Calloused

39

They strapped Vincent down to a metal table that sat in the center of the room. They buckled the thick, leather straps around his ankles and wrists. I looked around at our new surroundings. The old brick walls were a faded brown color. It looked like they had been splattered with an unknown substance. 

The floor was made of a light cement color. The area below the table was stained with a similar, faded dark color. A small, separate table was a few feet away from where Vincent was held down. This must have been where they tortured people. 

Vincent was still knocked out as my father went to the small table. I followed him and stood next to him. I looked down at all of the tools and different knives laid out on the table. There was a deep sink in the corner as well. I noticed a few towels draped over the edge of it.

"Waterboarding?" I asked curiously. 

"Yes." My father answered before he picked up a meat cleaver. He inspected the edge of the blade. 

"Does Nonna know about this room?" I asked, picking up a hand saw from the table.

"It used to be her storage room. It was her idea to convert it into this." He smiled. His dark hair was a mess, dark circles crowded below his caramel brown colored eyes, and he looked worn out. My father had seen better days. 

I felt H place his hand on my lower back as he reached around me to grab an electric drill. He pressed the button to try it out. 

"What do you want to do?" H asked us.

"We kill him. Slowly." My father growled as he placed the meat cleaver down. 

"A wound for every life he's ever taken from us." I agree. 

"For our fallen men." H nodded.

"For Mama." I said, feeling my throat tighten slightly.

"For, mi amor." My father agreed. His eyes glistened in the dimly lit room. I could see he was still grieving for her below all of his anger. I could tell he missed her terribly. 

We stopped talking as we heard Vincent stir behind us. We turned to see him glaring at us. He had lost, and he knew it. 

"You just gonna stare at me, old man, or are you gonna do something?" He sneered at my father. My father lunged forward and grabbed his face. 

"The only reason you are still alive right now is because you must be punished before I send you to hell." My father said through his teeth. His face was inches from Vincent's. 

"Let's begin." H said, handing my father a small knife. 

He took it without hesitation. My father cut Vincent's shirt open and exposed his chest. 

"You don't have the fucking balls!" Vincent cursed at my father.

"You're not in control here. You deserve this." I snarled, grabbing another knife from the table. I dug the tip of the knife into his shoulder and dragged it down slowly. Vincent screamed out in agony. I watched as the blood trickled down his arm and onto the floor. I smiled wickedly, satisfied by the reaction I had gotten from him. I stepped away as Vincent scowled at me. He breathed heavily. 

"I should have hunted you down and killed you in Arizona when I had the chance! I should have cut that baby out of you and made you watch as I killed it! I would have loved to see you bleed out!" He screamed at me. I felt my blood run cold. 

He knew, how did he know?

My father walked around to the other side of him and sliced his other shoulder open. He screamed out again. 

"Shut your fucking mouth." H growled at Vincent. He picked up the power drill and brought it to his leg.

H held the end of the drill with two hands as he pressed the power button. He pushed the long drill bit into his knee with so much anger. The drill squealed as it sprayed blood everywhere. 

Vincent didn't scream out. His face turned red as the back of his head pressed against the metal table. His mouth was wide open, but no sound came out. His eyes were wide open, fear stained his eyes like a red stain on a white carpet. He was in too much pain to say anything. It looked like he was holding his breath.

H ripped the drill out of his leg, his chest heaving. Blood splatter was across his face and his arms. H walked back to the table and tossed the drill down. 

My father was silent, showing no reaction to Vincent's words. I hadn't told my father about Dominic or that he was a still born. It angered me that Vincent knew but exposed my secret to my father. 

Vincent cried out, his breathing shallow and uncontrolled. 

"That all... you got?" He said, taunting us more.

My father went to the sink and grabbed a towel. He filled up the bucket that was there with water. He soaked the towel before he headed towards Vincent. A pool of blood had started to gather below the metal table below his body. 

H stepped beside my father and helped him. He held the towel while my father picked up the bucket. He nodded to H.

H took the wet towel and put it over Vincent's face. My father waited a moment before he poured some of the water onto Vincent's towel covered face.

Vincent's arms and legs flailed against the leather restraints. After a few moments, my father stopped pouring water on him, and H removed the towel.

Vincent gasped for air. They didn't give him much time to recover as they repeated the process once again. Vincent thrashed and tried to escape, but he couldn't.

They did this several times before they stopped waterboarding him.

I grabbed a pair of pliers and started removing his fingernails.

The only sounds that filled the small room were Vincent's screams.

We were all silent as we took turns mutilating his body.

As the hours passed, Vincent grew weaker and weaker. His face was bruised, and his body was a bleeding mess. He had hundreds of injuries and open wounds.

The puddle of blood beneath the table had grown twice the size. We had removed his teeth and burned all of his fingertips, even his toes.

He was an inch for death.

My father stood over him, a frown across his face.

"You will no longer harm my family." With those final words, he took his knife and sliced Vincent's throat.

It was over, we had won.