The Sprinter

Chapter 21

She could hear it. The screeching. The endless scream of metal on metal. The sharpening of a knife. The sound came to her, cutting through air and darkness to reach her in her cell, to torture her. It was proof - proof that it was not over, that it never would be. Every day, every night, every moment, the screeching would come and find her, no matter where it was, it would make the journey, just to torture her. To remind her that there would always be a tomorrow, and what tomorrow would bring.

The door clunked open, juddering off the step. A gleam appeared, the unspoiled metal of the knife reflecting the yellow torchlight of the hall beyond. He left the door open. He always did. For the same reason that she wasn’t chained. They wanted her to run. They wanted her to get out, to see the hopelessness of it all, and to break. To give in. She wouldn’t. Not yet. The man came over.

It was the same man. Most of the time. Sometimes, he sent another man - the thing, she called it. But not this time. He had come himself this time. His serpentine eyes gleamed in the darkness, creating a light of their own. He clicked his fingers. Light appeared, torches around the walls of her cell, flaming up on his command.

His black hair gleamed in the torchlight. It accented every bone, every hollow of his face. It was strange, she thought, that he could be so thin, yet seem so large. In the new light, he could see her - spread across the stone floor, lying on her stomach, only barely propped up by her elbow. Her hair was strewn with blood - big gobs of it. Sometimes, when she was asleep, he would have the floors cleaned, just so that she would feel like the dirtiest thing in the room. Not often, though.

He crouched down beside her, gripping her chin in his usual fashion. She could see the knife dangling from his other hand. She tried not to look at it.

“Will it be today, Eloise?” he asked, his voice twisted around her foggy chamber, the snake-like manner of it matching his eyes. It was always the same question. Always the same. The only thing that ever changed, was the pain. Sometimes, it was harsh. Other times, not so much.

“Will today be the day that you crack? Or shall it be tomorrow? Or the day after that? You are eight now. It’s been a whole year since I took you. I think I’ll give you a present,”

Without any warning, he slipped his other hand underneath her, the hand with the knife, and ripped open her stomach. He rolled her roughly onto her back, and leaned over her. She was screaming. He snapped his fingers again, and she fell silent. Not through any magic, but simply from fear. Her voice continued to shake, her breaths heavy with the sound of her sobs.

“Do you know what most people do when they get a cut this deep, Eloise?”

She didn’t reply.

“A friend finds them, and takes them to a healer. The healer will stitch up their cut, with a needle and thread. But guess what, Eloise?” he said, his hand poised over her stomach. She couldn’t stop her trembling.

“You don’t have any friends. You don’t have any family, either. I am the only person you know. And because I am kind, I will show you what stitches look like,”

With that, he plunged his knife into her stomach. Again. Again, until she stopped feeling it. He lifted his hand up, his arm covered from the spray of her blood. He pulled her up, his nails digging into her back, opening old wounds. He forced her to look, forced her to take in what he had done to her. There were lines, a zig-zag of lines across her stomach, across the cut. Eloise gasped, and her eyes widened as her stomach rose and fell, blood oozing out of it.

“Say my name, Eloise,”

She said nothing.

“I said,” he said, placing his hand flat against her cut, “Say. My. Name.” he gritted his teeth.

“Jotkur,” she gasped, trying to speak through the pain. “You are King Jotkur,”
“Say Your Highness. Call me Your Highness. Tell me you serve me,”
“I serve you, You Highness,”

The King smiled.

“Yes. Yes you do.”

He stood up, and turned around, walking out the room.

“See you tomorrow, Eloise. And the day after that, and after that,” he called over his shoulder, without bothering to look around. Eloise collapsed onto the floor, pain writhing in her, dominating her mind and her thoughts. The metal door clunked shut. The torches vanished into darkness. And then it started again. The screaming of the metal. The promise of tomorrow. Screech, screech, screech, all through the night.

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