out to run his fingers through my hair.
His fingers caught in the tangles of my hair and I shivered in revulsion as panic hit me harder and more quickly than it ever had in my life. For a moment I was completely silent as I gaped at him. This was because of Moira?
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. I wasn’t sure if they were still on the ocean, where they were on the ocean, or even if they’d made it to North Carolina.
He made a chastising noise with his mouth, and I realized then that I should have asked who Moira was. By answering the way I had, he knew that I knew something.
“Please, please, I don’t know,” I pleaded quickly as he stood and grabbed the scissors off the table.
“Every time ye lie, ye’ll be punished,” he replied, gripping my hair and pulling until my neck was arched over the back rung of the chair. I fought to bring my head forward, but all that did was make the position of my neck hurt worse.
He began to use the scissors on my hair, and though I was relieved that he wasn’t hurting me, I couldn’t stop the hysterical sobs that ripped out of my throat. I couldn’t see how much he cut off, but I could feel the cold edge of the scissors against my scalp over and over again, and by the time he was done, I could actually feel cool air against the crown of my head.
“Dat was not so bad,” he scolded, sitting down calmly in front of me again as he discarded the scissors. “Butcher paid a visit to Michael, did ye know? Left his callin’ card, so to speak, so I know he’s got her somewhere and yer his wife, so I’m sure ye know where he’s keepin’ her. Maybe even feelin’ a bit out of sorts with his bastard in her belly? So why don’t ye tell me, hmmm? Where is Moira?”
“I don’t know! I swear I don’t,” I told him, looking directly into his eyes. His pupils were like pinpricks, and I was suddenly afraid that he wasn’t only crazy and angry, but that he was on something, too.
He sighed deeply, and I watched in terror as he pulled the table so that it slid under my left hand, between the arm of the chair and my fingers. He moved his tools around, setting them just so. When he picked up the hammer, I felt my entire body freeze in terror.
I didn’t see it hit my index finger. As he raised the hammer, I’d instinctively shut my eyes against what I knew would happen.
It didn’t change a fucking thing, though. I still felt the cold metal crush the bone as I bit my tongue and then screamed, blood pouring out of my mouth and down my chin as I lost all control of my bladder.
***
I woke up tied to a chair in the middle of a living room I’d never seen before, facing a man sitting on a flowered sofa. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him, and I had a hard time focusing my eyes because my head was pounding with every beat of my heart.
“Yer finally awake,” he said calmly, sitting completely still except for the way his lips moved when he talked. I opened my mouth to answer, and that’s when I realized there was something wrapped around my head and pulled tightly between my teeth.
“It’s a belt in yer mout’,” he commented as my eyes grew huge in my face. “So ye won’t bite yer tongue.”
Why the fuck would I bite my tongue? Where was I? Oh, God, it was like every horror movie I’d ever seen. Don’t go out to the dumpster alone, you fool! Run the other way!
“Amy Gallagher. Wife of Patrick Gallagher, ‘De Butcher of Dublin’, de papers call him.” He finally leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’ve been waitin’ to talk to ye.”
I tried to mumble back that I didn’t know who he was or what the hell he was talking about, but the words came out as a bunch of gibberish. I didn’t know why he wanted to talk, but I’d talk to him about whatever he wanted if that meant he would let me go.
I wasn’t thinking about escape—I knew I was trapped. But maybe if I gave him what he wanted he wouldn’t hurt me. Maybe he’d let me go. I clung to that hope as he lifted one finger as if I should wait, and walked out of the room.
When he returned, he was carrying a ball peen hammer, some scissors, and a pair of pliers.
“I can see why Trick wanted ye,” he said conversationally, setting a small table to the right of my chair and laying the tools on top of it. “Yer quite pretty. Nuttin’ like me fiancé, but dere are few woman as beautiful as her.”
My eyes followed his movements as I barely breathed, and at the mention of his fiancé, my eyes shot to the door.
“Oh, she won’t be here,” he commented, catching the movement of my eyes. “I’m not quite sure where she is at de moment.”
He pulled a chair in from the kitchen and sat down so close that our knees were touching. “I was hopin’ ye could help me wit’ dat. Nod if ye’d like to help me,” he ordered with a smile.
I nodded frantically, willing to do anything for him to let me go. He wanted me to help him find his fiancé? I’d search for her myself.
“Wonderful,” he said, reaching behind my hair to gently loosen the belt and pull it down until it was resting against my collar bone. “Would ye like a drink of water?” I nodded again, as I tried to moisten my mouth with saliva. My mouth was so dry that my tongue was sticking to the top of my mouth.
“Dere now, dat’s better,” he said, after he’d lifted a glass of water to my mouth. “I’m so glad dat yer willin’ to help me. Dat makes everyt’in’ so much easier.”
He set the water down on the table and then turned to face me again.
“Where is Moira?” he asked, reaching out to run his fingers through my hair.
His fingers caught in the tangles of my hair and I shivered in revulsion as panic hit me harder and more quickly than it ever had in my life. For a moment I was completely silent as I gaped at him. This was because of Moira?
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. I wasn’t sure if they were still on the ocean, where they were on the ocean, or even if they’d made it to North Carolina.
He made a chastising noise with his mouth, and I realized then that I should have asked who Moira was. By answering the way I had, he knew that I knew something.
“Please, please, I don’t know,” I pleaded quickly as he stood and grabbed the scissors off the table.
“Every time ye lie, ye’ll be punished,” he replied, gripping my hair and pulling until my neck was arched over the back rung of the chair. I fought to bring my head forward, but all that did was make the position of my neck hurt worse.
He began to use the scissors on my hair, and though I was relieved that he wasn’t hurting me, I couldn’t stop the hysterical sobs that ripped out of my throat. I couldn’t see how much he cut off, but I could feel the cold edge of the scissors against my scalp over and over again, and by the time he was done, I could actually feel cool air against the crown of my head.
“Dat was not so bad,” he scolded, sitting down calmly in front of me again as he discarded the scissors. “Butcher paid a visit to Michael, did ye know? Left his callin’ card, so to speak, so I know he’s got her somewhere and yer his wife, so I’m sure ye know where he’s keepin’ her. Maybe even feelin’ a bit out of sorts with his bastard in her belly? So why don’t ye tell me, hmmm? Where is Moira?”
“I don’t know! I swear I don’t,” I told him, looking directly into his eyes. His pupils were like pinpricks, and I was suddenly afraid that he wasn’t only crazy and angry, but that he was on something, too.
He sighed deeply, and I watched in terror as he pulled the table so that it slid under my left hand, between the arm of the chair and my fingers. He moved his tools around, setting them just so. When he picked up the hammer, I felt my entire body freeze in terror.
I didn’t see it hit my index finger. As he raised the hammer, I’d instinctively shut my eyes against what I knew would happen.
It didn’t change a fucking thing, though. I still felt the cold metal crush the bone as I bit my tongue and then screamed, blood pouring out of my mouth and down my chin as I lost all control of my bladder.
