FIC: Sins Of The Father Chapter 7
Title: Sins Of The Father Chapter 7
Author: joaniexjony
SINS OF THE FATHER
CHAPTER 7
It would have almost been pleasant sitting beside the roaring log fire, if it wasn't for the woman sitting opposite and the ropes digging painfully into his wrists, tied behind his back.
Bizarre was the only word to describe this room. Around the fireplace, a ragged hole carved out the rock, sat two worn burgundy leather wingback chairs and matching sofa, strewn carelessly with an embroidered throw of muted fall colours. Nearby was a coffee table where a framed picture of a youth smiled out, his wild auburn hair falling carelessly over his face, the imagine of Marcen. Yet, as John looked closer, he quickly realised it wasn't the young scientist, for this man looked different somehow; his father maybe, or brother?
His meandering thoughts were broken by the clinking sound of fine china as weak tea, the colour of pale amber, was poured from an ornate teapot decorated with the kind of garish pink roses old ladies seemed to like. Then he watched, bewildered, as Jusana sipped her tea from a matching cup and delicately ate buttered bread and little iced cakes with relish. It brought back memories of the kind of afternoon tea his Grandma used to enjoy, and in many ways this small haven looked like any other cosy lounge. Except for a couple of tiny details, Marcen's mother was no sweet little old lady, and this room was hidden, deep underground surrounded by dark, unforgiving rock walls.
"Excuse my manners, Colonel. I would offer you a cup, but that would involve cutting you loose, something I am not prepared to do at the moment."
"Sorry to hear that, but I've never been fond of weak tea. I like mine strong and dark, something to wake me up in the morning. Anyway, I'm curious. Who is the guy in the photo? He looks very like Marcen."
Sheppard saw her stiffen, then her eyes grow cold, but the moment soon passed and her features again relaxed, as she became preoccupied by which delicacy to choose next.
"That…" Jusana motioned towards the picture "Was my brother Colaine. It was me who found him dead along with other victims of Forant's experiments. He had just turned seventeen."
"I'm sorry for your loss, but I wasn't the man responsible." Crap…Him and his big mouth.
After that revelation, John stayed silent, watching as she drank the last of her tea, before placing the delicate cup carefully back onto the saucer.
"Now, where were we? Oh, yes, I remember…you were going to tell me where I can find your father."
Anxiety surrounded him like a fog. This wasn't going to end well regardless of what he said, but he was damned if he was going to show her he was afraid.
John looked her straight in the eye, then took a deep breath. "I saw the photograph of the man you call Brantum Forant, and while I admit there is an uncanny resemblance between us, he's not my father. In fact I've never seen him before in my life."
The table went flying through the air as scalding tea and breaking china flew over the room, missing his face by inches.
"You lie. I know what this is, you're protecting him, aren't you? Jusana grabbed his hair and forced his head back against the chair so he could feel her hot spit fly against his face.
Unable to move, he snarled back, meeting her glare with defiance. "You may not like it, but it's the truth. My father's name is Patrick. He's an average sort of guy, a little stocky maybe, with dark brown eyes and short grey hair. I take my looks from my mother."
He felt the pressure release as she let go, and watched as she stood back obviously considering something.
"Ah…I think I understand. Married people often stray. Perhaps your father was not man enough for your mother, so she sought comfort, satisfaction, in the arms of another?"
It took all of his control not to show his anger, and he kept his gaze stead, never leaving her face.
"That's quite a tale you have there, lady. Thing is, even if it were true, which it isn't, my mother died when I was only six and if my dad was someone else, she never mentioned it to me."
