A Dissection of the Heart

Steeling Herself for the Show

They had walked just a few feet into the mansion when they were stopped by a large bald man in a suit. “Jakkasu, koko ni baishunpu o tsurete kuru koto wa dekimasen!” (You can't just bring your wh.ore in here, jacka.ss!) The man yelled to them gruffly, folding his arms across his chest in a show of bravado. “Uh oh,” Speciale tsked, “Shouldn’t have said that…”

Rosalind raised an eyebrow and tilted her head in an ‘oh really now’ look. “Heh,” Rosalind chuckled before squaring her shoulders and began in on him, walking up to him as she spoke. “Moshi watashi ga jissai ni baishunpudatta to shitara, anata no dochira no kirainahito mo watashi o kau yoyū ga nai koto o hoshō suru koto wa dekimasen. Sate, anata wa karera no iu koto o shōmei shite iru to omoimasu. Kurasu o kōnyū suru koto wa dekimasen. Sorede, mōhitotsu no chansu no ōkina otokonoko, watashi ga anata to hayaku hajimeru mae ni, anata ga watashi ni anata no otoko o gōmon shite hoshī tokoro ni watashitachi o misete kudasai.” (If I were, indeed, a wh.ore then I can guarantee neither of you assholes would be able to afford me. Now then, I guess you're living proof what they say, you can't buy class. So, one more chance big boy, show us to where you want me to torture your guy before I start early with you.)

By the end of her terse rant, she was on her toes in his face while the man leaned away from her nervously. He glanced to Speciale, his eyes pleading for an escape from this crazy woman. Speciale smirked and placed a hand on Rosalind’s shoulder, pulling her back down. She was fuming so he didn’t release her even though he doubted she’d do much more to him just for being an i***t.

“Kore wa rozarindodesu, kanojo wa watashi ga tsurete kita gōmon no senmonkadesu. Watashi ga anatanara kanojo no iu koto o shimasu.” (This is Rosalind, she's the torture specialist I brought in. I'd do what she says if I were you.) The man gave a quick nod and hurried down a hall to his left, glad to be farther away from her. They followed behind the man, Rosalind grumbling insults under her breath as Speciale chuckled at her.

A right turn at the end of the hall led them to a doorway. The bald man threw it open, revealing a set of steps leading down into a deep darkness. So we’re going a ways down, huh? Rosalind thought to herself as the pair followed the man into the dark. Either there wasn’t a light switch at the top of the staircase, she mused, or he didn’t bother flipping it on the way down. But Speciale kept his almost bored demeanor, somewhat reassuring her that they were at the very least not following this man into danger.

As the darkness swallowed them at the base of the stair, Rosalind paused. She squinted into the shadows, letting her eyes adjust for a moment. Much to her detriment, it would seem, as the bald man easily made his way across the space to flip the lights on without warning. She hissed at the white flash before allowing herself a moment to look around.

They were in a lavishly decorated waiting room, fine furniture and an expensive looking persian rug sat in the center of the room, facing a wall with a large window staring into blackness. The window was bordered by several large screens, also blacked for the moment. On the opposite wall was a full service bar, she supposed it was for the benefit of the heads of the yakuza gang they were guests of. A set of doors near the bar led to a tidy bathroom, she noticed, and a large steel door was situated by the screen-surrounded window.

“We’re through there,” Speciale said nonchalantly, noticing her staring at the metal door that seemed so out of place in the space around them. Rosalind did little more than nod, giving him a small smile. She was nervous, or perhaps nervous was not the correct word to describe how her nervous system buzzed and hummed with the mounting tension of what was to come. Her conscious nibbled at her confidence in the back of her mind. With a small sigh, she pushed herself forward to join her friend at the metal door.

With a great, creaking protest the door was pushed open, allowing them access to the blackened room that stank with the iron of old blood and something else, the sickly sweet stench of decay. Speciale flipped a switch and a set of overhead fluorescents flickered lazily to life. Rosalind raised an eyebrow as she surveyed the space, numbly closing the steel door behind her just as noisily as when they had opened it. “They really need some WD-40 for that b.itch,” she joked to Speciale who laughed and shook his head. “Maybe they think it’s scarier this way?” He joked back.

Rosalind noticed that what she thought was a window on the wall behind her was actually a two way mirror, now a shiny silver surface reflecting the dingy but spacious concrete box they were currently standing in. All the richness was left in the other room, a row of cabinets and countertop lined the wall across from her, a deep sink set into the counter. A row of hooks were set into the wall next to the door and she noticed the table in the center of the room. It was almost like an embalming table, though with arms out to the side and a series of straps down the sides. A small table was sitting off to the side of the torture table, presumably for instruments.

“You got the electric kettles I asked for?” She turned to Speciale, who had taken a seat beside the mirror. “Uh, yeah?” He responded, “Though I still don’t know why you need six big kettles.” She smirked back at him, settling into her old, cold persona. It was all coming back to her, like muscle memory. “Just go fill them up and make sure they’re on high.”

She didn’t wait for a response from him, she strutted over to the table and set down her case. A glance over to the hooks and she could see he had also gotten the hangers and clothing bag she had also asked for. Rosalind very nearly skipped in her heels over to the hangers, gently taking off her coat and slipping it onto a hanger. She then reached for the zipper on the side of her dress and eased it down, easily shedding the silky fabric to reveal the lacey bra and cheeky underwear she had on underneath. She added her dress to a hanger and slipped the outfit into the garment bag, zipping it closed after.

Out of the corner of her eye she took note of Speciale’s smirk as he looked her up and down. Turning gracefully on her heel, she shot him a wink and sauntered over to her case with a giggle. “All done!” He called across the room as he walked back to his seat. “Thank you, sweets!” Rosalind purred back. At the table, she looked up. Cameras. Guess that’s what the screens are for, they want a show… Well if they want a show, they were going to get a show.