Chapter Thirteen "The Escape"
1614 Words
Aitkin felt energy fill his limbs as the balance of power finally shifted.
He was surprised at his own strength. He’d thought he would die here. Believed it totally, but now that belief was fading and the idea of escape was becoming real. The vitality it lent him was tremendous, as if it were being fed to him from somewhere else. As if the days of torture and terror had never even happened.
He should be too weak to even reach out to Mylus; the effect of his incarceration - no food, no water, no rest - should have left him barely able to move. Weaker than a newborn babe and utterly at the mercy of adversary.
Somehow it hadn’t. He wondered for a moment at the strange feeling inside. Was it somehow lending him strength? Would it take its toll at a later time, leaving him vulnerable again?
No. This felt different. Whatever it was he needed to stop questioning it and get on with the job in hand.
Mylus.
The man was fighting for breath, his face purpling as he gasped for air. He brought his hands up to claw at Aitkin’s fingers in an attempt to break the grip but his flailing had no effect.
“Release my restraints,” Aitkin commanded, a measure of strength returning to his voice.
Mylus tried to speak but his words came out as nothing but splutters. He waved an arm for a moment in mute protest and then gave a strangled cry as Aitkin increased his grip.
The temptation to keep squeezing was so strong. He could see the panic in the old torturer’s eyes. The desperation, the fear of death. He relished it.
Mylus’ face was now a deep purple, the thin veins standing out like roads on an old style map.
He scrambled at the clasp behind Aitkin’s head.
“No,” Aitkin said in a low voice filled with hatred and threat. “My other arm.”
Mylus let the catch fall from his shaking fingers and reached gingerly across Aitkin’s lap to the thick straps that held his right arm in place.
Aitkin fought against temptation and loosened his grip on Mylus’ throat fractionally. The darkness receded from his skin slightly as he sucked down a breath. Aitkin’s hold was still enough to keep him compliant but not enough to kill him before he’d done what was needed.
It took an extreme force of will, but Aitkin knew he couldn’t get out without the man’s help. He wanted to kill him. He yearned to see the last breath, the eyes glaze and roll back. He needed to kill Mylus, to feel the deep satisfaction it would bring.
But not yet.
Being stuck in this chair with Mylus dead at his feet would get him nowhere. If he wanted to escape, if he truly had a chance at freedom he needed to keep the vile old man alive for a little longer. He didn’t even know what waited for him outside the door to this chamber, wherever it was. Mylus was useful alive, more so than dead.
Mylus' questing fingers finally found their target and Aitkin drew his arm from the chair's rest, winding it back to flex the tired, atrophied muscles. They felt good, better than he'd expected. He worked the arm around in wide circles, then brought it up to seize Mylus' throat and give his already cramping fingers a much-needed rest.
Now Mylus had done what he needed, there was time for a measure of revenge. He released his grip, seeing the relief flood Mylus’ face. Aitkin let it stay a moment as he drew his arm back, then thundered his fist into the face he had only recently seen, but hated for so long. It felt good. It felt really good.
His knuckles connected across the Father’s cheekbone, rocking his head back. Mylus cried out loudly as he dropped to his knees, his hands coming up protectively to shield his already swelling face.
Aitkin reached up to untie the bindings that held his head in place and shook it as they fell away. A tube penetrated his abdomen, another his right thigh. He pulled them out, drawing the long needles at their ends away and dropping them to the floor in disgust.
His body and legs were still fastened to the chair and he threw another vicious punch into Mylus’ face as the old man looked up weakly. Mylus tumbled to the floor, suddenly pathetic and fragile. Aitkin thought he heard the sound of bone breaking and smiled.
He worked quickly on his remaining bonds. Within moments he was free of the chair that had held him for so many days.
He stood carefully, shakily at first and then with more confidence as the blood started to flow through his limbs.
He was naked. Looking down he could see his body was streaked with sweat from the sudden exertion and his skin held a network of thin white scars.
