𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 ⇻ 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦

chapter iv

trigger warning: torture and a recount of a panic attack

❝ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ.❞

Effie awoke to pain. Not a listless throb, but a sharp, agonising pain that tore through her body like lightning. She was sitting on a chair, elbows roped to the arm of the chair, and calves to the legs. Noticing she was still in the same clothes from earlier, she gasped. A shuddering breath escaped her.

A tear rolled down her face, and although she tried to get her thoughts together, a mind-numbing hurt exploded through her shoulder. "Gonna try doing that again?"

It was Cha-Cha, standing over her with a baseball bat.

She eagerly shook her head, wincing as blood from her head seeped near her eyes. "No ma'am." The reply was probably unneeded, but good to clarify, she supposed. "We couldn't get the idiot in the bathtub, so we got you."

Then the events of last night unfolded. Idiot in the bathtub- Klaus? Luther? She couldn't remember.

She wanted to apologise, but more tape was thrust over her mouth and she sharply inhaled. The pain was poisoning her thoughts, tainting them with thoughts of escape, but she couldn't. Not when they could hurt Five.

The world needed Five more than they needed her.

"Let's waterboard her."

Cha-Cha brought a piece of cloth over her eyes and mouth, and Hazel dripped water over her face. Effie spluttered, and then choked. Her whole body trembled with the feeling of vulnerability, and at last, when the man stopped the water, Cha-Cha asked, "are you ready to talk?"

Effie shook her head, closing her eyes. She desperately wanted to say that she'd never talk, because Klaus, Five and the rest of the Hargreeves siblings were important to her.

A hand slammed into her cheek and she tasted blood. "Why won't you talk! Where. Is. Five?"

When Hazel ripped off the duct tape off of her swollen lips so she could answer, she smiled bloodily. "Nunya beeswax."

Of course, she was beaten so hard the chair broke, but it was worth it. Klaus would've been proud.

Even after five, solid hours of pain, Effie hadn't uttered a word that wasn't "no, ma'am," or, "no, sir." Even when there was blood dripping from her hair and fresh cigarette burns all across her legs, she hadn't spilt anything. She'd never even said if she knew Five or not, but judging on how she'd not begged that she'd never met him, it was obvious she was withholding information.

Sure, she'd yelp and scream and cry, but nothing came out. Nothing useful, at least. Cries of pain weren't where Five was, so it didn't help them.

Far away, a man walked across a busy road, holding his dog in one arm, his car keys in the other. When he'd put the dog into the backseat and was about to do his seatbelt up, Five spatial-jumped into the passenger seat next to him, and held a knife to his throat. "Jesus!"

"One chance. That's all you've got." Five growled, the knife glinting in the sun. "One chance to tell me exactly what's going on in that lab!" His voice raised as he spoke, and the knife dug into the man's neck.

"I-I manufacture prosthetic devices for fake patients. I bill the insurance companies and then sell them for cash on the black market."

Five was intrigued. "Including eyeballs?"