Theta Waves Book 1 (Episodes 1-3) (16 page)

And there, now entering, she noted the same high desk with Herr Schöneburg in the middle, flanked on either side by men of the parish. Her chest started to tighten at the sight of them.

Her jailers dragged her in front of the desk where the men peered down at her without pity.

"Frau Gerlinde," Herr Schöneburgbegan. "You have been charged with witchcraft. What is your response to this accusation?"

"The same as yesterday my Lords." The tightening of her chest now crept up to her throat. Her jaws felt as though they would break if she moved so much as her lips.

"Despite your denial, you must understand that these are serious charges. We had hoped a night of consideration might weaken the devil's hold on your tongue."

"The devil does not have hold of my tongue, Sirs." She meant it to sound confident, but it squeaked out because the pain in her jaw had crept behind her ear lobes, and the quaking had taken over her limbs.

"Please recite the Lords prayer, Frau Gerlinde."

The Lord's prayer. She knew it, didn't she? She'd recited it enough in her life, she should know it off by heart. It should come easily to her tongue, it should exit her mouth as though it was a mere breath. Even so, nothing relieved the emptiness of her mind. She saw them wait patiently and the more they waited, the less able she was to think of the first words. She just needed the first word. Only the one, and surely the rest would spell out. Dear sweet heaven, she'd said it enough. She'd taught it to her children.

"We're waiting," Herr Schöneburg said.

She heard nothing in the chamber but for the scribbling of one of the judges onto a parchment, that and the sound of the clacking of her teeth as she tried to control the trembling. Yesterday, she'd thought it was a mistake, a foolish prank played on her by her next-door neighbor. She'd made light of the charges, had stood confidently in front of the judges. Almost haughtily. They couldn't charge her; she wasn't a witch.

"Frau, we're waiting."

"The Lord... The Lord..." Her legs felt like water.

"See how she can't get any further than the opening?" Herr Schöneburg said to the scribbler.

"I do know more, I do."

"You had yesterday and all last night to reflect on your sins, Frau Gerlinde. You have brought us no more evidence than a declaration of innocence. It's not sufficient. We must question you further."

He nodded to the jailers, who grabbed her by the elbows and dragged her out of the room into another. At first it felt blissfully warm, the broad fireplace that greeted her burned hot, and the warmth caressed her damp muscles. For a moment she felt relief. Then her gaze fell on the benches beside it with various metal tools. Three men sat in chairs, one dressed as a high official, the other as some sort of scribe. The one on the far left almost felt like she knew him, as though she should know him. But her mind was so addled, she couldn't think of anything more except the words she'd failed to say.

"The Lord is my shepherd," she blurted. She wasn't sure why that pleased her so, why her cheeks hurt so much from smile of relief.

The official inclined his head towards her almost respectfully. "Welcome, Frau Gerlinde. I am the magistrate, appointed to investigate the heinous act of witchcraft in this community. My man next to me will record and keep record the protocol. Do you understand this?"

She didn't even have it in her to nod.

"I have been given permission to put you to the question. Do you understand this?"

She swallowed but despite the deep muscle action, no water went down. The man continued.

"Confess now to being a witch, Frau. And you won't have to be put to the question."

She shook her head vehemently. She was a simple housewife, she had three children. She had a husband who loved her, a couple of cows, a pig. Some chickens. Why even just a fortnight ago, she was given a meager inheritance by her father's sister who married well and was the last of the line. Her life was a promising one.

The magistrate pointed almost casually toward the back of the room and she managed to turn her attention to where a strange contraption hunkered in the corner. Nothing good ever happened in the corner, she said to herself. Nothing ever. Corners were for secrets and for privy pots, and now it seemed they were for large hooks with chains that appeared as though they could pull a person directly off their feet and suspend them, leaving them open for any kind of attack.

She thought she said a word, she thought she protested, but what came out was a sob.

"There waits the strappado. Confess and you don't have to endure it."

There were no words anymore. Her throat was so tight, her lungs so empty, wracked with such painful gasps that she couldn't pull in enough air to relieve the burning. She was trembling in earnest now, and her legs would have gone out from underneath of her if her jailers hadn't grabbed her again. One held her stiffly upright as the other stripped the clothing from her, left her naked in her shame in front of these men. His fingers probed every inch of her body, poking into places that brought tears to her eyes and made her bite her lip.

"Does she have any charms hidden anywhere?" The official asked. And the jailer shook his head.

"Then shave her," the magistrate said.

Without soap, without water, with only a razor that looked as though it were to shear sheep, they scraped the hair from her skull, bringing blood that ran into her eyes and leaked into her mouth. She couldn't bring any sense to her mind, no words, no images, nothing. The only thing that screamed to her was terror. She had never been so frightened. As they bound her hands in front of her, and led her toward the strappado, her legs finally did go out from underneath of her and she fell onto her nose. A scream of agony tore through her, finding an exit through mouth that didn't seem to close anymore.

"Only guilt could create such fear," the magistrate said. "Begin the questioning."

She was hauled forward like a sack of potatoes, hooked into the strappado by her bound hands. They tied heavy weights to her feet and the next she knew she was lifted high into the air and the only way that she could escape the terror, flee from the pain was to let the pain take her consciousness.

"That was more terror than you've ever known," Theda said to the hood in front of her. She knew that in another lifetime this man had been a woman accused of witchcraft. She'd endured unspeakable pain in the hands of her questioners. Theda's own skin itched with it, crawled with the horror even as she sat in front of him in this day and age. There was something more in the vision, she knew, something that wanted to overtake the residual terror that Frau Gerlinde had felt. That sense that no matter how much she denied being a tool of the devil, no matter how much she had confessed in the end, the men took a perverse delight in torturing her. Yet this man in front of her, the same girl generations later, didn't so much as buckle beneath the weight of that horror.

