Fear Her Wrath II: Crucible of Glass

Chapter 32

So this was my penance for punching Gennifer in the face.

Torture scenes in movies are the chance for the hero to show what a badass she is—how much punishment she can take and still spit in the villain's face. There's banter, and wisecracks, and maybe even a little flirtation. No matter how gruesome the torturer's instruments, there's never any threat of permanent damage, and the hero, badass that she is, never cracks.

I wish actual torture was like that.

Dalton Reaves and Johnny Sabatini dragged me to the back room of the Midnight Rider and tied me to a wooden chair. That at least matched what happened in the movies. Instead of asking questions, however, they just worked me over. There was a crowbar involved. And the butt of Dalton's gun. Fritz Marlene leaned idly against a table as they pelted me with blows. After about five minutes, I had two black eyes, another cracked rib, and my nose was broken. My arms and ankles were raw from struggling against my restraints. Finally, Marlene lit herself a cigarette and sat in a chair across from me, crossing her legs.

"Roll up her sleeve, Dalton."

Dalton exposed the bruised flesh of my right forearm, and Fritz Marlene perched her lighted cigarette an inch from my skin. 

"Why did you come here tonight, fool?" she asked.

It took a moment before I could answer. Most of my mental effort my going towards trying not to cry. Luckily for me, I had no reason not to tell the truth.

"Glassface..." I said, almost in a whisper.

She jabbed the end of her cigarette into my skin. The sound I made would probably be most accurately described as a whimper.

"Hmph. So you are in his employ, and you come to my nightclub to tie up ze loose ends? How utterly expected."

I tried to set her right, but my voice was giving out. I could taste the blood pooling in my mouth. The room was spinning.

"You sure you don't want me to cut that mask off?" asked Johnny Sabatini as he cleaned his nails with a switchblade.

The proprietress of the Midnight Rider shook her head.

"We wait until Carmine iz here," said Marlene, taking a puff of her cigarette. "Zen ze mask comes off."

"Pretty sure if you cut off that mask you'll find one Amy Moody, a runaway from Bancroft," said Dalton. "Ain't that right, freak?"

He kicked me hard in the shin. My face was so swollen I couldn't have denied it even if I wanted to. I was beyond tears—almost beyond pain. The numbness that was starting to creep over my limbs felt cold and weird. Maybe a bit like death.

"I am giving any takers two-to-one that this doll is, in fact, friend to the daughter of that citizen Icemane sent to his premature expiration in the gutter on Runyon Street," said Phony Charlie in his nasally voice. "I repeat, two-to-one."

Charlie Garozzo had dumped the contents of my bag onto the table and was examining them gingerly, like he was afraid my grappling gun and smoke pellets might also be electrified.

"That's a nice price, Charlie," said Slim Chance, closing the door behind him. "Mr. Aurelio's on his way, ma'am. Almost had a coughing fit when I told him who you had."

Marlene took another puff of her cigarette, her eyes fixed on me.

"Well, we shall keep our guest very comfortable, then," said Marlene, lisping lazily over her consonants. "I'm sure she will have a lot to say when Carmine arrives."

Dalton chuckled as Marlene seared my wrist with her cigarette. It was starting to hurt just to breathe.

"How long will it be, Slim Chance?"

"He didn't say, ma'am. He was meeting with Greenwald—it could be a bit."

James Greenwald was the city councilman for this end of the Fen, but he lived out in the East Marbrose suburbs. Hopefully that meant I had a while before I was exposed as Maggie Hunt and then sent to sleep with the fishes. I tried another silent prayer for escape—not that it'd done much good so far.

"What about Mick?" asked Dalton.

"He's with a girl," said Slim Chance. "At that Oriental cathouse down the street. I ain't botherin' him, not even for this."

Dalton chuckled again. Fritz Marlene was still staring at me through her monocle.

"Colborne will be so disappointed to miss zis," she said. "What do you think? Shall I keep a finger for him? As a memento?"

"You're... sick..." I said, my teeth clenched.

She leaned forward and blew smoke in my face.

"It's been so interesting having a hero freak working against us," she said. "But you know, it could never last. Dalton, she's starting to get insolent. Remind her of her situation, bitte."

Dalton reached for the crowbar, which he had left on the table beside us. I steeled myself for another round of punishment, hoping I would maybe black out at the first blow and not feel the pain.

Whip-poor-will. Whip-poor-will.

I thought I was hallucinating at first, but the others heard it too. Dalton looked over his shoulder, and Sabatini stopped picking at his nails. Fritz Marlene paused with her cigarette halfway to her lips.

"You hear that?" asked Sabatini.

"I am glad that I am not the only one hearing things," said Phony Charlie. "For to be the only one to hear a thing in a room full of people is never—."

"Halt den Mund!" Marlene hissed. "It is zat thief. Dalton, cover ze door. Slim Chance—."

The lights went out. Johnny Sabatini swore loudly in Sicilian, and Fritz Marlene dropped her cigarette.

"What the hell is this?" said Dalton.

"He's here to save the hero freak," said Sabatini. "Let's kill her before—."

The Whippowil took out Dalton first. I didn't see how he did it, and neither did the others. There was a shout, and a thump, and Dalton's gun clattered to the floorboards. Next was Phony Charlie. He got off two wild shots in the dark before the Whippowil slammed him into the wall.

I wish I could say this was the point when I snapped the ropes binding my wrists and joined the fray, but I was too busy trying not to pass out. Johnny Sabatini was slashing blindly in the dark with his switchblade. Fritz Marlene reached into her tailcoat and took out a Luger.

"Come to me," she whispered, scanning the darkness. "Come to me, you little sparrow..."

"Godda—."

Johnny Sabatini was down. His switchblade slid across the floor to a spot just a few feet away from me. Marlene sent three shots in the direction of the Whippowil's last known location, but missed. This was my chance. With all the strength I had left, I threw myself backwards and crashed to the ground. It hurt—like, so much I actually screamed—but the knife was almost in reach. There was a thud, and "Slim Chance" Caruso landed splayed on his back. I tried to focus on the knife—on my only chance of escape—but my body was finally giving out. I fought back the darkness creeping in at my peripheral vision for as long as I could, but it was no use. Marlene was shooting again, but I could barely hear it. Everything was dull and muffled. Time seemed to slow. The cry of the Whippowil pierced through the darkness again.

Whip-poor-will. Whip-poor-will.

I lost consciousness.