He felt powerful. Standing over his torturer, the man’s life in his hands, at his mercy. It felt good. Intoxicatingly so.
Mylus had gained enough composure to start dragging himself away from the patient that now towered over him. His body was slipping into the blackness where Aitkin could not see.
He knelt on one knee and clasped Mylus’ ankle. Dragged him back across the smooth floor, rejoicing at the feeling of dominance as his strength easily overpowering the old man’s struggles.
He wanted to hurt Mylus, wanted to make him feel all the agony and dread that he’d inflicted. He wanted it almost as much as he wanted his freedom and the latter demanded a quick exit.
The desires struggled with one another for superiority. Aitkin lent one his favour, wishing he could go the other way, but knowing there was no time.
He stood, placing his foot across Mylus’ already damaged throat. The Father turned his eyes away, his face pressing against the coldness of the floor.
Aitkin spoke quietly as he looked down on his former tormentor.
“Now you truly understand who has power over you, do you know the options your future holds? Have you thought about them?”
Mylus turned his eyes up to look at Aitkin. He tried to speak, but his breath gave out in a choked gasp.
The picture of weakness he looked down on disgusted him. It was everything he worried he was, deep inside. A mirror of his thoughts made real. He hated looking at that face, that fear, that miserable desperation.
In his heart, he knew he was not a malicious man, but the sight of Mylus, a man who had inflicted such pain, such terror, now reduced to nothing, made him wonder if he could be.
He leaned onto his raised foot, the pressure cutting off Mylus’ air again. He glanced briefly around the darkness of the room, still seeing nothing but the shaft of light, the chair, spilled drops of blood where he’d pulled out the tubes.
If anyone was watching they were leaving it late to intervene. If there was an audience they clearly didn’t believe Mylus was worth saving. That told him everything he needed to know. He turned his eyes back down.
“Have you realised your belief you may stay alive is ultimately misguided?”
Without another word, Aitkin stamped down hard.
Aitkin stepped out of the light, leaving the body of Mylus behind as he gingerly sought his way through the blackness in search of his exit.
#
"Aitkin Cassini has started the next stage," Natasha In'Tuen said simply.
“Good,” Was the only response.
“I will continue to monitor until the situation is resolved to our satisfaction.”
The speaker remained silent.
“He killed his Father,” She added.
“This was not expected.”
“Agreed. The evaluation suggested strongly he would not succumb to the temptation.”
She waited.
“If that was incorrect can the remainder of the results be considered accurate?” The voice asked.
“The science is not a certain one,” she replied. “Anomalies are not uncommon.”
“Such an action could be considered more than an anomaly.” The response was filled with judging suspicion.
Natasha knew she would be questioned over Aitkin’s actions the moment his foot came down. He was not supposed to act with such impulses. He was supposed to be steady, rational, dependable.
“He will return to the path set for him. This is simply a result of his extended incarceration.”
Her statement was greeted with a moment of contemplative silence.
“It is not too late to reset-”
“Trust the method.” She cut the voice off. “The Fatherhood will deliver.”
Another pause.
“Understood.”
Natasha closed the connection and sat back, crossing her arms.
Aitkin Cassini had been full of surprises. His fortitude, his guile and now this. She wondered what else he'd do that went against the predetermination.
On her viewing pane, she watched the body for a moment. So still. So lifeless, although she knew better than to believe that stillness came from death. It was something else, something special, created for a purpose and carefully maintained until they got the answers they sought.
It would take time. It always took time when they chose this route. Rare as it was, they were the experts and they had taken the decision to change the game.
Aitkin had no idea. She almost pitied him for his ignorance. He would fight on, she knew, but eventually, they would steer him to exactly where he needed to be and then they would finish it.
She wondered if it had even occurred to Aitkin to consider why the knife Mylus had used at every other waking had not been in his hands.
- Writer
