The Broken & The Punisher

Chapter 11. "It isn't going to be my blood."

'What the absolute fu*k.'

Mary's eyes darted around the small room she had been locked in. The same one as earlier. She noted the things she hadn’t been able to see while strapped down on the table, like the collection of blades that sat in neat rows on the counter. She stared at them for a long time, wondering why someone would need that big of a selection while also not being able to choose which one from them she wanted.

To say that Theo had made a mistake would’ve been an understatement. Sure, she couldn’t exit the room without the passcode. She had already tried for half an hour to get through the steel door to no avail. But, when he got back, she would be ready and waiting with an assortment of weapons he had so stupidly supplied her with.

She tucked a reasonably sized scalpel into the waistband of her pajamas before moving on to the heavier equipment. She pulled a hammer off the wall and gripped it tightly, twisting it as she contemplated how much damage it could do, she mimicked the actions of breaking Theo's skull with it, by raising it high above her head, and in full swing.

When her eyes locked onto a blowtorch, the hammer slipped from her grasp and clamored onto the counter as if accepting defeat itself. She inched closer, going so slow, as if she were afraid that the shining blowtorch would run from her. She reached out her hand and brushed her fingertips over the cool, metal surface of the acetylene tank.

"Yes."

A smile crept onto her face as she lifted the torch and twisted the knob for the oxygen. She picked up the sparker and laughed when a flame rushed from the torch as she clicked it. It was beautiful. She shook her head and pulled on the nearby welding mask before she melted her eyes by peering directly at the flame.

With the mask secured, she lifted the torch a foot away from my face.

"Beauty." That’s what she had seen. Blue, red, orange, and yellow shone in the blaze like a firework show, and she realized it had been years since she had been outside on the Fourth of July to see it. It made her long to watch the fireworks, something that had never happened while she was locked away in her late husband's house.

She waved the torch through the air, pretending it was a sparkler and laughing as she did. She remembered being a young girl and trying to spell her name out with the smoke. It didn’t work so well in the room, and the smile vanished from her face. Sadness and rage competed at the forefront of her brain, and she didn’t know whether to cry or scream.

So... she did neither.

Her jaw clenched as she brought the flame to the counter, drawing a trail of red, down on the countertop that soon darkened to black. After a thick black line ran down one side, she did it again, and again. She focused on coloring the counter until the smoke drifted behind the mask and the first cough came from her lungs.

She turned off the torch and ripped the mask off before dropping them both and slapping a hand over her mouth. She’d gotten too carried away. The room was smoky and it reeked off the charred countertop, making her instantly regret her “little episode” as she was sure Theo would have called it.

"Theo. What would he say when he sees what I had done?" She thought, but another thought popped up. 'But then again He wouldn’t say anything because He might not even see it... before he bleeds out on the floor.'

She pulled the scalpel from her waistband and studied it in her hands. It was the best choice. She was sure of it as she twirled it around, allowing it to glint off the fluorescent lights in the room. All she would need to do was jab it into his neck as soon as he came back. She would need to catch him by surprise, but that shouldn’t be too difficult. After all, who would be afraid of a tiny, delicate woman? The thought had always made her scoff.

She smirked through another cough and sank to the floor where there was less smoke. Theo almost had her fooled. She had found herself feeling sorry for him when she had woken up to him bandaging her wounds. The crazy focus he had, and that look in his eyes. She knew for sure that he wasn’t right in the head.

She had almost forgiven him for kidnapping her and almost pitied him if he hadn’t flipped out and stuck her back in here, and after seeing that bullsh*t alpha male side of him, she couldn't make the mistake of trusting him.

'It was a shame that he had to die, a damn shame.' She imagined he would’ve made a nice companion. Better than Ricky. After he died, she was sure she’d still find herself running a hand through that beautiful hair, she really wanted to do that, just once.

She sat on the floor for a long time, her eyes closed and her lungs were strongly disapproving of her earlier behavior. She thought of Theo and the way his hands had felt against her skin. No man had touched her stomach in years, and never like 'that'. She wanted more of it, craved it. So much that she considered abandoning the plan she’d been so sure of a short while ago.

She set the scalpel on the floor and ran her hands over her flesh. She didn’t need to. She had memorized the feeling of each disfigure long ago, but it still felt nice. She pretended it was Theo’s palm that skated across her skin. She wanted him to look at her with that burning intensity again. But that couldn’t happen, could it? He had those blades for a reason. If it wasn’t his blood on the floor, it would be hers.

"I wouldn’t spill any more of my blood for a man." She opened her eyes with determination in them and picked the scalpel back up, gripping it in her palm as tight as she could.

"It wouldn’t be my blood." She vowed and waited there a while longer before the lock disengaged. She jumped to her feet and held the scalpel at her side, ready to strike as soon as Theo appeared. Her heart raced a million miles a second, and her spring-loaded muscles ached to pounce, but it wasn’t Theo who came through the door first. It was a metal cart he was wheeling.

Her eyes widened as she zeroed in on the unconscious body of a man lying on the cart. He had a lump on his forehead that took on a purplish tint, and he jolted as the cart bumped into the table.

Her mouth hung open in shock and her eyes followed the man, the one she assumed to be the next victim. Theo was sick, very, very sick, and it became crystal clear as he came through the door with a crazed look in his eyes she was beginning to recognize.

"Hello," Theo said as if this wasn’t all kinds of messed up. His eyes darted from her, and it was the only sign that gave her the slight inclination that there was some part of him that felt shame for what he was doing.

She stepped away from him as he fully entered the room, despite her earlier plan to stab the scalpel through his neck. The hand holding the blade shook at her side and she at least had the sense to wrap it behind her back.

Theo still hadn't looked at her as he shut the door to the room, the insidious clicking of the metal solidified her fate.

She realized that she had missed her chance.

Her eyes darted between the man on the cart and Theo who looked at him as if he were a perfectly cooked steak. She thought Richard was cruel, but he couldn’t compete with the psychopath before her. The dangerous vibe that lingered around him didn't just ache for violence, it ached for death, and the darkness in his eyes screamed of a 'gruesome death'.

"Don't be afraid." Theo's voice pulled Mary out of her thoughts. There was something in his tone. Something she couldn’t identify. He added, "I'm not going to hurt you."

'He doesn't expect me to believe that, does he?' She thought while he wheeled the cart next to the table and turned his back, and flinched as he spotted the countertop. The muscles in his back tightened and his head tilted in the direction of the blowtorch before his eyes roamed toward the ceiling, just now noticing the smoke.

"What the fu*k?" Theo whispered.

She snapped out of her fearful state and gripped the scalpel tighter. She had forgotten about getting out of the room, about Theo being the only person with the passcode. Pure fight-or-flight instinct took over as the adrenaline surged through her veins.

She lifted the blade high above her head and charged at Theo with a feral cry, aiming for his neck. It was him or her. Time moved in slow motion with the steps that she took to close the distance. Her arm felt sluggish as it brought the scalpel down toward Theo's neck. His eyes widened, and his reaction was much quicker than hers. He gripped her wrist before it could reach him.

He squeezed her wrist and urged her backward, her ass bumping into the wall. Despite all her strength, her fist opened and the scalpel fell from her grasp, clanking onto the concrete floor.

"No!" Mary screamed, shaking her head.

...

to be continued