Jusana slapped his face, hard. "Damn, you. Why won't you tell me the truth? Very well, I've tried to be pleasant, but if you want to do things the hard way, I will be only too happy to oblige. Luthame." She signalled to one of the men standing by the entrance. "Take colonel Sheppard down to the old lab and prepare him for interrogation. I will be down presently."
ooooOoooo
The chill seeped into his bones, but it wasn't just the cold making him shiver as the two guards dragged him towards the all too familiar rectangular platform set up in the corner of the room. It was constructed of rough hewn wood, with two long pieces of rope hanging from a roller with a handle at the top, and along the bottom was a fixed bar with two gaps. He had seen one like it once before, on a visit to Madam Tussauds, but theirs was a fake…a toy…not an actually working device like the rack sitting in front of him.
Panic seized him, but he made himself stay calm, biding his time, waiting for the right moment. John flinched as the sharp sting of a knife sliced through his skin, along with the rope but suddenly free, he lashed out. It felt good to feel the satisfying crunch of bone, watching with satisfaction as one guard fell, as if in slow motion onto the floor. Then pain exploded through his gut and he too fell groaning, unable to resist as his tunic was ripped apart, before being thrown onto the rough wooden device.
As his right wrist was being tightly bound with rope, Sheppard hit out with his left. The fist connected against Luthame's jaw, and the big man staggered for a second before quickly retaliating by slamming his head down hard against the thick wooden surface. He zoned out for a second but quickly came round, but not fast enough, as thick, tight ropes now secured both wrists high above his head, and his ankles were held fast under the wooden block. He was screwed…
"How do you like my antique, Colonel Sheppard?" Jusana walked around the rack, caressing it with her fingers, all the while giving John a grim smile.
"I found this when my regiment unearthed an old castle in a neighbouring village many years ago. It had been abandoned for a long time, but many of the contents were still intact. The furniture you have seen in my chambers came from there and this…which I found in the lower levels. My commander back then did not understand why I wanted such a device, but allowed me to take it. At the time I did not think I would ever have cause to use it, our militia were much too liberal, but its symmetry, the simplicity of its function appealed to me and I just had to have it. When I first learned of your existence, your bravery, I suspected the usual interrogation techniques may not be sufficient to get the information from you I required. Therefore I brought it out of storage, prepared it for use, and practiced my technique all in your honour. For you, Colonel will be my first living subject to test my skills on."
"Forgive me if I don't feel honoured. You do know these things tear limb from limb, so what use will I be to you dead?"
Out his peripheral vision he saw her walk towards the handle attached to the roller at the top of the rack and his mouth went dry.
"Did you not hear me say 'first living subject'? When I first arrived here, the tunnels were strewn with dead bodies, more victims of Forant's experiments. We were all shocked of course, but as the opportunity came closer to exact revenge for their pointless deaths, I considered it necessary and prudent to make something good come from their demise. Therefore I choose those corpses which were still intact, and practiced, until I fully understood this machine. Now I am skilled with its gears, and can surmise how many cranks of the handle it will take to cause excruciating pain, damage to the muscles, joints, but will still leave the victim…you…alive at the end of it all. Aren't you impressed?"
"Yeah, right…you're nothing but a sick, twisted evil bitch." John spat out, lifting his head, the only thing he could move.
Sheppard saw barely concealed rage etched in her face, then tried to calm down. He was in a bad situation, and getting angry wouldn't help, so he lowered his tone, finally seeking her eyes in a last desperate attempt to make her see reason. "Please, you know I can't be him, I'm too young for a start, so you are persecuting an innocent man. And I really don't know the guy, therefore regardless of what you do to me, or how much pain you inflict, nothing can ever change my answers, because I've already told you the truth."
For a moment, she seemed to consider his words, before moving to the top of the rack. "You have had your chance, Colonel, and I would suggest If you do have a god, pray. Because no one else can help you now."
Blood roared through his ears, and his heart hammered against his chest, as he heard the unmistakable click of the handle turning round, immediately feeling the pressure increase in his arms and shoulders.
