The Heart's Ashes (65 page)

“
If you stopped to look at yourself for one minute, with all
your scars, your high-maintenance girlie issues and your lack of
anything intelligent to say, you’d have realised that.” His voice
gave away his position behind me. “But, you’re really just too
young and dumb to see past your own nose.”

As if a mask
of heartache saturated my face, the corners of my closed lips
arched downward and my teeth chattered inside my mouth.

No. I know it was real. His love—it was real.
This
is the lie—it has
to be.

The darkness
of the fire-lit room became an orange ocean as tears filled my
eyes, pooled there like a lens, then rolled out over the sides of
my face. I wanted to wipe them away, but was too afraid to even try
moving an arm, not wanting any confirmation that I was trapped—that
this was real, that Jason, the boy who saved me at Karnivale, could
really be doing this to me.

“
Stop crying,” Jason muttered impassively from somewhere
behind.

“
What are you doing back there?” I asked, my ragged sobs
allowing only a small voice.

He took a deep
breath through what sounded like his nose, and something heavy
clunked on something tinny. “I’m getting things ready.”

Ready? I
closed my eyes and rolled my head to the side, wishing I could
scratch away the itch of salty tears. My nose, crinkled, trying to
shake off the irritation, and as I opened my eyes, saw the tiny,
open-mouthed skeleton of what looked like an infant.

“
Is that real?” I asked, all tears, itches and fear stopping
with my heart.

Jason appeared
beside me and looked up too. “Yes, there’re no Halloween costumes
around here. That, my dear,” he leaned closer, whispering in my
ear, “was my brother’s handy work.”

David, holding
a screaming baby in his arms—killing it? “I don’t believe you.”

“
Believe what you want—doesn’t matter to me.”

I swallowed,
looking away. He’s right. He’d have no reason to lie to me—not now,
it’s not like I’d ever see David again.

While he
‘prepared’ things behind me, I searched for something in the room
to open a conversation over; maybe make him relax, relate to
me—help me. “Jason, what’s that metal cage—the thing shaped like
legs?”

“
That—” Jason pointed to it, “—is the Coffin. You’ve heard of
it in your History studies.”

Damn. Playing
dumb won’t work. “Ur, yeah, I remember now.” My mouth dried seeing
one for real, though. I’d seen all sorts of medieval torture
implements, but never the Coffin. Imagining people had actually
died in there was sickening, but the History student in me was
somewhat fascinated. “Was this place only used to torture
vampires?”

“
Yes.” He rested his elbow on the chair beside my hip and
smiled, becoming the light, carefree boy from my dream. “Hey, d’you
know what our favoured method of torture is here—still in practice
today?”

“
Humour me.”

He wandered
over to an iron shelf on the wall opposite my feet and grabbed
something. “This method was known as Toe Wedging. You see, we take
this little guy—” he held up a small triangular block of wood,
“—and place it under the toenail.”

I tensed,
panic rising, making my toes flex as the splintery block parted a
tiny bit of flesh from nail.

“
Then, we take this hammer—” He held up the rusty old mallet.
“And bang!”

I jumped
involuntarily, snapping my eyes shut tight. But nothing
happened.

“
Relax, Ara. I’m not going to use this on you—unless you have
something to confess?” he suggested.

I shook my
head.

He wandered
away again and came back with an oddly-shaped metal thing, almost
like a really small hot-air balloon. “This is called the Pear of
Anguish.”

Okay,
pear
,
that’s a better comparison. “What do you do with that
one?”

“
Well, the torturer inserts this little baby into any number
of orifices. The mouth for a liar, anus for a homosexual, and
vagina for a whore or a woman who miscarries. Then, he’d wind this
little key here—” He twisted the top of the thing and it opened out
in four arms. “See?”

“
And that’s it?”

“
That’s it? What’d you mean
that’s
it
? Do you know the extent of mutilation
this, when opened completely, would cause?”

I thought
about that for a second.

