Teaser Tuesday aka Jesse's Cryptic Torture Scene
...it makes more sense in context.
---
The mobster woke up to a dark room, the back of his neck incredibly painful. He felt disoriented, barely aware of the fact that he was sitting in a chair. He registered even less that he was being watched.
“What’s your name?” the darkness said in a low voice.
He had to think for a moment. “Jim Lloyd,” he said, breathless.
“You’re lying. What’s your name?”
The man said nothing.
“Fine. That’ll come later.”
A dim light briefly blinded the mobster, who recoiled from its glare until his pupils adjusted from total darkness to near-total darkness. Now he could see the outline of the voice’s owner, immediately recognizing the crown of strawberry-blonde hair.
“Oh god,” the mobster said, starting to breathe heavily as he broke out in a cold sweat. “Please don’t kill me. Please, please.”
“Killing you is not in my plan, but I cannot guarantee you’ll walk out of here unscathed. It depends on how well you cooperate with me.”
The man squirmed in his seat. For the first time, he realized a series of ropes bound him, hand, foot, abdomen, and neck, to the chair. Jesse leaned over him.
“Who is the current leader of the mob?”
The man said nothing, turning his face away from Jesse’s and whimpering. He screamed as Jesse’s foot came down on his kneecap. The bone shattered under his seemingly superhuman strength.
The man fought off tears, tasting blood and realizing he had bit his lip so hard he had pierced skin.
“Who is the current leader of the mob?” The words were slower this time, measured, with more gravity.
The man kept his silence, unsure which he feared more - the wrath of the mob, or Jesse.
The decision was made for him as Jesse smashed his elbow.
“My name is Allen Huxley!” he screamed through the shock of pain.
Jesse smiled.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
He stepped back as Allen wept openly, half of his body now next to useless.
“So, Allen,” he said, starting to walk in circles around the chair like a cougar stalking prey. “It’s been over a year since I’ve had a reliable inside source on the mob. What’s changed? Who’s in charge?”
Allen said nothing, pain and terror interfering with his ability to think. Jesse let his fingers trail across Allen’s nose, gentle against his sweaty flesh.
“You know, if hit hard enough, the nose can kill you,” he said. “All you have to do is manage to push the bone into the brain and the victim dies. It’s easy enough, if you’ve practiced the technique. You can trust that I have. It’s quick and easy and makes for a relatively clean corpse. But, of course, pain can kill you too, if you get hurt enough. It’s your choice, Allen. Cooperate and leave with only the injuries you currently have, refuse to speak and die from slow pain, or become a martyr and I’ll kill you on the spot.
“Who is the current leader of the mob?”
Allen sniffled.
“You… how do I know you won’t kill me when you’ve got the information you’re looking for?” he said, his voice weak with pain.
“I could promise, but you wouldn’t believe me. Plus, you believing there’s a threat of death is a handy psychological torture tool. So I’m not going to promise anything. Answer the question.”
Allen hesitated. He would be breaking one of the mob’s biggest rules. He hadn’t been running with the mob for longer than a year and a half, but it had already been ingrained that selling someone out was selling out your life.
Sensing the problem, Jesse said, “I already know who the top people are, Allen. I just want to put them in the right order so that I know who’s really pulling the strings here. I want to know what’s changed in the year I’ve been in prison.”
“R…Raphael,” he stammered.
Jesse stood up, his brow furrowed. He muttered something under his breath.
“What did you say?” Allen asked.
Jesse shot him a withering glare and turned off the light. Allen saw a brief sliver of an even brighter light as Jesse opened a door and left him alone in the darkness.
---
The mobster woke up to a dark room, the back of his neck incredibly painful. He felt disoriented, barely aware of the fact that he was sitting in a chair. He registered even less that he was being watched.
“What’s your name?” the darkness said in a low voice.
He had to think for a moment. “Jim Lloyd,” he said, breathless.
“You’re lying. What’s your name?”
The man said nothing.
“Fine. That’ll come later.”
A dim light briefly blinded the mobster, who recoiled from its glare until his pupils adjusted from total darkness to near-total darkness. Now he could see the outline of the voice’s owner, immediately recognizing the crown of strawberry-blonde hair.
“Oh god,” the mobster said, starting to breathe heavily as he broke out in a cold sweat. “Please don’t kill me. Please, please.”
“Killing you is not in my plan, but I cannot guarantee you’ll walk out of here unscathed. It depends on how well you cooperate with me.”
The man squirmed in his seat. For the first time, he realized a series of ropes bound him, hand, foot, abdomen, and neck, to the chair. Jesse leaned over him.
“Who is the current leader of the mob?”
The man said nothing, turning his face away from Jesse’s and whimpering. He screamed as Jesse’s foot came down on his kneecap. The bone shattered under his seemingly superhuman strength.
The man fought off tears, tasting blood and realizing he had bit his lip so hard he had pierced skin.
“Who is the current leader of the mob?” The words were slower this time, measured, with more gravity.
The man kept his silence, unsure which he feared more - the wrath of the mob, or Jesse.
The decision was made for him as Jesse smashed his elbow.
“My name is Allen Huxley!” he screamed through the shock of pain.
Jesse smiled.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
He stepped back as Allen wept openly, half of his body now next to useless.
“So, Allen,” he said, starting to walk in circles around the chair like a cougar stalking prey. “It’s been over a year since I’ve had a reliable inside source on the mob. What’s changed? Who’s in charge?”
Allen said nothing, pain and terror interfering with his ability to think. Jesse let his fingers trail across Allen’s nose, gentle against his sweaty flesh.
“You know, if hit hard enough, the nose can kill you,” he said. “All you have to do is manage to push the bone into the brain and the victim dies. It’s easy enough, if you’ve practiced the technique. You can trust that I have. It’s quick and easy and makes for a relatively clean corpse. But, of course, pain can kill you too, if you get hurt enough. It’s your choice, Allen. Cooperate and leave with only the injuries you currently have, refuse to speak and die from slow pain, or become a martyr and I’ll kill you on the spot.
“Who is the current leader of the mob?”
Allen sniffled.
“You… how do I know you won’t kill me when you’ve got the information you’re looking for?” he said, his voice weak with pain.
“I could promise, but you wouldn’t believe me. Plus, you believing there’s a threat of death is a handy psychological torture tool. So I’m not going to promise anything. Answer the question.”
Allen hesitated. He would be breaking one of the mob’s biggest rules. He hadn’t been running with the mob for longer than a year and a half, but it had already been ingrained that selling someone out was selling out your life.
Sensing the problem, Jesse said, “I already know who the top people are, Allen. I just want to put them in the right order so that I know who’s really pulling the strings here. I want to know what’s changed in the year I’ve been in prison.”
“R…Raphael,” he stammered.
Jesse stood up, his brow furrowed. He muttered something under his breath.
“What did you say?” Allen asked.
Jesse shot him a withering glare and turned off the light. Allen saw a brief sliver of an even brighter light as Jesse opened a door and left him alone in the darkness.