Jusana's voice could barely be heard muffled by the sound of the gears, as the roller cranked around, stretching his muscles, pulling him tighter with ever turn. "Regardless of what you say, Sheppard, in the long run it doesn't really matter. A photograph doesn't lie, unlike you. You are kin of Forant, the resemblance is too remarkable for you not to be. Nevertheless, if you don't tell me what I need to know, or even if you can't, I will accept your life as forfeit for your father's crimes. First however, I must hear you admit your relationship and agree to submit to his punishment, for that is the way of my village."
Already his muscles were burning, his shoulders aching, strained to their limits and he could feel beads of sweat falling down his face, when she stopped.
"That will do for now, Colonel. Your muscles are already straining…don't deny it, I can see it in your face. And the pain you feel now will only intensify the longer you stay in this position, so I will leave the rack to do its work and come back to check on you later." As she turned to walk away, Jusana smiled. "Don't go anywhere, will you?"
ooooOoooo
John knew the room was cold, freezing in fact, but his body was hot, roasting, as fiery pain rippled in endless waves across his muscles. He tried not to flinch, keep perfectly still, do anything to ease the unbearable agony, but his body was trembling, and he groaned as wave upon wave of sharp, pain seared through him sending hot tears steaming down his face. His throat was dry, parched, and he wanted to escape, take his mind to a happier place, anywhere from the horrendous torture being inflicted upon him. Except he'd been left shrouded in darkness, just like before, the inky blackness only serving to intensive his suffering. There was nothing for him to see, nothing on which to focus to ease his misery, so all his concentration, his senses, were alive to one thing and one thing alone …his pain.
Time no longer mattered. It could have been minutes, hours, but he couldn't think, didn't know. He just wanted the pain gone…then it was. Numbness replaced it, all feeling gone, no longer even a twinge. Deep down in his fevered brain, John knew that couldn't be good, but right now he didn't care. He was free from pain and nothing else mattered…
Then, suddenly the cold was back, chilling his skin, seeping into his very core. His chest felt heavy, achy, and he was straining, struggling to breathe. Gripped by shivers, his muscles twitched sending him into convulsions, reawakening his misery as spasms buckled his body once more, and his torture continued.
All around him was blurred, but he could make out an outline, a woman standing by his side…Teyla, Elizabeth…Nancy?
"Have you anything you want to tell me yet, Colonel?" His dreams shattered in pieces as he heard the grating sound of her voice, and saw her sharp, lined features come into focus.
"Rot…in…hell…bitch."
"Very well. I can tell you need a little more convincing to loosen your tongue." Anger flashed across her face, and she nodded sharply before moving back, out of sight once more.
Sheppard heard his breathe hitch, felt himself shake as the handle started cranking once more. He tried to hide his fear, closed his eyes against her, braced himself for the increased pressure, but his muscles relaxed instead.
Instead of a reprieve, the nightmare deeped as white hot pain came flooding back, searing through every sinew, every nerve, tearing cries of anguish from his throat. His muscles shuddered, quivering out of control, his overloaded senses shrouding him in a haze of endless, unyielding agony. Then it all went dark.
Nausea washed over him, and he licked his lips but tasted only bile sticking in his throat. The fog lifted, his vision cleared and gradually his misery started to ease. He thought she had gone, hoped, but there she stood watching him, searching his eyes…smiling.
Sheppard saw the glass of water in her hand, wanted to refuse, but his throat felt like cut glass, and pride a luxury he couldn't afford. She raised the glass to his lips and it felt wonderful. He was so thirsty, he could have gulped it down in one, but no. He made himself sip it slowly, controlled. John knew he was beat, but he wasn't beaten and wanted her to know he was far from broken.
"Feeling better now? Ready to answer my questions?" Jusana turned to the guard and handed over the glass. "It's quite simple, Colonel. Just tell me where your father is, and all this misery, pain will be over."
John choked on a cry. "I…told…you...I…don't… know. You…may…as…well…end…this …now."
Jusana grabbed his jaw, her nails digging into his flushed face. "Are you telling me you're willing to take the responsibility for your father's crimes?"
"No…"
His face stung as she released him and he heard, rather than saw her making her way back to the handle.
