Asylum

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

    Jose was sitting in a chair when the door opened and Manson entered. “Come with me please,” he said with a cold voice and a murderous glint in his eyes.

    “What is the meaning of this?” asked Jose.

    “Just come on,” said Manson. He entered the room, grabbed Jose roughly by the arm, and dragged him out and down the hall.

    “No need for that.”

    “Oh there is every need for that,” said Manson. “Worthless shit.” They walked down a long hallway and then turned a corner. At the far side of the hallway, leaning against a wall, was a chair. It had black leather straps around it. Manson pushed Jose forward a little bit more and then pushed him into the chair.

    “What the hell?” asked Jose.

    “Calm down,” said Manson, his tone becoming sharper. “Why did you bring the students here?”

    “Because I wanted to see it...I had been here before...and I wanted the students to get a firsthand account of something old and something somewhat creepy,” said Jose.

    “Wow,” said Manson, “I don’t remember you here.”

    “You might not have been here when I was. It’s all a bit different to me now....everything...” Jose said.

    “Perhaps not. And oh it is a different place,” said Manson, “very different than what you remember. Martin was still here of course, though he was hidden. He didn’t wanna make himself known. And the werewolves weren’t here yet. That was all me. What do you think Bill? Should we release the damn wolves and kill him? Or should we use this chair that we have acquired at an antique shop on the mainland?”

    “The chair,” the guard named Bill said.

    “That actually doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” said Manson.

    “Wait why the hell are you doing this? And who is this man you call Martin?”

    “He is a man who was speaking to your boys earlier on. He told them some very interesting pieces of information that I shall not repeat.”

    “What why?”

    “Just shut up. Bill. Shut this asshole up.” Bill stepped forward with a balled up rag in his hand and shoved it into Jose’s mouth. He was screaming through the rag, trying to make some sense of what was going on. The rag shut him up. He  screamed, but it was muffled. No one could hear it.

    Except the men in the room.

    The chair was hooked up. It was an electric chair.

    God what are they doing to me? Jose thought. His brain was going a mile a minute trying to wonder why these people were doing this to him. He was being strapped down...he couldn’t let this happen...

    He fought.

    Or tried too.

    The men were subduing him so he couldn’t move and he was strapped down. He didn’t want this...didn’t need it...he needed to know why? Why? Why the hell they would be doing this. One of the men rammed a clip into his machine gun roughly and another one took out a knife and it looked as if he were sharpening it on a piece of flint. What was going on?

    Jose was struggling against the straps that he was bound with.

    “Oh stop moving,” Manson said. He raised his fist and struck Jose. Blood sprayed from his mouth, along with spittle. He spit out a couple of shards of shattered teeth. He felt a pain going slowly down his throat. He must have swallowed a couple of pieces.

    His head slumped down. Blood ran down his chin and dripped onto the floor. Then the pain.

    The blinding pain that coursed through him.

    The electrical currents flowing through his body weakening him, making his arms and legs feel like jelly. He was shaking as if he was having a seizure. He could feel the electricity flowing through him and he just wanted to die, he wanted to end it, he wanted to get the hell out of this life because at that moment he didn’t feel worth anything...he would just be better off dead.

    Then just as it had begun it stopped.

    He was slumped in his chair. Electricity continued to course through him until then that stopped as well.

    Sweet relief, he thought. The straps were loosened and he was led back into his cell.

    “Ignorant little bastard,” he heard Manson mumble and then he was out.

    Blackness.