NINE - SOPHIA
I scream because of what he shows me. I didn't think things could get any worse but I was wrong. He proves it.
He doesn't look evil. He doesn't look like a pantomime villain with hands mashing together and a wicked duelling scar on his cheek. He looks like a slightly grumpy old man in his late fifties or early sixties. His hair is greying, his skin wrinkled. It's only in his eyes that I can detect something darker than his manner.
When I saw him next door, I didn't like the look of him but that was as much for the building behind him as anything else.
This is something new. This room. Only a truly sick individual could come up with something like this. It's designed to scare me and it works. How long did it take to build?
It's laid out like an operating theatre. There is a steel table in the middle, the ceiling lights reflecting off the metal. It is rusting in places, at the hinges of the legs mostly, blotches of darkness on the floor beneath it.
To one side is the chair I'm strapped to, unable to move, leather bracelets holding my wrists down onto the arms.
There is a window with a bright red blind across it, blocking the view. In the corner is a cabinet, doors closed.
Across from me is a metal trolley. On top, laid out neatly, rows of medical instruments, most of them scalpels.
"I give everyone who comes here a choice," he says, picking up one of the scalpels and rubbing it on his arm. "Even those who refuse to obey the rules."
I glare at him, doing my best to control my fear.
"You are here to bring pleasure to either my son or to me." He pauses while I think frantically, the brute is his son?
"Were you ever in hospital when you were younger?"
I say nothing and he darts across, brandishing the scalpel towards my face. "Answer me or lose an eye."
"Yes," I spit out as I force my head as far back as it will go, anything to get away from the wicked edge of that blade.
"What for?"
"I had my tonsils out when I was twelve."
"Were you scared? When you were there? Did you hate the place?"
I nod. "I wanted to go home."
"I was never afraid. I used to love hospitals. Everyone working so diligently, a purpose to everything. I found out that if someone in my family was hurt, we'd get to go to the hospital. I fed my sister things." A hissing giggle escapes him before his smile fades. "But the fun can't last, can it? They found out in the end and I had to work hard to cover my tracks. That's why I'm still here. I'm good at what I do. You? You're not good at what you do."
"Please let me go," I say as he walks back over to the trolley, putting the scalpel back down among its colleagues. "I haven't done anything to you."
"Au contraire," he says as he spins back round. "You disrespected me. You misbehaved. Shall I show you what will happen if you continue to misbehave?"
He walks over to the cabinet and pulls the doors open. "Can you see?"
He steps aside and I look. That's when I scream.
There are five shelves, two empty and three filled. On each of the top three is a human skull. Bits of dried and yellowed flesh are still stuck to them. They are on red cushions, as if he considers them ornaments. My blood turns cold at the sight.
I've entered my own personal hell. I can't believe what I'm seeing. My insides grow heavy, fear coursing through my body. I've never seen a skull in real life and now there are three, yellowed, grinning, all of them looking at me. Who did they belong to? How many has he killed? Where the hell am I?
"This is Sally," he says, picking up the top skull. "She was pretty, a bit like you. You can't tell, can you? Her wisdom teeth were just coming in, look."
He brings the skull over, holding it too close to my face. I can smell it. I start to gag.
"Surprising how long someone can last without food, if you give them water that is. He watched her die and he did nothing to help her. Don't forget that."
He returns the skull to the shelf and I can breathe again. I am moaning with disgust as he taps the top of the second. "This was Anne. She begged me to let her go quite a lot. She's not said quite so much recently."
I realise he's not just evil, he's totally insane. A fresh wave of fear spreads over me as I realise I'm going to have to be far more careful if I'm going to stand any chance of surviving this.
"This little lady was called Rosemary," he says, stroking the top of the third skull. "She was my favourite. She left those stains you saw in your room. Now, I thought he would want her but apparently not. He let her die, did you know that? I gave him a chance to save her and he refused, stubborn little shit that he is."
"Please," I mutter, shaking my head, seeing the next shelf down, suddenly having a horrible feeling that my skull will be on there soon. "What do you want from me?"
"I want you to do as you're told. I want you to keep my son company. I want you to stop whining. Can you do that?"
I nod frantically. "I can, I will."
"Good," he says. "You are not in charge around here, I am. The sooner you realise that, the better. If you want to live, you'll do as you're told. Otherwise this room will be the last thing you ever see." He closes the cabinet, moving across to the window. "I wonder what's behind the rectangle window, shall we have a look?"
I don't want to see but I have no choice. He tugs at the cord and the blind slowly rises. Behind it isn't a window but a TV screen, screwed to the wall. There is no sound but the image is crystal clear. I scream again at the brutality on display.