Dad shuffles his feet and grins goofily.
“You can stay if you want,” Dan-Dan adds softly. “I’m happy to let you observe or take part.”
Dad stares at Dan-Dan, then at me, lying in a ball on the floor. He gulps and I see the first flicker of horror dart across his face. But he blinks it away before it can take hold.
“Thank you, my lord, but I have duties elsewhere which I must attend to.”
“Of course,” Dan-Dan smiles, and shows Dad to the door.
Dad pauses before leaving, to look back at me one last time. “Will you spare her if she changes her mind?” he croaks.
“No,” Dan-Dan says shortly. “She had her chance and she spurned it. An offer made under duress would be hollow and worthless.”
Dad flinches again, but nods weakly and lets himself be pushed out of the room.
Dan-Dan shuts the door, leans his helmeted head against it and stands there for a while, savoring the last few moments of calm. Then he turns and sets his sights on me. His eyes glitter greedily. His lips are peeled back and his teeth are bared.
“It begins,” he whispers, and oozes towards me like a foil-wrapped nightmare.
EIGHT
Coley pulls on his gloves, grabs me by my feet and drags me through Dan-Dan’s chambers. I catch brief glimpses of his living quarters, flowery furniture, throw pillows everywhere, costumes on mannequins, hardcore images pinned to the walls. I’m surprised he exhibits them so openly. Then again, he has nothing to hide anymore. There are no lawyers or police to crack down on him.
Coley and Dan-Dan pick me up and chain me to a large metal table in the middle of the most sparsely decorated room. Grooves run along the edges of the table, draining into buckets. It takes me only a fraction of a second to realize that they’re there to catch my blood.
Once I’m secure–I’m bound so tightly that I can’t even wriggle–Coley withdraws and takes up position by the door, in case I somehow break free. Dan-Dan checks the chains one last time, then calls, “Come, my darlings. Look what Dan-Dan has for you.”
Several sullen children trudge into the room. They’re dressed finely, their hair is cut immaculately and they’ve all been made up to look their best, even the boys. But every one of them has the expression of a lost, frightened refugee. The oldest can’t be more than ten or eleven.
“Sit on the cushions,” Dan-Dan tells them, and they obey sluggishly. “Keep your eyes on me like I’ve taught you.” He makes sure they’re all doing as instructed. “Good. I’m proud of you, my darlings. There will be a treat at the end. Although many would think that being privy to such a scene is treat enough.”
Dan-Dan strolls round the table, smiling at me from behind his visor. He waves like a clown. “Howdy, pardner!” When there’s silence, he glances over his shoulder, annoyed. The children laugh mechanically.
“Let them go,” I mutter. “Don’t make them watch this.”
“But it’s important that I keep them here,” he purrs. “It’s educational. I love my darlings. It’s what people like you don’t understand. You judge me by the corpses I leave behind. But I’m always trying to save them. I want them to be like me, to appreciate the world the way I do. If I can turn their delicate minds and hearts, I can spare them.”
“Meaning you only spare the wicked?” I sneer.
“I spare the pure,” he counters. “There’s no pure goodness in this world so, rather than waste my time searching for it, I seek out pure evil.” He giggles. “I don’t expect you to understand. Few do. And that’s fine. I don’t look for sympathy in this life. I’m content to plow my path alone.”
“You’re nuttier than a squirrel’s stocking on Christmas Day.”
Dan-Dan howls with laughter. “Even at this late stage, in such a dire position, you persist with the stinging jibes. I’ll miss you, Becky. You’re a bright spark in a drab world. What a shame I didn’t get my hands on you when you were alive.”
He reaches out and strokes my cheek with a gloved finger. I snap at it, hoping to bite through the protective material, but he keeps it just out of my reach.
“Naughty,” he tuts, then turns and heads to the rear of the room. He rolls out a cart that I hadn’t noticed before and pushes it over to the table.
There are shelves on the cart loaded with knives, axes, saws, hammers, nails, chisels, scissors and more. There are also lots of bottles and tubes filled with liquids and ointments. A drill hangs from a hook and an electric saw from another.