“
Especially if the torturer decided to rip it out—” he thrust
his hand backward quickly, “—while it was still open.”

I nodded.
“Okay. Message clear.”

“
Good, because you’ll be seeing this again.” He threw it on
the shelf with a loud, echoing clunk.

“
What do you mean?” I tried to sit up a little to look at him,
but my dead-straight arms made it impossible to move higher than a
stomach crunch. “Jason, tell me you’re not going to use that on
me.”

“
Of course not. But this is still one of Drake’s favourite
toys. Especially with you, my dear, since you have the ability to
heal.”

“
Kill me!” I shook my wrists in the cuffs. “Just kill me,
please, Jason. Don’t let him do that to me. Please don’t let
him—”

“
Shh, hush now.” He stroked my hair. “Don’t be afraid. Pain is
not the worst you can suffer.”

“
How is it not?”

“
I’ve lived a long time, Ara,” he started, his eyes becoming
distant. “I’ve seen men, vampires alike, rise above, even overcome
agony to survive. Pain is only pain. But there are always things
man himself cannot fathom—things that drive one to madness, making
animals of good people, fuelled by instinct alone. All manner of
survival will become acceptable to you soon, Ara, and in that, you
would even give up the life of a child to survive it. We all do. It
is, essentially, human nature.”

“
Ple-e-e-he-ease.” My eyes shut tight. “Please let me go. I
can’t do this. I can’t take this.”

“
But you will,” he soothed, his lips against my brow. “You
will surprise even yourself, my dear.”

“
I don’t want to. I don’t want to know what I can survive.
Just kill me. Please. You loved me. You told me you cared for me.
There has to have been some truth to that. Jason!” I called angrily
when he disappeared from sight. “Jason, don’t leave me like this.”
I shook violently against my confines, tearing at the skin on my
wrists. But it didn’t matter. If I could break free, I’d take the
pain, I’d rip my entire arm off to get out of here. Anything. I
don’t care. “Jason!” My voice came back so high-pitched, laced with
raw fear, like a mother screaming for a child walking toward the
road.

All I could do
was cry, louder and more broken than I’d ever cried before, and
even that wouldn’t save me.

He left me,
and in the rotation of time passing, the weight of everything to
come bared down on me, the fear of pain to come making the room
feel open, full of things I couldn’t imagine. Once I was on the
other side, once he’d cut me or struck me, I’d know how bad it
could get, but now, like this, just waiting, I had no idea.

The worst pain
I could remember was when I broke my arm falling off Dad’s roof.
Everything Jason did to me at the masquerade had somehow escaped
me; I couldn’t feel it anymore, couldn’t recall what it felt like,
no matter how hard I tried. I remembered the emotion, the fear, the
feeling that so much was lost—more than just my life. I remember
that, but not the pain.

With my arms
bound to the chair, outstretched, and my legs tied, sitting
slightly apart, I felt too exposed, as if waiting for a sack of
flour to drop on my midsection. There was no way to cover myself,
to block whatever he might think to do to me. I just wanted to roll
over and hug my knees to my chest.

“
Finished your little temper tantrum?”

I looked
across the room to Jason, one foot tucked up where he leaned on the
wall, his arms folded, a smug grin warming his face.

“
Not if it means you stay over there.”

He appeared
beside me. “There will come a point where I will be obliged to do
my job, tantrums or none.”

I studied his
face, unable to see any sign of the monster that tortured me last
year. “I don’t think you can hurt me, Jason.”

Releasing a
sigh, his whole demeanour changed. “Wow, you are naive, aren’t
you?”

“
I hope not.” I focused on his eyes, on the dark green ring
encircling the bright colour, hoping somewhere in there he might
realise how, in all his pretending, maybe he really did love
me.

He pressed a
fist to hide his laughter, looking away. “You know I can read all
those thoughts, don’t you?”

“
So?”

“
Okay. Fine—you’re not getting it. I’ll show you.”