The sound of the wheel cranking once more make him tremble. One notch, then two pulled him taut. Staining his aching muscles, making him gasp as his agony retuned anew.
Three notches, then four stretched him tighter than ever before, his body squirming, buckling, convulsing. Burning spikes of pain rippling though his body. His legs, his chest, his arms.
Five notches, then it came…pop. A scream rent the air, his, as his left shoulder dislocated. Tears came unhindered. He was sobbing, in so much pain…please let it stop. "Arghhh…"
"Tell me what I need to know, or accept the sins of your father." Jusana raged, her face crimson with anger, before pulling the handle one more time…
Six cranks. He yelled an agonised cry, ripped from torn bloody lips, as his right shoulder joined his left and darkness wavered as he felt his muscles ripping apart, consumed in endless torment as every part of his body screamed.
"End this, Sheppard. Tell me…I need to know…" She banged on the rack with her fists, then turned on him.
Blows rained upon him as she hit him, again and again. Blood ran down his face, obscuring his vision, but he was past pain, past caring. Unable to speak as his vision blurred till blessed oblivion finally took him.
ooooOoooo
Jusana stopped, stepped back, and stared at her hands now covered in blood.
She was shaking as she raised her head to look at the broken man lying deathly still on the table. His once handsome face cut and bleeding, his toned, healthy body now battered and bruised. Hesitantly, she reached out and moved her fingertips to search for a pulse. It was weak, but still there. As she straightened up, her trembling hand pushed back damp tendrils of hair from her face, and she stared at the man lying there, as if for the first time…
"Mistress, perhaps he doesn't know. No one could withstand that amount of pain and not tell the truth. We could return him to his people, maybe they would be able to help you in your search?" Luthame touched Jusana's shoulder but recoiled as she slapped his jaw, making him stagger.
"How dare you. Who do you think you are to question me? This man is guilty, whatever he may say, and I will get him to tell me what I need to know. I just have to find his weakness…"
ooooOoooo
TBC
Author: joaniexjony
SINS OF THE FATHER
CHAPTER 7
It would have almost been pleasant sitting beside the roaring log fire, if it wasn't for the woman sitting opposite and the ropes digging painfully into his wrists, tied behind his back.
Bizarre was the only word to describe this room. Around the fireplace, a ragged hole carved out the rock, sat two worn burgundy leather wingback chairs and matching sofa, strewn carelessly with an embroidered throw of muted fall colours. Nearby was a coffee table where a framed picture of a youth smiled out, his wild auburn hair falling carelessly over his face, the imagine of Marcen. Yet, as John looked closer, he quickly realised it wasn't the young scientist, for this man looked different somehow; his father maybe, or brother?
His meandering thoughts were broken by the clinking sound of fine china as weak tea, the colour of pale amber, was poured from an ornate teapot decorated with the kind of garish pink roses old ladies seemed to like. Then he watched, bewildered, as Jusana sipped her tea from a matching cup and delicately ate buttered bread and little iced cakes with relish. It brought back memories of the kind of afternoon tea his Grandma used to enjoy, and in many ways this small haven looked like any other cosy lounge. Except for a couple of tiny details, Marcen's mother was no sweet little old lady, and this room was hidden, deep underground surrounded by dark, unforgiving rock walls.
"Excuse my manners, Colonel. I would offer you a cup, but that would involve cutting you loose, something I am not prepared to do at the moment."
"Sorry to hear that, but I've never been fond of weak tea. I like mine strong and dark, something to wake me up in the morning. Anyway, I'm curious. Who is the guy in the photo? He looks very like Marcen."
Sheppard saw her stiffen, then her eyes grow cold, but the moment soon passed and her features again relaxed, as she became preoccupied by which delicacy to choose next.
"That…" Jusana motioned towards the picture "Was my brother Colaine. It was me who found him dead along with other victims of Forant's experiments. He had just turned seventeen."