"Take off your hood," she said.

"That was quite a trip," he said from beneath the material.

A sickening sense crept up Theda's spine, because the stoic response that might mean her salvation also meant he unaffected by what he experienced. Even so, she soldiered on.

"Enough to win me a few extra hours?"

He pulled off his hood and she could see that there was some perspiration on his neck. She would have sighed in relief except for the smile that played across his mouth.

"You may have bought yourself more than a few hours," he hedged.

A panic akin to the one she'd felt as she walked him through the girl's lifetime moved across Theda's skin, but she didn't dare ask what he meant. Instead she asked the most time sensitive question.

"You won't kill me then?"

"Not right yet." He swallowed and she watched the Adam's apple plunge down and bob back up. "How many of those rides can you take me on?"

She tried to keep his gaze as she answered, but she couldn't stand to see the hunger in his eyes. "As many as you like," she lied. "But not one after the other. I need to rest."

He straightened on his feet and looked down at her. "Then I'll wait."

It was obvious that he hadn't connected the girl to himself at all. Whether or not he was slow witted or just hungry for shame and torment, Theda didn't even want to entertain. It was bad enough she'd have to feel his finger in her mouth again, but she also had to hope against hope that his next ride would be equally as terrifying. Because what if it wasn't? What if the next life she brought him to was a peaceful one? One where he had the love of another, felt happiness. That wouldn't be a ride suitable for this man. No. He'd want to relive something torturous and she had no control over where the magic took her.

"Maybe you could untie me?" She suggested.

He swung his gaze back to her from the contemplative stare that had his gaze pinned somewhere behind her. "I love the way you joined up with Anne Boleyn at the beginning," he said. "Almost as good as a segue in a movie."

Theda chewed her lip. She'd never before seen two lifetimes in one re-vision and she wondered if indeed her current reality had merged with the magic to create some sort of transition.

"Maybe we could try different things," she prompted. "You know, to sort of mix it up a little."

She had his attention; his eyes lit with excitement. "We could try Cleopatra?"

"Or we could try something really regular. You know to heighten the contrast of the terror. Maybe something as simple as a woman lying in her bed at night, sleeping, maybe dreaming. Then moving into something..."

"Something terrifying," his eyes gleamed. "Yes, that could work."

All she wanted was to lie down somewhere, just for a few moments. Catch her breath. But now she wasn't so sure. She felt like Scheherazade trying to buy herself a few more moments of life. But in this case each moment of life might be more torturous than the end of the life she would gain.

She wished she hadn't wasted her godspit smear on Salima.

She knew she should try to ask to be released again; her shoulders ached and the burn somewhere between her shoulder blades robbed her of any thought more coherent than needing to adjust to relieve the pressure.

She didn't have time to form the words. He yanked on her hair, pulling her head backward until she heard her neck crack. He stared down into her eyes and she wished the sting of tears would wash away the sight of his greedy, proprietary gaze.

"Such a pretty neck," he murmured before his tongue ran across her windpipe, biting down so hard she gagged. She felt her voice box lodged between his teeth, felt the sway of the chair as his weight bent her further back. She expected to fall, to have her throat torn out as she went down, but he loosened his grip just enough that he could drag his teeth to her earlobe. Theda couldn't help the shriek of pain.

"So fleshy," he said. "I love fleshy." He bit down again, this time rubbing his groin against her chest. His erection was massive enough that she felt the first true twinges of terror. She prayed all he would do with it was vaginal.

"Please," she whimpered. "I can take you on another ride."

He unzipped and the fat thing fell out, all red and angry looking. She couldn't tear her gaze away.

"Nice, huh?" he said. "Most women love a big cock, but so few get to enjoy one." He rubbed the tip against her tightened mouth. "You're one lucky spitter."

She resolved to bit that disgusting worm if he shoved it into her mouth, but he didn't attempt it. Instead, he stepped away and zipped his pants back over the straining bulge. She heard her own relief exit in a long sigh. He quirked his brow at her.

"Oh, it's coming," he said. "But I'm not about to cut to the chase just yet. That's for boys who know nothing of pleasure."

He donned the hood again, posing for her. "Maybe a little asphyxiation first? Bare hands? You'll spit at me first, won't you? Nod your head, you stupid bitch."

She nodded, feeling blood trickle down her throat.

"Good. I'll give you plenty of time before I start squeezing in earnest. Make sure you aim for my eye. It infuriates me."

He lifted his hands, clawing the air, as he approached. "Then when you come to, you can take me on that ride. That should be rest enough."

She knew she should protest, but her brain wouldn't fire the language section into action. She had finally got the words formed into some sort of order in her mind when the door burst open inexplicably; it took her a few blinks and a few deep breaths before she could register that the person flying through the open door was Ezekiel. And even as she realized it, he had already made the trip across the room startling the John and jamming the Taser beneath his ear. The portly bastard crumpled to the floor on his knees and then fell to his side as Ezekiel charged him again and again. The man straightened out in a stiff seizure, the hood climbing up his face until all but the hair was exposed.

It all happened so fast that the only real thought that went through Theda's mind was that the bastard deserved it. That he deserved worse.

She collected water in her mouth, hurling herself, chair and all, at the inert form on the floor. A second man, who had followed Ezekiel into the room had made his way behind Theda and was cutting her from her bonds. The chair fell noisily behind her.