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“Riot!” I bark, directing him to come over to me.
“Yeah boss,” he responds, calmly pushing to his feet from the chair in the far corner of the room.
“Bring me the blowtorch.”
My eyes never leave Jim’s. My stare bores into his hollow soul, letting him know that the pain I’ve inflicted thus far was child’s play compared to what’s about to come.
Buckle up Jimbo.
Riot walks over to the tall metal cabinet at the back of the basement and pulls out my tool of choice. As he strides over to my side, I examine Jim’s every motion cautiously. The twitch of his eye. The slight bounce of his left leg. The way his bottom lip quivers. He’s strong, really fucking strong, I will give him that, but he’s on the verge of breaking. He won’t hold up much longer.
“Here man,” Riot places the large canister in my hand.
Gripping the cool metal, I hover my finger over the trigger of the large soldering torch. “One last chance Jimbo,” I sneer, as I press down, the bright blue flame bursting from the tip.
His eyes widen, but quickly he settles back into a stoic glare. I know he’s hoping that I didn’t notice that little tell, but I did, and I’m going in for the kill.
Stepping forward, I lean in, inching the flame closer and closer to his face. His sweating increases and over the whooshing sound of the torch, I can hear him gulp, attempting to swallow his anxiousness. It’s then that I begin the countdown.
“3…”
He stares into my eyes.
“2…”
He presses his lips firmly closed.
“1…”
His upper lip twitches.
“Alrighty then.”
I lower the flame to his cheek, watching as the flesh changes color. A scream erupts from his lips and bounces off the basement walls, the soundproofing materials keeping the anguish contained. Pulling back his head, he tries to evade the flames, but I grab his hair with my opposite hand, holding him still as the tissue begins melting from his face.
“What do you fucking know about Spencer?!” I hiss. Controlled rage dripping from my voice.
In return, I’m merely met with bloodcurdling shrieks and the sweet, pungent, charred scent of melted flesh. I feel the tension in his neck going slack and his eyelids begin to twitch. Switching the blow torch off, I release my grip on his hair and step back to assess the damage. Jim’s head hangs forward, his chin resting on his chest, and I’m no closer to getting the answers I need.
I notice his chest is moving in short, shallow motions, so I reach out, placing two fingers on his neck, moving them slowly until I feel his pulse. When I find it, it’s faint. So fucking faint I can barely detect it, but it’s there.
“Shit!” I yell, setting the torch on the ground next to me. “He can’t fucking die yet. Riot! Get me the vial and syringe!”
Running one hand through my hair, I pull on the strands, as I let out a growl of frustration. Turning to Riot, I reach out and he places the small glass vial and syringe in my hand. Uncapping the needle with my teeth, I spit the tip on the floor and I draw up the ephedrine. Tapping the syringe, I press the plunger, squeezing the excess air out. Squatting down next to Jim, I grip the arm that isn’t mangled and feel for a vein. Once I’ve located a good spot, I inject the drug and sit down on the concrete floor. Waiting.
A few minutes go by and I finally hear him suck in a breath. Pushing up to my feet, I move in front of him and grab his hair, tilting his head back. With fluttering eyelids, he looks up at me and I grin.
“Good boy Jim. Thought I was gonna lose ya there for a minute. Are you ready to tell me what I need to know?”
He merely grunts in response, his eyelids fluttering, and I sigh.
“You know, you’re really making this difficult on me,” I let out a laugh laced with frustration. I'm losing my cool.
Picking the blow torch up off the floor, this time I don’t hold back. Pressing the trigger, I grip his hair again, holding him still and I bring the flame directly to his eye. The screams are unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. A mixture of melted tissue and blood runs down his cheek like hot wax. The smell is fucking nauseating, but a decade of burning people alive has at least allowed me to keep from tossing my cookies.
“Tell me motherfucker!!” I scream in his face, my words barely audible over the horrifying shrieks coming from his throat.
A slight popping sound breaks through the noise, and his eyeball slides from the socket, deflating like a ruptured bouncy ball, hanging by a thread. It’s then when mumbled words spill from his lips.
