Chain Reaction 3.1.44: Revenge

WARNING! Violence, horror. And I apologize for the limited pictures. It was bad enough to write it.

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Michael

     My neck hurts. So do my arms, and my shoulders ache. With a moan, I open my eyes to realize I also have a headache, a hangover probably.

     And I'm chained up.

     My heart rate skyrockets as I pant and wildly look around. Where am I?! What's going on?! Why?! Who?! Looking up, I see my wrists. I have to look at them because I can't feel them anymore. Who knows how long they've been above my head, and that explains why my shoulders ache since I must've been slumped here in an almost-standing position. I try to flex my hand, but nothing happens.

     No no. No no no. Oh f--k no. What's going on? I swallow back a scream. It won't do any good and will undoubtedly attract my abductor's attention. Breathe, Michael. Try to find a way to escape. I work at moving my hand again, and I manage to get it to twitch. But that's it. My ankles have a bit more wiggle-room, so I try to kick the chains loose from the brick wall. They're heavy... and loud.
     Who abducted me? Some crazed fan?
     A door opens, and the absolute last person I want to see steps through the doorway.

     "Ah, hello, Mikey. I trust you slept well?"

     "No. Oh f--k no!"

     Drake laughs evilly. "What's the matter? Not happy to see your old pal?" He puts a large black bag on a nearby table. "You owe me a debt."

     I breathe fast. "Drake... whatever it is... I'm sure we can work something out." He pulls out a knife from the bag and lays it on the table. Then another, smaller one. Then a scalpel. Then some gauze and gauze tape. F--k! 

     He laughs again. "Oh, ready to negotiate now, are you?"

     "Drake, whatever it is you're planning, let's talk. Maybe I can offer you a better deal." Oh f--k. Negotiate with Drake Goth?

     He pulls out a pair of old scissors. "I'm past negotiations, as-hat." He walks up to me and starts tracing the tip of the scissors on my chest and abdomen. I try to move away, but he just follows. "I've done so much for you, and you thanked me by destroying my chance at love. You have no idea the lengths I went through to get her back."

     Don't cry! "You killed my grandfather, though, the father of the woman you love."

     He puts his face inches from mine. "Surely you of all people can understand that sacrifices have to be made." He pulls the scissors up and opens them in front of my face, and the sound plus the fear make me want to throw up. 

      "I was planning on killing Pops, but I thought it would be sweeter if he spent the rest of his days in prison. Or worse." He reaches down and pulls on the waistband of my jeans. Then he puts the open scissors at the edge of the fabric. He starts cutting straight down.

    "No! Whatever it is, no!" I try to wiggle away from the foul scissors, but he merely smirks and keeps cutting a jagged line to my mid-thigh. "We can... We can get Aunt Emily back for you! Let me help!" I'm lying, of course, but I'm getting desperate.

     He pulls the scissors out from my jeans and laughs hard up to the ceiling. "This is why I waited for you to be conscious. It's so much more fun!" He pulls on my waistband again, it being easier this time, and he starts a line down the other leg.

     I didn't want to beg. "No, Drake. Please. Please! Whatever I can do to help, I will!" I do not like where this is going.

     "I'm far beyond seeking help now, Mikey. Thanks to you, I'm back at square zero."

     Lie to him! "But that's why you need my help! I can... I can discredit Uncle Alex. Something illegal. Something to put him in jail. I can't think of anything immediately, but if you'd just give me some time-"

     "So I can what? Huh? Win Emily over while Pops rots in prison? You're not very creative, Mikey. That ship has sailed." He cuts off my boxers in the same manner he did my jeans--but the boxers get tossed aside.

      I'm completely exposed, and he stands back and looks at me. His eyebrows raise. "I'm not into dudes, but Mother Nature was kind to you. Such a shame."

     "What? What! What do you mean by that? Drake, stop. Please!" I fight on the chains. I don't want to know what he's going to do.

     A fleeting fantasy of someone charging in to save me flies through my mind. Dad, Darrin, somebody! Drake puts down the scissors and picks up the scalpel. He toys with it, not looking at me.

     "Decisions, decisions. Do I want more pain or more damage?"

     "Please, Drake. Just don't."

     He slowly turns to me with a look that will haunt my nightmares forever--if I live. "I will never have love again. You took that from me. So now, I'm taking it from you." He steps closer to me, slowly. "Does your boyfriend love your dick, Mikey? Does he think it's beautiful? Do you like watching him suck on it?"

     Tears splotch down at my feet. "No. No, please." Darrin, help!

     "Mm! Do you like f--king his ass?"

     I yell in terror and violently fight the chains. This is a nightmare! Let me wake up! 

     Drake faces me, nose-to-nose. "Too bad that'll only exist in memory." He pushes his left arm against my torso, leaning into me and holding me fast against the wall, and he runs the scalpel down my penis, slicing it to the tip.

     I scream. And I scream again. White-hot pain sears every cell in my body.

     While I shake and cry, screaming intermittantly, he speaks again. "Do you know Emily had a miscarriage? I lost a baby. So now you'll never have children." He makes a slice at each of my testicles, and I scream at the top of my lungs, now not only in pain but heartache.

    He stands and spits in my face. I hang my head and cry loudly, watching my blood drip to the floor. The pain! Oh, the pain! I can't scream loud enough; there's no relief from it. I shriek up to my hands, expecting to see blood coming out from them as well. Surely, there's blood everywhere from this extreme agony. They're fine? But the pain! I can't escape the pain! Someone please help!

    On his way back to the table, he laughs, mocking the waves of horrendous lightning-hot shoots of mind-numbing anguish. He speaks between my yells, "Oh, but don't worry. I'm going to let you live!" He grabs hold of the heavy table and starts pulling it toward me. He has to grunt a few times to move its heavy bulk. No, no! Get away from me! "Perfect height, wouldn't you say?" He pushes it up against me, crushing my lower hips back against the brick wall. "Say goodbye, Michael." He lays out my dick on the table and reaches for the large knife.

     "NO!" I scream louder than I ever have, fighting against the sturdy, solid oak. Then, as if in slow motion, I watch helplessly as the knife falls, cutting straight through to the table.

     And everything goes black.