“Those are for when I get lazy,” Dan-Dan says, noting the direction of my gaze. “You won’t have to worry about them for a while. Not for hours, maybe even days, depending on how long I decide to keep you going.” He leans over and leers at me.
“I could string it out for months if I wished. But I think impatience will get the better of me. You’d better hope that it does.”
Dan-Dan sets to work. I don’t think he’s had a chance to torture a revitalized before, because he begins way too softly. I’m less sensitive than living humans. My nerve endings are a mess. His early efforts–sticking pins in me, slicing a knife across my flesh, swinging a hammer lightly at my kneecaps, searing the soles of my feet–don’t even yield a yelp.
“What a pity,” he sighs, taking a break. “Torture is an art form, but you seem to be impervious to my more subtle strokes.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I grunt.
He shrugs. “No matter. It just means skipping the buildup and diving in at the deep end. Tell me, Becky, did it hurt a lot when those bones broke through the flesh of your fingers and toes?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Well, let’s see if it hurts when I try hammering them back in,” he chuckles, reaching for a small sledgehammer.
The pain isn’t that bad, but the noise of my shattering bones really unsettles me. I start to think that there can’t be anything worse. Then Dan-Dan stops, studies my feet and says, “I wonder what would happen if I tried to pull the bones out instead of driving them in?”
And I realize that, when it comes to the world of torture, I’m an innocent. I’ve so much to learn. But I’m going to find out soon.
Dan-Dan reaches for a pair of pliers. He snaps them open and shut a few times, then whistles as he sets to work on my finger bones.
Our delirious dance of destruction picks up pace.
NINE
I’m no expert, but Dan-Dan seems damn good at this, curse his soul. I suppose he’s had lots of practice over the years. He was a notorious child-killer in the old days, back when he ran the risk of being captured and jailed, and he’s had a completely free run at it since society fell.
He prods and pokes with nails until he finds the areas where I can still be hurt. He peels flesh from my bones in the most excruciating places, then rubs salt and acidic liquids into the wounds.
It isn’t long before I’m screaming at the ceiling, straining against my bonds, cursing Dan-Dan for putting me through this most unholy of hells.
“Shush, my lovely,” Dan-Dan soothes me. “We’re only getting started. It’s too soon for screams of that nature. Save them for when you really feel the pain.”
He tries several times to pull out the bones from my fingers and toes, but they resist his efforts. Finally he sets about pulping them with a hammer and chisel. When he’s destroyed the bits sticking out, he digs away at the bones inside. When that fails to have much of an impact, he moves on to more profitable zones.
He has great fun exploring the gaping hole where my heart should be. He scrapes away the moss and opens up dried valves, letting thick, soupy blood flood the cavity. Then he soaks it up with a sponge and squeezes it over my face, drenching me with my own foul gore.
The blood trickles from my cheeks and flows slowly across the table, along the grooves and into the buckets, which have been collecting every drop that Dan-Dan has wrung from me. My best hope is that he drains too much and my brain shuts down. But I don’t think undead bodies work that way. Zombies can su
rvive if their heads are cut off, so I guess the flow of blood to the brain isn’t as crucial as it is to the living.
Dan-Dan chats away to me the whole time, telling stories, teasing me, sharing dark secrets. Sometimes he whistles. Other times he sings. He’s only occasionally silent, and then it’s purely for effect, when he wants me to hear nothing except my own screams or panting sobs.
Some of his darlings cry and flee the room. Dan-Dan always sends the others to drag them back. There is to be no escape for any of us here tonight.
Coley is replaced by a couple of soldiers after a few hours, and they in turn are replaced a few hours after that. I guess normal people don’t have the stamina for this that Dan-Dan does.
It grows dark and he stops to eat, his first meal of the long, blood-drenched day. He retires to a corner of the room and carefully removes his helmet. He barks an order at the soldiers on duty and they help him out of the space suit.