"I'm sorry for your loss, but I wasn't the man responsible." Crap…Him and his big mouth.
After that revelation, John stayed silent, watching as she drank the last of her tea, before placing the delicate cup carefully back onto the saucer.
"Now, where were we? Oh, yes, I remember…you were going to tell me where I can find your father."
Anxiety surrounded him like a fog. This wasn't going to end well regardless of what he said, but he was damned if he was going to show her he was afraid.
John looked her straight in the eye, then took a deep breath. "I saw the photograph of the man you call Brantum Forant, and while I admit there is an uncanny resemblance between us, he's not my father. In fact I've never seen him before in my life."
The table went flying through the air as scalding tea and breaking china flew over the room, missing his face by inches.
"You lie. I know what this is, you're protecting him, aren't you? Jusana grabbed his hair and forced his head back against the chair so he could feel her hot spit fly against his face.
Unable to move, he snarled back, meeting her glare with defiance. "You may not like it, but it's the truth. My father's name is Patrick. He's an average sort of guy, a little stocky maybe, with dark brown eyes and short grey hair. I take my looks from my mother."
He felt the pressure release as she let go, and watched as she stood back obviously considering something.
"Ah…I think I understand. Married people often stray. Perhaps your father was not man enough for your mother, so she sought comfort, satisfaction, in the arms of another?"
It took all of his control not to show his anger, and he kept his gaze stead, never leaving her face.
"That's quite a tale you have there, lady. Thing is, even if it were true, which it isn't, my mother died when I was only six and if my dad was someone else, she never mentioned it to me."
Jusana slapped his face, hard. "Damn, you. Why won't you tell me the truth? Very well, I've tried to be pleasant, but if you want to do things the hard way, I will be only too happy to oblige. Luthame." She signalled to one of the men standing by the entrance. "Take colonel Sheppard down to the old lab and prepare him for interrogation. I will be down presently."
ooooOoooo
The chill seeped into his bones, but it wasn't just the cold making him shiver as the two guards dragged him towards the all too familiar rectangular platform set up in the corner of the room. It was constructed of rough hewn wood, with two long pieces of rope hanging from a roller with a handle at the top, and along the bottom was a fixed bar with two gaps. He had seen one like it once before, on a visit to Madam Tussauds, but theirs was a fake…a toy…not an actually working device like the rack sitting in front of him.
Panic seized him, but he made himself stay calm, biding his time, waiting for the right moment. John flinched as the sharp sting of a knife sliced through his skin, along with the rope but suddenly free, he lashed out. It felt good to feel the satisfying crunch of bone, watching with satisfaction as one guard fell, as if in slow motion onto the floor. Then pain exploded through his gut and he too fell groaning, unable to resist as his tunic was ripped apart, before being thrown onto the rough wooden device.
As his right wrist was being tightly bound with rope, Sheppard hit out with his left. The fist connected against Luthame's jaw, and the big man staggered for a second before quickly retaliating by slamming his head down hard against the thick wooden surface. He zoned out for a second but quickly came round, but not fast enough, as thick, tight ropes now secured both wrists high above his head, and his ankles were held fast under the wooden block. He was screwed…
"How do you like my antique, Colonel Sheppard?" Jusana walked around the rack, caressing it with her fingers, all the while giving John a grim smile.
"I found this when my regiment unearthed an old castle in a neighbouring village many years ago. It had been abandoned for a long time, but many of the contents were still intact. The furniture you have seen in my chambers came from there and this…which I found in the lower levels. My commander back then did not understand why I wanted such a device, but allowed me to take it. At the time I did not think I would ever have cause to use it, our militia were much too liberal, but its symmetry, the simplicity of its function appealed to me and I just had to have it. When I first learned of your existence, your bravery, I suspected the usual interrogation techniques may not be sufficient to get the information from you I required. Therefore I brought it out of storage, prepared it for use, and practiced my technique all in your honour. For you, Colonel will be my first living subject to test my skills on."
