Phantoms Among Justice

V - A Beautiful Pièce De Résistance

Spade's private room was filled with the soothing sounds of Ave Maria. He was sharpening his knife as he was singing along, gently. "Ave, ave dominus
Dominus tecum; Benedicta tu in muli eribus, Et benedictus, Et benedictus fructus ventris, Ventris tuae, Jesus, Ave Maria. It is no secret among my family, I adore Latin. Such a menacing hellion as yourself would not appreciate the roots of our glorious culture." He said to his newest subject, Dallas Rooker. He had scalped him, and he fell unconscious.

Dallas laughed. "You inbred piece of shit! I'm not gonna say any-" Spade put his fingers to Dallas' lips. "Please, hush. I do not acquaint myself to such profanity. I'm not going to try to procure any information about Quentin and David." He viciously grinned, his scar coming down from his forehead to his lower lip was interrupted. "Do you already find yourself getting numb on your lower foot? Preferably your talus?" Dallas looked in confusion.

This method was one he had discovered from a very young age, and capitalized upon when he had worked under Edward. When a part of Ones body is numb due to subzero temperature, and is suddenly introduced to great heat, it pains the subject greatly. He'd never experimented with the bottom of the foot before, but since the foot was the ending point of all of your nerves, he had conjured the rest. "I take that as compliance." He had turned the very cold water away from Dallas' foot, and turned another faucet towards it. He turned it on, and for a fleeting moment, Dallas wasn't experiencing any pain at all. "Oh, three, two, one..." Spade blissfully said. When his countdown had ended, Dallas screamed. "Oh, this is working much better than I would've thought. So many things Man takes for granted, like freezing cold water, along with scalding hot water."

Spade's private room was his chambers for his acts of sadism. It was completely soundproof, and decorated lavishly. A large stereo to the right, beside his table, now playing Symphony No. 9. It was painted crimson, along with a small chandelier hanging from the top. He loved it so, he seemed to be the only one whom had appreciated this room. Partial to the fact that everyone whom had entered it, except for Edward, had never left.

By the time he was done with his method of water torture, he had moved on to his own personalized method of waterboarding torture. Regularly, it consisted of putting a towel or something of the sort over the subjects head, and pouring water over the subjects face. It simulated drowning, it was highly effective. Spade thought it too messy though, so he styled it in a way that made no mess whatsoever. His method consisted of a large plastic bag, with two sealed holes, filled with water. The water had a corrosive solution, that way when it entered Ones nasal cavity, it would create an immense burning sensation. This was the most effective way of waterboarding. He laid the towel onto Dallas' head, and retrieved his bag. He opened the seals, and placed it upon Dallas' face, and the water exited the bag and into Dallas nose. He could breathe, barely enough to keep him alive.

Four of the longest hours of Dallas' life. After his own old and new cruel abuse, Edward had entered. "Terrion? Ah. I knew you had to be in here, did you get any blood on you?" Spade shook his head. As of now, he was twisting two studded restraints into Dallas' wrist, it was atrocious. As Fate would have it, Dallas' had screamed so much that he had lost his voice. "Ess... E-Ed. You mo-mo-" this is all Edward had to hear, to be very unhappy with Spade. He backhanded Spade, with the velocity to knock him down. "Edward? What's the matter? You sanctioned his death, did you not? I thought I would be doing you a favor?" Edward furiously waved his hand in protest, as he'd had quite enough.

He looked at Dallas, and a tear came to his eye. He'd experienced more emotional pain in the past two weeks of his life, more remorse than he'd ever carried before. Some of his closest friends he'd ever had, were now departed. Joanna, Sir Peter, Mr. Michael, Glenn, formally known as The Artist, and now Dallas was dying in front of his eyes. Glenn hurt the most, he was the only one that trusted me enough to even tell me his name. Living his entire life, only his closest family, which would be Sir Peter, knowing his Christian name, it makes it revered. Therefore, an honor to know it. He'd decided in the brief interval between the time he'd walked into Spade's private room until now, to show Spade something he'd never seen before. Something that trained killers, like Vic and Santiago, had never seen before. If they did, it would emotionally tear them apart. Death... the 'light' going out of their eyes, spiritually signaling that the person was indeed departed.