Blood and Beasts

Chapter 17

***Trigger Warning***

***Some disturbing imagery, torture, assault***

No one spoke to Jack for days. It was near impossible to figure out exactly how long he was kept in that room, strapped to that table. He was guessing it was over three days, less than a week though, but couldn't be sure. He knew it felt much longer than that.

He was monstrously hungry; wasting away seemed the fitting term. They weren't feeding him, only bringing him water, which they forced down his throat if he refused, and he did refuse. He was willing to bet death by starvation was much better than whatever they had in store for him.

Abraham didn't come to see him again, only other cloaked figures that would pour enough water down his throat to keep him alive, and hose him off when he soiled himself. It was a humiliating experience. They seemed to have a water pump fixed into one of the walls (though Jack couldn't see precisely since his head was still restrained), which they would aim at him and the table for a few minutes whenever they noticed a stink off of him. It was never done with care and he was always left soaking in his own filth.

They never responded to him, these other members of the Imperial Cult only carried on with the routines. Jack focused with all he had to keep his sanity. He held on to the faint hope that his mom and Cara would come and rescue him, that they would be able to figure out where he was and plot out a covert infiltration. He would glance up at the cloaked figures, each time hoping that he would see his mother's kind face, and she would get him out of this torture. He wanted to hold her again, to know things were going to be all right.

But it wasn't his mom that Jack saw the next time the cultists entered the room. The man standing over him had a black robe as well, but didn't bother pulling the hood over his face. The elderly man with a gleaming bald head and thick bifocals leered down at him with a grin stained from a lifetime of cigarettes.

"Brother Abraham has allowed me the honour of preparing you and your counterpart for the ceremony," the man said in a low clinical voice. Jack decided he must be a doctor in the real world. "The ritual will begin soon and Abraham hopes you will be sufficiently complacent. I offered a few simple suggestions to ensure this." The doctor first pulled out a handkerchief and proceeded to stuff it into Jack's mouth. Jack had been taken by surprise with this and missed his opportunity to fight back. The starvation and muscle fatigue was getting to him. He was already having trouble thinking straight. Then the doctor pulled out a small glass tube and removed the stopper.

"This is a strong muscle relaxant," the doctor said. "Mixed with a few other choice ingredients." The doctor nodded to another of the cultists, who came over to Jack and held his head still. The doctor shoved the tube into Jack's nose, holding it there until he breathed in deep. Jack tried to stop himself but the handkerchief in his mouth was choking him. "There you go," the doctor said with a malevolent grin. "The rest will be so much easier now if you don't fight it."

The effect wasn't immediate, but it was fast. Jack began to feel a numbing through his extremities, which kept growing further, and a slight haze seemed to float around everything. The candles on the walls were burning with a much greater intensity. The gleam of their fire danced off the scalpel the doctor had pulled out.

"What are you doing with that?" Jack tried to say, but the handkerchief was still clogging his mouth. The doctor walked away towards his feet and Jack lost sight of him. Then a sharp pinching pain went into Jack's right leg. He let out a muffled cry, which carried until the same pain went into his left leg. The doctor came back into view and removed the cloth from his mouth just as his cries turned into whimpers.