"Forgive me if I don't feel honoured. You do know these things tear limb from limb, so what use will I be to you dead?"
Out his peripheral vision he saw her walk towards the handle attached to the roller at the top of the rack and his mouth went dry.
"Did you not hear me say 'first living subject'? When I first arrived here, the tunnels were strewn with dead bodies, more victims of Forant's experiments. We were all shocked of course, but as the opportunity came closer to exact revenge for their pointless deaths, I considered it necessary and prudent to make something good come from their demise. Therefore I choose those corpses which were still intact, and practiced, until I fully understood this machine. Now I am skilled with its gears, and can surmise how many cranks of the handle it will take to cause excruciating pain, damage to the muscles, joints, but will still leave the victim…you…alive at the end of it all. Aren't you impressed?"
"Yeah, right…you're nothing but a sick, twisted evil bitch." John spat out, lifting his head, the only thing he could move.
Sheppard saw barely concealed rage etched in her face, then tried to calm down. He was in a bad situation, and getting angry wouldn't help, so he lowered his tone, finally seeking her eyes in a last desperate attempt to make her see reason. "Please, you know I can't be him, I'm too young for a start, so you are persecuting an innocent man. And I really don't know the guy, therefore regardless of what you do to me, or how much pain you inflict, nothing can ever change my answers, because I've already told you the truth."
For a moment, she seemed to consider his words, before moving to the top of the rack. "You have had your chance, Colonel, and I would suggest If you do have a god, pray. Because no one else can help you now."
Blood roared through his ears, and his heart hammered against his chest, as he heard the unmistakable click of the handle turning round, immediately feeling the pressure increase in his arms and shoulders.
Jusana's voice could barely be heard muffled by the sound of the gears, as the roller cranked around, stretching his muscles, pulling him tighter with ever turn. "Regardless of what you say, Sheppard, in the long run it doesn't really matter. A photograph doesn't lie, unlike you. You are kin of Forant, the resemblance is too remarkable for you not to be. Nevertheless, if you don't tell me what I need to know, or even if you can't, I will accept your life as forfeit for your father's crimes. First however, I must hear you admit your relationship and agree to submit to his punishment, for that is the way of my village."
Already his muscles were burning, his shoulders aching, strained to their limits and he could feel beads of sweat falling down his face, when she stopped.
"That will do for now, Colonel. Your muscles are already straining…don't deny it, I can see it in your face. And the pain you feel now will only intensify the longer you stay in this position, so I will leave the rack to do its work and come back to check on you later." As she turned to walk away, Jusana smiled. "Don't go anywhere, will you?"
ooooOoooo
John knew the room was cold, freezing in fact, but his body was hot, roasting, as fiery pain rippled in endless waves across his muscles. He tried not to flinch, keep perfectly still, do anything to ease the unbearable agony, but his body was trembling, and he groaned as wave upon wave of sharp, pain seared through him sending hot tears steaming down his face. His throat was dry, parched, and he wanted to escape, take his mind to a happier place, anywhere from the horrendous torture being inflicted upon him. Except he'd been left shrouded in darkness, just like before, the inky blackness only serving to intensive his suffering. There was nothing for him to see, nothing on which to focus to ease his misery, so all his concentration, his senses, were alive to one thing and one thing alone …his pain.
Time no longer mattered. It could have been minutes, hours, but he couldn't think, didn't know. He just wanted the pain gone…then it was. Numbness replaced it, all feeling gone, no longer even a twinge. Deep down in his fevered brain, John knew that couldn't be good, but right now he didn't care. He was free from pain and nothing else mattered…
Then, suddenly the cold was back, chilling his skin, seeping into his very core. His chest felt heavy, achy, and he was straining, struggling to breathe. Gripped by shivers, his muscles twitched sending him into convulsions, reawakening his misery as spasms buckled his body once more, and his torture continued.