Dan-Dan settles himself on a plump cushion and a few of his darlings feed him, dropping chunks of food into his mouth, the way that Coley fed my mother when I was taken to see her. His suit, drenched with my blood, lies in a heap nearby. I want to call to the children, tell them to dip a nugget in the blood and slyly finish him off. But I can’t make any sounds at the moment except for a thin, wheezing noise. Dan-Dan cut through to my vocal cords before he stopped to eat, and pinched them shut with something.
“This is exhausting,” Dan-Dan sighs, getting to his feet after the meal and stretching. “I need a rest. Sing to me, my darlings, and help me sleep for a while.”
The children gather a load of the cushions and make a bed. Dan-Dan lies back and they encircle him. They kneel and sing a lullaby. Dan-Dan smiles and wags a finger at them like a conductor. His eyelids start to droop. Before they close, he jerks fully awake and snaps at a soldier, “Don’t forget to empty out the suit while I slumber.”
“Yes, my lord,” the soldier says.
“There’s a waste system inside it,” Dan-Dan explains for my benefit. “Just like a real space suit. That’s why I’ve been able to work without having to stop for minor inconveniences.”
Dan-Dan lies back again and the children croon from the beginning of the lullaby. Soon he’s snoring and twitching as he dreams. The children keep on singing until they start to doze off themselves. As they tire, they lie down around him. In the end only one remains at his post, a pale boy, eight or nine years old. It’s Ciarán, the child who let me into Dan-Dan’s quarters. He carries on singing in a soft, cracked voice. By the pained look on his face, I don’t think he stays awake because he wants to. I think he’s just afraid of what he’ll dream about when he falls asleep.
TEN
Dan-Dan doesn’t snooze for more than a couple of hours. Then he rises and re-suits, and the torture continues through the night. He breaks a few times to catch forty winks and refresh himself, but otherwise shows an almost zombie-like lack of a need to sleep.
As the night drags on, his darlings can’t keep their eyes open, and eventually all of them pass out, even little Ciarán. Dan-Dan doesn’t try to wake them, accepting their limitations.
“Aren’t they sweet?” he says at one point, taking a break to let me recover ahead of the next assault. “I love watching them like this. Such a shame that they have to wake. Sometimes I smother them in their sleep, to preserve that sweet look on their faces.”
“I hope one of them returns the favor someday,” I mutter weakly. He has unpinched my vocal cords, so I have my voice back, but speaking is an effort. I’m starting to seriously flag. I’ve lost so much blood and my energy has drained away. It’s hard to even wriggle my toes or fingers. But, although Dan-Dan can break my body, he’ll never break what beats deep inside me. I’ll carry on cursing him as long as I have a tongue in my head.
“Becky, Becky, Becky,” Dan-Dan sighs, removing his helmet to draw a few breaths of fresh air. “Why do you goad me? If you simply accepted me as your god of torment and begged me to finish you off, I could be merciful.”
I chuckle painfully. “You want me to call you a god now?”
“That’s what I am to you,” he says. “I’m everything, just as a real god is to his followers. I control your life completely. I can free you from your pain or drag it out endlessly. Worship me, Becky. Show me the respect that I am due. If you do, I will grant you the release that I’m sure you long for.”
“Get stuffed, fat man,” I snort.
Dan-Dan shakes his head. “You’re a worthy adversary. I almost feel sorry for you. I’m half-tempted to bring proceedings to an abrupt conclusion.”
“No you’re not,” I wheeze. “You’re just saying that to give me hope, so that you can squash it. I’m wise to all your tricks.”
Dan-Dan laughs. “Thank heaven the rest of my darlings are not as insightful as you. This would be a joyless existence if everyone could see through me the way you can.”
My tormentor replaces his helmet and circles the table again. He’s been doing that all day and night, a coldly cruising shark. I stare at the ceiling and tense myself for whatever he has lined up next.
“Such a pitiful-looking body,” he murmurs, running the tip of a knife across the exposed flesh of my stomach and over my ribs. I’ve been naked for a long time. Dan-Dan cut away my clothes several hours ago. I think he expected me to be more bothered by that, but the undead aren’t modest like the living.
“I wonder how many of these you can do without?” Dan-Dan says, tapping the ribs. “I think it’s time to find out.”