The urge to
break free tightened my collarbones as Jason reached into the realm
of the unknown, behind me, grabbed a stool and sat by my side,
flipping a pair of pliers in the air.

“
I’ve been given permission to perform any number of tortures
on you. Of course—” he shrugged, taking my fingertips in his, “—I
have a list I must follow, but this—” He rested the pliers to my
fingernail. “This one I’ll throw in for free.”

My throat
knotted with realisation. “Please,” I cried, my weary voice
trembling. “Jase? Don’t?”

He shook his
head, smiling down at my hand; “You just don’t get it, do you?”

Each breath
came from my lungs, voiced with the sobbing despair of fact; he’s
got to be kidding. He can’t do this. People don’t just go around
pulling out other people’s nails. The pliers clamped and a rush of
liquid lead flooded my arms.

“
Don’t. Don’t.” I curled my fingers, wishing to pull
away.

He inched the
pliers further under the rim of my nail, sending tears out over my
unblinking lashes. Please. You can’t really be doing this. This
isn’t real.

“
Oh, but it is.” He leaned over my hand, his head blocking my
view. A hot rush of panic rose up inside me with a sharp, tight
stinging under the nail bed—pulsing then numbing as he tugged
downward. My hand seized up, locked, wide eyes bulging as the
shaking in my elbow spread out, dragging a searing vein of agony
behind it.

I screamed,
ploughing my elbow into the arm of the chair. He only gripped
tighter, kept wriggling those damn pliers from side to side, the
tugging sensation coming from somewhere bone deep.

“
Please. Please stop!”

Jason released
his hold, leaving my nail attached. Cold blood rushed through,
throbbing in the tip of my finger, threatening to push the
dislodged nail out.

It is real.
All of it. It’s real. He lied to me. He really lied. He trapped me,
and I’m stupid for believing him.

The pain
seared, pulsing around my elbow and my pinkie, of all places. My
finger involuntarily straightened, shaking on its own.

I just want
the pain to stop. I just want to feel normal again.

“
It’s not going to stop, Ara. There is much, much worse to
come.” He sat back down and stroked his fingers over my arm. I
couldn’t feel his touch under the pain, only see him doing it.
“
This
is what
torture is. Now, it’s time for another round.”

No! No more—I can’t take it.
My
mouth gaped; a wavering sound of desperation curdled in the back of
my throat as Jason lifted the throbbing finger and rested the
pliers to it. My lips pressed together, trying to form a word, but
a spluttering mess of spit and tears only came out
instead.

Please
, my mind managed,
Please, no more.

“
Oh, we get it now, do we?” he asked and pulled the pliers
away.

The shaking of my shoulders masked my nodding head, but he
knew. How could he not know I agreed to his terms?
No more. No more.

“
So, there will be no more of this hoping-I’ll-rescue-you
business, no more believing I loved you?”

No. No more.
I breathed heavily,
shaking, cold all over.
No
more.

The pliers
clinked on the tinny-sounding thing behind me, and my mind focused
only on the sear through the bone of my finger as it vibrated up my
arm, making the raw burn around my wrists and ankles, probably torn
from kicking against the cuffs, throb.

“
Stop crying,” he said apathetically, “you brought this upon
yourself.

“
No. You’re just a monster,” I whimpered.

“
Yes,” he said, and sighed. “I tried to tell you this, but you
just see the good in everything, don’t you?”

“
Why?” I asked with a jagged inhalation. “Why did you lie to
me—”
why did you kiss me, hold me, save
me?

“
The wicked games we play with our prey.” He took my hand in
his; the numbing under the tip of my sore finger pulsed like a
bulbous cyst. “I expect David never demonstrated the
hunt.”

I don’t care. I don’t
fucking
care.
Waves of heat,
thrashing in bursts of contempt and malice, rolled through me.
Games. I was just a game? That’s not fair!

With a tight breath through my teeth, I turned my head to
look at him.
Let me go! You let me go,
now. You have no right to do this.