Serial Story: English Breakfast, Part 6
This story is presented weekly in draft format.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |
English Breakfast, Part 6
“Kane Security gave me the disk,” Karen said, knowing that whatever she did, the kidnapped journalist had to come first. That was the case, and while she wasn’t employed with Kane any longer, she was definitely involved with this case. That made the victim her first priority.
Apparently there really was no escaping the past.
Her interrogator held up one hand, and the man on the other side of the glass stepped back - Clark, she remembered - ceased his torture of the victim. Karen wished she knew what they’d done to the woman. She just sat there, head hanging down, seemingly unaware of the cuts oozing blood from her arms. She must be on some sort of drugs to withstand that without even a sound.
“Much better,” the man said, drawing her attention back to him. “And what information did you get from the disk?”
She briefly thought about making something up, knowing he wouldn’t like her answer. Better to tell the truth though, in case he sensed the lie. Whether he would accept it or not would decide the other woman’s safety, which made Karen sick to her stomach.
“I honestly didn’t see anything. The guy who brought it in - Patrick - he took some photos of the screen before the whole thing blew up. I was too worried about the timer to pay attention to the data.”
He stared into her eyes for a long time, and she held his gaze, knowing that it was crucial that she didn’t look away. It was painful considering her injuries, and when he finally tilted his head in acquiescence, she just barely refrained from letting out a huge sigh of relief as the muscles beneath her swollen skin relaxed.
Closing the folder on the table, he leaned forward.
“Just one more question, then. The man who brought you the disk...this...Patrick from Kane Security. What is his last name?”
Karen said a quick, silent apology and hoped Patrick was at the agency where he had backup. “O’Neil. His last name is O’Neil.”
Her captor smiled, rising from his seat. “Very good, Ms. Winters. Now, as much as I regret causing you more pain, I’m afraid we’ll need you to demonstrate what will happen to the other woman should her research get out to the media. No hard feelings, I hope. It’s just business.” He laughed and walked out the door, reappearing moments later behind the other window. He spoke briefly with Clark, and then stayed behind while the larger man walked out of view.
Her eyes refocused on a grotesque reflection of red and purple blotches in the glass, and it took a few seconds for it to register that she was looking at herself, blurry as the image was. She turned her head, reminding herself that it looked worse than it was. Or so she hoped, as the throbbing got worse. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing, in and out, in and out. The pain dulled to a more manageable level after several minutes.
The door to her room opened and Clark entered, a thick canvas roll in one meaty, scarred hand. He set it on the table and unfurled it with a flourish, revealing a neat row of pockets. Each section contained what Karen could only assume were implements of torture.
“I don’t understand,” she managed, her lips still swollen and painfully dry. “I answered all the questions. One look at my face should convince anyone you’re serious.”
Clark shrugged, running his fingers casually over his kit. He removed a scalpel, and laid it on top, followed by a pair of pliers, and a metal syringe.
“Because I’ll enjoy it, and your colleagues will not.” His calm monotone was chilling, the slight grin on his lips more so.
“There’s no need to fear, however. The heroine will keep you from feeling much. It tends to make for better video too. For some reason, quiet acceptance of torture seems more effective to viewers than a bunch of screaming. Who knows why?”
He picked up the syringe and a length of medical tubing and came around the table.
“Don’t worry. In a few minutes, you won’t feel a thing.” Enjoy
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |
English Breakfast, Part 6
“Kane Security gave me the disk,” Karen said, knowing that whatever she did, the kidnapped journalist had to come first. That was the case, and while she wasn’t employed with Kane any longer, she was definitely involved with this case. That made the victim her first priority.
Apparently there really was no escaping the past.
Her interrogator held up one hand, and the man on the other side of the glass stepped back - Clark, she remembered - ceased his torture of the victim. Karen wished she knew what they’d done to the woman. She just sat there, head hanging down, seemingly unaware of the cuts oozing blood from her arms. She must be on some sort of drugs to withstand that without even a sound.
“Much better,” the man said, drawing her attention back to him. “And what information did you get from the disk?”
She briefly thought about making something up, knowing he wouldn’t like her answer. Better to tell the truth though, in case he sensed the lie. Whether he would accept it or not would decide the other woman’s safety, which made Karen sick to her stomach.
“I honestly didn’t see anything. The guy who brought it in - Patrick - he took some photos of the screen before the whole thing blew up. I was too worried about the timer to pay attention to the data.”
He stared into her eyes for a long time, and she held his gaze, knowing that it was crucial that she didn’t look away. It was painful considering her injuries, and when he finally tilted his head in acquiescence, she just barely refrained from letting out a huge sigh of relief as the muscles beneath her swollen skin relaxed.
Closing the folder on the table, he leaned forward.
“Just one more question, then. The man who brought you the disk...this...Patrick from Kane Security. What is his last name?”
Karen said a quick, silent apology and hoped Patrick was at the agency where he had backup. “O’Neil. His last name is O’Neil.”
Her captor smiled, rising from his seat. “Very good, Ms. Winters. Now, as much as I regret causing you more pain, I’m afraid we’ll need you to demonstrate what will happen to the other woman should her research get out to the media. No hard feelings, I hope. It’s just business.” He laughed and walked out the door, reappearing moments later behind the other window. He spoke briefly with Clark, and then stayed behind while the larger man walked out of view.
Her eyes refocused on a grotesque reflection of red and purple blotches in the glass, and it took a few seconds for it to register that she was looking at herself, blurry as the image was. She turned her head, reminding herself that it looked worse than it was. Or so she hoped, as the throbbing got worse. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing, in and out, in and out. The pain dulled to a more manageable level after several minutes.
The door to her room opened and Clark entered, a thick canvas roll in one meaty, scarred hand. He set it on the table and unfurled it with a flourish, revealing a neat row of pockets. Each section contained what Karen could only assume were implements of torture.
“I don’t understand,” she managed, her lips still swollen and painfully dry. “I answered all the questions. One look at my face should convince anyone you’re serious.”
Clark shrugged, running his fingers casually over his kit. He removed a scalpel, and laid it on top, followed by a pair of pliers, and a metal syringe.
“Because I’ll enjoy it, and your colleagues will not.” His calm monotone was chilling, the slight grin on his lips more so.
“There’s no need to fear, however. The heroine will keep you from feeling much. It tends to make for better video too. For some reason, quiet acceptance of torture seems more effective to viewers than a bunch of screaming. Who knows why?”
He picked up the syringe and a length of medical tubing and came around the table.
“Don’t worry. In a few minutes, you won’t feel a thing.” Enjoy
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Romantic Suspense
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