He starts cutting the flesh away from over my ribs, then begins snapping off bits of them. I scream curses at him and the children stir, but Dan-Dan ignores me and continues, not stopping until a large section of my rib cage has been pruned back to its stumps and most of my inner organs are in open view.
Dan-Dan rests for a while. He calms his darlings and dozes in their company. I lie on the table, panting and wide-eyed, my withered lungs exposed as I listen to him snore. There have been many times since I regained my senses when I’ve wished that I could cry, but never more so than tonight. Tears wouldn’t help, but at least they’d give me some small form of release.
Dan-Dan sleeps for three or four hours this time. Finally he stirs, has a bite to eat and returns to his station. I expect him to be groggy, but he’s as bright-eyed as ever. He begins rooting around, focusing on my freshly revealed guts, finding new ways to make me wince, shriek and shudder.
As the sun rises and natural light floods the room, I start to hallucinate. I begin to think that Dan-Dan is a real spaceman, that I’m on a rocket bound for the stars. I welcome the hallucinations and try to run with them, to lose myself in the world of fantasy. But Dan-Dan sees what’s happening and eases off, waiting for my senses to return to normal.
“The brain is a fascinating organ,” he says cheerfully when he’s sure that I can understand his words. “Everything is wired back to it. All that we feel or experience is determined by what our brains tell us. If you could convince your brain not to acknowledge the signals sent by your nerve endings, I couldn’t hurt you. If I cut off your legs, a few centimeters at a time, you’d simply lie there and laugh at me.
“I’ve dug around in plenty of brains,” he continues, “but they’re too complex for my liking. More often than not I’ve accidentally destroyed cells that have made my subjects immune to many of my torments.
“Don’t worry, Becky,” he smiles. “I won’t go near your brain until the end. I want you conscious and responsive every step of the way. If I see you starting to veer out of this realm, I’ll do all that I can to haul you back.”
“Too… considerate… of… you,” I whisper.
Dan-Dan laughs and returns to work. He takes it easier now, leaving my more vulnerable sections alone, happy to just teasingly poke at me for a while, letting me swim back to full awareness.
The children wake up. Dan-Dan orders breakfast for them and they tuck in numbly as they watch him chip away at me. Their eyes a
re bleary and unfocused. They want this to end. It’s an ordeal for them. I wish I could grant them their longed-for finale, but Dan-Dan holds all the trump cards and he’s not going to play them until he’s truly done with me.
The morning stretches on, becomes afternoon, night, then morning again. I start to lose track of time. Has it really only been forty-eight hours since I was brought to Dan-Dan’s quarters, or have I been here for weeks? Maybe it’s been months, and I’ve blocked out huge chunks of time in order to stay sane.
As the sun rises again and the children play some sort of clapping game to keep themselves distracted, Dan-Dan cuts off the tops of my ears. The pain isn’t that great, but he holds up a mirror for me and cackles with delight at my dismayed expression.
“You’ll have trouble wearing sunglasses now,” he hoots. “Not that you’re ever going to need them again.” He pauses and steps back to study his handiwork. “Is it time?” he mutters.
I cock my head, wondering if he’s tired of me, if he’s finally going to draw things to a close.
Dan-Dan picks up a surgical knife and points the tip at my left eye. I squeal and try to thrash my head aside, but it’s locked in place. He laughs and grabs my chin. Waves the tip of the knife in front of my eye. Pokes my eyeball slowly, agonizingly…
Then he stops. “No,” he frowns. “The trouble with blinding is that it removes a lot of other options. I save it for when I’m absolutely certain that there’s nothing else I want to try. We’re not at that stage yet. Close, but not quite.
“We’ve forgotten something, Becky, something important. We’ve been so focused on our fun and games that we’ve overlooked all other concerns. There was unfinished business that we should have dealt with before I brought you here, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was.”
He steps back and scratches the chin of his helmet, pulling a confused expression. It’s all a show. He knows exactly what it is that he has pretended to forget. This is no random interruption. I’m sure it’s something he’s been planning since the start. I can tell by the cunning, self-satisfied twinkle in his eyes.