All around him was blurred, but he could make out an outline, a woman standing by his side…Teyla, Elizabeth…Nancy?
"Have you anything you want to tell me yet, Colonel?" His dreams shattered in pieces as he heard the grating sound of her voice, and saw her sharp, lined features come into focus.
"Rot…in…hell…bitch."
"Very well. I can tell you need a little more convincing to loosen your tongue." Anger flashed across her face, and she nodded sharply before moving back, out of sight once more.
Sheppard heard his breathe hitch, felt himself shake as the handle started cranking once more. He tried to hide his fear, closed his eyes against her, braced himself for the increased pressure, but his muscles relaxed instead.
Instead of a reprieve, the nightmare deeped as white hot pain came flooding back, searing through every sinew, every nerve, tearing cries of anguish from his throat. His muscles shuddered, quivering out of control, his overloaded senses shrouding him in a haze of endless, unyielding agony. Then it all went dark.
Nausea washed over him, and he licked his lips but tasted only bile sticking in his throat. The fog lifted, his vision cleared and gradually his misery started to ease. He thought she had gone, hoped, but there she stood watching him, searching his eyes…smiling.
Sheppard saw the glass of water in her hand, wanted to refuse, but his throat felt like cut glass, and pride a luxury he couldn't afford. She raised the glass to his lips and it felt wonderful. He was so thirsty, he could have gulped it down in one, but no. He made himself sip it slowly, controlled. John knew he was beat, but he wasn't beaten and wanted her to know he was far from broken.
"Feeling better now? Ready to answer my questions?" Jusana turned to the guard and handed over the glass. "It's quite simple, Colonel. Just tell me where your father is, and all this misery, pain will be over."
John choked on a cry. "I…told…you...I…don't… know. You…may…as…well…end…this …now."
Jusana grabbed his jaw, her nails digging into his flushed face. "Are you telling me you're willing to take the responsibility for your father's crimes?"
"No…"
His face stung as she released him and he heard, rather than saw her making her way back to the handle.
The sound of the wheel cranking once more make him tremble. One notch, then two pulled him taut. Staining his aching muscles, making him gasp as his agony retuned anew.
Three notches, then four stretched him tighter than ever before, his body squirming, buckling, convulsing. Burning spikes of pain rippling though his body. His legs, his chest, his arms.
Five notches, then it came…pop. A scream rent the air, his, as his left shoulder dislocated. Tears came unhindered. He was sobbing, in so much pain…please let it stop. "Arghhh…"
"Tell me what I need to know, or accept the sins of your father." Jusana raged, her face crimson with anger, before pulling the handle one more time…
Six cranks. He yelled an agonised cry, ripped from torn bloody lips, as his right shoulder joined his left and darkness wavered as he felt his muscles ripping apart, consumed in endless torment as every part of his body screamed.
"End this, Sheppard. Tell me…I need to know…" She banged on the rack with her fists, then turned on him.
Blows rained upon him as she hit him, again and again. Blood ran down his face, obscuring his vision, but he was past pain, past caring. Unable to speak as his vision blurred till blessed oblivion finally took him.
ooooOoooo
Jusana stopped, stepped back, and stared at her hands now covered in blood.
She was shaking as she raised her head to look at the broken man lying deathly still on the table. His once handsome face cut and bleeding, his toned, healthy body now battered and bruised. Hesitantly, she reached out and moved her fingertips to search for a pulse. It was weak, but still there. As she straightened up, her trembling hand pushed back damp tendrils of hair from her face, and she stared at the man lying there, as if for the first time…
"Mistress, perhaps he doesn't know. No one could withstand that amount of pain and not tell the truth. We could return him to his people, maybe they would be able to help you in your search?" Luthame touched Jusana's shoulder but recoiled as she slapped his jaw, making him stagger.
"How dare you. Who do you think you are to question me? This man is guilty, whatever he may say, and I will get him to tell me what I need to know. I just have to find his weakness…"
ooooOoooo
TBC